UNIVERSITY OF CALGARY

A Study of Dress and Identity in the Late Classic Maya Court

by

Cara Grace Tremain

A THESIS

SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES

IN PARTIAL FULFILMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE

DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

GRADUATE PROGRAM IN ARCHAEOLOGY

CALGARY, ALBERTA

AUGUST, 2017

© Cara Grace Tremain 2017

 Abstract

This dissertation seeks to understand the relationship between ancient Maya identities and dress

during the Late Classic period (A.D. 600-900), through an analysis of sartorial representations of

members within the royal court. The specific research question that frames this dissertation is

whether roles or offices within the ancient Maya royal court were made salient through dress.

Rather than focus on one particular type of identity or office role, this dissertation takes a more

holistic approach by considering all royal court members represented on painted ceramic vessels.

In carefully examining painted imagery and providing a means of identifying inauthentic

representations of dress, this research also helps to uncover the life histories of Maya ceramics.

Using organizational dress theory, the study contributes a novel insight into the nature of

Maya royal courts. It demonstrates that dress is a useful means of examining the political

makeup and behaviour of courts, though at present it cannot alone speak to all the identities of

those within the court. The study also reveals the difficulty of understanding active individuals

from static representations, reflecting the fluidity with which courtiers were able to change dress

and shift their identities. Overall, there is a lack of evidence that dress made specific courtly roles

salient. Maya courtiers seem to have chosen dress elements that align with their gender identity

and elite positioning—choices that were regulated by informal rules (or norms) in society.

Keywords: Ancient Maya, Royal Court, Identity, Dress, Ceramics, Late Classic, Fakes, Forgeries

ii
 Acknowledgements

When I began this research I had no clear idea of how I was going to undertake a study of

ancient Maya dress. Without the help, support, and encouragement of so many different

individuals, this study would never have taken place. Special thanks goes to my supervisor,

Geoffrey McCafferty, who kept me on a non-existent leash and gave me the freedom to explore

the topic on my own terms. He never failed to offer encouragement and always pushed me to do

more. I am also deeply grateful to Kathryn Reese-Taylor and Diane Lyons, my committee

members, both of whom offered valuable advice and improvements to my research along the

way. I would also like to acknowledge the help I received from Michele Hardy and Christina

Halperin, who acted as examining members and provided sound critiques of the research. The

dissertation has been greatly improved as a result of the editorial comments and suggestions that

they provided. To the staff at the University of Calgary, especially Nikki Zdan and those from

the Interlibrary Loan department, thank you for the role that you played in helping me complete

this research and seeing me through to graduation.

Although this dissertation was undertaken at the University of Calgary, I first envisioned

a study of Maya dress during my M.A. degree at Trent University. Paul Healy deserves credit for

realizing the scope and attention that this topic deserved, and wisely suggested that I undertake it

for my Ph.D. He has always been there to offer advice, and has always helped with whatever I

asked of him, without fail. Thank you for continuing to be a mentor to me, and for teaching me

to question assumptions, research everything, and be gracious. Helen Haines also deserves credit

for her help with my research: she suggested I focus on painted ceramics over a pitcher of

sangria on a sunny day in Toronto.

iii
 The research presented in this dissertation would not have been possible without financial

assistance from several institutions. In addition to the scholarships provided by the Faculty of

Graduate Studies and the Department of Anthropology and Archaeology at the University of

Calgary, I received an Alianza de las Artes Americanas Scholarship from the Denver Art

Museum; a Richard Gilder Graduate School Collection Study Grant from the American Museum

of Natural History; a Dumbarton Oaks Pre-Doctoral Residency in Pre-Columbian Studies; a

Smithsonian Institution Pre-Doctoral Fellowship for study at the National Museum of the

American Indian; and a grant from the University of Padua to offset costs associated with

participation in the International Winter School, “Anthropology of Forgery”.

I would like to thank the staff of the above institutions, too many to name individually

here, for their assistance and support during my research. A special mention must go to Emily

Kaplan and Antonio Curet at the Smithsonian, however, for supporting my Fellowship and

helping me develop my research during the three months I spent at the CRC. Other museums and

galleries, the majority of which are listed in the appendix, also provided very helpful support

during the course of my research. Their staff took the time to answer my questions, direct me to

the right people, provide information, and send photographs and archival information. To those

institutions not listed in the dissertation but have made their collections accessible online, a big

thank you for allowing researchers to access and view the objects in your collections.

Over the years in which I conducted this research I have been fortunate enough to receive

help, support, and encouragement from many colleagues and friends. Karen Bassie-Sweet always

went out of her way to help me with my studies, and opened both her home and library to me on

many occasions. Dorie Reents-Budet has also been a very helpful colleague, as has Justin Kerr.
iv
Conservator Sarah Nunberg was kind enough to study Maya vases with me in New York and I

learnt invaluable techniques from her, for which I am very grateful. Douglas Tilden, a kind

friend, has also helped with my research in many different ways and I am truly grateful to him.

Many other colleagues have been on the receiving end of my emails and were always kind

enough to take the time to reply, but again there are too many to list individually here. You know

who you are—thanks!

Jennifer Chmilar, Kimberly Jankuta, Madeline Coleman, Megan Bower, Toni Gonzalez,

Amanda Sinclair, Nicola Howard, Carrie Dennett, Shawn Morton, Meaghan Peuramaki-Brown,

Varinia Matute, and Eric Cheng are among some of the friends (in North America) that have

helped me through graduate school. There are of course many more and I’ll buy you a drink to

say thanks when I see you next. Finally, I want to thank my family for their love and

encouragement—especially my fiancé John. He has stood by while my research whisked me

away for months on end, listened, and always gave me advice and ideas. Thank you for all you

are and all that you do for me. Sorry that you are forever bound to make my maps and images,

and that I couldn’t fit “in a jungle far, far away” into my dissertation for you!

v
 Table of Contents

Abstract ........................................................................................................................... ii
Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................ iii
Table of Contents ........................................................................................................... vi
List of Tables ................................................................................................................. ix
List of Figures and Illustrations .......................................................................................x

CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION ..................................................................................1

Terminology.....................................................................................................................3
Anthropological Implications ..........................................................................................9
Ethical Implications .......................................................................................................12
Theoretical Implications ................................................................................................22

CHAPTER 2: THE ANCIENT MAYA ROYAL COURT ...............................................27

The Court in Context .....................................................................................................29
Court Members ..............................................................................................................35
Ajaw .........................................................................................................................37
Royal Wives .............................................................................................................38
Courtiers with Formal Titles ....................................................................................39
Ch’oks.......................................................................................................................43
Artisans and Scribes .................................................................................................44
Dwarves and Hunchbacks ........................................................................................48
Identifying the Court through Architecture ...................................................................50
Identifying the Court through Material Culture .............................................................54
Identifying the Court through Art ..................................................................................58
Identifying the Court through Hieroglyphic Texts ........................................................64
Identifying the Court through Ethnohistoric Sources ....................................................67

CHAPTER 3: DRESS AS AN IDENTITY MARKER .....................................................72

Semiotics ........................................................................................................................80
Ancient Maya Dress.......................................................................................................85
Archaeological Evidence ...............................................................................................97
Epigraphic Evidence ....................................................................................................109
Iconographic Evidence ................................................................................................112
Ethnohistoric Evidence ................................................................................................123
Ethnographic Evidence ................................................................................................127
Dress in the Ancient Maya Court ................................................................................132

CHAPTER 4: THE ART OF REPRESENTATION .......................................................141

Representation in Ancient Maya Ceramics .................................................................142
Authenticity and Misrepresentation .............................................................................156
Restorations, Fakes, and Forgeries .........................................................................158
Identifying fakes and forgeries ...............................................................................166

vi
CHAPTER 5: A SURVEY OF COURTLY DRESS .......................................................172
Methodology ................................................................................................................172
Ceramics Studied .........................................................................................................176
Scene Content .........................................................................................................180
Garments ......................................................................................................................183
Male Garments .......................................................................................................184
Female Garments ....................................................................................................190
Dwarf and Hunchback Garments ...........................................................................192
Cloth Tribute ..........................................................................................................193
Head Decoration ..........................................................................................................194
Female Head Decoration ........................................................................................206
Dwarf and Hunchback Head Decoration ................................................................207
Jewellery ......................................................................................................................207
Neck Ornamentation ...............................................................................................208
Ear Ornamentation..................................................................................................210
Wrist and Ankle Ornamentation .............................................................................211
Nose Ornamentation ...............................................................................................213
Accoutrements .............................................................................................................214
Footwear .................................................................................................................214
Body Paint ..............................................................................................................215
Hair Decoration ......................................................................................................216
Backpiece ...............................................................................................................217
X-Ray Mask............................................................................................................218
Pictorial Placement ......................................................................................................219
Courtly Dress ...............................................................................................................221
Aj k’uhuun ..............................................................................................................225
Baah Te’ .................................................................................................................225
Ch’ajoom ................................................................................................................226
Ch’ok ......................................................................................................................227
Lakam .....................................................................................................................227
Sajal……………………………………………………………………………….228
Baah tz’am ..............................................................................................................228
Other Courtiers .......................................................................................................229

CHAPTER 6: DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS ....................................................231

Dress and Courtly Identity ...........................................................................................231
Which elements of courtly dress are semiotic signs of identity? ...........................234
Why was complete homogeneity absent in Late Classic courtly dress? ................236
Why was stratified homogeneity absent in Late Classic courtly dress? .................239
Why was complete heterogeneity absent in Late Classic courtly dress? ...............241
Ancient Dress vs. Modern Dress .................................................................................242
Dress and the Life Histories of Painted Ceramics .......................................................247

REFERENCES ................................................................................................................367

APPENDIX I ...................................................................................................................427
vii
APPENDIX II ..................................................................................................................429

APPENDIX III .................................................................................................................437

APPENDIX IV.................................................................................................................443

APPENDIX V ..................................................................................................................451

viii
 List of Tables

Table 2. 1. Ceramics with named patron and/ or ruler................................................................ 253

Table 2. 2 Ceramic scenes with artist’s names in the text. ......................................................... 254

Table 2. 3. Polychrome ceramic styles pertinent to this study. ................................................... 255

Table 2. 4. Royal court events depicted on painted ceramics. .................................................... 256

Table 5. 1. Ceramics in the author’s dataset that were assessed in person by the author………257

Table 5. 2. Ceramics assessed in person and deemed to have authentic painted scenes. ........... 258

Table 5. 3. Dress elements worn in barrel-shaped vase scenes. ................................................. 259

Table 5. 4. Ceramics that have probable hieroglyphic signs or pseudoglyphs incorporated

into dress. ............................................................................................................................ 260

Table 5. 5. Definitions of male textile garments. ........................................................................ 261

Table 5. 6. Ceramics with females, and their garment types. ..................................................... 262

Table 5. 7. Ceramics with dwarves, and their dress type. ........................................................... 263

Table 5. 8. Ceramics with hunchbacks, and their dress type. ..................................................... 264

Table 5. 9. Definitions of headdresses. ....................................................................................... 265

Table 5. 10. Definitions of embellishments to the head and/or headdresses. ............................. 266

Table 5. 11. Headdress frequency relative to the pictorial placement of individuals. ................ 267

Table 5. 12. Garment frequency relative to the pictorial placement of individuals.................... 267

Table 5. 13. Ceramics with courtier titles, and the dress type of those courtiers. ...................... 268

Table 5. 14. Comparison of the dress worn by individuals labelled with the ch’ok title. ........... 269

Table 5. 15. Comparison of the dress worn by individuals labelled with the sajal title. ............ 270

Table 5. 16. Comparison of the dress worn by the individual labelled as baah tz’am in the
Bonampak and Xultun murals, with individuals in similar positions in ceramic scenes. ... 271

Table 5. 17. Ceramics with two or more named individuals, and the similarities and
differences between their dress. .......................................................................................... 272
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 List of Figures and Illustrations

Figure 1. 1. Map of the Maya region, with sites discussed in the text. ....................................... 273

Figure 2. 1. Ajaw glyph………………………………………………………………………...274

Figure 2. 2. K4996. ..................................................................................................................... 275

Figure 2. 3. K2573. ..................................................................................................................... 276

Figure 2. 4. Hieroglyphic titles of members of the royal court................................................... 277

Figure 2. 5. MFA 1988.1176 (K764) .......................................................................................... 278

Figure 2. 6. MSM 117A-3 (K8006). ........................................................................................... 279

Figure 2. 7. NGA 82.2292 (K1453). ........................................................................................... 280

Figure 2. 8. A range structure at the site of Tikal. ...................................................................... 281

Figure 2. 9. El Señor de Peten Vase............................................................................................ 282

Figure 2. 10. Conch shell inkpot excavated from Structure B1, Burial 7, Cahal Pech. .............. 283

Figure 2. 11. Ik’, Chama, and Fenton style ceramic scenes. ....................................................... 284

Figure 2. 12. MNAE 11418 (K2697) .......................................................................................... 285

Figure 2. 13. Rollout, panel-style, and repetitive-style compositions. ....................................... 286

Figure 2. 14. Motul de San José Vessel 7. .................................................................................. 287

Figure 2. 15. Joyac Cream Polychrome excavated from Structure B5 at Caracol, Belize. ........ 288

Figure 2. 16 MSM 4P-110 (K8001). ........................................................................................... 289

Figure 2. 17. DO PC.B.564 (K2784). ......................................................................................... 290

Figure 2. 18. MFA L-R 394.1985 (K1728)................................................................................ 291

Figure 3. 1. A group of women weaving on backstrap looms in Guatemala…………………...292

Figure 3. 2. Parts of the backstrap loom. .................................................................................... 293

Figure 3. 3. A weaver beats the warp threads on her backstrap loom into place using a batten. 294

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Figure 3. 4. A weaver adding supplementary wefts (brocade) to her loom weaving. ................ 295

Figure 3. 5 A huipil with embroidered floral designs around the neck. ..................................... 296

Figure 3. 6. Female textile garments. .......................................................................................... 297

Figure 3. 7. Stela H at Copan. ..................................................................................................... 298

Figure 3. 8. NOMA 69.33 (K2800). ........................................................................................... 299

Figure 3. 9. MNAE 108.9.2 (K3009). ......................................................................................... 300

Figure 3. 10. LACMA M.2010.115.12 (K1599)......................................................................... 301

Figure 3. 11. MFB 2009.318 (K1463). ....................................................................................... 302

Figure 3. 12. BM Am1930,F.1. ................................................................................................... 303

Figure 3. 13. MNAE T7B/7-37 (K2707). ................................................................................... 304

Figure 3. 14. SD-143. Oval Palace Tablet from House E, Palenque. ......................................... 305

Figure 4. 1. Ceramic 233800.000 at the National Museum of the American Indian…………...306

Figure 4. 2. Interior views of polychrome ceramics. .................................................................. 307

Figure 4. 3. LOC P0040 (K6341) in cylinder and rollout form. ................................................. 308

Figure 4. 4. MFA 1988.1177 (K1439). ....................................................................................... 309

Figure 4. 5. SD-7619. Sarcophagus cover inside the Temple of the Inscriptions, Palenque,
showing K’inich Janaab Pakal. .......................................................................................... 310

Figure 4. 6. MSM 117A-1 (K8008) rollout photograph and a ‘retouched’ version of the same
photograph. ......................................................................................................................... 311

Figure 4. 7. K718 before and after removal of excessive modern restoration. ........................... 312

Figure 4. 8. Rba_d024455. .......................................................................................................... 313

Figure 4. 9. Paint ‘spatters’ on the surface of ceramic 242725.000 at the National Museum
of the American Indian. ...................................................................................................... 314

Figure 4. 10. In-painting on the surface of ceramic 244275.000 at the National Museum of
the American Indian. ........................................................................................................... 315

Figure 4. 11. DYM 1986.67.5 under visible and UV light. ........................................................ 316

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Figure 5. 1. ROM L962.66.9....................................................................................................... 317

Figure 5. 2. NICH 28/179-5:7 (K2699). .................................................................................... 318

Figure 5. 3. AMNH 30.3/2941 (K4019). .................................................................................... 319

Figure 5. 4. LOC KPC 0070 (K6316). ........................................................................................ 320

Figure 5. 5. K3008. ..................................................................................................................... 321

Figure 5. 6. MJAV 17.2.1.543 (The “Sak Mo’-Vase”)............................................................... 322

Figure 5. 7. Ceramic forms. ........................................................................................................ 323

Figure 5. 8. Vase shapes. ............................................................................................................ 323

Figure 5. 9. NGA 2002.221. ....................................................................................................... 324

Figure 5. 10. MFA 1987.719 (K3035). ....................................................................................... 325

Figure 5. 11. MFA 2004.2204 (K5453). ..................................................................................... 326

Figure 5. 12. Male textile garments. ........................................................................................... 327

Figure 5. 13. MNAE 11419 (K2695). ......................................................................................... 328

Figure 5. 14. Number of ceramic scenes in which male garments are represented. ................... 329

Figure 5. 15. K4617. ................................................................................................................... 330

Figure 5. 16. The process of securing a male loincloth. ............................................................. 331

Figure 5. 17. MNAE 310042. ..................................................................................................... 332

Figure 5. 18. MSM 4P-123 (K7996). ......................................................................................... 333

Figure 5. 19. K7796. ................................................................................................................... 334

Figure 5. 20. Drawing of MNAE 4P-8/2. ................................................................................... 335

Figure 5. 21. MSM 4P-109 (K7998). ......................................................................................... 336

Figure 5. 22. MDM 1991/11/06. ................................................................................................ 337

Figure 5. 23. K8526. ................................................................................................................... 338

xii
Figure 5. 24. MM 1981.204.6. .................................................................................................... 339

Figure 5. 25. MAS.IB.2010.017.086 (K1563). ........................................................................... 340

Figure 5. 26. PUAM y1986-91 (K767). ...................................................................................... 341

Figure 5. 27. TCMA 1990.181 (K5513). .................................................................................... 342

Figure 5. 28. LACMA M.2010.115.330 (K4825)...................................................................... 343

Figure 5. 29. K8386. ................................................................................................................... 344

Figure 5. 30. DAM 2003.1 (K2914). .......................................................................................... 345

Figure 5. 31. Examples of decorative sarongs on unprovenienced ceramics. ............................ 346

Figure 5. 32. K5505. ................................................................................................................... 347

Figure 5. 33. DO PC.B.569 (K4338). ......................................................................................... 348

Figure 5. 34. DYM 78.41 (K625). .............................................................................................. 349

Figure 5. 35. Illustrations of headdresses.................................................................................... 350

Figure 5. 36. Embellishments to the head and/or headdresses. .................................................. 351

Figure 5. 37. Number of ceramic scenes in which each headdress types is represented. ........... 352

Figure 5. 38. K4096. ................................................................................................................... 353

Figure 5. 39. DAM 2001.44. ....................................................................................................... 354

Figure 5. 40. LACMA M.2010.115.25 (K7461)......................................................................... 355

Figure 5. 41. Number of ceramic scenes in which each embellishment to the head and/or
headdress is represented. ..................................................................................................... 356

Figure 5. 42. Comparison of the sphere-like decorations of the spangled turban (a) and wide
(b) and thin (c) varieties of the headband with sphere-like decorations (or sphere
headband). ........................................................................................................................... 357

Figure 5. 43. K8469. ................................................................................................................... 358

Figure 5. 44. K5456. ................................................................................................................... 359

Figure 5. 45. Examples of decorated hair. .................................................................................. 360

Figure 5. 46. LRMF 1.2.159.53. ................................................................................................. 361

xiii
Figure 5. 47. Headdress frequency relative to the pictorial placement of individuals................ 362

Figure 5. 48. Garment frequency relative to the pictorial placement of individuals. ................. 363

Figure 5. 49. The number of individuals wearing different headdress types in royal court
scenes. ................................................................................................................................. 364

Figure 5. 50. K6674. ................................................................................................................... 365

Figure 6. 1. K680……………………………………………………………………………….366

xiv
 CHAPTER ONE: INTRODUCTION

This dissertation seeks to understand the relationship between ancient Maya identities and dress,

through an analysis of sartorial representations of members within the royal court. Although the

direct archaeological recovery of dress in the Maya region is hindered by the humid burial

environment, causing many organic materials to deteriorate, visual representations of dress have

been preserved in various media including painted ceramics, murals, figurines, sculpture, and

codices (painted books). These representations are mostly limited to members of the upper class

because rulers and elites commissioned artisans to represent ritual and secular activities, which

largely transpired in and around the royal court. Such activities were often depicted in detail on

the elaborately painted ceramics that were put to use as containers for food and drink in the royal

court, and as currency in courtly tribute or gift-giving events.

The vast majority of painted ceramics were manufactured during the Late Classic period

(A.D. 600-900), mainly in the southern Maya lowlands (southern Mexico, northern Guatemala,

Belize, and north-west Honduras) and highlands of Guatemala (Figure 1.1). Painted ceramics

became one of the most visually powerful means of communicating power and wealth in the

court during the Late Classic and several distinctive painting styles, associated with a particular

court or region, emerged during this period. Consequently these ceramics are an ideal means of

investigating dress within the Maya royal court and constitute the primary dataset for this

dissertation. The specific research question that frames this dissertation is whether roles or

offices within the ancient Maya royal court were made salient through dress (it is important to

note that a role is considered to be an assignment or responsibility that an individual undertook

on a regular basis).
1
 While the dress of the ancient Maya is one of the first visual experiences that a viewer

encounters upon looking at their pictorial representations, it has been one of the least

systematically studied elements of their civilization. Maya art1 received early attention by

scholars such as Spinden (1975 [1913]) yet the earliest studies specific to dress did not emerge

until the 1930s, including Mary Butler’s (1931) study of dress represented in stone carvings and

Carlton Calkin’s (1938) short publication on ancient Maya ‘fashions’. Other publications

followed, often integrating Maya dress into a wider study of the clothing of other Mesoamerican

cultures (Anawalt 1975; Guzmán 1959), or focusing almost exclusively on one type of dress

(Mahler 1965; Thompson 1946). The earliest graduate thesis specific to Maya dress appears to

be Persis Clarkson’s (1979) M.A. thesis, which examined the way in which Maya attire

communicated status, role, and function. Clarkson examined a range of media, including both

historical and mythological scenes, and attempted to identify common themes in dress that

transcended regional and temporal divisions.

It is unfortunate that since Clarkson’s thesis only a small number of graduate theses have

examined ancient Maya dress (Browder 1991; Brown 2003; Taylor 1983), even though attention

to dress has increased in archaeology and continues to be an important research topic among

scholars (Cifarelli and Gawlinski 2017). Fortunately various short studies have contributed

knowledge about the wide range of dress practices among the ancient Maya, including body

modification (Duncan and Hofling 2011; Mayer 1983; Tiesler 2011), hairstyles (Miller in press;

Robertson 1985), ornamentation (Aizpurúa and McAnany 1999; Carter, et al. 2012; De Vega, et

1
In this dissertation, the term ‘art’ is not used with any connotation of monetary value for an object or object class.
It is important to note that there are varying opinions about whether the term should be used to refer to the material
culture of non-Western societies. The problem of how to define ‘art’ pervades the literature on art history,
archaeology, and the anthropology of art. This dissertation cannot answer this problem, and the author refers the
reader to McEvilley (1989) for a useful discussion.
2
al. 2010), and textile production (Chase, et al. 2008; Halperin 2011). Other detailed studies have

been written on themes related in some way to ancient Maya dress, such as those published on

dance (Looper 2009), colour (Houston, et al. 2009), or the body (Houston, et al. 2006). Although

the two most recent edited volumes dedicated to the study of dress in ancient Mesoamerica

contain only three chapters on Maya dress between them (Looper 2014; Scher and Follensbee

2017), a volume entitled The Body Adorned: Mapping Ancient Maya Dress is currently in the

publication process2 and should lead to greater appreciation about dress practices in the ancient

Maya region.

Terminology

Within the numerous studies that have commented upon ancient Maya attire, there has been no

agreed-upon term for discussing clothing and adornment of the Maya.3 This dissertation follows

Roach-Higgens and Eicher (1995: 7) in using the term ‘dress’, which they take to mean “an

assemblage of modifications of the body and/or supplements to the body.” With their definition

they include direct modifications to the body such as scent and tattoos, and supplements such as

garments, jewellery, and accessories. It is important to distinguish between terms such as dress,

clothes, costume, and fashion because they are often used to refer to the same thing yet there are

important differences between them. In this dissertation, clothes/clothing is conceived to be

textiles, garments, and fabrics that cover the human body (since they are a uniquely human

product [Eicher and Evenson 2015: xii; Schwarz 1979: 24]) and are worn on an everyday basis.

Costume is considered to be items of dress worn or applied for certain ceremonial or ritual

2
The editors of this publication are Stephen Houston, Nick Carter, and Franco Rossi.
3
Indeed, Orr and Looper (2014: xiii) elected not to dictate any specific terminology to the authors of their edited
volume.
3
occasions, which can include clothes and other non-fabric ornamentation. It therefore stands in

contrast to clothing as an everyday necessity. Fashion is understood to be a set of ideals or

popular styles of dress. It can be a problematic term because of its associations to Western dress

(Tortora 2010) and because it can both emphasize change through time and refer to a specific

point in time. Being ‘fashionable’ comes with an unwillingness to conform to timeless rules

about dressing the body; inherent in striving for fashion is endeavoring to modify dress

according to changing social standards. Jewellery, adornment, and ornamentation are often used

interchangeably but the author considers the former to be specific items of dress such as a

necklace or ring and considers the latter two to encompass jewellery with other dress practices

such as body paint. ‘Dress’ encompasses all of the above, and is therefore an inclusive term that

does not refer to any particular form of attire. Appropriate use of the terms within the larger

encompassing concept of ‘dress’ will lead to an improved understanding of how outward

appearance was constructed and how it related to identity.

Identity, which can be understood as a cross-cultural experience that involves

appreciating who we are and the similarities and/or differences between ourselves and others, is

rooted in aspects of identification on multiple levels, including age, ethnicity,4 gender, sexuality,

and status. Although identity can be thought of as an extremely personal (and thus internal)

experience, identity is also exterior to us and concerns both individuals and groups. In fact,

individuals can personally identify with a particular identity but they must also be validated (or

not) by others (Jenkins 2008: 19). Some identities are not even chosen by free will but can be

culturally ascribed or pre-determined (e.g. the Caste system in India [Insoll 2007: 4]). Individuals

4
Ethnicity is based on shared cultural features and a common-ancestry which may or may not be culturally
constructed.

4
draw upon or perform different identities in different contexts (Butler 1990); what an individual

embodies, knows, learns, or experiences in a certain context can thus affect or determine their

identity. Since aspects of identity are in constant flux, and adapt over time according to changing

social, economic, and political conditions, identity is not a fixed phenomena nor do individuals

have an inevitable identity (Díaz-Andreu and Lucy 2005: 12; Hall 1996: 597). Accordingly,

identities are expressed in various ways: outward appearance, language, and material culture

being just some of the methods.

Studies often combine ‘identity’ with the terms ‘social’ or ‘cultural’ yet Jenkins (2008: 4)

argues that adding these terms is redundant because all human societies are social, and separating

social from cultural is not useful. Other scholars have separated personal and social identity in

recognition of the differences between internal and external identities (Wiessner 1989). Burke

and Stets (2009) have even organized identity into three categories: role, social, and personal.

They argue that role identities are based on the understanding of a role as a set of expectations

tied to a particular social position that guides people’s attitudes and behaviour, and it is verified

by what one does, not who one is. Social identity, they reason, is based on membership in certain

groups (e.g. democrats) and leads individuals to view themselves as embodiments of group

prototypes. Consequently, de-personalization can occur because a group identity is taken on.

Personal identity defines a unique individual, rather than someone that holds a role or is a

member of a group, and their personal identity cannot be adopted or shed as a role or social

identity can be. Individuals verify their personal identities by controlling who one is.

Burke and Stets (2009) suggest that control is an essential part of identity, and that

perceptual control theory can be used to understand the process of how individuals manage their

identities. Through the lens of this theory, identity processes are viewed as being organized
5
through a control system that operates in relation to an ‘identity standard’. They claim that there

is a separate standard for each identity that an individual has. The system is regarded as a circular

one with an input, a comparison to the standard, and then an output. Burke and Stets regard the

most important element of the system to be the input (how you understand yourself to be/ how

you do things) rather than the output (your behaviour). They suggest that if individuals

understand themselves as somewhat different to the standard, modification of their output and

behaviour occurs.

In a similar vein to role and public identity (or internal and external identities), Erving

Goffman (1959), regarded social life as a performance in which individuals concealed their true

identity in the ‘back region’ and revealed a public identity in the ‘front region’. These regions are

comparable to being on and off stage, where an individual is either in private or in front of an

audience. Goffman (1959) theorized that individuals were expected to act in a social manner that

was molded to fit into the expectations of an audience. In this so-called ‘front region’,

performers offer viewers an idealized view of society using sign equipment and forgo actions

that are inconsistent with expectations.

Identity is bound up with concepts of the individual, person, and self, yet is not

synonymous with them. Meskell (1999: 32) defines the individual as a physical human; the

person as a social being; and selfhood as the collected attributes of a person. Jenkins (2008: 27-

28) distinguishes the internal private self to the external public person, and considers the self as

the individual’s private, reflexive, sense of their identity. Meskell (1999: 32) notes that some

scholars use the term personhood instead of selfhood and Jenkins (2008: 29) explains that the

two are difficult to distinguish because the internal and external are inextricably entangled.

Another interesting separation is person, agent, and identity—as explored by Burke and Stets
6
(2009). They argue that each identity an individual has is an agent, and the person becomes the

link between different agencies. For example, an individual can identify as both as a mother and

a teacher, and as agents they can act differently according to each but remained linked by being

in the same person.

Since identities do not stand in isolation from one another, and are more appropriately

thought of as a ‘kaleidoscope’ (Boram-Hays 2005: 38), scholars have acknowledged that it is

important to understand how identities relate to one another. Consequently, they have frequently

studied combinations of identity such as gender and status or gender and age (Díaz-Andreu and

Lucy 2005: 9). The operation of various identities in relation to one another encourages

archaeologists to think about how individuals in the past recognized different identities, and how

they would interact with, or be affected by, these other identities. The study of dress is proving to

be an effective method of exploring ways in which identities in the past were recognized,

experienced, and expressed.

Studies of Maya dress have often focused on a particular type of identity such as gender

(Bruhns 1988; Taylor 1992) or one particular office role (Coe and Kerr 1997), rather than

attempt to understand the dress worn by all members within the court and how this relates to

courtly identity. Conversely, studies of the Maya court have largely failed to focus on dress

(Inomata and Houston 2001a, 2001b; Jackson 2009). This dissertation endeavors to take a more

holistic approach to the study of dress within the royal court, by considering all members

represented in visual imagery. Finally, previous studies of Maya dress have tended to conflate

representations from various media and time periods (Clarkson 1979; Taylor 1983). A carefully

curated dataset of imagery from painted ceramics has been used in this dissertation to understand

the representation of dress within the same media and time period.
7
 It is important to present a terminology of the chronological periods that are used in this

dissertation. The Preclassic (or Formative) period is recognized to be a time in which

characteristic Mesoamerican societies developed and the Maya region experienced population

increase, the development of monumental architecture and large-scale public works, craft

specialization, a distinctive art style, and long-distance trade networks. The Preclassic is

commonly divided into Early Preclassic (2000- 1000 B.C), Middle Preclassic (1000- 400 B.C.),

and Late Preclassic (400 B.C. – A.D. 250). The ensuing Classic Period was once regarded as a

Mesoamerican golden age with societies that had “Classic” features comparable to those of

ancient Greece. Evidence for the institution of kingship is one of the characteristic elements of

the Classic period, and Reese-Taylor and Walker (2002) have argued that the institution of

kingship initially evolved as a means to control long-distance trade routes. The period is

commonly divided into Early Classic (A.D. 250-600), Late Classic (A.D. 600-850), and

Terminal Classic (A.D. 850- 1000). The Postclassic Period is generally divided into Early (1000-

1200 AD) and Late (1200-1500 AD)5 periods. While areas such as the Southern Lowlands and

the central Peten experienced reduced population during the Postclassic, the Northern Lowlands

experienced population growth. Indeed, the Maya continued to construct temples and palaces in

the Postclassic, although some were less monumental than their Classic period predecessors.

A final note on terminology regards that used to refer to ceramics. Where applicable,

museum catalogue numbers for ceramics are provided first (the acronyms for which can be found

in Appendix I) and then followed by ‘K’ numbers—which refer to Justin Kerr’s ceramic

photographs in his Maya Vase Database (http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya.html).

5
The process of Spanish conquest lasted almost 200 years. The Spanish made first contact with the indigenous
peoples of the Americas in 1502, yet it was not until 1524 that the first Spanish capital was established in the Maya
highlands. The last Maya capital (Tayasal) was not conquered until 1697 (see Sharer and Traxler 2006: 757-778).
8
Hereafter, all numbers preceded by a ‘K’ refer to these photographs. While this can lead to

lengthy references for certain ceramics, especially if the museum number contains multiple

letters and numbers, it provides additional provenance information for many ceramics

(provenance refers to the history of ownership [Bellingham 2008: 179]). Finally, unless

otherwise specifically stated, all ceramics should be considered unprovenienced—meaning that

their archaeological context is unknown (see Appendix II for information on the provenience and

provenance of ceramics in the author’s dataset).

Anthropological Implications

Not only does this dissertation contribute to the field of ancient Maya studies by providing an

overview of dress within the royal court, it also speaks to the connection with modern Maya

dress. Although textiles produced in the Maya region today are much more likely to make use of

synthetic materials such as acrylic yarn rather than natural materials such as cotton, there are

strong connections between ancient and modern Maya dress. These connection have been

recognized for some time, especially because the shape of both ancient and modern textiles is

similar (Altman and West 1992: 22)—due to contemporary weavers continuing to manufacture

textiles using a backstrap loom that has its roots in antiquity. Greenfield (2004: 70), in her study

of weaving among Zinacantec females, determined that weavers were guided to weave in the

same manner as their predecessors and “there was no opportunity for trial-and-error

experimentation, which might have led to innovation in textiles.” Thus, tradition and teaching

practices are likely to be among some of the reasons for continuity in Maya weaving and textiles

through time. Furthermore, Junius Bird (1960: 1) has suggested that in prehistoric societies such

as those of Peru, adherence to traditional practices of textile production “was very rigid for long
9
periods of time.” Such conservatism, he suggests, created very slow change and could thus

account for continuity. The explanations for continuity are revisited in the final chapter, using

data that has been gathered from the examination of courtly dress.

The vivid colours and intricate designs of modern indigenous dress, otherwise known as

traje, have attracted many scholars and various ethnographic studies in addition to Greenfield’s

have been carried out in order to record and observe dress practices (Hendrickson 1995; Looper

2003b; Norton 1989). Collectors and museum curators have also taken an interest in indigenous

Maya dress, and as such it forms part of collections and exhibitions in museums and art galleries

around the world (Hecht 2001; Pomar and Rivera 2006; Start 1963). Consequently, there is a

vast field of literature dedicated to the study of indigenous manufacturing practices (Sperlich and

Sperlich 1980), design symbolism (Morris Jr. 1985b), and regional styles (Polanco and Arathoon

2003).

It is important to stress that since this research is an etic study of dress, it cannot achieve

the same level of information as emic anthropological studies about modern dress. Yet, even

emic studies of dress that involve interviewing weavers have demonstrated that some

information cannot be explained in words (Arathoon 2007: 4). What this research does contribute

is a dataset of Late Classic courtly dress to complement the limited number of pre-existing

datasets of ancient Maya dress presently available, to provide a basis for the comparison of

ancient and modern dress practices. One of the most reproduced datasets of ancient Maya dress

is Patricia Anawalt’s (1981: 178) table of Maya textile garments, which was based on a limited

study of Postclassic sources (discussed further in Chapter Three). The dataset in this dissertation

extends the time period, media, and dress elements of Anawalt’s so that a broader understanding

of the differences in ancient and modern Maya dress can be achieved.

10
 Another contribution that this research makes to the anthropological discussion of Maya

dress, is whether or not, like modern indigenous Maya dress, there is evidence of regionalism.

Butler (1931) was the first scholar to attempt to investigate regional and local dress among the

ancient Maya, and later acknowledged that she was unable to do so (Butler 1937: 14). Later,

scholars such as Taylor (1983) and Halperin (2014b) also attempted to investigate ancient Maya

regional dress using iconography but neither found strong evidence to determine its existence.

Although Taylor suggested that regionalism did exist during the Middle Classic period, she

suggested that during the Late Classic (and later periods) regionalism declined and uniformity

became common. In her study of weaving in Mesoamerica, Brumfiel (2006) suggests that

ancient Maya weaving defined class while twentieth-century weaving defined ethnicity.

Importantly, she argues that “distinctive community styles of clothing were not a feature of

prehispanic culture” (Brumfiel 2006: 868). Outside of the Maya region, S. D. McCafferty and G.

G. McCafferty (2012) explored Mixtec codices for evidence of identities, including regional

affiliation, in dress. They determined that some decorative elements may be indicative of

regional trends, yet they may also be indicative of artistic license, and therefore the results were

inconclusive.

Although the comparison of ancient to modern dress is a useful activity, it is important to

consider them apart as well. The ancient Maya had their own, unique, relationships with dress—

as the modern Maya do today— and it is important to recognize this. Modern Maya textiles may

appear, superficially, to be a snapshot of ancient Maya textiles, but they “have changed with the

passage of time” (Polanco and Arathoon 2003: 47). Thus, while comparisons are made in this

dissertation to modern Maya dress, the author acknowledges that there has not been an unbroken

continuation of dress practices from ancient to modern times.

11
Ethical Implications

Ancient Maya ceramics, particularly highly decorative types, have long been admired for their

aesthetic appeal and form part of the collections of museums, galleries, and independent private

collectors around the world. As a result, many have become largely disassociated from their lives

as archaeological objects and are today considered as a category of ‘art’. The idea of

archaeological objects moving into other social spheres, and having new ‘lives’, is one that both

Appadurai (1986) and Just (2012) touch upon. Such opinions are a nod to object agency, which

considers the power of objects to cause change (Gell 1998). However, in the case of ancient

Maya ceramics, their movement into the art world is due to their appropriation by people, not

their power to influence people to make them art objects.

The beginnings of this appropriation can be traced back to the first European voyages to

the Americas in the sixteenth century, when the sailors procured specimens of interest to bring

back with them (Lehmann 1962: 119). The subsequent growth of overseas trade, colonization,

and imperialism led to increased contact with the Americas, and “cabinets of curiosities” began

to appear in Europe in the sixteenth century. Many anthropologists were among the builders of

these collections, thus forming a close relationship between anthropology and museums (Morphy

and Perkins 2006: 5). Regarded as objects of science, rather than art, many of these collections

found their way into museums in the nineteenth century.

In the early twentieth century avant-garde artists like Braque, Matisse, and Picasso saw

aesthetic qualities in so-called ‘primitive’ antiquities which led people to accept different kinds

of non-Western objects, including those from Pre-Columbian America, as ‘art’ (Baudez 2002).

This moved objects beyond the acquisition budgets of ethnographic museums and placed them in

the hands of private collectors or edged them towards art galleries (Morphy and Perkins 2006: 8).
12
Maya art in particular was identified earlier than the art of other cultures of Mesoamerica due to

the more “Classical-looking” styles, and a romanticism which appealed to audiences of the time

(Villela 2012). Consequently, many ancient Maya ceramics have been incorporated into the

collections of museums, art galleries, and individuals across the globe from the twentieth century

onwards (see for example Boone 1993).

The vast majority of painted ceramics within public and private collections are

unprovenienced. This may be a result of illegal looting, excavation prior to the establishment of

modern archaeology, or recovery as a surface deposit. The rediscovery and subsequent looting of

many Maya sites in the twentieth century, particularly in the Peten Department of Guatemala,

was made after the market for chicle bottomed out and chicleros could earn higher rewards by

reporting sites to local traffickers and looters than to archaeologists (Yates 2015: 25).6 Ancient

Maya cultural objects, particularly carved sculptures and small portable objects such as

decorated ceramics and greenstone, were highly sought-after on the art market and began to be

illegally exported from Central America into overseas countries. Rampant looting throughout the

Maya region was so rife after the middle of the twentieth century that Coggins (1969) publicly

called attention to the situation and called for museums to discontinue the trade in illicit Pre-

Columbian antiquities.

The year following Coggins’ article, the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and

Cultural Organization (UNESCO) passed the Convention on the Means of Prohibiting and

Preventing the Illicit Import, Export and Transfer of Ownership of Cultural Property. The

6
Some scholars have empathized with looters from indigenous groups, suggesting that profiting from their own
heritage is not unreasonable (Pendergast 1991:90). In line with this, Matsuda (1998) and Maury (1999) draw
attention to the fact that, from the perspective of indigenous populations, looting is not only a method of economic
survival but a legitimate connection to their heritage and past.
13
convention was aimed at stemming the looting of archaeological sites and the sale of illicit

antiquities around the world, and officially came into force in 1972. Not only did it attempt to

curtail the unethical export of heritage objects from their country of origin, but also to discourage

art-buying nations from importing such objects without due diligence regarding their

provenance. Since it is an agreement between UNESCO member states, and not a law, the

Convention requires ratification7 and nations then decide whether the ratification is self-

executing or executory in nature (Gerstenblith 2013: 364). For example, the United States

viewed the Convention as executory in nature when they voted to ratify it in 1972 and it was not

legally ratified until 1983 when the Convention on Cultural Property Act (CPIA) was enacted

(Gerstenblith 2013: 364; Sokal 2006).

Under CPIA, nations whose cultural heritage is in imminent danger of looting and illicit

trade can ask for a bilateral agreement (which runs for five years and is open for renewal)—

obliging the US to place import controls in designated categories of cultural material from the

country concerned (Brodie 2015: 239). The import of Pre-Columbian antiquities from any

country with a bilateral agreement would therefore be in violation of US law. Unfortunately, the

US declined to implement Article 10(a) of the UNESCO Convention, which obliges dealers to

maintain a register of names and addresses of suppliers (in effect, creating a paper trail to deter

the illicit trade in antiquities), on the grounds that state and municipal governments regulate

antiquities dealers (Sokal 2002).

In Canada, the Cultural Property Export and Import Act (CPEIA)8 was enacted in 1977

and the UNESCO Convention was signed in 1978 (Walden 1995). The CPEIA prohibits the

7
Currently, 132 states have ratified the convention
(http://www.unesco.org/eri/la/convention.asp?KO=13039&language=E, accessed April 26th 2017)
8
http://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/eng/acts/C-51/page-1.html
14
export of cultural property set out in the Canadian Cultural Property Export Control List9

without a permit. The list only includes objects that are 50 or more years old, made by a person

no longer living. Eight groups are listed: objects recovered from the soil or waters of Canada;

objects of ethnographic material culture; military objects; objects of applied and decorative art;

objects of fine art; scientific or technological objects; textual records, graphic records, and sound

recordings; and musical instruments. An export review board reviews applications for export

permit applications, and in cases where a permit is refused financial assistance from the

Canadian government may be provided for institutions such as museums to purchase objects and

keep them in Canada (Walden 1995: 205).

The CPEIA also prohibits the importation of foreign cultural property illegally exported

from a country that is a signatory to an international cultural property agreement such as the

UNESCO Convention. To recover illegally exported cultural property from Canada, the

government of a country must submit a written request to the Canadian Minister. In instances

where purchasers acquired the property without knowledge it had been illegally exported, the

requesting state must also pay compensation of the property value to the purchaser (Gerstenblith

2012: 6-7). Canada has returned cultural property to 12 different states since 1978, including Pre-

Columbian textiles to Bolivia, Pre-Columbian artefacts to Peru, and Pre-Columbian ceramic

artefacts to Mexico.10

An unfortunate feature of the UNESCO Convention is that it is not retroactive and does

not apply to objects exported prior to 1970. If objects were exported from their country of origin

legally prior to the Convention coming into effect they can be sold on the art market lawfully.

9
http://laws-lois.justice.gc.ca/eng/regulations/C.R.C.,_c._448/index.html
10
http://canada.pch.gc.ca/eng/1458853563018
15
Although the date of 1970 has no legal significance, it marks an ethical watershed toward the

acceptance of unprovenienced antiquities because it was the first time that the problem of

protecting national heritage at an international level was addressed (Bellingham 2008: 179;

Brodie 2014: 440). Unfortunately, many nations were reluctant to sign the Convention and it was

mostly those with more heritage to lose and/or less spending power on the art market who were

early signatories (Bellingham 2008: 180).

Prior to the UNESCO Convention, various Latin American countries established national

laws to protect their cultural heritage.11 For example, as early as 1947 Guatemala passed the Law

for the Protection and Preservation of the Monuments, Archaeological, Historical, and

Archetypical Objects.12 Other agreements were later put in place to protect the illegal export of

antiquities. In the same year as the creation of the UNESCO Convention, the Treaty of

Cooperation Between the United States of America and the United Mexican States Providing for

the Recovery and Return of Stolen Archaeological, Historical and Cultural Properties was

established (Coggins 1998: 58, 63). This was closely followed by US Public Law Regulation of

Importation of Pre-Columbian Monumental or Architectural Sculpture or Murals in 1972. The

former treaty was designed to aid Mexico in recovering illegally exported materials, and the

latter law targeted the looting problem that Central America was encountering (see Coggins

1969). 1972 also saw Mexico pass its Federal Law on Monuments and Archaeological, Artistic,

and Historic Zones,13 which decreed that artefacts and monuments were the property of the

Mexican nation. The law, bolstered by the US National Stolen Property Act, led to the conviction

11
Such laws can be found on the UNESCO Database of National Cultural Heritage Laws:
http://www.unesco.org/culture/natlaws/index.php?lng=en
12
The official Spanish title is Ley Sobre Proteccion y Conservacion de los Monumentos, Objetos Arqueologicos,
Historicos y Tipicos.
13
The official Spanish title is ‘Ley Federal Sobre Monumentos y Zonas Arqueológicos, Artísticos e Históricos’.
16
of five antiquities dealers in the 1977 court case United States v. McClain. The dealers were

found guilty of conspiring to transport, receive, and sell stolen Mexican antiquities (Gerstenblith

2006: 69; Hoffman 2006: 165).

While such laws decreased the quantity of monuments and sculpture from Latin America

on the international art market, looting continued to be rife and smaller portable artefacts that

were not specifically covered by legislation, such as ceramic vases, became particularly sought-

after. This led to some Latin American countries requesting emergency import restrictions from

the United States (one of the principal markets for antiquities). They began in 1987 when El

Salvador requested import restrictions on material from the Cara Sucia region, and the most

recent was in 1991 when Guatemala requested import restrictions on material from the Peten

region.14 Memoranda of Understanding (MOU’s) between the United States and countries to the

south were later established. These bilateral agreements place import restrictions on various

archaeological and cultural materials, and are necessary for the 1970 UNESCO Convention to be

effective between two state parties. There is currently no MOU between the US and Mexico, but

the US has signed MOU’s with El Salvador (1995); Guatemala (1997); Peru (1997); Nicaragua

(1999); Bolivia (2001) Honduras (2004); Colombia (2006); and Belize (2013).15 Mexico also has

bilateral agreements with Belize, Bolivia, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Peru.16

In 1995 the International Institute for the Unification of Private Law (UNIDROIT) passed

the Convention on Stolen or Illegally Exported Cultural Objects,17 designed to augment the 1970

14
Details of these emergency restrictions can be viewed at: https://eca.state.gov/cultural-heritage-center/cultural-
property-protection/bilateral-agreements
15
https://eca.state.gov/cultural-heritage-center/cultural-property-protection/bilateral-agreements
16
See ICOM ‘Red List’ 2009: http://icom.museum/fileadmin/user_upload/images/Redlists/Central_America-
Mexico/RLCAM_ENG.pdf
17
http://www.unidroit.org/english/conventions/1995culturalproperty/1995culturalproperty-e.pdf
17
UNESCO Convention. The UNIDROIT Convention focused on facilitating the recovery and

return of stolen cultural property, with ‘stolen’ defined as property that has been unlawfully

excavated or lawfully excavated but unlawfully retained. Purchasers of stolen cultural property

are required to return it if requested by the State from which it was removed, yet are entitled to

compensation provided evidence of due diligence or evidence that they ought not to have known

the object was stolen. The Convention therefore privileges the victims of theft over good-faith

purchasers (Tubb 2006: 288). Like the UNESCO Convention, the UNIDROIT Convention is not

retroactive and Janet Ulph (in Ulph and Smith 2012: 61-62) argues that this benefits market

states—the principle ones of which have not yet signed the Convention.18 One of the strong

pushbacks has been because the Convention forces dealers to make detailed enquiries about

object provenance, which goes against the traditional manner in which antiquities have been

traded (Ulph and Smith 2012: 62).

Many archaeologists strongly deplore the sale and purchase of antiquities that have been

illicitly excavated (Alexander 1990; Argyropoulos, et al. 2011). While collectors of

unprovenienced antiquities have often defended their actions, claiming their purchases help to

preserve cultural heritage (Griffin 1986; Johnson 1992: 7-8), various archaeological associations

argue that looted antiquities and their commercialization contribute to the destruction of the past

and threaten the significance of our shared cultural heritage. Both the Archaeological Institute of

America (AIA)19 and Society for American Archaeology (SAA)20 have published ethical codes

that publicly renounce the trade, sale, and purchase of unprovenienced antiquities and neither

association participate in the publication of such objects. They encourage archaeologists to

18
The current signatories to the UNIDROIT Convention can be viewed at: http://www.unidroit.org/status-cp
19
https://www.archaeological.org/sites/default/files/files/Code%20of%20Ethics%20(2016).pdf
20
http://www.saa.org/AbouttheSociety/PrinciplesofArchaeologicalEthics/tabid/203/Default.aspx
18
carefully evaluate the benefit of studying such material against the dangers of potentially

enhancing the commercial value of that material.

To overcome the ethical issues of collecting unprovenienced objects, many museums

now adhere to guidelines set out by museum associations such as the Association of Art Museum

Directors (AAMD) and the International Council of Museums (ICOM). These guidelines set out

standards of professional practice for museums, clearly stating that the acquisition of

unprovenienced artefacts should be avoided unless it can be demonstrated they were exported

from their country of origin before 1970— which Gerstenblith (2013) describes as adhering to

“the 1970 standard”. She also explains that such guidelines are voluntary because organizations,

institutions, or associations cannot become a party to the UNESCO Convention (Gerstenblith

2013: 365). The AAMD first established guidelines for the Acquisition of Archaeological

Material and Ancient Art in 2004 but were adjusted in 2008 to emphasize the importance of the

1970 UNESCO Convention (Hagen 2012: 6).

Under the AAMD guidelines, museums in the association are required to demonstrate

that an object “was out of its country of modern discovery prior to or legally exported therefrom

after November 17, 1970, with certain exceptions.”21 These exceptions include if the museum

believes the object was outside its country of origin prior to 1970, or legally exported after 1970.

Additionally, a museum is exempt from the guidelines if the object was a gift or bequest prior to

2008. Revisions to the guidelines in 2013 added that if an object’s acquisition falls under the

exceptions, it must be posted on their Object Registry22 with an explanation of why its

acquisition is consistent with the exceptions (see Appendix I for a list of museums in this study

21
https://aamd.org/sites/default/files/document/AAMD%20Guidelines%202013.pdf
22
https://aamd.org/object-registry
19
that are members of the AAMD). Unfortunately, objects in museum collections tend to have little

to no provenance information available (i.e. the history of ownership) which furthers the distrust

and distaste that many archaeologists have for them. Yet, as Coggins (1998: 62) has argued, once

objects “are actually in museum collections, it is incumbent on scholars to reconstruct their

historic integrity and use them in any way possible.”

In the same year that the AAMD first established their acquisition guidelines, ICOM

introduced The Code of Ethics for Museums, which sets out minimum standards of professional

practice and guides museums in ethical and protective measures for their collections.23 Among

several suggestions concerning illicit cultural property, they suggest museums “avoid displaying

or otherwise using material of questionable origin or lacking provenance” because it “can be

seen to condone and contribute to the illicit trade in cultural property”. One of ICOM’s programs

is ‘Fighting Illicit Traffic’, which includes the publication and distribution of ‘Red Lists’—these

lists classify the categories of objects in certain regions and countries around the world that are

vulnerable to looting and illegal exportation.24

Red Lists specific to Pre-Columbian25 cultural objects have been published, some of

which feature Maya antiquities, to appeal to museums, auction houses, dealers, and collectors not

to acquire the objects, as well as to aid custom officials and dealers in identifying at-risk objects.

Significantly, Maya polychrome ceramics are the first objects to receive attention in the Red List

of Latin American Cultural Objects at Risk (published 2003) and the Red List of Endangered

Cultural Objects of Central American and Mexico (published 2009). The author has also

23
http://icom.museum/fileadmin/user_upload/pdf/Codes/code_ethics2013_eng.pdf
24
http://icom.museum/programmes/fighting-illicit-traffic/red-list/
25
It should be noted that, unless otherwise indicated, the use of Pre-Columbian in this dissertation usually concerns
Central America (including Mexico) and not South America.
20
demonstrated that Maya decorative ceramics are the most popular material class at Sotheby’s

auctions (Tremain 2017). Consequently, this dissertation makes use of one of the most at-risk

artefact types in the Maya region.

Despite the ethical issues surrounding the study of unprovenienced ceramics, this

dissertation seeks to learn about ancient Maya dress from all relevant painted ceramics regardless

of provenience. In doing so, the author follows the example set by other studies such as Just

(2012) and hopes to contribute more value to the field by studying these ceramics. Even the

celebrated scholar of Maya art, Herbert Spinden, recognized the value of studying such objects

(Miller 1999: 16) and the famous photographer of Maya art, Justin Kerr, has argued that

“although it is unfortunate when vases are removed from their original context, there is still an

enormous amount of information to be gleaned from these orphans” (Kerr 1992a: 366).

Consequently, the author believes that the scholarly benefit of the research vastly outweighs any

ethical issues that can result from using unprovenienced ceramics.

The author recognizes that this approach is contrary to that of many other archaeologists

and archaeological associations that choose not to use unprovenienced materials in their

research. However, a large number of the vases in the author’s dataset are known to be, or

thought to be, part of a public museum collection or currently on display in a museum (see

Chapter Five). Studying objects from public institutions is in line with the SAA’s ethical code, as

is the study of objects that are “readily available for…public interpretation”.26 Since 80% of the

ceramic scenes in the author’s dataset are easily accessible from online sources (see Chapter

Five), the study principally includes vases that are already available in public venues.

26
http://www.saa.org/AbouttheSociety/PrinciplesofArchaeologicalEthics/tabid/203/Default.aspx
21
 The research may be at odds with the AIA’s code of ethics, however, which explains that

unprovenienced objects include those that are not documented as “belonging to a public or

private collection before December 30, 1970, when the AIA Council endorsed the UNESCO

Convention”. As discussed in Chapter Five, 94% of the unprovenienced ceramics in the dataset

have no clear provenance prior to 1970 (at least none that is available publicly nor discovered

during the author’s archival research). However, provenance does not, and should not, take

precedence over provenience: a date pre- or post- 1970 does not negate the fact that it has been

illegally looted. The author would argue that a more productive means of dealing with the study

of unprovenienced and/or unprovenanced material is not to avoid its use altogether (especially

given the great benefits to scholarly knowledge such material can bring) but to advocate for

stronger legislative measures (as Gerstenblith [2007] has argued) so that such material cannot be

illegally exported and imported, nor bought and sold on the art market. Combined with efforts to

reduce demand (as Polk [2013] has argued), the trade and commercial value of looted material

can be reduced.

Theoretical Implications

It is important to consider that the Classic Maya likely theorized and experienced dress in very

different ways to a modern reader, and may not have had as many layered, multivalent, and even

conflicting relationships with dress as exist today. Various theoretical stances can be taken when

studying dress, yet some are more applicable than others when observing dress from an etic

perspective using visual representations. An exploration of the sensual nature of Late Classic

dress has not been explored in this research, since the focus has been on the communication of

22
identities through visual representations. Thus, as with any research, there are limitations that the

reader should keep in mind while considering the conclusions of this research.

Since courtiers were part of a selective and powerful organization within ancient Maya

society, theories on organizational dress have been applied to the dataset (Rafaeli and Pratt

1993). People in organizations such as a court actively work together in certain ways and have

shared values (Grey 2013: 62, 68). A role within an organization is one of the most defining

aspects of an individual’s identity, and structures their behaviour while in that role (Kenny, et al.

2011: 70; Keyton 2005: 5). As discussed above, a role is considered to be an assignment or

responsibility that a courtier undertook on a regular basis. It can be differentiated from an

activity, which is considered to be a specific short-term, or even one-time, action that can be

undertaken while in a particular role. In other words, a role is a regularly occurring duty that a

courtier held as part of the royal court (akin to an office position) and while in that role they

could perform different activities for different purposes. It is important to stress that a role

identity is not static nor fixed, since an individual performs a role and thus performs an identity

while in that role (Butler 1990). It is thus very much related to context, since different role

identities are appropriate in different situations.

Application of these concepts to ancient Maya dress is novel, and aid in a new way of

thinking about dress within the court and wider Maya society. Organizational dress theory is

particularly suitable for assessing evidence of the presence of ‘uniforms’ within the Maya royal

court—which up until now have not been accurately evaluated by scholars (see Chapter Three).

Thinking about ancient Maya courtly dress in this way also allows for an insight into the

organizational behaviour of royal courts, and whether they sought to control the behaviour of

their members or influence the interactions that members had with non-members.
23
 This dissertation encourages readers to think not only about the communicative potential

of ancient Maya dress, and the relationship between dress and identity in the court, but also the

social lives of the ceramics themselves (Appadurai 1986; Just 2012). In doing so, it encourages

the reader to consider not simply the images painted onto their surfaces but the processes and

events that were involved in their application. The author is aware that a study of dress within the

court is possible without physically viewing any painted ceramics in person. However, a desire

to understand the original artists’ hand; their methods of representation; and the intimate viewing

methods necessary for observing royal court scenes, led to a research design that involved

assessing Maya ceramics in person. This method acknowledges the importance of a material

culture approach, despite primarily using visual imagery, and thus uses the strengths that can be

found in both archaeological and art historical studies. Bridging disciplines in this way

demonstrates that the study of ancient Maya dress can, and should, be interdisciplinary and

integrate as many different theories as possible to advance its field of study.

Unfortunately, visual representation can only provide select information (Gombrich

1986: 176). Thus, the information that can be gained from a predominately visual analysis is

limited. Combined with this is the danger of integrating inauthentic representations into a dataset

of visual imagery. This dissertation highlights the prevalent, but often overlooked, problem of

restorations, fakes and forgeries in Maya art and attempts to provide information on ways in

which they can be identified in scholarly study. In presenting information about inauthentic

representations, not only are the life histories of ceramics presented but the impact that such

inauthenticity can have toward a study of ancient Maya dress is revealed.

Finally, it is important to stress that this study is a product of the author’s personal

methodology. The way in which ceramic images have been selected and analyzed, as well as the
24
process of identifying and interpreting dress elements within them, will differ from other

scholars’ methods of studying dress within the Maya royal court. For example, other scholars

may have chosen to include all ceramic forms and all decorative styles. Furthermore, they may

not have been as strict when selecting which scenes to include and exclude from the dataset, nor

may they have decided to separate dress on ceramics from dress on other media such as stelae

and figurines. Though the results are a product of the author’s theoretical stance, they are

interpreted with the context of the Late Classic Maya court in mind as well as the artists who

both wore and painted ancient Maya dress.

The next chapter introduces the ancient Maya royal court, including court members, and

provides various avenues for identifying the court—including visual imagery. The court is

situated in the context of the Late Classic and its various methods of organization and control are

discussed. Chapter Three provides an in-depth discussion of dress as an identity marker,

particularly as it relates to role identity within an organization, and also introduces the theory of

semiotics and how it relates to dress. It then examines evidence for ancient Maya dress from the

archaeological, epigraphic, iconographic, ethnohistoric, and ethnographic records, followed by

an overview of current evidence for courtly dress. The fourth chapter explores the theories of

reading visual art and the issues surrounding inauthentic visual representations, to aid in the

analysis of dress in visual imagery. Importantly, it provides the reader with a background to

restorations, fakes, and forgeries in Maya art and how they relate to ceramic studies.

Chapter Five presents the author’s methodology of selecting and studying painted scenes

of the Maya court and provides the results of the analysis of dress elements within them. Dress is

separated into several categories and discussed in a systematic manner. The end of the fifth
25
chapter analyses the relationship between official titled roles in the Maya court and the dress

worn by individuals in these roles. The final chapter discusses how the results relate to courtly

identity—specifically whether there is evidence that dress made court roles salient—and offers

suggestions about the relationship between dress and courtly identity among the ancient Maya. It

also discusses the relationship between ancient Maya dress and modern indigenous Maya dress,

and how the study of dress can reveal the life histories of ancient Maya painted ceramics.

26
 CHAPTER 2: THE ANCIENT MAYA ROYAL COURT

The Ancient Maya royal court was both a physical location in space and a collection of

individuals with various roles and identities. As a collection of individuals, the court possessed

the political power of the community and existed as the central ruling body of each polity.27 At

the head of each court was the monarch, who relied on his or her group of assistants and aids for

cooperation and advice. In addition to being the political nucleus, the royal court was also the

residential quarters of the royal family, foreign dignitaries, and other visitors. Therefore, the

Maya court can be thought of as a “hybrid institution” that incorporated both domestic and

administrative sectors (McAnany 2013: 230). Crucially, Maya courts varied through time and

space and were not static entities— as the relocation of various courts attests (Carter 2016: 234).

Therefore, although they were foundationally similar in purpose, they must be understood as

diverse entities. Throughout the world royal courts vary in size and format but their pivotal

feature is that they are centered on the sovereign and their members are bound by mutual

understandings and obligations. Variability in court organization in the Maya area may have

been strategically flexibility, allowing courts to adjust to changing circumstances and incorporate

members in different ways.

Although the physical remnants of royal courts were recognized by early explorers in the

Maya region, such as John Lloyd Stephens (Stephens 1841a, b), it was not until Tatiana

Proskouriakoff (1960) recognized the historical content of Maya hieroglyphic writing that

scholars began to study royal lineages and individuals associated with the court. Michael Coe

27
Maya polities were groups of affiliated sites.
27
(1973) later demonstrated that specific court members, other than the ruler, could be identified in

both text and image. Once the identification of courtiers was underway, scholars such as Linda

Schele and Mary Miller (1986) began to study the dynamics of royal courts, their members, and

the activities that took place within them. In 1998, almost forty years after Proskouriakoff’s

important breakthrough, Takeshi Inomata and Stephen Houston organized the symposium Royal

Courts of the Ancient Maya at Yale University, which resulted in the publication of a two-part

volume (Inomata and Houston 2001a, b). The symposium developed from a smaller session on

the same topic at the American Anthropological Association two years prior, and was intended to

explore the court in a greater intellectual and chronological scope. The final publications

generated 20 articles and included studies of the peopling of the court, as well as the court’s

architectural signatures, iconographic representations, and political dimensions.

In the same year as Inomata and Houston’s symposium, Mary Miller began to organize

the exhibition Courtly Art of the Ancient Maya in conjunction with the Fine Arts Museum of San

Francisco, which opened in 2004 and resulted in a publication of the same name (Miller and

Martin 2004). The exhibition took an in-depth look inside the courts where Maya art was made

and where works were commissioned or even demanded in tribute. The year prior to the opening

of the exhibition, the edited volume Maya Palaces and Elite Residences was published (Christie

2003b), which complemented the exhibition by providing numerous examples of the

architectural settings of courts throughout the Maya region. More recently, both Sarah Jackson

(2013) and Antonia Foias (2013) have investigated the political nature of the Maya court through

an analysis of archaeological, iconographic, hieroglyphic, and ethnohistoric evidence. This

dissertation draws upon the rich body of evidence currently available about Maya royal courts to

learn more about the role that dress played in the everyday life and activities of courtiers.
28
The Court in Context

The Maya royal court developed around the institution of divine kingship, to aid a monarch in

ruling over a community. Clark and Hansen (2001) suggest that roots of the court developed in

the Maya region during the Middle Preclassic period, between 600-400 B.C., but features of the

court likely developed earlier elsewhere in Mesoamerica. Consequently, it is likely that “the

Preclassic Maya adopted their royal institutions and court” from elsewhere in Mesoamerica

(Clark and Hansen 2001: 3). Unfortunately, as Clark and Hansen explain, social features of the

court cannot be easily traced back through time and therefore archaeologists largely rely on the

preservation of architectural remains to reconstruct the development of the Maya court.

During the Late Classic in the Maya region the struggle for power escalated and it is a

period characterized by political unrest and escalating military excursions. ‘Star wars’ tell us of

especially devastating conflicts between rival cities (Martin 1996) and emphasize heightened

hostilities during the Late Classic. One of the most visible rivalries expressed by Maya

hieroglyphic texts was between Tikal’s Mutul dynasty and the Kanal (also known as Kann)

dynasty at Calakmul (Carter 2016: 234; Martin and Grube 2008: 108). One consequence of

heightened conflict was the division of large dynasties into smaller and geographically removed,

secondary, courts. By sending court members to govern newly acquired or tenuously held

territories, independent royal courts were established under the power of an overlord (Carter

2016: 233). For example, the sites of La Pasadita and El Cayo, the former subject to the site of

Yaxchilan and the latter to the site of Piedras Negras, were governed by lords (more specifically

sajals—see definition below) rather than a royal ruler (Martin and Grube 2008: 131, 151).

Reflecting the flexibility of the court, rulers exercised different levels of control over these

secondary courts; there was no one method of managing them.

29
 The governing of secondary centers by non-royal elites demonstrate a more inclusive

form of rule, and suggest that power was shared between certain court members. The sharing of

power between members of the Late Classic court may have been a political strategy. It relates to

a corporate policy, whereby power is shared across a group to inhibit exclusionary, or network,

policies (Blanton, et al. 1996). The latter is an individually-centered power strategy and therefore

contrasts a corporate policy. The two different strategies were likely both used within large states

at different times. Inclusive rule may have been a strategy to manage the burgeoning populations

of the Late Classic period, as well as controlling valuable trade routes and exotic resources

(Carter 2016: 234; Sharer and Golden 2004: 36).

Various scholars have commented on the organization of Maya royal courts, and have

compared them to modern political systems to identify similarities and differences. Both Inomata

(2001a) and Foias (2013) suggest that bureaucracy, defined as a formal institution specialized in

administration and related affairs, was underdeveloped in Classic Maya society. Both authors

suggest that the rules expected within a bureaucracy do not appear in ancient Maya court

systems, and instead they appear to have been fairly fluid organizations that were far less

impersonal. In such a system, courtiers could be recruited by the ruler rather than coming into

office through birthright or based on merit. This allowed a ruler to choose aides carefully and

strategically, in an attempt to protect the dynastic power base as best as possible. Jackson (2005:

604) suggests that because a codified suite of offices existed within the court (see below), yet

personal relationships within the court remained important, a “mid-level bureaucracy” existed

among the Classic Maya.

However, struggles for power within the court emerged as a result of the increasing

dilution of dynastic power. Representing the monarch and acting on his or her behalf, in
30
activities ranging from sport to bloodletting, allowed certain courtiers to station themselves in

more privileged positions. It also likely led to rulers depending on secondary nobles for various

tasks and contributions (O'Neil 2012: 162). Drawing on various sources of power, such as

economic, political, or social, high-positioned courtiers were able to achieve authority and

thereby pose a challenge to the power of divine rule. As a result, “an expanding cadre of

subordinates siphoned off the authority and wealth once monopolized by the k’uhul ajaw (see

definition below), leading to the demise of the institution of divine kingship” (Sharer and Golden

2004: 41).

An important examination of Maya political organization that likely informed the

organization of royal courts has focused on whether they were centralized or decentralized (Fox,

et al. 1996). The centralized model suggests that there were a limited number of large-scale

centralized polities within the Maya region, characterized by rulers who were able to amass and

centralize considerable political power, and the decentralized model suggests that there were

numerous small-scale weakly integrated polities, where the capital of a polity did not have strong

control over secondary or tertiary centers (Foias and Emery 2012: 8). Most archaeologists

correlate strong centralization with elite control over the economic infrastructure and

decentralization with a lack of elite involvement in economic matters of production and

exchange (Foias and Emery 2012: 7). Decentralized models have included the peer-polity model;

segmentary state; theatre state; galactic model; city-state model; and regal-ritual centers model.

All relate to a model that sees the polity as weakly centralized (Foias and Emery 2012: 8).

The dichotomy between centralized and decentralized polities has been criticized because

they are two extremes at each end of a continuum and Maya polities probably varied along this

range (Foias and Emery 2012: 8). Joyce Marcus has instead proposed the dynamic model,
31
whereby all ancient civilizations cycled between periods of centralized powerful states and

fragmented landscapes of smaller and weaker states. Others have suggested the dichotomy is

false and should be abandoned; they instead suggest that the Maya used a number of strategies

for maintaining political power, and different cities chose different strategies based on local

conditions. For example, Demarest (2001: 117) suggests that sites such as Caracol, Tikal, and

Calakmul were centralized states during the Late Classic but other Maya centers had less

centralized authority or settlement and relied heavily on warfare and/or ritual as sources of royal

power to hold together loose hegemonies of satellite centers. Furthermore, he claims that even

within a single region kingdoms experienced both gradual changes and radical shifts in their

degree of centralized power; thus, he characterizes Maya states as “protean” in nature (2001:

118).

As well as the political organization of Maya royal courts, their social organization has

also been studied. The house society model has been used to explore Maya social organization

(Gillespie 2000), which suggests that the house is both a physical structure that relates to a group

of people and a symbolic structure that relates to social organization. The model suggests that

there is variability among the groups of people living in houses, and the house itself is the

materialization of these relationships. With regard to the royal court, the model suggests that it

“acted as a metaphorical “household,” an idealized domestic space that has both cosmological

and quotidian associations” (Jackson 2005: 58). Sharer and Golden (2004: 28) suggest that the

house model presents a locus for a corporate body organized by a shared residence, subsistence,

origin, ritual actions, and means of production, and thereby fits very well with the information

we have for Maya dynasties.

32
 Houston and McAnany (2003) have criticized the house society model because Maya

hieroglyphic texts emphasize single individuals as owners of houses, whereas the model

privileges the household unit. Although the de-emphasis of lineage and bloodlines that the house

society model suggests appears to fit the evidence of recruitment into the royal court, ancient

Maya dynastic power was overwhelmingly tied to kinship. Therefore, the foundation of Maya

courts rested on a monarch who could demonstrate ties to powerful ancestors and not on the

identity of a household-type group. Consequently, the house society model has not seen much

use with regard to Maya court organization, and scholars such as Jackson (2005: 63) have

specifically not adopted it in their investigations of the Maya court.

A final consideration of court organization to be discussed here, since it is pertinent to the

manufacture of clothing and adornment, is the “production” and “specialization” (Costin 1991)

of goods and resources within the court. Production refers to the transformation of raw materials

into usable products, and specialization is a means of organizing production (Costin 1991: 3). A

product that has a high number of producers in relation to consumers has a low degree of

specialization while a product that has a low number of specialists in relation to consumers has a

high degree of specialization (Costin 1991: 4). In addition to degrees of specialization, there are

also types of specialization. For example, high-value products for restricted (elite) consumption

are considered to be types of attached specialization while utilitarian products for broad (non-

elite) distribution are considered to be types of independent specialization (Costin 1991: 5). The

concepts ‘attached’ and ‘independent’ were originally proposed to distinguish between

production systems that had overt elite involvement and those with little to no elite involvement

(Costin 2007: 152).

33
 Although it is now recognized that “there is no simple association between particular

types of products and one form of production or the other” (Costin 2007: 155), it has often been

assumed that products related to attached specialization are manufactured from exotic, long-

distance, materials while those related to independent specialization are manufactured from

locally available and less expensive materials. Accordingly, products manufactured by

independent specialists are often assumed to have been produced for a general market in a much

wider distribution compared to products manufactured through attached specialization (Costin

1991: 11). Furthermore, high-status artisans are usually associated with the former type of

specialization while lower skilled artisans are associated with the latter type.

In relation to the production of dress elements, McAnany (2013: 232) suggests that court

members “required a ready supply of costuming materials, such as quetzal feathers and marine

shell.” Artisans who produced such items correlate with Richard Adams (1970: 490) third class

of occupational specialization, which he suggests called “for frequent and familiar relationships

with the elite”—recalling attached specialization. Similarly, Bishop, Harbottle, et al. (1985: 160)

assert that “most investigators would agree that the elaborate polychrome ceramics display a

mastery of artistic expression indicative of full-time specialization”, and are therefore also

usually associated with attached specialists.

It is now understood that there is not such a clear agreement between attached and elite

versus independent and non-elite. For example, both non-elites and elites can manufacture

products in attached contexts (Inomata 2001b)—despite the common assumption that attached

specialists are non-elites who are controlled by elites. Costin (2007) maintains that the context of

production correlates with political economy and power structure, with attached specialists

serving to uphold sociopolitical differentiation. She has argued that “there can be no attached
34
specialization in egalitarian societies. Attached specialization appears to evolve along with social

inequality, as a means for elites and governments to supply themselves with special, high-value

goods, to finance their activities, and to control the ideology and technology of power” (Costin

1991: 12). The centralized model of Maya organization posits that attached specialization was

sponsored and managed by powerful elites. If an accurate reflection of the political economy,

specialists may have worked full time model within a dedicated setting (see the discussion on

artisan workshops below) or they may have been part-time and recruited as and when required.

However, the artisans engaged in attached specialization need not have been powerless

craftspeople attached to patrons. Houston and Inomata (2009: 268-269) suggest that Maya

artisans engaged in both attached and independent production because they manufactured

products for rulers and patrons but also manufactured products at their own will, either for their

own use or for sale or exchange. In this sense they view artisans as active players competing in

court, and competing for power.

Court Members

Membership in the court included the royal family and nobles, but also extended to lower status

individuals who provided assistance to the royal family. Consequently, there were a range of

individuals with various roles and identities in the ancient Maya royal court. These roles and

identities were not static and likely changed as courtiers performed different activities and

interacted with other court members. Houston, et al. (2006: 46) assert that court members

required “great knowledge” to participate in courtly life and activities, which set them apart from

individuals outside the court who were untrained in such matters. Those inside the court were

therefore likely considered to be important members of the community, and perhaps were
35
recognized individuals in their communities. Many members of the court likely had no blood ties

with the royal family or ruler (Houston and Inomata 2009: 153) and it was therefore possible for

non-regal individuals to become courtiers, and to do so may have been an ambition that many

shared in the ancient Maya world.

Individuals with a variety of specialized occupations made up the Maya royal court.

These included entertainers such as singers and dancers, craft specialists, warriors, architects,

athletes, and many others. At various times captives and slaves would also have been resident at

court, where they would have acted as important pawns in political negotiations. Adams (1970)

discusses some of these individuals and the evidence that is available for them. There were also

an assortment of specializations and ranking offices within the court, some identified by formal

titles. Courtiers with these titles may have been influential within the court, and at various times

they may have attempted to increase their influence by impressing themselves upon, or

attempting to sway the decisions of, the monarch (Houston and Inomata 2009: 150).

Interestingly, courtiers seem able to have held more than one office title during their lifetime. For

example Aj Sik’ab, an elite from the site of Palenque, held the courtly offices of both ti’sakhuun

and sajal (see below for descriptions of both offices [Jackson 2005: 183]). The increase in

courtier titles during the eighth century “reflects a changing political situation with more people

with various roles and titles in the constellation of Maya royal courts” (O'Neil 2012: 162). It is

often assumed that courtiers derived their status based on physical association with the ruler

(Sharer and Golden 2004: 36), and it is thus logical for members of the court vying for power

and influence to situate themselves as close to the supreme authority as possible: the k’uhul ajaw.

36
Ajaw

The title ajaw (Figure 2.1) translates as ‘lord’, and it is a hieroglyphic sign that appears as early

as the third century B.C. but it is unclear whether it held the same meaning as later examples of

the sign (Houston and Inomata 2009: 132). It may have at one time been reserved for use by

rulers, but during the Late Classic it was a title that could also be used by nobles (Houston and

Stuart 2001: 60, 62). Houston (2016: 403) explains that current evidence points to an ajaw

referring to the offspring of a ruler. The title was not limited to men and there are instances in

which females are named as an ajaw (Figure 2.2). Toward the end of the Early Classic the title

acquired the element k’uhul, which translates as ‘holy’ or ‘sacred’ (Houston and Inomata 2009:

132), and was used to indicate a divine ruler.

Sharer and Golden (2004: 40) assert that Maya polities were organized around the

institution of divine kingship, rather than a particular individual as ruler. They suggest that

polities could withstand the loss of a ruler, and even the cessation of a dynasty, as long as the

office of k’uhul ajaw was retained. Such a scenario took place in the Naranjo polity when a new

line of divine kings was installed after the old dynasty had been extinguished by warfare (Martin

and Grube 2008: 73-74). Other elements associated with the title ajaw were kaloomte’, which

refers to a powerful ruler, and k’inich, which translate as “Great Sun” (Coe and Stone 2001: 76).

Ajaws credited with the title kaloomte’ were often renowned for their military prowess,

and considered to have physical power, but all ajaws were also considered powerful spiritual

leaders and acted as a medium between the social and supernatural worlds. Rulers did not derive

their power and authority from lineage alone. Although rulership was usually patrilineal, some of

the most powerful k’uhul ajaws had weak kin-based relationships with their predecessors, such

as K’inich Janaab Pakal who ruled the site of Palenque (Martin and Grube 2008: 161). Maya
37
rulers also drew their power base from warfare and coercion, ideology, morality, and control of

resources (Sharer and Golden 2004: 29-32). It is also likely that “Classic kingship emphasized

power through personal charisma” (Looper 2003a: 2).

A final element associated with the title ajaw were emblem glyphs. These hieroglyphs

were first recognized by Heinrich Berlin (1958) who suggested they were place names of Maya

cities. Joyce Marcus (1976) later theorized that they were reflective of the structure and ranking

of Maya polities. More recent scholarship has revealed that emblem glyphs act as titles of rulers,

naming them the k’uhul ajaw of a certain polity rather than indicative of a specific geographic

location (Bíró 2012; Tokovinine 2011). Many sub-lords acknowledged the dominance of their

overlord in the texts they commissioned. Thus, some lords are stated to be yajaw “the ajaw of”

another. Others conducted actions that are said to have taken place ukab’jiy (or uchab’jiy) “under

the supervision of” an overlord. In some rare instances, lords of subordinate centers used the

same emblem glyph title as their overlords (e.g. Dos Pilas and Tikal). In these instances, the

emblem glyphs indicate descent from a common origin, though it is not clear whether the origin

is a specific site or geographic area (Bíró 2012).

Royal Wives

Royal succession in the Maya region was strongly patrilineal and the rule of queens arose only in

circumstances when no other males from the ruling line were available (Martin and Grube 2008:

14). Maya kings appear to have been polygamous, as Bird Jaguar of Yaxchilan demonstrates

(Martin and Grube 2008: 131), and therefore royal courts may have included a harem (Inomata

2008: 38). Marriage negotiations were important political strategies for the Maya, since

marriages of individuals from different sites created new ties and alliances between different
38
dynasties. For example, ruler Bajlaj Chan K’awiil of Dos Pilas arranged for his daughter, Lady

Six Sky, to marry a ruler of Naranjo, and Ruler 3 of Dos Pilas (also known as ‘Master of Sun

Jaguar’) was married to a female from the site of Cancuen (Martin and Grube 2008: 61, 74). On

K2573 (Figure 2.3, Table 2.1) the hieroglyphic text names Tayel Chan K’inich, ruler of the site

of Motul de San José and a female, likely his wife, who may be from the Mutul dynasty (though

it is not known whether she was from Tikal or Dos Pilas [Tokovinine and Zender 2012:50]) .

Having many wives not only increased the possibility of royal offspring, and therefore

continuance of the dynasty, but it also increased the production of textiles (Evans 2001: 257;

Houston and Inomata 2009: 148). Textiles were important commodities in Maya courts because

they could be used as tribute and in gifting events. Patricia McAnany (2013: 233) suggests that

the brocaded huipiles (long outer garments that covered the shoulders, chest, and hips) worn by

Lady K’ab’aal Xoox of Yaxchilan were bequeathed to her daughter(s) and acted as valuable

currency if the royal family fell into difficult circumstances. Similarly, she suggests that lesser

textiles were given away to cement alliances, settle disputes, or meet tribute obligations (2013:

234). As well as textile production, royal wives were also involved in rituals and ceremonies, and

most likely food preparation and other activities (as discussed below).

Courtiers with Formal Titles

Jackson (2005) identifies five courtly titles that are set apart from others by involving an

accession event parallel to that undergone by the ruler: 1) sajal, 2) aj k’uhuun, 3) yajaw k’ahk’,

4) ti’ huun / ti’ sakhuun, and 5) “banded bird”. Most titles appear in hieroglyphic texts during the

Late Classic, suggesting that there was a shift away from an emphasis (both textually and

iconographically) on the ruler as the sole axis of power and source of authority. The largest
39
concentration of titles occurs along the Usumacinta River and only Palenque has evidence for the

use of all five titles (Jackson 2005: 147, 160). The titles appear most frequently on architecture

such as panels and tablets, and less frequently on ceramics. Jackson (2005: 140) suggests that the

tendency to record elites on public or semi-public monuments is not surprising, because it

reinforces a degree of permanence in office positions. Interestingly, Jackson (2005: 598)

determined that “the class distinction between royalty and courtly elites was not marked

absolutely, and was less salient in understanding high status identity.” She suggests that the

status identities of rulers and courtly elites “grade into each other in a way that does not allow for

an absolute division between the two”, perhaps because of the overlapping of their identities. She

believes that formal courtly offices were flexible, interchangeable, and had a lack of definition in

their precise function (2005: 599- 600).

The most frequently recorded title in the Maya region, appearing in 50% (94 records) of

Jackson’s (2005) study, is sajal (Figure 2.4a). It has been variously interpreted as “regional

governor”, “war captain”, and “feared one”, and individuals with the title are considered to be

subsidiary nobles (Foias and Emery 2012: 11). As discussed previously, some sajals even

governed secondary centers in their own right. Carved monuments show individuals with the title

taking captives (Coe and Stone 2001: 77), which supports their interpretation as war leaders, but

in other contexts they are considered regional lords (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 79). Currently,

there is no one accepted decipherment for the title (Miller and Martin 2004: 26).

The sajal title is found largely in the western lowlands (Houston and Stuart 2001: 61) and

because it appears no earlier than the Late Classic, the office of sajal may have been a late

innovation in the Maya area (Tokovinine and Zender 2012: 65). Houston and Inomata (2009:

175-176) have identified two distributions of the title: one in the Usumacinta region, used to
40
refer to individuals who may have served as warriors and nobles who controlled settlements

under royal authority, and the other in Campeche, used in a similar function as an emblem glyph.

This, the authors argue, emphasizes the danger of assuming common patterns of usage of

courtier titles across the Maya area. The sajal title also had prefixes providing further

hierarchical ordering: the title became usajal ('the noble of') when linking a lord to his king

(Martin and Grube 2008: 19). Interestingly, the title of sajal was by no means limited to males

and there are instances of females with the title on lintels at Yaxchilan (Coe and Stone 2001: 77).

The next most popular recorded title, appearing in 32% (59 records) of Jackson’s (2005)

study, is aj k’uhuun (Figure 2.4b)—otherwise referred to as the God C title (Jackson and Stuart

2001). The title has undergone considerable scrutiny and debate, as Jackson (2013: 13) explains,

and it has been variously interpreted as “he of the holy books” (since k’uh means “holy” and

huun means “book” or “paper”), “royal scribe”, and “keeper of tribute” (Foias and Emery 2012:

11). Marc Zender (2004) has also proposed a reading of “he who guards/ venerates” or a priestly

function for the title. However, as with sajal, there currently is no fixed nor firm reading of the

title (Miller and Martin 2004: 26).

It is agreed that individuals with this title performed specific roles in court officialdom

and regional governance. Jackson and Stuart (2001: 225) suggest the role may have been

guarding or overseeing tribute collection and presentation, and other scholars such as Bryan Just

(2012: 74) have also suggested the role of an aj k’uhuun was a courtier responsible for the care

of important objects in the court. As with sajals, females could hold the title of aj k’uhuun (Coe

and Kerr 1997: 99), which further demonstrates their importance in court society. Coe and Kerr

(1997: 99) identified a female aj k’uhuun on MFA 1988.1176 (K764 [Figure 2.5]), and claimed

41
that the title was appended to several female names on monuments at Yaxchilan.28 More

recently, Alexandre Tokovinine and Zender (2012: 58) identified a potential female aj k’uhuun

title on K3054.

“Banded bird”, Ti’ huun / ti’ sakhuun, and Yajaw k’ahk’ (Figures 2.4c-e) were used

significantly less than sajal or aj k’uhuun, since, combined, they constitute only 18% of

Jackson’s sample (2005: 139). “Banded bird” appears almost exclusively in the texts from

Palenque and remains an undeciphered title, drawing its nickname from the image of a bird with

a band around its head (Jackson 2005: 134). This band may potentially be the sak huun headband

of a ruler, discussed in Chapter Three. Given there is some association in Maya art and epigraphy

between lords with the banded bird title and stingray spines, Bassie-Sweet, et al. (2012: 207)

have suggested that these office holders were associated with the act of ritual bloodletting.

However, the specific role of individuals with this title within the court remains unclear, though

it is likely they were nobles of some kind.

Ti’ huun and ti’ sakhuun appear to be related titles meaning “the edge/ mouth of the

paper” (since ti means “edge” or “mouth” and huun means “book” or “paper” [Jackson 2013:

14]), or “speaker of/ for the white headband” (Zender 2004: 221). As with the previous title, the

specific role that individuals with the ti’ huun / ti’ sakhuun title held within the court is not yet

clear, but it has been suggested they may have been interpreters and priests (Zender 2004: 221).

Finally, yajaw k’ahk’ has a literal translation of “lord of fire”, since yajaw is “lord of” and k’ahk’

is “fire” (Jackson 2013: 13). Bassie-Sweet, et al. (2012: 212) have suggested a connection to

warfare, but, as with the two other titles discussed here, the specific role that individuals with

28
See Appendix 1 for an explanation of the acronym MFA, and all subsequent acronyms preceding ceramics in this
study.
42
this title held is not clear. It is likely to have been a highly specialized office based on the small

number of textual examples and limited regional distribution (Jackson 2013: 14).

Other courtier titles have also been recognized in hieroglyphic texts, such as lakam

(Figure 2.4f), which has been recognized on only a few polychrome vases from the Peten (Foias

2013: 119). Alfonso Lacadena (2008) suggests that this title may refer to a political position for

non-elites, and possibly involved collection of tribute. Houston and Inomata (2009: 183) claim

that that the title originates from a term for “banner” or “standard”, or from a Tzeltal term for

“companion”, lak. Another title that appears in hieroglyphic inscriptions, sometimes paired with

ajaw, is ch’ajoom (Figure 2.4g)—which is related to imagery of burning and sacrifice (Scherer

and Houston 2015). The title derives from the word ch’aaj, meaning “incense”, and the particle–

oom, meaning “person of incense” and is associated glyphically with males, females, and

subordinates (Scherer and Houston 2015). The title dates primarily to the Late Classic period and

is found throughout the Southern Lowlands.

Ch’oks

A less formal, but more common, title in Maya hieroglyphic writing was ch’ok (Figure 2.4h),

originally thought to mean “unripe” or “immature” (Coe and Stone 2001: 77), or even “sprout”

(Miller and Martin 2004: 26), but later understood in the wider sense of 'prince' (Martin and

Grube 2008: 14) and “youth” (Houston 2009: 156). The title is thus understood to signal a royal

or noble youth, possibly even an heir to the throne (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 77, 79). Coe

and Kerr (1997: 93) have suggested that ch’oks may have trained for important court roles such

as scribes, but it is also likely that they were involved in sacrificial rituals from an early age.

Houston (2009: 163) identifies only two instances in which the title ch’ok refers to females: on
43
the ‘Tablet of the Slaves’ at Palenque and Piedras Negras Stela 8. As with many other

hieroglyphic titles, elements were added to the ch’ok title. The heir to the throne was known as

b’aah ch’ok (“head sprout”) and many chak ch’oks (great youths) possessed objects such as

finely painted ceramic vessels (Houston 2009: 157, 165).

Miller and Martin (2004: 26) suggest that ch’oks of certain rulers may have been retained

at the royal court of their overlords as “guests”, as a means to ensure co-operation of their

relatives. This reinforces the political power that ch’oks had, however indirect it may have been,

and suggests that they were used as pawns in the power struggle of the Late Classic period

throughout the Maya region.

Artisans and Scribes

There were various individuals within the royal court who were responsible for creating artworks

in various media. These individuals are akin to what modern society would consider ‘artisans’

(although Houston and Inomata [2009: 257] suggest the term ‘craftsperson’). Whether one

carved stone into sculpture, molded clay into figurines, applied pigment to vessels and murals, or

coated bark paper with lime to make codices, an expert artisan likely experienced an exalted role

in ancient Maya society. As discussed above, Adams (1970: 490) suggests craft specialization

included makers of hierarchical costume. He deems these specialists to have had “an

extraordinary diversity of skills” and explains there is no means of knowing how many of the

various elements of costume might have been manufactured by a single artisan (Adams 1970:

494). Court artisans almost certainly manufactured other elite objects, many of which would

have been commissioned by nobles or royalty, and various scholars have used the term ‘artist’ to

refer to those who created the most important objects.

44
 Individual hieroglyphic ‘signatures’ of artists have been recognized in Maya art. David

Stuart was the first to identify the title for an artist in his 1989 undergraduate thesis The Maya

Artist: An Epigraphic and Iconographic Study. Although Justin and Barbara Kerr (1988) had

discussed individual styles of Maya artists, Stuart was the first to identify the ‘signatures’, or

hieroglyphic names, of Maya sculptors and painters. These signature phrases contained the uts’ib

glyph (“his painting”), followed by glyphs of a personal name. In a recent publication, Houston

(2016) has claimed that while there are at least 114 signatures known from carved works, there

are only 15 known signatures from ceramics, many relating to the Ik’ dynasty, and 2 sets of

signatures known from the caves of Jolja’ and Naj Tunich. All known signatures can be traced to

within a 300 year period, demonstrating that the practice of attaching names to objects was not a

long-lived one (Houston 2016: 423). Only six ceramic scenes in the author’s dataset have

evidence of an artist’s signature (Table 2.2).

It seems that the individuals responsible for attaching signatures to artworks were male,

since every identifiable sculptor and named calligrapher is male (Houston, et al. 2006: 52), and

even the proclitic ah/ aj refers to a male (Coe and Kerr 1997: 89; Coe and Stone 2001: 94). This

does not exclude females from providing assistance to male artisans, and it should be

remembered that the creation of artworks was a lengthy process that began with the collection

and processing of raw materials—which is something that either males or females may have

been responsible for. Subsequent steps in the manufacturing process, such as sharpening of tools

and preparation of pigments, could also have been performed by either males or females. As

discussed in Chapter Three, Coe and Kerr (1997: 6) have identified potential female scribes in

Maya art but suggest there were far fewer in comparison to male scribes.

45
 The high level of skill and knowledge possessed by artisans suggests that they may have

been highly revered, and potentially powerful, members of ancient Maya society. It has been

suggested that some were taken prisoner (Johnston 2001) and forced to create works for rival

sites, because they “would have enhanced an ambitious court with their prestigious knowledge

and artistic prowess” (Coe and Kerr 1997: 97). Miller and Martin (2004) suggest that Monument

122 at the site of Tonina, which depicts the capture of Palenque King K’an Hoy Chitam II, was

made by a Palenque artist while a captive of Tonina. Although the monument was manufactured

from local sandstone, its style is clearly that of Palenque and therefore could be a form of tribute

labour. Miller has also suggested that the Bonampak murals may have been painted by artists

taken prisoner, because of the apparent empathy and attention given to the prisoners in Room 2

(Miller and Brittenham 2013: 59). The carved lintels that cover the doorways of Structure 1 at

the site of Bonampak are labeled as the work of a sculptor from Yaxchilan (Houston, et al. 2006:

249), which attest to the presence of artisans from outside Bonampak producing artworks for the

site.

It is often suggested that Maya artisans manufactured their wares in specialized

‘workshops’. Reents-Budet, et al. (2012: 434, note 432) argue that ‘workshop’ is a highly loaded

term with little specificity in the field of Maya studies, but refers to a spatially and socially

discrete work area where artisans exercised specialized skills. The authors regard workshops as

having a formal structure involving more than one individual, where training and practice of

some duration was undertaken to achieve the level of technical skill and specialized knowledge

needed to create artworks.29 Some artists were more skilled than others, as Reents-Budet (1994:

29
Though it is of course possible that some individual artisans had specialized workshops that were not shared with
others.
46
173) has identified. It is possible that some artisans were polymaths, comfortable at working in

diverse media at different scales (Houston and Inomata 2009: 265; Miller and Brittenham 2013:

59). Some artisan signatures suggest they were versed in various media, such as those on

Yaxchilan Lintel 45 and Piedras Negras Stela 12 (Looper 2003a: 17). However, much

scholarship has focused on one aspect of artisanal practice—scribal ability (Coe 1973, 1977).

Ancient Maya scribes are considered to be possessors of “sacred knowledge” (Stuart

1989: 13), likely because writing is often shown to be of divine origin and the supernatural

patrons of scribes and artists are represented with scribal paint pots and brushes. Scribes are

therefore considered to have been at the apex of Maya society and some even had blood ties with

royal families (Coe and Kerr 1997: 97). Coe and Houston (2016: 30) have suggested that Classic

Ch’olti’an became a literary language of high prestige among scribes throughout the Maya

lowlands. Since the words for ‘writing’ and ‘painting’ are the same in Classic Mayan (ts’ib),

scribes and artists have often been thought of as one and the same (e.g. Coe 1977). However, it

has also been suggested that some artists were illiterate (Kelley 1986) — calling this into

question.

The Bonampak murals feature blank spaces reserved for glyphs (Miller and Brittenham

2013: 74), suggesting that the artists painting the images may have been illiterate and were

leaving room for literate scribes to later paint in these spaces with glyphs. Comparable blank

spaces can be seen on ceramics such as MSM 117A-3 (K8006 [Figure 2.6]). Similarly, murals at

the site of Xultun feature glyphic portrait heads that have been identified as “secondary artworks

painted after the polychrome mural programme” (Saturno, et al. 2015: 131). Some painted

ceramics also feature evidence for image and text being painted at different times, perhaps by

different artists (Tokovinine 2012: 345). The frequent appearance of ‘pseudo-glyphs’ on painted
47
ceramics throughout the Maya region (Calvin 2006) also support the theory that not all scribes

were artists, or vice versa.

Coe and Kerr (1997: 93) have suggested scribes achieved high levels of knowledge

through rigorous training, perhaps in a system akin to Aztec calmecac schools for nobility. In

this sense, there may have been both training centers and ‘workshops’ dedicated to scribal

knowledge and ability throughout the Maya region. Despite female scribal names being absent

from hieroglyphic texts (Miller and Martin 2004: 122), Coe and Kerr (1997: 6) assert that “it is

quite clear that women as well as men could be, and almost surely were, scribes”, though

perhaps fewer in number. Although not restricted to a particular sex, scribal training was likely

restricted to royalty and nobles. Coe and Kerr (1997: 94-95) also suggest that scribes may have

held roles as tribute recorders and marriage negotiators.

Dwarves and Hunchbacks

Members of the royal court included individuals with visible physical conditions, such as

dwarfism or kyphosis (abnormal curvature of the spine, otherwise known as ‘hunchback’ [see

Figure 2.7]. Houston (1992) identified a name glyph for dwarves in Late Classic art, explaining

that virtually no representations of dwarves are known from the Early Classic period. In many

historically known societies the ruler’s close attendants included those with physical deformities,

such as Egypt and Greece (Dasen 1993), Rome (Trentin 2011), or Europe (Guaraldi, et al. 2012),

so it is not unusual that such individuals were part of the Maya court—especially since it is

known that dwarves were part of the Aztec court (Miller 1985: 152).

It is of course possible that dwarves and hunchbacks were not present in Maya courts to

the degree that they are depicted in imagery. Their presence may have been exaggerated due to
48
their spiritual associations or their entertainment value. Miller and Martin (2004) have suggested

that dwarves may have been specifically chosen to be part of the court because they were outside

societal ‘norms’ and could therefore transform the court into a liminal place, possible of

supernatural communication. Elsewhere it has been suggested that these individuals were special

courtiers who entertained the royal family (Schele and Miller 1986: 150). Whether they were

selected based on their spiritual associations or their entertainment skills, they are represented in

close contact to rulers and were therefore likely considered to be important members of the court.

It is possible, as suggested by Virginia Miller (1985: 152-153), that such individuals were

members of the ruling elite and may have been emblematic of a particular ruling dynasty. Others

were likely of non-royal heritage, selected from various strata of society (Inomata 2001a: 38).

As members of the court their duties may have included participation in important events,

where they may have represented a counterpart to “royal beauty and polish” (Houston, et al.

2006: 48). Miller (1985: 152) has suggested, based on their similarity in size, that dwarves may

even have served as surrogates for royal children in bloodletting or sacrificial events. The

skeletal remains of either a dwarf or hunchback in Burial 24 at Tikal (Coggins 1975: 383) may

provide direct evidence for the sacrifice of such individuals. As well as their ability to participate

in courtly life and activities, it has been suggested that individuals with deformities worked in

close association to the royal family because they were less likely to be a threat. In the royal

courts of Europe, Africa, and Asia, eunuchs were employed to serve females within the court

because they could not produce offspring and therefore could not jeopardize the official dynastic

line (Duindam 2011: 16). Consequently, dwarves, hunchbacks, and perhaps even eunuchs, were

suitable aides in the Maya court and protected the ruler’s sovereignty (Inomata 2001a: 37).

49
Identifying the Court through Architecture

Architecturally, the Maya royal court included various buildings and spaces where the everyday,

mundane activities of the court were carried out in conjunction with public and private events.

The location of Maya courts have usually been recognized based on their layout and spatial

location at sites. One particularly recognizable architectural feature of the court is the so-called

‘palace’. These structures are long, multi-chambered buildings on low platforms with doorways

on one side facing a plaza or courtyard (Figure 2.8). Early Spanish chroniclers described these

structures as palacios based on their similarity to palaces in Europe (Christie 2003a: 2). The term

was borrowed from the Palatine Hill in Rome, which housed the imperial family (Houston and

Inomata 2009: 150).

Despite the implied association to living quarters or regal sectors for the royal family and

important visiting dignitaries, palaces were likely used for various functions such as

administrative and commercial activities, storage facilities, and schools (Andrews 1975: 43).

Accordingly, scholars agree that palaces had multiple functions for the court and were used for

residential, political, economic, social, and religious purposes (Christie 2003a: 5). To reflect their

non-regal functions, long multi-roomed structures within court complexes are often referred to as

‘range structures’ rather than palaces. As Peter Harrison (1970: 204) notes, this term emphasizes

form without making functional implications about a structure, and in some situations is more

appropriate than the loaded designation of ‘palace’.

Demarest (2001) has recognized that Maya palaces tend to be distinctive not only

architecturally, but also functionally. While some provided a context for ancestor worship or the

presentation of captives and formal audiences, others served as production areas or more

secluded spaces to emphasize status-reinforcing social distances. The so-called ‘Lady of

50
Cancuen’ palace, a complex at Dos Pilas, has been identified as the residence of a principle wife

of Ruler 3. As discussed previously, his marriage to a female from Cancuen was politically

motivated (Cancuen was located near a major trade route). This important relationship, which no

doubt enhanced the prestige of Ruler 3, was proudly commemorated and secured even further by

erecting this architectural complex (Demarest 2001: 125-127).

The construction of Maya palaces can also indicate their function. For example, Demarest

(2001: 131) describes the palace at Cancuen as having “oversized, pretentious walls of pure

masonry more than seven meters high.” He suggests that this not only helped to create an ideal

setting for inspiring awe from visiting elites, but also to restrict activities (such as feasting) from

public view. Clearly, the architectural construction methods helped to reinforce the Cancuen

rulers’ concerns with alliance formation. Other palaces were constructed in specific cosmological

alignments to reinforce sacred power of rulers. For example, the Murciélagos Palace at Dos Pilas

was located in the center of the site between its two east and west ritual epicenters (Demarest

2001: 121). The east and west complexes were the location of important rites and the palace’s

location along an east-west axis was therefore strategic and served to reinforce the ideological

importance of the ruler. Beneath the palace was a cave system, which were ritually charged

locations in Mesoamerica (Bassie-Sweet 1996), serving to reinforce the sacred nature of the

palace’s location.

The interior of royal court structures were undoubtedly furnished with organic décor such

as curtains, cushions, and mats (Figure 2.9). Dorie Reents-Budet’s (2001) analysis of the

pictorial renderings of royal courts, discussed in more detail below, suggest that much activity

took place outside of structures to optimize the available light and space of outdoor areas.

Indeed, Restall (2001: 341) has suggested that “because the interior spaces of buildings before
51
and after the Conquest tended to be small, the spaces in front of important buildings were crucial

courtly spaces and the site of significant community gatherings and ceremonies.” Therefore,

these organic furnishings were likely used to decorate spaces exterior to court structures.

Houston and Inomata (2009: 151) stress that the outer trappings of the court “are not simply

stage furniture or theatrical space…they participate in the flux of a court, marking meanings,

channeling movement and sight, allowing people in, and keeping others out.”

In addition to providing decoration, large awnings and tarpaulins stretched across outside

areas would be effective for providing shade and cornice tie holes on the exterior of structures

demonstrate how they could be attached (Miller and Martin 2004: 22). Miller (2001: 207)

recognized that there is usually no means of attaching heavy sheets of fabric inside structures and

therefore suggests that the swag curtains often depicted on ceramics (e.g. Figure 2.9) are in fact

awnings that expanded into areas outside of palaces. Curtain holders that line the inside door

frames of buildings such as Structure 1 at Bonampak (Miller 2001: 207) are also represented in

pictorial representations of Maya buildings (Taube 1998: 429), and demonstrate that fabric could

be stretched across doorways to provide privacy and keep unwanted visitors out. They may also

have functioned to separate rulers or important courtiers from others, akin to how Ralph Roys

(1943: 63) describes a Maya governor in the colonial period speaking to visitors “only through a

cotton cloth suspended between them like a curtain.”

A quintessential element of Maya palaces, used both inside and outside, were thrones.30

The first thrones in the Maya area are reported from the Late Preclassic sites of Kaminaljuyu and

Abaj Takalik, and their presence in the Maya lowlands begins in the second half of the Early

30
As Bassie-Sweet (1996: 92) explains, depending on the context (especially if it is residential) a throne can also be
considered a bench.
52
Classic at sites such as Uaxactun (Valdés 2001). They were likely manufactured from organic

materials more frequently than durable material such as stone, because they are not frequently

recovered from archaeological excavations. In the Lost World Group at Tikal a throne was

discovered outside a structure with postholes for a canopy, demonstrating that rulers did indeed

conduct courtly business outside of structures (Valdés 2001: 155-156).

Some royal families established more than one court complex, as discussed above, and

their architectural layouts were in some cases very similar. The Buenavista del Cayo and Cahal

Pech royal courts, less than five kilometers apart, were established by the same ruling family

(Ball and Taschek 2001). The two courts had similar configurations, architectural styles,

construction methods, and associated material culture, but were used at different times of the

year—the former in hot dry months and the latter in cooler midwinter months. In a similar vein,

the royal family of El Zotz established a “royal country house” under five miles away from the

affiliated site of Becujal (Garrison, et al. 2016). This secondary residence was unlikely to have

fulfilled the same range of functions as a royal palace, but may have been used intermittently as a

base for hunting or other ‘pleasure’ activities— which aligns with the purposes of country houses

established by royal families cross-culturally (Garrison, et al. 2016).

Another architectural form related to the activities of the royal court are ‘council houses’,

which were known as popol nah in Mayan— meaning “house of the mat” (Bey and Ciau 2014).

These were buildings used for various community activities and meetings between the ruler and

important nobles. With mat designs on its four facades, Structure 10L-22A at the site of Copan is

an example of a council house (Fash, et al. 1992). Carvings of eight powerful nobles decorate the

exterior of the building—likely representing heads of the various Copan polity divisions. This

suggests that the Copan ruler relied heavily on advice and assistance from his representatives,
53
who themselves were powerful political forces and essential in ensuring the success of the polity

(Fash, et al. 1992: 439).

Identifying the Court through Material Culture

Advancing from the identification of an architectural structure as a ‘palace’ to its specific

function within the court can be achieved with an analysis of associated material culture.

Harrison’s (1970) excavations of the Central Acropolis at Tikal for example used artefactual

data, among other lines of evidence, to test whether so-called palace structures were residential

or administrative. Based on the results of the data he was able to demonstrate that some buildings

were used as residences (both permanent and temporary) while others were non-residential,

perhaps functioning as storehouses or shrines. The site of Aguateca has been particularly useful

for interpreting the function of structures within the court because of the unusual preservation of

in-situ materials left behind by the rapidly fleeing residents (Inomata, et al. 2002).

One of the strongest arguments for the function of a court-associated structure at

Aguateca can be made for Structure M8-10, otherwise known as the “House of the Scribe”

(Inomata, et al. 2002). Inside this structure, mortars and pestles for preparing pigments were

discovered, in addition to possible inkpots, a shell ornament with a scribal title, and a shell

ornament with a monkey head profile. Monkeys were important patrons of scribes, perhaps

associated with the arts and learning because of their superior intelligence (Coe and Kerr 1997:

82). The relationship between monkeys and scribes can also be seen in Structure 9N-82 at

Copan, known as the “House of the Bacabs”, the exterior of which was adorned with figures of

scribes holding shell ink-pots (Webster 1989). Inside the structure a stone figure of a monkey-

man deity was discovered, holding a brush pen in his right hand and a conch-shell inkpot in his
54
left (Webster 1989: Figure 45). Other inkpots have been found in different contexts, such as the

conch shell inkpot with remnants of blue, red, black, and either yellow or white ink found in

Structure B1, Burial 7, at Cahal Pech (Figure 2.10). This is the only inkpot found in the Maya

area to date with remnants of more than one colour and may indicate that the individual(s) inside

the tomb were related to the scribal profession (Santasilia 2013: 51).

A very different activity is associated with Structure M7-33 at Aguateca, which has been

interpreted as a dance platform (Inomata 2006: 203). This interpretation is bolstered by material

found inside a nearby structure, M7-22, which included drums, ornaments, and ceramic masks—

objects likely used in performances (Inomata 2006: 207). Looper (2009: 151-188) discusses

other potential dance platforms at various sites throughout the Maya area. It appears that some

dance performances were for the benefit of elite audiences in private palace venues and others

were performed in public venues for a larger community audience (Looper 2009: 43).

Material culture within the court served the purpose of communicating political power,

through its splendor and inaccessibility to those outside the court. One of the most visually

powerful means of communicating power and wealth in the court during the Late Classic were

elaborately painted ceramics. Reents-Budet (1998) suggests that these ceramics emerged during

the Late Classic as a major material culture player because its production, imagery, and use were

tied directly to the competitive and unstable web of shifting alliances. In comparison to earlier

ceramic traditions, pictorial ceramics of the Late Classic period were technically more

sophisticated and had a distinctive painting style. Some were used to serve food and drink during

aristocratic feasts, and others were bestowed on guests as gifts. Some were even intentionally

displayed by their owners, as demonstrated by thrones and benches with built-in niches. A throne

discovered in the Lost World Group at Tikal had two niches carved into its front, in which highly
55
decorative ceramic vessels could be placed (Valdés 2001: 154). A complete ceramic was also

recovered from a niche in the front bench of the center room in Str. M8-4 at Aguateca (Inomata

2014: 275). Halperin and Foias (2010: 407) suggest that because vases can easily be brought out

into view or hidden away from view, they were especially valuable tools in forming alliances and

thus provided an alternative route to power (as opposed to warfare or erecting large monuments).

The feasts in which some of the decorative ceramics were used built relationships and

secured allegiances between rulers and nobles (Reents-Budet and Hole 2010: 39). For the

Postclassic Mixtec, boundary sites were the preferred location for elite feasting rites and the

Maya Ik’ polity, notable for its production of finely painted ceramics, was located on a boundary

between Tikal and the Petexbatún (Reents-Budet, et al. 2012: 92). Feasting rituals at boundary

sites provided an opportunity for creating alliances in vulnerable geographic and sociopolitical

positions, so the large number of Ik’ ceramics that appear in the Late Classic period suggest that

the polity was actively seeking to augment its power through the distribution of material wealth

(Reents-Budet, et al. 2012: 93). In addition to ceramics serving beverages such as balché

(fermented honey), kakaw (chocolate), aguamiel (honey water), and pulque (an alcoholic drink

made with the fermented sap of the maguey plant) (Reents-Budet 2006; Rousso 2010: 47),31 they

were imbued with prestige because of their technical sophistication, distinctive painting style,

and hieroglyphic texts (Reents-Budet 1998). The artists who produced Ik’-style ceramics were

able to create a distinctive painting style (see Table 2.3), unique to the polity, offering even

further prestige to the Ik’ polity.

31
Loughmiller-Newman (2012: 295) explains that the majority of ceramics with a kakaw hieroglyph have failed to
produce positive results for this residue, presenting a disparity between text and apparent function. Interestingly, all
the polychrome cylinder ceramics in her study tested negative for cacao but three tested positive for maize (2012:
Table 4). McNeil’s research with ceramics from Copan (2010) has revealed that cacao residues are present in a wide
range of ceramic forms, reflecting its use in a wide range of ancient foods and beverages.
56
 The Ik’ painting style is one of several distinct ceramic painting styles that emerged

during the Late Classic period (Figure 2.11a). They are named for the Ik’ (wind) emblem glyph,

used by the Motul de San José kingdom in lowland Guatemala (Kerr 1989b), the ancient name of

which was Ik’a’ (Tokovinine and Zender 2012: 31). The polities and courts that interacted with

the Ik’ polity can be identified through the presence of Ik’ wares at their sites. For example,

MNAE 11418 (K2697 [Figure 2.12, Table 2.1]) was excavated at Tikal but the hieroglyphic text

demonstrates that it is a scene involving court members of the Dos Pilas ruler K’awiil Chan

K’inich (Tokovinine and Zender 2012: 52). In a similar vein, the trading partners of sites that

controlled access to limited and exotic resources can be identified based on the presence of these

resources in regions where they do not occur naturally. Jadeite for example is limited to the

Motagua Valley in Guatemala and obsidian sources in the Maya region include San Martín

Jílotepeque, El Chayal, and Ixtepeque in the southern Guatemalan highlands.

As well as control of exotic resources, the production of material culture is often assumed

to have been under the control of powerful elites (Foias and Emery 2012: 16). Evidence of

production in royal courts may be scarce (see Halperin and Foias 2012 for an exception) but is

well represented in elite household complexes (Inomata 2001b; McAnany and Plank 2001: 94).

Such evidence has been interpreted in some instances as workshops or “palace schools”, which

operated as a form of attached specialization to courts (Ball 1993). However, Codex-style pottery

at Nakbe have been found in almost all Late Classic households, calling into question elite

control of this activity (Hansen, et al. 1991). Rochette (2014) also points to jadeite production in

both elite and non-elite contexts, suggesting that the production of wealth goods may have been

more varied than previously assumed. Importantly, he argues that contexts of production for

wealth items such as jadeite may have varied in the same manner as the value of wealth items
57
(i.e. that highly crafted and elaborate items did not have the same value as less elaborately

crafted items, even if they were produced from the same material).

Identifying the Court through Art

One of the most identifiable means of recognizing individuals within the royal court is through

Maya art. Most representations of the court appear during the Late Classic period, since it was a

period when the complexity, art, and material wealth of the court was at its zenith. The explosion

of wealth in this period gave way to experimentation in art forms, with artists responding to the

intense competition between rival kingdoms by creating ever more innovative and aesthetically

pleasing works. Consequently, there is a diverse range of artworks available in which

representations of the court appear. The most numerous representations of the court appear on

Late Classic period polychrome ceramics, which feature intimate scenes of the court. Many of

these are viewable on Justin Kerr’s Maya Vase Database website, or in his six published volumes

of photographs and accompanying scholarly essays (Kerr 1989a, 1990, 1992a, 1994, 1997,

2000). These photographs are “peripheral images of a cylindrical object” (Kerr 2010: 99) and

enable the entire wrap-around scene of a painted ceramic to be seen, without having to rotate the

object in one’s hands (Figure 2.13a).

As discussed previously, the Ik’ painting style is one of several distinct ceramic painting

styles that emerged during the Late Classic. Ik’ style ceramics are usually painted on a white or

cream background and feature fairly dense scenes, rich in imagery and hieroglyphic texts. They

are famous for their portraiture-like representations of rulers, including the famous ‘Fat Cacique’

(see Chapter Four), and many feature various members of the royal court. Other distinctive

ceramic styles that feature scenes of the royal court include Chama and Fenton (Figures 2.11b
58
and 2.11c respectively). Chama style ceramics are named for the site where they were first found

in the southern Guatemalan highlands (Danien 1997: 37). They have orange or yellow

backgrounds and often have a distinctive black and white chevron band around their rim and

base. Bright white, black, and red feature predominately in the colour palette of this style, and

the scenes often feature male members of the court attending a ruler in either repetitive or wrap-

around format (Figures 2.13a and 2.13c respectively). They feature very few glyphs, and where

they are present they are more likely to be pseudoglyphs.

Fenton style ceramics are named after the collector C.L. Fenton, who reportedly

excavated the example now in the British Museum (BM Am1930,F.1) in 1904 from the site of

Nebaj in the Guatemalan highlands (Schele and Miller 1986: 153). Unlike the Chama style,

ceramics in the Fenton style feature a much more subdued colour palette, and hieroglyphic texts

are usually quite predominate in the scene. A small number of other Fenton style ceramics are

known, including MFA 1988.1170 (K558), and VMFA 82.131 (K1392).32

As Houston, et al. (2009: 91) note, ceramics with more restricted colours (e.g. bichrome)

generally feature images of deities and not historical actors. Consequently, ceramics painted in

the famous Codex style (Table 2.3) generally represent supernatural scenes and for the most part

cannot be used to understand the ancient Maya court.33 Polychrome ceramics with black

backgrounds also tend to represent supernatural scenes, as they evoke the underworld rather than

the world of the living. The polychrome ceramic tradition did not flourish in the west or north of

32
Both vases are in the author’s database.
33
Note that an unusual instance of a ruler and courtiers on a Codex style vase was published by Michael Coe in The
Maya Scribe and His World (1973: 94-95). The so-called ‘death spots’ on the leftmost figure indicate that this
individual is a deity or deceased, and therefore fit the general trend for Codex vases to feature mythological scenes.
59
the Maya region to the degree that it did in the central Maya lowlands; other local ceramics

traditions such as Chocholá (Ardren 1996; Tate 1985) developed in these regions instead.

Both Antonia Foias (2013: 177) and Dorie Reents-Budet (2001) have identified members

of the royal court performing various activities on painted ceramics, as shown in Table 2.4.

Reents-Budet (2001) demonstrates that these activities commonly take place within ‘palace’ or

range structures, which in most cases are likely to be associated with the principal ruler of a site.

However, Coe and Kerr (1997: 100) suggest some may be palaces of high raking nobles rather

than those of the k’uhul ajaw. Reents-Budet (2001: 196) has also identified perishable materials

frequently portrayed in court scenes, including cloth, curtains, cushions, jaguar pelts, moveable

thrones, and woven mats.

Cloth is represented as both plain white and decorated in tribute scenes, either held in the

hand or stacked among other tribute. Patricia McAnany (2013: 240) has suggested that cotton

fibers were delivered to palaces where females spun and wove them into cloth, so it is possible

that the representation of some plain white stacks are in fact wrapped cotton fibres ready to be

spun and dyed to produce textiles (which can be seen on provenienced vases such as Motul de

San José Vessel 7 [Figure 2.14]). Halperin (2011) has suggested that folded stacks of textiles

probably represented textile quantity because they are easily counted. In contrast, decorated

pieces that are held in the hands placed an emphasis on the value of individual textiles. While

these textiles are gifted by single, male, individuals, she proposes that they may have been seen

as products of larger, collective, groups. Thus, instead of interpreting such tribute as examples of

males appropriating the power of females, scholars might be better placed to consider them as

representations of gifts from a specific household, lineage, or community. In addition to cloth

60
tribute, McAnany (2013: 239) identifies four items of tribute that consistently recur in Late

Classic painted scenes of court presentation: cacao, Spondylus shell, jadeite, and quetzal feathers.

Tribute scenes on Maya ceramics often take place before thrones or benches, and the

transfer is usually from a subordinate to a higher ranking individual (Schwartz 2010: 46). For the

most part the ruler is shown receiving tribute but not offering it to others, demonstrating

unidirectional flow into the court (Houston, et al. 2006: 127). The presentation of tribute from

one official to another may signal the dominant polity (receiving tribute) and the subject polity

(offering tribute), or it may signal the gifting of tribute from one kingdom to another (and

therefore not necessarily indicative of any ‘overkingship’). If a polity was under the control of

another, however, the labour to prepare tribute items “must have greatly taxed” their royal court

(McAnany 2013: 241). Hieroglyphic captions sometimes accompany individuals in ceramic

scenes, which can indicate specifically who is offering and receiving tribute (see below).

Even when devoid of such captions the physical proximity of individuals to the ruler may

indicate the status of an individual within the court. Generally, the closer an individual is to a

ruler, which Houston and Inomata (2001: 63) refer to as ‘hierarchical space’, the higher his or

her status is thought to be. The overall composition of figures within a scene can also identify

status. For example, a cylinder vase excavated from a crypt in Structure B5 at Caracol show six

individuals (Figure 2.15). Five of the individuals have their arms crossed across their chests and

face a sixth individual who is likely the ruler. The different posture and perhaps the different

colour of the sixth individual’s headdress are likely both intentional choices to differentiate this

individual from those around him.34

34
A colour photograph detailing the two rightmost individuals on the vase was provided for private study by Arlen
Chase.
61
 Although identification of a court scene on a ceramic vessel is usually possible, the

location of courts is usually not distinguishable. Some painting styles are characteristic of certain

polities or regions, such as the ‘X-ray’ style of Ik’ polity artist Tuubal Ajaw (although it was a

feature copied by at least two other artists who may also have been producing for Ik’ nobility

[Reents-Budet et al. 2012: 85]), or the restricted colour palette; negative decorative; and diagonal

imagery and text of Northeast Peten sites such as Xultun (Krempel and Matteo 2012: 147).

Coupled with painting styles, Instrumental Neutron Activation Analysis (INAA) has been used

to determine production locales of Maya ceramics (Reents-Budet and Bishop 2003)—

as discussed further in Chapter Four—which can aid in ascertaining an approximate location for

some Maya courts.

The most frequently portrayed member of the royal court in painted ceramic scenes is the

k’uhul ajaw, who is normally seated upon a throne or bench at the top of the pictorial plane

(Reents-Budet 2001: 213). Often, the ruler is positioned in front of a mirror (e.g. Figures 2.7 and

2.11a) which may signify the materialization of the supernatural realm through a process of

divination (Looper 2009: 225), or a “culture of intense vanity and self-regard” (Houston, et al.

2006: 24). Other ceramics feature a single figure seated within a court structure (Figure 2.16),

which Reents-Budet (2001: 217) suggests is a lower-tier functionary within the court. Julia

Guernsey (1992) observed that female court members are usually not principle protagonists in

painted ceramic scenes, and they occupy a lower pictorial position than men, or are positioned

behind them (e.g. Figures 2.2 and 2.3).

Unlike painted ceramics, ancient Maya stone carvings represent powerful females in their

own right—particularly those from Yaxchilan (see Lintel 57 for an example of an enthroned

female [Tate 1992: 261]). The twin male-female cartouches of Yaxchilan (e.g. Stelae 1, 4, and
62
10) carved over the heads of royalty indicate that the contribution of females to dynastic

succession during the Late Classic period became crucial (McAnany and Plank 2001: 97), and is

likely why they are represented in higher frequency in public art programs.

Although they are far fewer in number than ceramic scenes, some sculptural work does

feature representations of the royal court. A notable example is Piedras Negras Panel 3, which

was carved circa A.D. 782 but represents past events that took place in A.D. 749 (O'Neil 2012).

The panel shows a celebratory scene with the ruler Itzam K’an Ahk II seated on a throne

surrounded by 14 individuals, including a ch’ok named T’ul Chihk and various courtiers

including sajals, as well as visitors from Yaxchilan including its ruler Yopaat Bahlam (O'Neil

2012).

Large-scale representations of the court were also created by mural artists inside

architectural structures. The Bonampak murals are the most famous examples, painted by

numerous artists across 12 walls in three rooms inside Structure 1 at the site (Miller and

Brittenham 2013; Miller 1986). Room 1 represents an accession ceremony with dances and

delivery of tribute; Room 2 depicts a battle and sacrifice of captives; and Room 3 portrays

dances and celebrations. Interestingly, the k’uhul ajaw is difficult to locate in the text and images

but numerous other courtiers are visible. More recently, murals at the sites of Xultun (Saturno, et

al. 2015) and Chilonché (Lorenzo and Cosme 2015) have been discovered. Although the Xultun

murals do not depict a court scene they are labelled with titles relating to the court, some of

which also appear in the Bonampak murals. A detailed study of the Chilonché imagery and

hieroglyphic text has yet to be published, but it is also likely to contribute information about the

Maya court.

63
Identifying the Court through Hieroglyphic Texts

Hieroglyphic writing is one of the most informative means of identifying individuals and

activities within the royal court. In addition to the formal court titles discussed above, numerous

other references to people within the court appear in hieroglyphic texts (such as aj b’aak,

‘captive taker’ and ebeet, ‘messenger’ (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 77; Miller and Martin 2004:

27). It is clear that courtiers could use several titles at one time and could hold more than one

position during their lifetime (Houston and Inomata 2009: 174). Jackson (2013) has suggested

that multiple offices may not have entailed multiple accession events, but Tokovinine and Zender

(2012: 59) argue that every new king of Motul de San José appointed his own courtiers and no

officials are known to have retained their positions through more than one reign. Texts also

reveal hierarchical relationships between nobles and rulers, demonstrating the practice of

‘overkingship’ (Martin and Grube 2008: 19), and illustrating that relationships among courtiers

was not egalitarian. Furthermore, texts suggest a strong personal relationship between the ruler

and his administrators, rather than an impersonal, bureaucratic connection (Foias and Emery

2012: 12). Despite references to individual courtiers and their positions, there is no decipherment

as yet for the collective entity of a “court”.

It is important to note that hieroglyphic decipherments change over time as scholarly

studies improve and refine understanding of Maya texts. For example, Reents-Budet (1994:

Figure 4.44) and Just (2012: Figure 18) provide different translations of the same rim text of

vessel DO PC.B.564 (K2784 [Figure 2.17]). This is because “the readings proposed for some

names and titles as recently as the 1980s are now known to be wrong” (Coe and Stone 2001: 74),

so it can be difficult to accurately identify individuals within the court even where they are

captioned in texts.
64
 In terms of recorded activities, various painted ceramics record the giving and receiving

of tribute (patan) and payment (tojool). K4996 (Figure 2.2) for example depicts Tayel Chan

K’inich receiving tribute from three lakams (Tokovinine and Zender 2012: 56). Vessel MFA L-R

394.1985 (K1728 [Figure 2.18, Table 2.1]) also records a tribute payment made by a sajal named

Mutt to the ruler K’inich Lamaw Ek’, previously known as “Lord Completion Star”35 (Reents-

Budet 1994: 95, 175; Tokovinine and Zender 2012). Interestingly, the text states that the event

took place on December 18, 778 A.D., but the vessel was painted on June 24, 779 A.D., which

demonstrates that some painted ceramics were produced some time after the event portrayed on

them (Just 2012: 149).

As previously discussed, the artists who painted these ceramics can be recognized from

their hieroglyphic signatures (Table 2.2).The rulers Yajawte’ K’inich and K’inich Lamaw Ek’ of

the Ik’ polity are known to have patronized the artists Tuubal Ajaw and Mo…n Buluch Laj,

respectively (Reents-Budet, et al. 2012: 92). Their ceramics are differentiated by painting style,

but the aggregate paste recipe is similar enough to indicate a close production environment

(Reents-Budet, et al. 2012: 92). In contrast to the ceramics of Tuubal Ajaw and Mo…n Buluch

Laj, which appear to have been painted by individual artists, Piedras Negras Stela 12 is an

example of artistic teamwork. The stone carving is incised with up to eight signatures (Houston

and Inomata 2009: 257, Fig. 259.254), which suggests that groups of artisans may have worked

in conjunction with one another to create certain artworks. Similarly, the Bonampak murals

feature texts written in several different hands (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 74).

35
This again demonstrates that hieroglyphic decipherments often change through time.
65
 Another prominent activity that is revealed in the texts of Maya artworks is the T516

glyph that Nikolai Grube (1992) identified as “dance”. He discovered that the majority of dance

performers named in Maya art are male rulers (though Yaxchilan Lintel 6 shows a sajal dancing

and Yaxchilan Lintels 32 and 53 portray unnamed females dancing [Looper 2009: 19]), who

carried out dances to celebrate success in war, commemorate dynastic events and royal visits,

and contact the supernatural realm. Looper (2009: 5, 18) notes that dance was a religious event, a

form of political theatre used to maintain royal power and prestige, and was likely conceived as a

form of tribute or offerings to the gods. Interestingly, dance performances were deemed worthy

of textual documentation on monuments and vessels during a fairly brief period between A.D.

653-820 (Looper 2009: 18). This aligns with the dramatic decline in the references of nobles

throughout the Maya region after A.D. 800 (Houston and Inomata 2009:171). Hieroglyphic texts

disappear not long after this, and the last dated statement from the Southern Lowlands currently

known is from Monument 10 at Tonina, which dates to A.D. 909 (Martin and Grube 2008: 189).

Although hieroglyphic texts often refer to males, females are named with the gender-

appropriate attachment ix (“lady”). When attached to ajaw and other titles, ix refers to a queen or

principal wife of a male ruler (Coe and Stone 2001: 75). Instances such as these reveal “the

importance of female members of the court in key political and ritual events” (Tokovinine and

Zender 2012: 58). References to females appear only in the final decades of the Early Classic

period, are greatest in number during the succeeding Late Classic, and then become less visible

in the Postclassic period (Houston and Inomata 2009: 146). Although females are

underrepresented in text and image from many sites in the Peten, they are strongly represented in

the Usumacinta River kingdoms such as Yaxchilan (McAnany and Plank 2001: 95).

66
 One of the most important glyphs for identifying the location in which an artwork was

manufactured, or commissioned, is the emblem glyph. As discussed above, these glyphs are

personal titles carried by rulers and refer to specific polities. There has been disagreement about

whether it indicated the origin of a given royal family or a polity or where certain events took

place, but it can help to reconstruct the political relationships between courts using the same

emblem glyphs. For example, members of Tikal’s ruling family founded Dos Pilas but continued

to use Tikal’s emblem glyph—likely to reference their ancestral city. In other cases, a ruler could

use two different emblem glyphs, which may signify rulership at two different centers.

The absence of hieroglyphic writing is also important to note. As previously discussed,

‘pseudo-glyphs’ frequently appear on painted ceramics throughout the Maya region. Looper

(2009: 126) suggests that illegible texts such as these may have been intended for a non-regal

audience. In other instances, texts are absent from artworks altogether even though they appear

part of the original design (Figure 2.6). As discussed above, the Bonampak murals have several

blank areas reserved for texts. Miller and Brittenham (2013: 74) have suggested that this may be

due to abandonment or interruption of the original program, death or political realignments of the

actors, or shifting political winds that made it more politic to leave certain actors unspecified.

What it does emphasize is that hieroglyphic texts were perhaps more vulnerable to revision or

cancellation than imagery (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 74), and therefore affected more by the

political conditions of Maya courts.

Identifying the Court through Ethnohistoric Sources

Various ethnohistoric sources detail information about the Maya in the sixteenth century. The

most famous is perhaps the Popul Vuh, the sixteenth century document composed by members of
67
the Quiché-Maya nobility in highland Guatemala. Although the book was written in colonial

times it was based on an earlier Pre-Columbian version, and the copy that is known today is the

transcription by Spanish priest Francisco Ximénenz (Christenson 2003: 22, 35). The Popol Vuh

is best-known for detailing the Maya creation myth, but it also contains details (both historic and

mythic) about the Quiché ancestral lineage. It outlines the highest office as that of Aj Pop (“He

of the Mat”), which reflects the mat as a symbol of power, closely followed by Aj Pop K’am Ja

(“He of the Mat Reception House”), who was an advisor and representative of the former

(Christenson 2003: 257). The book also states that lords from different lineages “were advanced

in rank, differentiated by their benches and their cushions” (Christenson 2003: 268), and that

each had vassals and servants to build their homes (Christenson 2003: 274). Consequently,

although the writings of the Quiché nobility were intended to glorify their ancestry and should be

interpreted accordingly, much can be learnt about offices of power in highland Guatemala from

the Popol Vuh.

The only other native manuscripts with information about Maya political organization

that have survived from the colonial period are the books of Chilam Balam. ‘Chilam/ Chilan

Balam’ refers to the title of a prophet or priest, and Byron (1913: 5) suggested that every village

in the Yucatan prior to the conquest probably possessed a book of this title. The books were

written primarily in the Yucatecan language and contain important information about cosmology,

history, calendrics, medicine, and ritual (Knowlton 2010: 2). Sixteen of these books exist, and

are distinguished according to the town in which they were first encountered by scholars

(Knowlton 2010: 2). The book of Chilam Balam of Chumayel was compiled in 1782 in the

village of Chumayel for example (Byron 1913: 9). Many books compiled in the eighteenth

68
century were copies of earlier manuscripts, and the aforementioned example is only one of three

to contain information about ancient chronologies or history (Morley 1911: 197).

Although the books are not especially detailed about political organization, they do

contain some information about rulership of sites in the Yucatan, as well as alliances and

conflicts between sites (Morley 1911: 210). Brinton (1882: 25) was able to document the

political condition at the time of the conquest from the books and explained that the Yucatan was

divided into a number of independent petty states. He described the rulership of each province by

a hereditary chief, known as a batab, and explained that each village of a province was organized

under a ruler, known as the halach uinic (Brinton 1882: 26).

In addition to native manuscripts, written documents from the Spanish conquistadors also

survive. Fray Diego de Landa’s Relación de las Cosas de Yucatán (Tozzer 1966 [1941]) is one

of the most informative of these manuscripts. In it Landa details observations about the native

government in post-conquest times, such as the appointing of governors by lords and the duties

of lords to the ruler (1966 [1941]: 26-27). He explains that “the lords governed the town…which

they did by the hands of leading men, who were very well obeyed and highly esteemed,

especially the rich…they held court in their houses” (1966 [1941]: 87). This suggests that in

post-contact times in Yucatan, as in Late Classic times throughout the Maya region, there were

important, non-royal, individuals who were powerful and pre-eminent in their own right.

Furthermore, he also commented on the arrangement of structures at sites and commented that

“all around the temples stood the houses of the lords and the priest, and then (those of) the most

important people” (1966 [1941]: 62). This appears to be similar to the location of the ruler’s

palace and court at the center of Maya sites in Late Classic times.

69
 Ralph Roys (1933, 1943), using information compiled from colonial period sources such

as the Books of Chilam Balam and Landa’s Relación, elaborated on features of the political

system operating in Yucatan at the time of the conquest (which the Spanish preserved in a

supervised arrangement known as the ‘cacique system’). He explains that the halach uinic,

sometimes known as ahau, was the head-chief of a town and directed the government through an

appointed town head, or batab (1933: 113; 1943: 60-61). Interestingly, Roys noted that some

states did not seem to have a halach uinic, and were instead were governed by a federation of

batabs (1933: 114; 1943: 129). These batabs had a small staff of assistants known as ah kulels,

who were important members of the town government, and under the batab was a powerful town

council known as the ah cuch cabs (1943: 62, 129). He describes batabs as important and

powerful individuals, able to extract tribute and command soldiers (1943: 62-63).

The halach uinic as overarching ruler is comparable to the k’uhul ajaw in Late Classic

times, and the batabs and ah cuch cabs are comparable to positions held by courtiers with formal

titles in the Late Classic as well. Although Roys explains that “no detailed description of what

we might call the court of the halach unich has come down to us” in colonial documents (1943:

61), it is clear that political system in colonial times did resemble some aspects of the earlier Late

Classic political system. Thus, as with the colonial system which enabled people from the lower

classes to manoeuver themselves “into political positions considered to be above their station”

(1943: 34), we can expect that individuals in the Late Classic court were able to improve their

political position in spite of their ancestral status.

Finally, in addition to ethnohistoric sources from the Maya region, there are numerous

sources that detail the court of the Aztec king Moctezuma which can be used as a comparison to

the Late Classic Maya court. For example, Miller (1985: 152) explains that Spanish chroniclers
70
discuss dwarfs and hunchbacks as confidants and jesters to the Mexica ruler. In fact, illustration

64 in Book 8, Chapter 10, of the Florentine Codex includes images of dwarves and hunchbacks

in the Aztec court (Anderson and Dibble 1954). The same book also describes Aztec rulers

resting upon seats made from the skins of wild and dangerous animals, some painted elaborately

with designs (Anderson and Dibble 1954: 31), which compares favourably to the décor inside

Maya courts. Book 10 of the Florentine Codex (Dibble and Anderson 1961) describes several

classes of artists within Aztec society, such as painters, sculptors, goldsmiths, potters, and even

gem carvers. The documents demonstrate that all were held in high esteem yet within them there

were different social status levels.

Having introduced the ancient Maya court, its members, and the means by which it can be

recognized, the next chapter will discuss ancient Maya dress and present evidence for dress worn

by court members. As will be demonstrated, dress is not simply a passive reflection of identity

and it should not be assumed that the clothing and attire of courtiers automatically indicates their

social positioning or role within the organization of the Late Classic Maya court.

71
 CHAPTER 3: DRESS AS AN IDENTITY MARKER

Worn by all but scrutinized by far too few (Nicklas and Pollen 2015: 12).

Following the definition of a person as an external, public, being (Jenkins 2008: 28; Meskell

1999: 32), we can view outward appearance as closely related to identity. However, it should not

be assumed that dress automatically communicates information about the identities of its wearers

(Tseëlon 2012: 121). Dress is not simply a passive reflection of identity— it has a powerful

relationship to how individuals understand themselves and interact with others. Proponents of

‘symbolic interaction theory’ assert that humans develop a sense of self through their interactions

with others, and learn about themselves through the responses others give to their appearance

(Miller-Spillman 2012: 6). The relationship between dress and identity is so intertwined that

Norris (2004) declares identities can be changed through the act of divestment, and scholars such

as Barnes and Eicher (1992) and Sørensen (1991) contend that dress is a way in which certain

identities such as gender are created and produced. It is no wonder then that “apparel…is with us

at birth from the moment we take our first breath until we are wrapped in a funeral shroud or

dressed in our burial clothes” (Pomar and Rivera 2006: 17).

Since dress involves actions that visually and physically modify and supplement the body

(Eicher and Evenson 2015: 3), “dress cannot be understood without reference to the body”

(Entwistle 2000: 324). Theories of embodiment and sensory perception have been used by

various scholars to explore dress (Allerton 2007; Entwistle 2000; Joyce 2005; McCafferty and

McCafferty 2009; Reischer and Koo 2004; Ruggerone 2016). Such scholars have moved away

from the visual aspect of dress to consider the phenomenological and somatic effects on the body
72
and its role in beautifying the body. Anthropologist Mary Douglas (1973) suggested there were

two types of bodies: the physical body and the social body (or the self and society). The former,

she suggests, is constrained by the latter because of social orders or pressures. The social order

acts as a form of control over the body and structures an individual’s consciousness—

perpetuating unconscious expressions of appropriate bodily styles. Styles of dress, she suggests,

are one means by which an individual can protest against the social order; shaggy hair (as

opposed to tidy) is one means by which norms can be challenged.

Forms of skin manipulation also emphasize the close relationship between dress and the

body, suggesting that dressing does not stop at the skin’s surface. Terence Turner (1980)

famously coined the term the ‘social skin’ to reflect the fact that all forms of body manipulation

and adornment can be considered forms of dress, and that ‘clothing’ need not necessarily involve

textiles. Therefore, the skin is not necessarily a passive surface onto which dress is applied but

can become a form of dress itself. This can be seen most clearly through practices of

scarification; colouring or oiling the skin; tattooing the skin; and manipulating the skin into new

forms (i.e. through plastic surgery). The relationship between body and dress becomes further

intertwined when we consider that not only parts of our own bodies become aspects of dress, but

parts of other bodies external to our own can be worn as items of dress. For example, skin has

been documented as a body part that has been worn (such as representations of the Aztec deity

Xipe-Toltec [Evans 2004, Figure 10.11]), and adornments made from teeth and bone have been

found in archaeological contexts throughout the world. The incorporation of body parts (that are

not an individual’s own) into dress is something that is also practiced in Western culture.

Wearing a lock of hair in a necklace, or real human hair in a wig, and even the incorporation of

73
ashes from cremation into jewellery or tattoos (Heessels, et al. 2012), are all examples of such

practices.

However intertwined dress may be to the human body, it is important to consider that

dress exists apart from the body and can be active without a human agent. As psychologist

Flugel (1930: 15) explains, “what we actually see and react to are, not the bodies, but the clothes

of those about us.” For example, a wedding dress does not need to be worn to communicate to an

audience that a ceremonial event is going to take place involving (usually) a female wearer of

consenting age. Furthermore, the price of the dress; the quality of the fabric; the form or style;

and the decoration can indicate information about the economic status of the wearer and may

indicate geographical, cultural, and temporal information. Thus, the visual nature of dress invites

it to be ‘read’ like a text (Holsbeke 2003; Miller-Spillman 2012: 1; Pancake 1991: 46; Schwarz

1979: 32; Sledge 2015: 4).36

Nevertheless, the wearer of a certain type of attire such as a wedding dress may not align

with the identities suggested by the item itself, which calls into question the appropriateness of

‘reading’ it in a semiotic manner (see below). Various scholars have argued that the ‘clothing as

communication’ viewpoint is limited and there are other ways to understand dress apart from a

linguistic model (Adams 2007: 119; Carter 2012; Entwistle 2000: 326). In a study of female

clothing, Tseëlon (2012) goes as far to demonstrate that there is often disparity between the

intended messages of the wearer and perceived, or ‘read’, messages of the viewers; in other

words, that clothing is not always accurately decoded by viewers and miscommunication is

possible. She claims that only highly homogenous and distinctive communities with well-defined

Interestingly, Greenfield (2004: 151) explains that the English word ‘textile’ comes from the Latin root textus
36

meaning “woven”. Barber (1991: 5), however, explains that the word ‘textile’ comes from the Latin texere (‘to
weave’).
74
dressing rules (such as the Amish) have clothes that function like a language (Tseëlon 2012:

115).

Despite Tseëlon’s concern that only highly homogeneous dress can be ‘read’, Rafaeli and

Pratt (1993) provide a model for examining and interpreting dress on a scale from heterogeneous

to homogeneous. They explain that complete homogeneity occurs when all members are dressed

in a similar manner, similar to the idea of a ‘uniform’, yet there can also be stratified

homogeneity when there is similarity of dress within subgroups (e.g. departments) but

differences to other subgroups. Random heterogeneity exists when there is no similarity in dress

among members of an organization. They associate complete homogeneity with organizations

that specialize in mass production of services and value consistency; stratified homogeneity with

organizations that value divisions of labour and emphasize distinctions; and random

heterogeneity with organizations that endorse creativity and innovation.

Rafaeli and Pratt (1993) also argue that it is important to examine the conspicuousness of

dress. Highly conspicuous dress clearly distinguishes employees from nonemployees; a moderate

level of conspicuousness allows the nature of the organization to be discerned but not the

specific organization (e.g. individuals working in a medical facility can be recognized but not the

particular hospital they work in); and a low level of conspicuous dress does not identify

employees from nonemployees. Homogeneity and conspicuousness are also interdependent,

since complete homogeneity of dress tends to be conspicuous (if all employees wear jeans and

white shirts the homogeneity of their attire is likely to make them stand out as a group).

Other scholars examining homogeneity in dress have explored useful concepts that

extend the idea of a uniform past highly conspicuous, homogeneous, attire. For example, Joseph

(1986: 143) and Craik (2005: 4) recognize quasi-uniforms: attire worn by people dressed
75
individually but in similar ways (e.g. business people in suits or individuals attending a funeral in

black). Craik (2005: 17) also recognizes informal uniforms, which are combinations of clothes

that seek to construct the visible signs of a “unique” identity but in fact conform to informal rules

that percolate through civil society (e.g. university students or individuals within certain

subcultures [Hebdige 1979]). Lastly, Joseph (1986: 21, 24) recognizes that uniforms can consist

of one or several items of clothing and suggests that the former be considered a ‘minimal

symbol’ of the uniform since it can suggest or allude to a uniform or social role (e.g. a police

badge).

The concept of homogeneous vs. heterogeneous dress is similar to Wiessner’s (1983)

‘emblemic’ and ‘assertive’ styles. The former, she argues, transmits a message about group

affiliation and therefore tends to be uniform because its purpose is to mark and maintain

boundaries. The latter style transmits information about personal identity, and can therefore

provide personal translations of membership in groups.37 Her underlying understanding of style

is that it functioned to communicate and therefore mirrored Wobst (1977), who proposed that

style functions as an avenue of information exchange. This view of style has since been criticized

as narrow in scope and although it is agreed to be a way of doing, there continue to be debates

about what style does (if anything) and how it relates to social processes (Hegmon 1992).

Just as it may be conducive to consider style in a broader manner, it is useful to recognize

that homogeneous and heterogeneous are not mutually exclusive. Depending on the context,

homogeneous dress can just as easily become heterogeneous dress and vice versa. For example,

the attire of an employee in a clothing store might be homogenous compared to the other

37
Hodder (1991) argued, based on his research in Baringo (Kenya), that differences in the material culture of ethnic
groups increase as competition between the groups increase.
76
employees but it can become heterogeneous as soon as the employee leaves the store and joins a

larger crowd of people—all of whom are wearing very different attire to the employee. The

recent protests in Charlottesville, Virginia, demonstrate that seemingly plain clothes such as

white polo shirts—which might be considered heterogeneous attire in certain situations—can

become homogeneous ‘uniforms’ in specific contexts (Wolf 2017). Furthermore, a slight

addition to, or removal of, homogeneous or heterogeneous attire can completely shift dress from

either ‘fitting in’ or ‘standing out’. The ease with which dress can change from one category to

the other reflects the fluid nature of the categories and the ease with which individuals can adopt

and change dress depending on the situation they are in.

Examining the nature of dress in an organization, whether it be homogeneous or

heterogeneous, allow for the behaviours of both the organization and individual to be considered.

Rafaeli and Pratt (1993) suggest that employees who wear highly conspicuous attire, which

makes a role salient, are more likely to comply with role requirements than are employees who

wear self-selected attire. They propose that conspicuous dress may inspire greater compliance

from employees because it is clearly distinct from what individuals might select to wear, and

increases the validity and legitimation of their role within the organization. Hodder (1987) also

investigated the nature of dress in an organization, specifically by studying employee attire of a

British pet food company. He determined that the change from stratified homogeneity to

complete homogeneity was a deliberate attempt by management to remove status distinctions

and promote egalitarian values within the company. Eradicating symbolic status differences in

attire was an attempt to improve employee consistency and output, at a time when division and

alienation was being felt at different levels of the company.

77
 Homogeneity in dress also encourages individual behaviour to be driven by

organizational, rather than individual, goals, values, and priorities (Rafaeli and Pratt 1993: 45-

46). Indeed, Rafaeli (1989) found that organizational attire influenced adherence to expected

employee behaviour; thus, uniforms led to greater compliance with organizational values. Joseph

and Alex (1972) claim that a uniform assumes the properties of a totemic emblem and embodies

the attributes of a group, suppressing individuality. Consequently, conspicuous and

homogeneous organizational dress has been associated with control of behaviour of those at the

bottom of an organization by those at the head of an organization (Craik 2005: 4-5; Joseph 1986:

67; Joseph and Alex 1972; Rafaeli and Pratt 1993: 44).

The success of implementing dress codes, or even refraining from them, is not always

passively accepted by those at the bottom of an organization however. Pratt and Rafaeli (1997)

discovered that differing perceptions about individual role within an organization affected the

dress that members within the organization wanted to wear. Specifically, nurses working in a

rehabilitation unit viewed the function of the unit in different ways and this led to contrasting

views about the applicability of their current dress code. Importantly, the organization responded

by allowing the nurses the choice of adhering to the current code (informal, personal, clothes) or

adopting a new dress code (formal, impersonal, scrubs). This demonstrates that the context in

which a uniform is worn is essential to understanding the way in which an individual will react

and adhere to organizational rules and policies. Various aspects of identity such as gender and

status, as well as an individual’s skill, knowledge, and experience will influence the acceptance

or rejection of organizational attire.

Conspicuous dress allows non-members to easily recognize members of an organization

and probably affects their behaviour toward such members. Indeed, Bickman (1974) discovered
78
that attire influences people’s behaviour toward others and they tended to comply more with

uniformed individuals compared to non-uniformed individuals. Thus, maintaining homogeneity

of conspicuous dress within an organization increases the consistency of the experience of non-

members who interact with members. Craik (2005: 8) notes “it is essential that the wearer and

onlooker share a common code about the meaning of the item and how to wear it in order

that…any piece of uniform can “work” as a social marker.” When a common understanding

about elements of a uniform are mutually agreed upon, it allows the uniform to be a third party

between wearer and observer and make visible certain regulations or policies (e.g. the uniform of

a policeman acts as the ‘law’ [Joseph 1986: 209]). A uniform thus invites a relationship between

two or more people, and also invites the practice of certain behaviours between them.

Heterogeneous dress is not immune to control either; there are powerful social pressures

that can influence what people wear, even in the perceived freedom of organizational roles that

lack explicit dress codes (e.g. academics may strive to look professional and therefore adhere to

the social norms that create informal uniforms). These pressures are described by Pancake (1991:

45) as “unofficial dress codes” that the general public impose upon itself. Consequently, both

formal (e.g. rules) and informal (e.g. norms) processes may pressure individuals to wear

particular attire (Rafaeli and Pratt 1993: 34). Entwistle (2000) echoes this viewpoint, arguing that

social dimensions affect the choices people make about what to wear and thereby dress plays an

important role in reproducing social order. In addition to influence from their identities,

individuals choose dress based on their spatial situations and their context: who they are likely to

meet; the activities they are likely to perform; if there is a code of dress to abide by; and how

visible they want to be. The decisions involved in dressing the body can therefore be both

conscious and unconscious, yet importantly they relate to rules and norms in society.
79
 Rafaeli et al.’s (1997) study is an example of how employees in an organization, not

subject to formal dress codes, wear “appropriate” attire that conforms to unspoken norms. They

discovered that employees associated their dress with the process of adopting and executing

roles, temporarily making their other identities less salient. Not only were the employees

communicating their role to others (i.e. an external symbol) but they were also communicating

their role to themselves (i.e. an internal symbol) and cueing oneself to behave as their role

determined. Dress choice was also linked to comfort and emotions; wearing appropriate dress

enabled employees to feel more comfortable and confident. In some instances, however, dressing

for a particular role did not always involve the most comfortable attire. Importantly, they

discovered that employees did not use dress to enhance their career or advance in the

organization but did use dress to enhance their status relative to their role in order to appear

competent (Rafaeli, et al. 1997: 31). Their findings contrasted with Rafaeli’s previous suggestion

that employees are less likely to comply with role requirements if they wear self-selected attire

(Rafaeli and Pratt 1993).

Semiotics

To the semiotician, the foods people eat, the facial decorations they put on, the words they

invent, the objects they make and use, the myths they tell, the rites they perform, the sexual

practices they engage in, the arts they appreciate, the stories they tell are all rooted in basic

properties of signification (Danesi and Perron 1999: 39).

As a visual ‘language’, dress can be examined using a semiotic framework. Semiotics, the study

of signs and their meaning, comes from the Greek root seme, as in semeiotikos, an interpreter of
80
signs (Cobley and Jansz 1997: 4). A sign can be defined as anything that stands for something

other than itself, and in human culture this includes written and spoken words, gestures, objects,

clothing, and art (Smith-Shank 2004: vii). Anything can become a sign whenever it acquires

meaning beyond its individual existence. As Danesi and Perron (1999: 40, 46) explain, sign

systems allow humans to represent the world in some meaningful way.

Semiotics (sometimes known as semiology) was developed for the study of language by

Charles Sanders Peirce and Ferdinand de Saussure in the late nineteenth and early twentieth

centuries (Kloesel, et al. 1982-1999; Saussure 1986 [1916]). For Saussure, a linguist, the sign

was composed of the signifier and the signified. The former is the material, or physical, form that

the sign takes and the latter is the mental concept that the sign represents (D’Alleva 2012: 28;

Minor 2001: 175; Williams 2004: 238). Chandler (1995) offers the example of a sign on a shop

doorway that reads ‘open’, with the signifier being the word ‘open’ and the signified concept that

the shop is open for business. If the same signifier were on a button inside an elevator, it would

stand for a different signified (e.g. push the button to open the door). Saussure suggested that

some signifiers had paradigmatic relations with other signifiers, and words such as ‘cat’ could be

substituted with ‘feline’ (Cobley and Jansz 1997: 17). He understood the relationship between

the signifier and the signified to be arbitrary, since different signifiers can connect to the same

signified, and claimed that agreed rules in society create relationships between signifier and

signified (Cobley and Jansz 1997: 13-14).

Peirce, a philosopher, mathematician, and scientist, conceived of signs as having three

elements: the form that the sign takes; the sense made of the sign; and the thing to which the sign

refers (D’Alleva 2012: 28). He sometimes used the word ‘representation’ as a synonym for sign,

especially in his early writings (Atkin 2010; Liszka 1996: 22). Peirce also conceived of three
81
types of sign: iconic, indexical, and symbolic. An iconic sign resembles or imitates that which it

represents, and can be thought of as a ‘likeness’ (Short 2007: 215) or a genuine representation

(Gombrich 1986: 149). Minor (2001: 171) offers the example of the image of a monarch on

currency as an iconic sign. An indexical sign is directly connected in some way to that which it

signifies, sometimes as an immediate result of what is being signified, but does not generally

resemble what it references. Accordingly, indexical signs are often learned from personal

experience or observation. D’Alleva (2012: 29) offers the example of smoke as an index of fire.

Finally, a symbolic sign is purely arbitrary and does not resemble that which it represents,

but alludes to it. Consequently, symbolic signs are culturally conventionalized. Chandler (1995)

notes that because the relationship between the sign and its meaning is arbitrary, it must be

learnt. Thus, symbolic signs include language, traffic lights, and national flags. Another example

is a dove as a symbol of the Holy Spirit (Minor 2001: 171). A sign can act as either iconic,

indexical, or symbolic; can change from one to another; or can act as all three at one time.

Peirce’s recognition that there are differing levels of connection between iconic,

indexical, and symbolic signs led him to suggest that although almost anything can be a sign, it

can only function as a sign if it is recognized as such (D’Alleva 2012: 27). Since the sense made

of a sign requires an interpreter, the connection between signifier and signified relies on the level

of learning necessary on the part of the interpreter (Chandler 1995). The more recognizable the

signifier within a cultural context, the more habitual and straightforward a connection will be to

the signified. However, since an interpreter is needed, representation always has some elements

of subjectivity in it (Sledge 2015: 99). As Chandler (1995) noted with the signifier ‘open’, the

context of a sign is important for understanding the signified. This suggests that the interpreter

82
will have more ease recognizing a signifier and connecting it to the signified if it is in a familiar

context.

Preucel (2006: 89- 90) explains that Piercian semiotics has advantages over Sassurian

semiotics because it does not privilege language and instead offers a more adaptable model in

which social practices and material culture are incorporated along with language. Roland Barthes

extended the principles of semiotics in language to material culture (Calefato 2008). In Système

de la mode, initially published in 1967 and later translated to The Fashion System (Barthes

1983), Barthes applied semiotics to clothing. His analysis was limited to written fashion (or

‘described fashion’), rather than physical garments, since he was interested in the way in which

fashion was converted into language. He argued that clothing behaved in a manner similar to

language; garments and body decoration were signs that communicated and were meant to be

read (Carter 2012: 345). In Image, Music, Text (1977) he continued the application of semiotics

to other cultural objects, such as advertising images, to explore their denoted (literal) and

connoted (conceptual) meanings. Hodder (1987) also examined dress as a symbol, examining the

context in which it was worn carefully.

Tseëlon (2012: 119) suggests that Barthes’ denotative meaning can be understood as the

communication of an explicit or main message while his connotative meaning can be understood

as the implicit communication or unintended message. She stresses (2012: 114) that the grammar

of visual language is culturally specific, and therefore, like Barthes, believes that an image can

only be ‘read’ if a viewer possesses the knowledge to do so. Importantly, both authors point to

meaning being created by the viewer, who needs to be aware of the signs and their meaning(s) to

establish a connection between a signifier and the signified. Sterner (1989) even demonstrates

the difficulty in ‘reading’ signs that were never intended to be communicative in nature.
83
 Another difficulty in interpreting visual imagery is highlighted by Gombrich (1986: 144),

who warns that “information extracted from an image can be quite independent of the intention

of its maker.” He suggests that a viewer is always in danger of interpreting a representation

using the ‘beholder’s share’—the stock of images stored in our mind (1986: 145). Thus, it is

important that the viewer does not misconstrue the meaning of an image. Ian Hodder (1991)

discussed the possibility of ‘misreading’ cultural objects, specifically those from the

archaeological past, based on to the context of the interpreter. He recognized that meanings

imposed on the past may be due to the interpreter’s own cultural and social background, and

stressed the need to be self-critical about ‘reading the past’.

Joseph (1986: 10-11) suggests that clothing can be both signals (which he defines as

something that stands for something else) and symbols (which he defines as a more complex and

abstract sign that conveys information about values, beliefs, and emotions), or change category

from one to the other depending on context. For example, he explains that an apron, when worn

by cooks, signals manual labour. However, when it was incorporated into wedding dresses of the

18th century American elite it symbolized the virtues of a good housewife. The communication

of clothing symbols, he suggests, can be carefully controlled; by intentionally transmitting

symbols to a selected audience, the meaning of symbols can be obscured from others (Joseph

1986: 52). Secret service agents for example wear coloured lapel pins to identify themselves to

each other in a large crowd—a crowd that is unaware of the symbolism of the pins and therefore

ignorant to their communicative function (ibid). He is also careful to point out that “we

must…remember Freud’s dictum that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Not all properties of

clothing can be ascribed to its use as a communicating device” (Joseph 1986: 54).

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Ancient Maya Dress

A wide range of natural materials and substances, suitable for use in the manufacture and

application of various dress elements, were available to the ancient Maya. Consequently,

‘dressing’ involved a variety of practices including clothing the body in fibres that had been

woven into textiles; decorating the body with items shaped into jewellery; altering the colour of

the body and hair with paints and dyes; and changing the scent of the body with fragrances and

spices. It also involved physical modifications to the body through procedures such as altering

the shape of the head and teeth. Houston, et al. (2006: 26) consider ancient Maya clothing as two

layers; the first layer was “underclothing” worn at all times and the second was an array of

straps, jewellery, capes, and belts that took the meaning of clothing to a different level.

Joseph (1986: 54) suggests that multiple layers of clothing enable varying levels of

communication, with outermost layers addressing a general audience or public. This is akin to

Goffman’s (1959) consideration of different audiences and viewing public. The second layer

identified by Houston, et al. (2006: 26) may have had important public statements about the

wearer’s identity or activity being performed. It is likely this ‘second layer’ of clothing relates to

the sense of a costume, worn only on specific occasions and visible perhaps to a wider audience

than ‘underclothing’. Houston, et al. (2006: 23) also suggest that for some aspects of dress “there

may be no direct meaning attached” and instead the intent may have been to beautify or eroticize

the body. While there was undoubtedly aesthetic appeal to some aspects of dress, it is important

to stress that many elements would have been heavily symbolic and were likely closely

associated with the expression and creation of identity.

The symbolic nature of certain dress elements is exemplified by the relationship between

earspools and flowers. Houston, et al. (2006: 156) suggest that many large earspool assemblages
85
are flowers with projecting breath elements, and Taube (2004: 72-73) also claims that earspools

are commonly depicted as breathing— relating to the fact that many flowers are portrayed as

living, breathing, entities in Maya iconography. Houston, et al. (2006: 156) also suggest that

earspools carved in the form of opened flowers expressed the refined and omniscient nature of

elite hearing, serving to symbolically enrich or purify the sounds penetrating the head. Not only

is there an example of a jade earspool from the tomb of Palenque ruler K’inich Janaab Pakal

with the hieroglyph ub’-j-iiy, “it was heard”, but the Maya also likened earspools to a sign for

“road”— perhaps because the ear permits access to the body (Houston, et al. 2006: 156).

Oversized examples of ear decoration likely had a symbolic function as well, perhaps acting as

symbolic, rather than realistic, representations of dress. The ‘Pomona earflare’, recovered during

the bulldozing of a mound on the Pomona citrus estate in central Belize, for example is 18cm in

diameter and was likely worn on a mask or headdress rather than in the ear (Justeson, et al.

1988). The Tablet of the Cross at Palenque also features three large earflares, which Guenter

(2007: 27) suggests may represent similar ‘un-wearable’ examples of jewellery.

Dress would also have acted as a form of material wealth with certain items surely acting

as currency. The Codice Mendocino records tribute paid by Maya cities to the Aztecs, including

textiles and pigments (Neutze de Rugg 1981: 35), and Landa observed beads as currency among

the Yucatec Maya (Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 95). As discussed in the previous chapter, Patricia

McAnany (2013: 233) suggests that the huipiles worn by Lady K’ab’aal Xoox of Yaxchilan were

bequeathed to her daughter(s) and would have acted as valuable currency if the royal family fell

into difficult circumstances. Lesser textiles, she posits, were also used as a form of currency and

tribute (2013: 234). Spanish conquistadors recognized the value of textiles as material wealth,

and demanded tribute cloth be produced in larger sizes and higher quality (Brumfiel 1996: 454).
86
 Archeological investigations at Maya sites have recovered evidence demonstrating that

individuals of all social strata had access to, and participated in, textile production (Chase, et al.

2008: 131; Halperin 2008; Hendon 1999: 12). Clark and Houston (1998: 41) suggest that some

elite women may have hired other females to do their spinning and weaving, and if the maker

was high-status it probably affected the valuation of their products. Thus, it is likely that the most

elaborate textiles were commissioned, worn, and perhaps even created by elites. The ability to

commission highly decorative textiles, perhaps to be given as gifts or tribute, symbolized control

over resources and human labor—signalling wealth and power. Interestingly, Halperin (2011:

128) notes that elites seem to distance themselves visually from direct participation in aspects of

textile production that are tied to raw materials or farming and instead tie themselves to highly

skilled aspects of production such as spinning & weaving.

Ancient Maya textiles were manufactured largely from plant fibres such as cotton38,

kapok, yucca, and agave39, since wool was not available until the Spanish introduced sheep

(Anawalt 2000: 207). However, animal by-products such as duck or goose feathers, and rabbit

fur, were likely incorporated into textiles as well (Pomar and Rivera 2006: 18). It is often alleged

that cotton was reserved for elites and coarse fibres such as agave were used for lower-status

clothing. This is based on Fray Diego Durán’s decree that in Aztec Mexico “only the king is to

wear the fine mantles of cotton…the commoners will not be allowed to wear cotton

clothing…only garments of maguey fibre” (Heyden 1994: 208-209). There is little doubt that

material was an important factor in the manufacture of high-status clothing, and cotton was

38
Two important species of cotton grown in the Early Americas are Gossypium barbadense and Gossypium
hirsutum. The former was first domesticated in Western South America as early as 3500 B.C. The latter is the most
commonly grown Mesoamerican cotton and was grown in Mexico and Guatemala in Pre-columbian times.
39
Agave is the largest genus of plant in the Agavaceae family, various species of which grow within Mesoamerica.
Based on the species, the leaves contain fibres known as henequen, maguey, or sisal (see Rousso 2010).
87
likely the preferred fibre, but coarse fibres can also be spun into fine thread using the correct type

of spindle whorl (McCafferty and McCafferty 2000; Parsons 2001). Coarse fibres were likely

used in combination with cotton to stiffen belts or head ribbons, or any other dress element that

required a stiff or rigid form, as it is done today in modern communities (Osborne 1965: 21).

Thus, it is likely that fibres from plants such as agave were integrated into textiles worn

by individuals of high status in the Maya region. For example, three of the four textiles found in

Tomb 19 at the site of Rio Azul were manufactured from a plant fibre that was not cotton

(Carlsen 1986: 147). Additionally, 58% of the fibres sampled from Cueva del Lazo in Chiapas

were a combination of cotton and agave (Domenici and Valenzuela 2016). Since the textiles

were associated with child burials, which were accompanied by a wide range of materials

indicative of high status, it is possible the textiles demonstrate the use of agave fibres by elite

individuals in Mesoamerica. Interestingly, however, all of the decorative textiles analyzed from

Cuevo del Lazo were manufactured purely from cotton while those manufactured from a

combination of agave and cotton, or solely agave, were undecorated (Domenici and Valenzuela

2016).

Ancient Maya textile manufacture was an incredibly sophisticated process, which is to be

expected because archaeological evidence demonstrates that textile manufacture has been

developing since the Paleolithic era (Soffer, et al. 2000; The Siberian Times 2016).40 However,

direct evidence of textile manufacture in Mesoamerica only dates back to somewhere in the

region of 6500- 4800 B.C., evidenced by fragments of maguey textiles found at Tehuacán in

Mexico (Rousso 2010: 48). The first step in the manufacture of textiles was the processing of

40
Current evidence suggests that jewellery and other forms of adornment were worn prior to fabrics, since the
evidence for ornamentation (Zilhão et al. 2010) predates that of needles by thousands of years.
88
fibres, to prepare them for spinning. Fibre was extracted from the agave plant by soaking or

cooking the leaves to make them tender and then scraping them using stones or wooden or bone

implements to obtain long threads (Rousso 2010: 53). Other techniques may have existed for

extracting the fibres, since ancient agave fragments discovered in Coxcatlán cave in Mexico

seem to show evidence of chewed-away soft tissue to extract the fibres (Schery 1972: 168). Once

the fibre was extracted it was strung out in the open sun to dry (Evans 2007: Figure 2.3).

Rather than extraction from leaves, cotton fibre was extracted from the boll, or protective

capsule, around the seeds of the plants (Schery 1972: 175). After collection by hand, the boll had

to be separated from the seed, and cleaned so the fibres were was clear and uniform in texture.

The next step was a process known as ginning, where the cotton fibres would have been beaten

to loosen the fibres (Osborne 1965: 25). Once prepared for spinning, fibres were turned into

thread using a spindle and spindle whorl. Spindles are long smooth sticks and whorls are disc-

shaped weights attached to their end (made from materials such as clay, stone, or wood in Pre-

Columbian times), used to maintain or increase the motion and speed of the spindle’s rotation.41

This implement allowed fibres to be converted into thread of a desired thickness (Anawalt 2000:

209).

The ancient Maya used a backstrap loom to weave textiles, similar to those used by

modern weavers (Delgado 1969). These looms consist of numerous sticks and are therefore

sometimes known as stick looms. Since they consist of organic components, the earliest Maya

looms have not left their trace in the archaeological record. However, representations of similar

looms elsewhere in the world date as early as 3000 B.C. (Schoeser 2003: 22). Backstrap looms

41
McCafferty and McCafferty (2000: 42) describe the differences between supported; thigh; and drop spinning.
89
are light and portable, allowing them to be taken with the weaver wherever they travelled. The

upper part of the loom is tied to a stationary object such as a post or tree and the lower part is

attached to a strap tied around the weaver’s waist (Figures 3.1 and 3.2). The two end bars hold

lengthwise threads, known as the warp. These threads are pre-wound on a warping frame prior to

their transfer to the loom (the warping process is illustrated and described by both Ciaramella

[1999: Figure] and Greenfield [2004: 46-47]). While winding the warp, the threads are separated

into two sets. Once transferred to the loom, each set can be raised when the weaver leans forward

to release the tension on the loom. The sets can be lifted using a heddle rod and held open using

a shed rod. When they are raised, the horizontal threads, known as the weft, can be inserted

horizontally using a bobbin and beaten into place using a batten (Figure 3.3).

Since backstrap looms correspond to body width and are therefore not very wide, broad

strips of cloth cannot be woven on them; several widths of woven cloth were often sewn together

to create one garment. Similar to clothing worn by modern Maya communities, ancient Maya

textiles were not cut to shape and did not fit snugly to the body. Instead, the square or rectangular

shaped garments (based on loom widths) were loosely draped around the body and could be

fitted in place using belts and ties. The backstrap loom offers the opportunity to decorate

garments during the process of weaving. A plain weave is the simplest technique and is achieved

by interlacing an equal number of warp and weft threads. Supplementary wefts added at the time

of weaving to create designs advances a plain weave and is known as brocading (Figure 3.4).

The process of weaving lends itself readily to the use of geometric shapes and many

brocaded patterns were based on chevrons and diamonds.42 Altman and West (1992: 23) have

42
McCafferty and McCafferty (2006: 335) suggest that diamond patterns on textiles were common throughout
Mesoamerica, and in some regions they had associations to the landscape.
90
identified monumental carvings with motifs, which to some degree resemble supplemental weft

brocade. Yet Looper (in Looper and Tolles 2000: 7-8) has asserted that textiles recovered from

Classic period sites do not exhibit clear evidence of brocading, and therefore painting was a

likely technique for textile decoration (see for example the painted textiles from La Garrafa Cave

in Chiapas [Landa et al. 1988]). Morris Jr. and Karasik (2015: 1) also claim that painting cloth

was the most popular decorative technique during the Classic period. This is based on Morris

Jr.’s study of the Yaxchilan lintels, some of the design motifs of which he suggests are too

rounded to indicate brocading while others appear to have been cut from the fabric rather than

woven (1985b: 75; 1985c: 321). However, textile remains from Cueva del Lazo (Domenici and

Valenzuela 2016) demonstrate that brocading was a technique used in Mesoamerica during the

Classic period. Furthermore, some of the textiles recovered from the ‘Cenote of Sacrifice’ at the

site of Chichen Itza bear evidence of brocading and they may be Late Classic in date43 (Lothrop

1992: 56).

A decorative technique often seen on modern huipiles is embroidery (Figure 3.5), which

embellishes a woven garment with stitches and creates visually distinct shapes to brocading (see

Figure 3.4). Morris Jr. (1986: 56-57) claims that embroidery is quicker and cheaper than

brocading, and began to be used by indigenous weavers in Highland Chiapas in the late twentieth

century as a form of emulating the technique of brocading. However, needles have been found in

conjunction with spinning and weaving implements at Maya sites (Chase, et al. 2008: 2; Hendon

1997: 38) and embroidered textiles have been recovered from Cuevo del Lazo (Domenici and

Valenzuela 2016).

43
As Lothrop (1992: 36) explains, it “is difficult if not impossible” to estimate the age of the recovered textiles.
There is no certainty when the textiles recovered from the cenote were first deposited, though it is known that the
practice of depositing objects into the cenote continued until the latter half of the sixteenth century.
91
 In addition to brocade and embroidery, the ancient Maya likely used other techniques to

decorate woven fabrics. Coloured pigments could be applied onto fabrics using a variety of

stamps or paintbrushes,44 and dyes could be applied using various forms of resist-dyeing such as

tie-dyeing or a method similar to batik (which consists of applying resins or melted wax onto

fabric to reserve areas to create a design [Davis 1991; Polanco 2005: 10-11]). Throughout

Mesoamerica, dyes were derived from plants and other vegetation, animals, and minerals

(Guirola 2010; Roquero 1999; Wallert 1997). Vegetable dyes were likely the most numerous,

since they can be derived from plants including Indigo [Balfour-Paul 2004]), flowers, fruits,

roots, wood, bark, and lichens. Animal dyes included insects such as cochineal (Arroyo-

Figueroa, et al. 2011; Rodríguez and Niemeyer 1999), molluscs such as Plicopurpura pansa

(Mindling and Mindling 2014; Nuttall 1909), and mineral dyes such as ochre and carbon.

Mordants (alum, iron sulphate, copper sulphate, sodium carbonate) would have been added to

dyebaths to modify colours, expand hues, and make them colourfast when applied to fabric

(Houston, et al. 2009: 59).

The identity that is most commonly discussed in studies of ancient Maya dress is gender.

Traditionally, textiles worn by females consisted of a limited range of garments and, in general,

covered a greater percentage of the body than men’s textiles. A huipil for example was a long

outer garment that covered the shoulders, chest, and hips and therefore concealed most of the

female form (Figure 3.6a). Guernsey (1992: 59) has suggested that because the huipil was a

modest textile it reflected a woman’s subordinate position as care-giver to men. Similarly, Stone

44
Destiny Crider (personal communication 2014) has experimented with re-creating paintbrushes to decorate
ancient Mexican ceramics. She discovered that brushes made with agave fibre were firm and those made with
animal or human hair were much finer. Thus, different types of paintbrushes may have been used to create different
decorative designs on textiles in Pre-Columbian times.
92
(2011: 169) has inferred female social status from clothing and has argued that garments which

revealed the breasts were more commonplace among lower-class women. An alternative way to

interpret social status from female textiles is not in the amount of body surface they cover, but

the time, resources, and labour required to produce them. A huipil, because of its size, requires

more time and labour to manufacture compared to smaller male garments. Since elaborately

decorated huipiles took even more time to produce they may have actually heightened the status

of women who not only wore, but produced, them.

Other female garments such as a sarong, which was a long garment tied under the arms,

also concealed a large percentage of the body (Figure 3.6b). In other instances skirts were worn

without an upper body covering, as the murals at the site of San Bartolo demonstrate [Saturno et

al. 2005]. A less common garment was an open sided short blouse known as a quechquemitl,

which Anawalt (1981: 184-186) suggests can be rounded or triangular in shape. Stone (2011:

169) differentiates between a huipil and quechquemitl based on the rounded neckline and open

sides of the latter.45 Unfortunately, female clothing is often associated with sexuality, beauty, or

modesty (Reischer and Koo 2004; Stone 2011). This is problematic because it does not consider

the vast range of possibilities that clothing had for females in the past. For example, Schneider

and Weiner (1991) discuss examples that consider widespread symbolic systems in which cloth

invokes female power and instances in which cloth enables women to contribute considerably to

social and political life.

Male textile garments usually consisted of a loincloth, a long or short skirt (elsewhere

identified as a hipcloth—see Chapter Five), a short waist-length jacket (xicolli), and a cape.

45
Proskouriakoff (1961: 81), however, claimed that a huipil could be both open and stitched at the sides.
93
Joyce (2000a: 65) has suggested that while clothing covered the body of women, it revealed the

body, and sexual features, of men. Furthermore, she argues that male loincloths, with their long

hanging ends, draw attention to male genitalia as much as it conceals them (Joyce 2001: 128). So

strong was the association between the huipil and female gender, and the loincloth and male

gender, that Joyce (2001: 122) claims they were adopted earlier in life that any gender-distinctive

ornaments or hairstyles. Furthermore, Vogt (1969: 181) observed that if the first child of a

Zinacanteco family is a girl, a piece of the father’s pants or shirt is buried with the umbilical cord

and the afterbirth so that the next child will be a boy. This speaks to the strong relationship

between clothing and gender identity even in modern Maya communities.

In addition to textile garments themselves, the manufacture of textiles is often strongly

linked to gender identity in Mesoamerican studies—particularly female gender (Brumfiel 1991;

Hendon 1997; G. G. McCafferty and S. D. McCafferty 2012; McCafferty and McCafferty 1991).

Among the ancient Maya, there are various lines of evidence that link females to textile

manufacture. Imagery often demonstrates the close association between females and weaving

(Ciaramella 1999; Delgado 1969; Dibble and Anderson 1961: Figure 58) and ethnohistoric

documents provide evidence linking females to weaving and spinning (Tozzer 1966 [1941]:

127). Indeed, even among modern Maya communities, one of the essential qualities for a wife is

to be able to weave good clothes for herself and her husband (Vogt 1969: 192). In highland

Guatemala, Zinacenteco families present infant girls with a mano46 and various parts of the

backstrap loom, and infant boys with farming tools (Vogt 1969: 181). This illustrates the strong

link between female gender and textile manufacture even in modern Maya communities.

46
A groundstone tool that is used in conjunction with a metate. It has many uses, including grinding food such as
maize.
94
However, Brumfiel (2006) has critiqued the assumption that weaving and female gender are

synonymous. She has argued instead that weaving among the Maya was not the exclusive work

of women and was instead closely related to status and class.

Despite patterns in the types of garment worn by males and females in ancient Maya

society, there have been problems when assigning a gender identity based on dress. In the middle

of the twentieth century scholars began to identify males in Maya imagery wearing long skirts,

originally identified as a female garment (Proskouriakoff 1961: 81; Thompson 1955: 63-64).

One of the most famous examples of this is Stelae H from Copan, which represents the ruler

Waxaklahun-Ubah-K’awil wearing a long skirt (Figure 3.7). Initially, the individual on the stelae

was identified as female based on the length of the skirt, but hieroglyphic inscriptions later

revealed that the monument represented a male ruler (Looper 2002: 171). Despite this correction,

scholars continued to misidentify the individual on Stela H as a female (e.g. Schevill 1997: 130).

Unfortunately, due to both males and females wearing long skirts in pictorial imagery,

and the apparent suppression of female sexual characteristics, Proskouriakoff (1961: 82)

mistakenly claimed that “women cannot be recognized by dress.” The inconsistencies in the

length of male skirts has continued to cause confusion about gender identification, and in some

instances has created incorrect determinations. For example the leftmost individual in NOMA

69.33 (K2800 [Figure 3.8]) has been identified by Guernsey (1992: 88) as female despite it being

a representation of a male in a long skirt47. It is clear that males wore both short and long skirts

(compare Bullard Jr. and Bullard 1965: Figure 12a; Miller and Martin 2004: Plate 6), and

therefore the length of a skirt alone cannot be used as an indicator of gender.

47
Her identification may be based on Schele and Miller’s (1986: 154) incorrect identification of an Ix glyph in the
scene. Both Marc Zender and Karen Bassie-Sweet (personal communication, 2015) have identified this glyph as the
T757 BAAH rodent/gopher with K’AN sign infixed, ruling out any hieroglyphic support for a female in this scene.
95
 The long skirt worn on Stela H at Copan is now understood to be a costume element of

the Maize deity. It consists of a long latticework skirt made from interlocking beads (likely

greenstone), usually coupled with a belt displaying the head of the Xoc monster above a

Spondylus shell (Ardren 2002: 76; Bruhns 1988: 106-107; Joyce 1996: 170). The female

counterpart to the Maize deity consists of the same dress elements but sometimes with the

addition of a latticework cape. The costume is therefore a shared one, likely representing gender

complementarity— rooted in the ancient knowledge of maize plants having both male and

female elements (Bassie-Sweet 2000).

Tate (1999) suggests that the ideal nature of anything in the ancient Maya gendered world

was androgynous because it led to power, and Joyce (1992: 68; 1996: 169) has proposed that

male and female genders were often portrayed as complementary as part of a strategy to

construct political power. Looper (2002) has furthered this, proposing that gender was fluid

among the Maya and rulers could claim an identity as a third gender through the use of the

beaded net costume. In addition to being a way in which to appropriate power, Looper (2002:

200) suggests that impersonation of a gender different to one’s own could be for satirical

entertainment. Masquerading as a woman was one of the major themes of humour in colonial

portrayals of the Maya, just as it is among the modern Tzotzil Maya (Stone 1991: 143-145, 195).

When females wore the latticework costume they are thought to have appropriated power

usually reserved to males. Looper (2002: 183) and Reese-Taylor, et al. (2009) argue that females

wore the costume for the purposes of warfare, whilst Tate (1999: 4) has suggested females wore

the costume in an attempt to revitalize their communities in times when the male dynasty was

threatened. Both arguments emphasize females appropriating claims to power in what are

considered to be traditionally male domains. Others have disagreed that the costume is
96
androgynous, such as Bassie-Sweet (2000: 15), who argues that the Maize god’s net skirt

represented the center of the earth and his agricultural powers, and Houston and McAnany

(2003: 34), who claim that that the Maize God costume is neither androgynous nor sexually

ambiguous. Houston, et al. (2006: 51-52) also contend that the costume related to a particular

category of deity, not a blurring of genders.

In addition to gender, other identities can be inferred from ancient Maya dress and this

dissertation explores evidence for various identities of royal court members. To do this pictorial

evidence from painted ceramics is combined with other forms of evidence, such as

archaeological, epigraphic, ethnohistoric, and ethnographic. A summary of the evidence for

ancient Maya dress from these sources are discussed below.

Archaeological Evidence

The direct recovery of ancient Maya dress from archaeological excavations is hindered by the

poor preservation of organic materials. Colourful and detailed textiles, iridescent feathers,

intricate tattoos, and elaborate hairstyles all deteriorate over time. Fortunately, jewellery made

from durable materials such as greenstone and shell, or evidence of permanent bodily

modifications such as incised teeth and shaped craniums, are often recovered from sites

throughout the Maya region and can aid in interpreting the manner in which the ancient Maya

clothed and adorned their bodies.

Ancient Maya burials, especially those of elite individuals, often contain direct evidence

of dress in the form of jewellery made from durable materials. While the presence of dress items

in burials may reflect the choices made by the living in respect to clothing and adorning the

body, and therefore not necessarily the identity of the deceased, they are useful indicators of the
97
range of dress available to the ancient Maya.48 As Fitzsimmons (2009: 76) has noted, it has

allowed archaeologists to determine that “to be buried completely naked would have been

unusual, if not downright insulting.”

Textiles can sometimes be discerned in ancient Maya burials, thought they generally only

survive in dry arid environments such as caves. Wallace (2001) reported that 57 sites in Mexico

and Guatemala have yielded textile fragments of significance, the earliest dating to A.D. 1500.49

Among these, some of the best preserved decorated textiles have been recovered from the La

Candelaria cave in Coahuila, Mexico (Museo Nacional de Antropología 2011: 306-307), the La

Garrafa Cave in Chiapas (Landa, et al. 1988), a cave near the Finca Chiptic in Chiapas (Johnson

1954) and the Tenancingo region in Mexico (Johnson 1970).

Textiles were not solely used to clothe the body in burials. They also functioned as a

means of tribute (e.g. the stacked textiles in Burial 9 at El Zotz [Newman et al. 2015: 163]) ; to

wrap the body and burial offerings (e.g. Burial A40 at Uaxactun [Smith 1950: 98], Tomb 4 at

Calakmul [Vargas et al. 1999:53] at Burial 39 at El Perú-Waka’ [Rich 2011: 307]) ; to insulate

ceramic vessels (Newman, et al. 2015: 163); as part of the funerary bier or burial slab (e.g. the

Hunal Tomb at Copan, [Bell et al. 2004]); as part of a ‘cocoon’ chamber (e.g. the N9-56 Tomb

at Lamanai [Pendergast 1981: 39]); and perhaps to decorate the walls of a tomb or crypt

(Pendergast 1969: 23). Other textile fragments have been recovered outside of burial contexts,

unfortunately in most cases only having survived because they were carbonized (Lothrop 1992;

Morehart, et al. 2004), and in some instances only as an impression (Kidder, et al. 1946: 98).

48
Though it is of course possible that the deceased planned their burial attire prior to their death.
49
The report does not include a Late Classic textile fragment recovered from the Barton Creek Cave in Belize
(Morehart et al. 2004).

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One of the most unusual instances in which evidence of a textile has preserved only as an

impression are the textile clay laminates from Aguateca (Beaubien 2014).

Fitzsimmons (2009: 76) identified only two royal burials in the Classic Maya lowlands

where the remains of textiles worn on the body as clothing have been physically observed: Rio

Azul Tombs 19 and 23 (Carlsen 1986, 1987). One of the textiles from Tomb 19 appears to have

functioned as a cape or shroud, perhaps similar in form to the sheer textiles worn by figures in

the upper register of the West Wall in Bonampak Room 1 (Miller and Brittenham 2013: Figure

159). Analysis of the red pigment on the textiles from Tomb 19 failed to determine whether the

pigment had transferred from the body during decomposition, or had been painted directly onto

the textiles (Carlsen 1986). Fortunately, it could be determined that the textiles from Tomb 23

had been painted with a red pigment (Carlsen 1987).

Interestingly, one of the textiles from Tomb 23 may have been associated with leather

(Carlsen 1987: 155), lending credence to the presence of animal hide in the burial. Other

examples of animal hide recovered from burials include a Late Classic tomb in Structure VII at

Calakmul, which appears to suggest “that the deceased was buried with his jaguar cape or cloak”

(Folan, et al. 1995: 319), and Burial 88B-11 at Buenavista del Cayo, within which the individual

was buried with “jaguar-paw mittens and a jaguar-skin mantle” (Taschek and Ball 1992: 494).

Wearing animal hide as a form of dress, such as jaguar skin, is also attested in iconography (e.g.

around the waist of several individuals on MNAE 108.9.2 [K3009, Figure 3.9]), but animal skins

were also used as part of funerary biers and as a cover for offerings (Pendergast 1969: 22).

Despite Fitzsimmons only identifying two examples of textiles as clothing in Maya

burials, there appear to be additional examples at other sites in the Maya region. For example,

Houston, et al. (2015: 163) recovered textiles from a Burial 9 at El Zotz, a royal burial of a
99
currently unknown ruler, that show evidence of having objects sewn into them. Similarly, in

Tomb 1 at Calakmul, thought to contain the remains of an early ruler, “cloth adorned with

hundreds of shells arranged to form designs” was placed near the deceased (Folan, et al. 1995:

321). Shell beads may also have decorated a loincloth or other piece of clothing from Tomb A-

1/1 at the site of Altun Ha, which is thought to contain the remains of a ruler (Pendergast 1979:

70, 82). Finally, in Burial A28 at Uaxactun, Smith (1950: 97) recorded a “small piece of

textile…adhering to left elbow.” Bordering the Maya region to the west, Cueva del Lazo has

provided remarkable preservation of at least 68 textile fragments, some of which were used to

bundle child burials (Domenici and Valenzuela 2016). A portion of the textiles retain their

decoration (including evidence of brocading and colouring yarns with dyes) and others their

form—so much so that two textile fragments found in Burials 7 and 9 have been interpreted as

‘turbans’ (Domenici 2013: 75, 77).

Direct archaeological evidence of textile manufacture is often found in the form of tools

such as spindle whorls, needles, brocade picks (awls), and, possibly, the so-called ‘donut stones’

(Tomasic 2012). However, as Halperin (2008: 114) has pointed out, these artefacts may have had

multiple functions outside of textile production. For example, at Motul de San José, bone

awls/pins with traces of red pigment were discovered, which may be suggestive of their use as

painting tools (Halperin and Foias 2010: 403). Interestingly, while a large number of spindle

whorls have been recovered from Postclassic sites in Central Mexico, a lower number have been

recovered from the Maya region. Chase et al. (2008) report only 57 spindle whorls from Caracol,

51 from Tikal, and 25 from Copan. Spindle whorls at Uaxactun and Tikal have been recovered

exclusively from female burials (Chase, et al. 2008: 135) but as Halperin (2008: 112) notes,

items associated with textile production have also been found in male burials and consequently
100
there is no straightforward archaeological association between females and textile manufacture.

For example, bone awls were found inside the Hunal Tomb at Copan, which is thought to contain

the remains of male ruler K’inich Yax K’uk’ Mo (Bell, et al. 2004: 133), and bone pins occur in

male and female burials at Caracol (Chase, et al. 2008: 134-135). Additionally, needles have

been recovered from the burials of males at Altun Ha (e.g. Tombs A-1/1, B-4/7, and B-4/2

[Pendergast 1969, 1979, 1982] and Copan (e.g. Burial 37-1 [Bell, et al. 2004: 155]).50 A wooden

batten may also have been recovered from the ‘Cenote of Sacrifice’ at Chichen Itza (Lothrop

1992: 39).

The association between males and various textile manufacturing tools reflects their

involvement in textile production. While females appear to have been predominately related to

the weaving process, other stages may have been carried out by men, children, and indivduals

with potential ‘other’ genders. These steps included collecting and processing plant fibres;

collecting and processing dyes and colourants; manufacturing awls, spindle whorls, and other

tools; and distribution and sale of fabric and cloth. For example, Fray Bernardino de Sahagún

(Dibble and Anderson 1961: 35) observed male tailors in Aztec Mexico who designed, stitched,

and embellished clothing. Clark and Houston (1998) believe there were seamstresses rather than

tailors in the Maya region, but recognize that males were involved in the preliminary stages of

planting and growing cotton as well as the process of creating dyes and colourants.

While archaeological evidence of textile manufacturing tools encourages consideration of

the role and significance of genders other than female, it is also important to consider that male

and female burials were comparably furnished at most sites in the Maya lowlands (Welsh 1988:

50
McCafferty and McCafferty (2000: 50) also suggest that there is no straightforward relationship between females
and textile production at Cholula because spindle whorls have been found in both male and female burials.
101
146). For example, Haviland (1997) reports that most grave goods were placed in both male and

female graves at Tikal, and burial data from the sites of Lamanai and Altun Ha demonstrate that

male and female elite burials have similar grave goods (Graham 1991: 473-474). Robertson

(2010: ii) verified the above patterns in her study of burials from the site of Pacbitun, suggesting

that “gender as expressed in burial treatment…may represent a fluid ideology of gender.”

Robertson did, however, notice that elite male interments and paired male-female burials at

Pacbitun were the only ones to receive mosaic pieces of jade, shell, or pyrite (possibly for the

manufacture of mosaic masks [2010: 13]). However, Fitzsimmons (2009: Appendix 2) clearly

demonstrates that this is not the case for other sites in the Maya region, and mosaic masks have

been found in both male and female burials. It is unlikely these masks were worn as dress or

costume in life, and instead were probably manufactured specifically for interment.

Evidence of discernable body modifications, such as shaping the cranium have also been

recovered from burials. Cranial modification was a dress practice that was limited to infants,

because after the age of two or three years the skull loses flexibility and malleability (Tiesler

2011: 118). Recent studies by Tiesler (2011, 2014) have demonstrated that over 80% of pre-

Hispanic skulls from different periods and regions demonstrate cranial modification of some

kind, but there was no clear favored artificial head shape among the Maya. Tiesler (2011, 2014)

also determined that cranial modification was not a gender-distinguishing form of dress because

both male and female skulls show evidence of having been shaped using the same techniques,

and therefore no shape was used exclusively by either sex. However, gender identity may have

been associated with the practice of cranial shaping. Tiesler (2014: 4) claims that most

practitioners were female, and therefore it may have inadvertently indicated female gender.

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 Although elongated craniums have been related to the shape of maize (Miller 2009),

which could suggest efforts to identify with the maize deity, there were a variety of artificial

head shapes which likely had a myriad of meanings. Tiesler (2011, 2014) suggests that some

shapes may have communicated ethnic or clan statements, others an affiliation to certain deities

or occupation, and others ideological values or signs of beauty, whereas Duncan and Hofling

(2011) suggest cranial shape was associated with embodiment and socialization. Interestingly,

Tiesler (2014: 231) did determine that “there appears to be no indication that could argue for any

exclusive head form or any specific enactment of these body modifications among nobles.”

Consequently, it does not appear that cranial modification was a practice related to status in the

Maya region.

Evidence of tooth modification is another permanent dress practice that is discernable in

the archaeological record. The Maya modified teeth by filing them into different shapes,

including forms similar to the Sun God’s T-shaped incisors (Mayer 1983: 19), or drilling cavities

into their surface and decorating them with inlays of jadeite, iron pyrite (hematite), or turquoise.

The inlays were either fitted perfectly to the cavities drilled into the teeth; set with an adhesive;

or the cavities were filled with a paste of powered pyrite. Copal, pine resin, beeswax, and orchids

were all used as adhesives for mosaics (Berdan 2007), so it is possible they were also used to set

inlays into teeth.

Although archaeological evidence suggests that more men than women appear to have

had their front teeth inlaid, there is no clear correlation between dental decoration and gender

(Tiesler 2014: 21-22; Williams and White 2006). It is interesting that dental filing in the Maya

area appears to have begun in the Early Preclassic, whereas dental inlay was introduced in the

Middle Preclassic (Williams and White 2006: 139). Therefore, differences in tooth modification
103
may have been associated with certain time periods. Romero (1970: 55) observed that while it is

not a practice exclusive to adults, it is rarer for children to have modified teeth. He cautioned that

because it is difficult to estimate age from human remains, osteological data may be unable to

reveal tooth modification trends in relation to children of different ages. For example, the teeth

recovered from Burial 2 at Piedras Negras had dental inlays, but excavators could not be sure if

the individual was a child or young adult (Coe 1959: 122-123). Since modified teeth are

recovered from both high and low status burials (Romero 1970: 56-58; Williams and White

2006: 139), and Landa (in Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 125) observed that the Indians of Yuacatan

considered tooth shaping to be ‘elegant’, the practice may have been reated to aesthetics rather

than status.

Burials also contain evidence of dress items in the form of jewellery and other

ornamentation, which is often used to interpret the status of the interred individual (Welsh 1988:

103). Healy, et al. (2004) identify dress items such as jade jewellery, marine shells, and slate-

backed pyrite mosaic mirrors among the attributes of regal burials. Interestingly, jewellery and

ornamentation were sometimes fabricated to visually mimic expensive raw materials. Rulers 3

and 4 at Piedras Negras for instance were both buried wearing strands of clay beads covered in

blue-green, presumably to mimic high-status jadeite that appears to have been in short supply in

the region (Escobedo and Houston 1997: 221; Scherer 2015: 63-65)51.

Unfortunately, as recognized by Fitzsimmons (2009: 87), there is tremendous variation in

the numbers and forms of some of these items within royal interments. Due to the poor

preservation of organic remains, jewellery and other ornamentation manufactured from organic

51
The imitation of expensive bead material has a long history, having been traced back to Neolithic times ( Taniguchi
et al. 2002).

104
materials rarely survive (see Brown 2003 for an exception). Furthermore, jewellery and

ornamentation within burials often becomes displaced from the body when their organic

components deteriorate. Thus, loose beads found in burials may have originally formed a

necklace, anklet, bracelet, or other dress item. Sometimes it is possible to discern the original

composition of jewellery in situ, as was the case in the Sun God’s tomb at Altun Ha (Pendergast

1969: 15), but more often than not this is not possible. Many modern reconstructions group

disparate beads together, even though their original associations are unknown (Coggins and

Shane III 1984: 67), in an attempt to demonstrate how jewellery and other dress items may have

originally looked.

Burial data demonstrates that young individuals sometimes received the same quantities

and qualities of jewellery and other ornamentation as adults. In fact, some of the richest deposits

of jewellery offerings in the Formative period are from infant and child burials—though Looper

(2014: 419) doubts that young individuals interred in lavish burials were attired lavishly when

alive. Perhaps this is because Landa (in Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 125) observed that children in

sixteenth century Yucatan were generally unclothed until the age of four or five. There is likely

to have been differential burial treatment and offerings based on regional locations within the

Maya area, and therefore it is difficult to identify a pattern with regards to age. For example, at

the site of K’axob, offerings of shell and jade beads, shell pendants, and shell tinklers were found

among burials of all ages, but those who died under the age of five generally lacked offerings

(Storey and McAnany 2006). At Pacbitun however, juveniles received adornments only if they

were interred alongside adults (as illustrated by Appendices 1 and 2 in Robertson 2010).

It is possible that the size of ornamentation istself may be an indication of the age of an

interred individual. For example Follensbee (2006: 267) has recognized that the diameter of
105
earspools may be an indication of age, with small shaft diameters likely used early in the process

of widening the pierced hole during childhood. Respectively, it is likely that as the size of

earspools increased so too did the age of the wearer. Correspondingly, very large beads for

necklaces or very heavy headdresses were probably worn by adults rather than children.

The material from which a piece of jewellery or ornamentation was produced has often

been used to interpret the identity of the interred. ‘Exotic’ materials that can only be accessed

through specific trade routes, and materials that took many hours to manufacture are both

associated with wealth and high social status. One of the most important materials in the

production of jewellery was jadeite, not only because of its symbolic value (Taube 2005), but

because it was geographically restricted to the Motagua Valley in Guatemala (Foshag and Leslie

1955; Seitz, et al. 2001) and incredibly difficult to procure and shape (Tremain 2014: 140).

However, as Rochette (2006) has demonstrated, access to jadeite was not always restricted to

persons of high status and there is no straightforward correlation between this material and social

status.

In addition to social status, another identity that has been interpreted from ornamentation

worn by interred individuals is gender. One particular form of adornment that has been related to

gender are Spondylus shells worn on or around the waist. The shells are thought to have been

representative of reproductive power (Ardren 2002: 76), associating them to the female gender.

Furthermore, Landa (in Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 106) describes young girls wearing shells around

their loins. Burial 61 at El Perú-Waka’, which contained the remains of an adult with a

Spondylus shell on the lower torso, has been interpreted as female (The El Perú-Waká

Archaeological Project 2012). Although the skeletal remains could not be sexed, the shell, along

with an alabaster jar (see below), were used to identify the individual as the female queen, Lady
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K’abel. Furthermore, Late Classic Queens at El Perú-Waka’ regularly wore a shell as a girdle

ornament in their stela portraits whereas kings did not (The El Perú-Waká Archaeological

Project 2012).

However, Spondylus shells have been found in the pelvic region of interred males, such

as in Tomb 4 at Calakmul (Vargas, et al. 1999: 53) and Tomb B-4/2 at Altun Ha (Pendergast

1982: Figure 57 and Plate 35). Other shells, such as the mother of pearl shell in Burial 34 at the

site of Cuello (Robin 1989: 225), have been found in the same location on the body of males.

Thus, rather than being solely representative of gender, Spondylus and other shells in burials

were probably representative of the necessary funerary paraphernalia for the transition to the

watery underworld (Fitzsimmons 2009: 90). Alternatively, since “gender relations were surely

dynamic and probably varied from place to place” (Haviland 1997: 10), perhaps Spondylus shells

were associated with a specific gender during a certain time period. Robin (1989: 127) found that

at Cuello, it was not until the Late Preclassic that shell ornaments (which she suggested were

potentially pubic shields) were placed on or around the pelvis and they were not limited to

females at this time (e.g. Burial 34 [Robin 1989:225]). Perhaps later time periods or in different

regions of the Maya area they became more commonly associated with a particular gender.

As well as burials, caches (which Becker [1992, 1993] suggests may have had the same

symbolic meaning as burials) and offerings provide an opportunity for archaeologists to recover

examples of ancient Maya dress, and, potentially, evidence of the manufacture of dress.

For example, caches at Caracol included earflares, pendants, beads, mosaic pieces, hematite

mirrors, and other objects of greenstone and shell (Chase and Chase 1998). Caches and offerings

at Altun Ha included similar items, but also included pearls (e.g. Caches A-3/1, B-4/13, and E-

7/4), and evidence of pigment clusters (e.g. Caches B-4/5, C-10/1, and E-7/8) — both of which
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may have been materials originally associated with dress (Pendergast 1979, 1982, 1990). At the

site of Dzibilchaltun, caches with small pieces of worked bone, shell, and stone, thought to be

mosaic inlays, were dubbed ‘Jewelers Caches’ (Andrews IV and Andrews V 1980: 128-129).

Along with the tools and pieces of finished and unfinished jewellery, these caches were

originally interpreted as the remnants of craftspeople involved in the manufacturing of jewellery.

However, they were later identified as components of disintegrated mosaic-decorated objects

rather than remnants of jewellery manufacture (Andrews IV and Andrews V 1980: 321-324).

Regardless of whether or not the caches at Dzibilchaltun demonstrate evidence for the

manufacture of dress, there were surely many people involved in the production of textiles,

jewellery, and other ornamentation. Adams (1970) has suggested that occupational specialists

included “manufacturers of hierarchical costume” and “armorers”. Similarly, Romero (1970: 53)

suggested that individuals involved in the manufacture of jewellery may have been involved in

the creation of other dress practices—specifically dental modification—because of the similar

techniques and materials used.

In most cases it is difficult, if not impossible, to recover direct evidence of dress

manufacturing practices such as tooth modification or armory, but other practices are visible in

the archaeological record. In Structure M8-4 at Aguateca, otherwise known as the “House of the

Mirrors”, various materials likely related to the manufacture of dress were discovered. In

addition to shell, greenstone, mosaics, and bone, an alabaster ornament depicting an image of the

Jester God, or sak-hu’nal, together with 11 or 12 square plaques were found and have been

interpreted as a possible headdress (Inomata, et al. 2002: 313-316). Accordingly, the excavators

suggest that the resident of the structure was “a high courtier responsible for maintaining royal

regalia” (Inomata, et al. 2002: 315). This correlates to the early Colonial Maya, who had
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locations for the storage of costumes known as the nicteil na (flowery house [Houston et al.

2006: 254]).

Epigraphic Evidence

Ancient Maya texts reveal a wealth of information about dress. Various dress elements had their

own names in glyphic texts, including tuupaj (earspool); pixoom (headcloth); sak huun (white

headband); and ko’haw (helmet) (Coe and Stone 2001: 135-136). There were also references to

buhk and nawaj, which was the adornment of bodies with clothing (Houston, et al. 2006: 25;

Miller and Brittenham 2013: 127). Specific examples of texts that refer to dress include the

Tablets at the Temple of the Inscriptions at Palenque, which list the giving of pik (vestments),

uhaj (necklaces), tupaj (earflares), and various headdresses to deities (Guenter 2007).

Hieroglyphic inscriptions from Palenque also reveal that K’an Joy Chitam’s royal headdress,

which was named ux yop huun, was housed in a purposefully-built structure (Bassie-Sweet, et al.

2012: 202; Grube 2006: 97). Furthermore, joyaj ceremonies involved putting on royal regalia in

front of a mirror (Tokovinine and Zender 2012: 60).

Numerous examples of glyphic texts naming an individual wearing dress (or in some

cases the owner of the object) have been found throughout the Maya region. For example, at

Altun Ha earplugs recovered from Tomb A-1/1 were incised with hieroglyphs that read “these

earplugs are the property of…”, and a pendant in Tomb B-4/6 was incised with glyphs that

appear to name a ruler of the site (Mathews in Pendergast 1979: 79-80; Pendergast 1982: 85).

Similarly, incised bone rings recovered from Burial 7 at Cahal Pech read “the ring/tube of

K’awiil Chan K’inich Bahlam...” (Zender 2014: 55-59). Unprovenienced examples also exist,

such as the earflares with an inscription naming the owner as a lord of Rio Azul shown on Plate
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44 of Coe and Kerr’s The Art of the Maya Scribe (Coe and Kerr 1997). A stingray spine found at

Holmul may also have incised text that suggests it was worn through a deity’s nose (Houston

2016: 422). Joyce (2000a) suggests that “the incorporation of names in costume transformed

dress into a literal text.”

Iconographic examples also illustrate glyphic texts of names (often known as ‘nametags’)

in headdresses (Kelley 1982), or on other parts of dress. The headdress worn by K’inich Yax

K’uk’ Mo’ on Copan Altar Q for example bears his name (Stone and Zender 2011: 25) and the

loincloths worn by the individual on Tonina Monuments 153 and 154 name the individuals as

captives of Tonina Ruler 4 (Miller and Martin 2004: Figure 55, Plate 98).52 Similarly, Morris Jr.

(1985a: Figure 7) identified a figurine from the site of Lagartero in Chiapas with hieroglyphs

under the neckline of a huipil and Reents and Bishop (1985: 57) identified pseudoglyphs painted

on the border of the loincloth worn by the leftmost figure on LACMA M.2010.115.12 (K1599

[Figure 3.10]).

In other instances, it appears that dress itself influenced naming practices. The inscription

on Site R (an unknown satellite site of Yaxchilan) Lintel 5 describes the performance of a

“macaw-face headband” dance, which likely refers to the macaw head worn by the sajal (Looper

2009: 39). Text on garments also describes events involving its wearer/owner. For example, the

texts inscribed on a shell battle garment excavated from the tomb of ruler Yo’nalahk at Piedras

Negras is an account of a foreign princess, Lady K’atun Ajaw, who was brought to the site to

marry the ruler (Houston 2010). Panel 15 from the site appears to show the father of Yo’nalahk

52
Drawings of the Tonina monuments are available on the Corpus of Maya Hieroglyphic Inscriptions website:
https://www.peabody.harvard.edu/cmhi/site.php?site=Tonina
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wearing either a very similar garment, or the garment itself—which may indicate that it was an

heirloom (Houston 2010: Figure 1).

It is clear that the ancient Maya curated certain dress elements for generations, and they

can therefore be regarded as heirlooms (Joyce 2000b), but evidence is restricted to those

manufactured from durable materials. One of the most famous examples of an heirloom is the

Leiden (also known as Leyden) Plaque— a jadeite belt attachment recovered from a Terminal

Classic or Postclassic setting near the Motagua River— the text of which records Early Classic

events at Tikal (Joyce 2000a: 13-14; Morley and Morley 1938).53 Other examples include an

Olmec pectoral excavated from a Late Classic period burial at the site of Nakum (Źrałka, et al.

2011); a pair of earplugs in Early Classic Tomb 4 at Calakmul that feature glyphs in an earlier

calligraphic style (Vargas, et al. 1999: 53); and Helmet Bib pendants, which date stylistically to

the Preclassic (see Proskouriakoff 1974: 11), found in Early Classic caches at the site of Blue

Creek (Guderjan 2007: 33). Furthermore, the art and inscriptions of Palenque suggest that the

‘drum major’ headdress was also an heirloom (Bassie-Sweet, et al. 2012: 211). Finally, nametags

of dress items can sometimes indicate whether a particular item was an heirloom. Tikal Stela 31

illustrates ruler Sihyaj Chan K’awiil II holding a headdress in his right hand, above which is a

small cartouche containing his grandfather’s name—Spearthrower Owl. Stone and Zender (2011:

25) suggest that the cartouche labels the headdress as an heirloom once belonging to the ruler’s

grandfather.

The pictorial representation of dress elements as hieroglyphic texts has also been used as

a source of information about ancient dress. For example, as discussed in more detail below, the

53
It should be noted that the red colouring seen on the Leiden Plaque today (object number RV-1403-1193 in the
Musuem Volkenkunde) is modern inpainting carried out by Barbara Kerr (2009).
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glyph for lady or woman (Ik) has a characteristic strand of hair and therefore long hair is often

regarded as a feminine attribute among the Maya. In addition, the logographic sign for ajaw

features the “characteristic paper headband of lordship” (Stone and Zender 2011: 37), and the

logographic sign for ko’haw represents the tall shell war helmet often referred to as the ‘Drum

Major Headdress’ (Bassie-Sweet, et al. 2012). Correspondingly, Maya hieroglyphic writing can

provide evidence concerning both text and image.

Iconographic Evidence

“Dress is a form of visual art, a creation of images with the visible self as its medium. The most

important aspect of clothing is the way it looks…people dress and observe other dressed people

with a set of pictures in mind—pictures in a particular style” (Hollander 1978: 311).

The above statement emphasizes the visual nature of dress, and the importance of its pictorial

representations. Representations of mythical and historical individuals in Maya art can be found

on carved panels and stelae; painted murals, ceramics, and codices; incised shell and other

materials; and molded figurines. Thus, the strongest evidence of ancient Maya dress comes from

iconographic sources. This wide range of sources fills in the gaps in knowledge that the

comparatively sparse archaeological and epigraphic records cannot.

It is important to note that the iconographic record of dress corresponds to items

recovered archaeologically, lending credence to the pictorial representation of dress and

validating ancient Maya visual arts. For example, elongated skulls seen in various iconographic

sources correspond to the practice of cranial modification, affirming that artists were indeed

representing authentic dress traditions among the ancient Maya. Tiesler (2014: 88) notes that
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iconography from Bonampak and Palenque illustrate infants wearing what may be tight

constriction devices around their heads, perhaps demonstrating the method of cranial

modification at these sites. She suggests that cranial modification could be emphasized by

wearing specific hair arrangements, certain headwear, and shaving the hair, and all these ‘tricks’

to emphasize the head shape are seen in Pre-Columbian imagery (Tiesler 2014: 27). In her study

of iconographic depictions of anthropomorphic portraits, she found that deities were portrayed

with specific head configurations. She therefore suggests that there may be some association

between head attributions of deities and their emulation among Classic Maya royalty, perhaps as

a means of demonstrating their divine right to rule (Tiesler 2014:228).

However, the agreement between the iconographic and archaeological record does not

appear in all regions of Mesoamerica and its surrounding areas. For example, McCafferty and

McCafferty (2009: 202) discovered that among figurines excavated from Santa Isabel,

Nicaragua, no strong correlation exists between the material objects of adornment and figurine

decorations. While earspools are common in both the archaeological and iconographic record,

pendants, which are the most frequently recovered object of adornment archaeologically, are

underrepresented in the iconographic record. Furthermore, Tiesler (2014: 232) found that among

central Peten elites, the modified head forms seen in the skeletal evidence does not necessarily

coincide with their head rending in royal portraiture.

To understand the way in which dress elements were worn, and the messages they would

have communicated, it is essential to consider the original context of the object on which they

are represented. Carved sculpture such as stelae were often erected in public spaces and offered

the artist a much larger canvas than portable media such as elaborately painted ceramics, which

were probably confined to private, elite, audiences. Consequently, the dress represented on
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carved sculpture differs from painted ceramics. On the former, large and elaborate outfits that

nearly encompass the body are usually worn and on the latter, dress is generally much less

elaborate and exposes more of the body (relating to the first and second layers of clothing

discussed previously). The large, public, spaces that stelae were set in necessitated larger and

more elaborate dress that could be seen from a distance and would ‘impress’ large audiences.

Smaller, portable, media were viewed up-close and necessitated a more detailed examination

without the need for exaggerated dress items.

One of the most significant benefits of using iconography to understand ancient Maya

dress is representation of dress items manufactured from various organic materials that do not

survive in the archaeological record. For example, the Yaxchilan lintels (see Tate 1992) have

very detailed representations of textile designs— particularly female textiles. It cannot be known

whether these are exaggerated, or authentic representations of textile decoration (discussed

further in Chapter Four), but the level of detail afforded in their pictorial representation

demonstrates that textiles held important symbolic significance for the Maya.

Matthew Looper has studied the representation of the huipil on carved monuments,

figurines, murals, and pictorial ceramics scenes (Looper and Tolles 2000). Due to the strong

tradition of representing noble women in pictorial art in the Upper Usumacinta region, the

majority of huipil designs in his study are from this area. He discovered that sites in the far

western Maya region, such as Palenque, represented females in a short cape and skirt in a netted

style rather than huipiles (Looper and Tolles 2000: 5). This aligns with Bruhns (1988: 107)

identification that female attire varied depending on the individual, site, and temporal period.

Female dress styles also vary depending on the content of pictorial art, and mythological scenes

such as the San Bartolo murals (Saturno, et al. 2005) and Codex-style ceramics featuring the so-
114
called ‘snake lady’ scenes (e.g. K1081) show females with skirts and bare breasts rather than

huipiles.

Looper also concluded that huipil designs were usually unique, and only Yaxchilan Lintel

53 and Yaxchilan Stela 34 appear to illustrate identical design motifs (Looper and Tolles 2000:

17). In line with Looper’s observation that design motifs can be shared on both male and female

garments (Looper and Tolles 2000: 35), this author has also identified similar designs on the

female huipil featured on Yaxchilan Lintel 25 (Tate 1992: 206) and the skirt of Ruler 2 on the

Motmot floor marker (Fash 1998: Figure 1).

The most well-known study of ancient Maya textiles using iconographic sources is

Patricia Anawalt’s (1981) study of Mesoamerican clothing. She identified Lowland Maya

costume repertory using Postclassic codices and other art from the Postclassic period.

Importantly, she did not use art from the Classic period because it reflected “a time too far

removed from the era being discussed” (1981: 173). Additionally, her study was limited to textile

garments rather than dress as a whole. Thus, while it is useful as a comparison, her study cannot

be relied upon exclusively for a study of Maya dress from earlier periods. Little-Siebold (1999)

attempted to complement Anawalt’s study of textile garments, but she conflated examples from

different contexts. As demonstrated in Chapter Five, textile garments identified by Anawalt and

textile garments identified by the author are not consistent and demonstrate the problems with

amalgamating imagery from different contexts.

In addition to the presence of textiles in pictorial sources, their absence is also

informative about ancient Maya dress practices. Infants and young children regularly appear

devoid of clothing but may wear jewellery or other ornamentation. Two figurines excavated from

the site of Altar de Sacrificios demonstrate this pattern; one illustrates a female holding a small
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child, completely devoid of dress (Willey 1972: Figure 34b), and the second illustrates a child

with ornamentation but without textiles (Willey 1972: Figure 34g). Joyce (2014) has suggested

that textiles marked the transformation of youthful bodies into adult bodies, and observed that

figurines from Playa de los Muertos, Honduras, represent aged individuals wearing more cloth

than youthful bodies. This suggests that increased quantities of clothing may have signified

increased age. Lack of textile garments has also been taken as an indicator of status. Many

prisoners in Maya art appear unclothed, though perhaps retaining jewellery or other dress items.

For example, Monument 122 from Tonina illustrates the Palenque ruler K’an Hoy Chitam II

stripped of all clothing except for a Jester God diadem around his head (discussed further below

[Miller and Martin 2004: Plate 101]). Looper (2009: 230) suggests that lavish costume is

associated with status and honor in Maya society, in contrast to nudity which generally signals

disgraces.

In addition to textiles, iconographic sources also reveal that a vast number of other

organic materials were incorporated into ancient Maya dress. Jaguar skin and bird feathers are

some of the materials frequently represented in pictorial art but have not been recovered

archaeologically. Also prevalent are large floral attachments to various headdresses. Clemency

Coggins (1975: 520) recognized that waterlilies are common in the headdresses of Maya lords on

polychrome pottery, particularly ceramics from circum-Peten regions, and humming-birds and

fish are frequently pictured feeding from them. She suggests it is not surprising that the waterlily

motif should occur along the principle water routes of the Peten, as the waterlily is closely

associated with the Underworld Imix water monster and may be a dynastic symbol of lords who

had family connections in the Usumacinta region (Coggins 1975: 521).

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 Another material that is difficult to identify, but was likely used for a wide range of dress

items, is wood. It is possible that some intricate and geometric pieces of jewellery or adornment

seen in various pictorial sources were formed from wood and covered in plaster and stucco. The

very elaborate pendant worn by the central, seated, figure on vessel MFB 2009.318 (K1463

[Figure 3.11) may be an example of this manufacturing technique. Although no dress items

manufactured using this technique have been recovered archaeologically, the wooden and stucco

idols recovered from Burial 195 at Tikal (Coe 1988: 57; Moholy-Nagy and Coe 2008: Figure

A:232) and the painted stucco objects recovered from Burial 9 at El Zotz (Newman, et al. 2015:

147-156) both attest to the use of this technique in the Maya region.

Wood, leather, and maguey may also have been used to manufacture footwear, which is

another dress item that is common in pictorial imagery but has not been recovered

archaeologically. A wide range of footwear styles are visible from large-scale media such as

carved stone lintels, panels, and stelae, as well as smaller-scale media such as figurines and

molded ceramics. Nygard, et al. (2015) suggest that adorning the feet with extravagant shoes was

a means for royalty to distinguish themselves from commoners. Alternatively, it may represent

an activity that involved some form of distance travelled or an activity that took place outdoors.

As shall be demonstrated in Chapter Five, footwear is not a prevalent dress item represented in

scenes of the royal court on polychrome ceramics. Since many of the represented activities took

place within court complexes, it is not surprising that footwear is rarely shown in these contexts.

Another important dress practice that has not survived in the archaeological record is

treatment and modification of hair. Generally, high status individuals are represented with tidy,

bound, hair that was probably kept in place with some sort of vegetal gum or other binding

agent. From pictorial art, it appears that a common practice was to shave the sides of the head in
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horizontal cuts giving a ‘stepped’ appearance. Hair is rarely shown as completely shaved off, but

baldness is a distinguishing feature of certain deities such as God L and God M (Coe 1978: 16,

64) and an individual that Hellmuth (1996) refers to as ‘the old patron of deer hunting’ (see

Pendergast [1966] for an example). The tendency for mortals to not completely remove hair from

the head may be related to the symbolic nature of hair. López Austin (1988: 221) explains that

for the ancient Nahuas, hair was thought to be a recipient of power, and a protective covering

over the head that prevented the departure of an individual’s essential life force or spirit (tonalli).

One of the severest punishments for delinquents was to cut off their hair, exposing them to a loss

of tonalli (López Austin 1988: 221).

The decoration of hair with beads, ribbons, and other adornment may have been a marker

of status as well. Miller (in press) has identified representations of figures with long hair

decorated with beads at Chichen Itza, which she argues is a style associated with prisoners and

sacrificial victims (similar to the image of a prisoner on an incised bone from Tikal [Trik 1963:

Figure 9a]). Beaded and decorated hair appear on portraits of rulers at Bonampak (Miller and

Brittenham 2013: Figure 238) and Lacanha (Miller and Martin 2004: Plate 34), as well as on

painted ceramics (e.g. see the ruler’s hair on BM Am1930,F.1 [Figure 3.12]), demonstrating that

it was not a style reserved exclusively to captives or sacrificial victims.

Interestingly, many of the examples at Chichen Itza are in murals, where all individuals

have yellow coloured-hair. Miller (in press) suggests that light-coloured hair was used to express

otherness and perhaps even divinity. Alternatively, Cordry and Cordry (1968: 128) have

suggested that the dyeing process may be associated with agriculture, to stimulate the colour of

corn. Pictorial evidence throughout Mesoamerica shows individuals with coloured hair (e.g. the

Cacaxtla murals [Brittenham 2015: Figure 194]), demonstrating that altering its colour was likely
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a common practice. Changing hair colour may have been achieved naturally, from too much sun

exposure (Miller in press), or dyes may have been used—similar to the method in modern

communities (see Cordry and Cordry 1968: Plate 5). Perhaps, as with body paint (see below),

specific colours may have marked status but unfortunately little is known about the meanings of

ancient Maya hair colour.

Certain hair styles may have been reserved for elites and royalty. For example, Merle

Greene Robertson (1985) identified a small tuft of hair at the front of the head, which she termed

a ‘forelock’, worn only by royalty at Palenque. She also identified that ‘long, unruly’ hair on

figurines from Palenque was a style often found on prisoners and persons of lowly status

(Robertson 1985: 33). Thus, unkempt and unbound hair is often considered to be a marker of lost

status among the ancient Maya. Judith Berman (1999) has argued that unkempt hair signifies

inhumanity and primitiveness—conditions that align with individuals of low status. Houston

(2001) suggests that carefully-controlled appearances reflected morally appropriate behaviour

among the Maya and were in contrast to individuals with disheveled hair and contorted limbs.

Thus, he argues that messy hair was a signal of loss of self-control. López Austin (1988: 221)

explains that among the ancient Nahuas, the hair of prisoners taken in battle could be kept as

relics for the purpose of giving the captives’ power to the captors. This is likely why warriors are

often depicted grabbing the hair of prisoners. Mendoza (2007: 414) argues that the very act of

clutching the hair of an enemy warrior allowed their vital life force to be subdued and controlled

by their opponent.

As discussed above, the glyph for lady or woman (Ik) has a characteristic strand of hair

and therefore long hair is often regarded as a feminine attribute among the Maya. Since the

hieroglyphic sign for a female illustrates long hair, various scholars have assumed locks of long
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hair were feminine attributes among the Maya (Bruhns 1988: 112; Saturno, et al. 2005: 38).

Where females can be identified based on their clothing or titles in Maya art, they do not wear

their hair exclusively hanging loosely. Two females on a vase from the site of Tayasal wear their

long hair bound tightly (Figure 3.13), and, as Robertson (1985) has demonstrated with her

analysis of figurines, there were numerous styles in which females wore their hair at Palenque.

There are also various examples from Maya art that depict males with long hair. Two

male individuals on a vase from Actun Balam Cave in Belize have very long, loose hanging, hair

(Pendergast 1966) and one male on a vase from Tikal has very long hair bound in a tie (Culbert

1993: Figure 75b). Similarly, although not as long in length, several male figures on a vase from

the site of Ratinlixul in Guatemala clearly have long hair (Mason 1943: Plate LII). Additionally,

male prisoners are often shown with long unbound hair—such as the captive on an incised bone

from Tikal (Trik 1963: Figure 9a). Thus, long hair is not a secure method of gender identification

and it is likely that different hairstyles were worn or favored by different genders in different

regions of the Maya area (indeed, Robertson [1985] identified hairstyle patterns at Palenque that

were not upheld at other sites). Facial hair is perhaps a more secure identifier of gender than

length of head hair. Various carved monuments and polychrome vases show males with facial

hair (see the individual in the center of the scene in Figure 2.11a), which Joyce (2000a: 65)

suggests is a sign that reinforces men’s sexuality.

Other body modifications that are not observable from osetological data, but are visible in

pictorial art, are tattooing or scarification and body painting (e.g. Mayer 1981). The difference

between tattooing and scarification cannot be easily discerned from iconography, but the two

practices differ in addition of pigment into the skin. The Maya may not have considered a strict

division between the two, and it is likely that they overlapped in meaning and symbolism.
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Thompson (1946) suggested that tattooing and scarification might be a privilege of persons of

noble blood. This highly visual form of adornment would have served as a strong reminder that

the body could be manipulated through piercing the skin, but that because the body was active it

would heal itself. This may even have been a visual process of renewal of the body; cutting the

skin might have been thought to be ‘killing’ the skin and healing may have been regarded as

‘rebirth’. Those with scars or tattoos had therefore undergone death and rebirth of parts of their

body, perhaps resembling a divine power that was (mostly) limited to elites or nobles.

There is good evidence of body paint on various ceramics and murals from the Maya

area. Houston, et al. (2006: 23) suggest that body paint was likely applied using an organic

pigment which could be removed with water, yet when mixed with resins stayed on a sweaty

body. Throughout the Maya region there are naturally occurring minerals (mostly iron oxides)

that could be exploited to create coloured pigments. Reds and oranges were created from

hematite, cinnabar, and mercury; yellows and browns from goethite; green from malachite; blue

from indigo; black from carbon; and white from calcium carbonate, gypsum, and aluminite

(Arnold, et al. 2007; Houston, et al. 2009; Kerpel 2014). Certain colours may have had specific

meanings attached to them, which likely dictated when they were used. Looper (2010: 35)

suggests that red body paint may have symbolized the east, warmth, and the powers of life and

birth. It would thus be an appropriate colour for elites and those in power to be associated with.

Julie Nehammer Knub (2014) undertook a study of body paint worn with the Maya royal

court and found that red was the most prevalent colour applied to the skin. She found that

covering the entire body with paint was the most common method of decoration and second was

covering the top of the shoulders or clavicles, extending to include the neck and/or parts of the

face. She suggests that body paint, especially when red in colour, had symbolic associations and
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in decorating their body with this form of dress individuals could emulate divine deities.

Unfortunately, she does not explain how she differentiates between the colour of un-painted skin

with painted skin (not all painters necessarily strove to represent skin colour accurately), nor

does she appear to consider the impact that modern restoration, fakes, and forgeries have on the

interpretation of body paint from ceramic scenes (see Chapter Four).

It does not only seem to be elites that wore body paint, as evidence from the Calakmul

murals demonstrates (Vargas and Baqueiro 2012). The murals reveal images of merchants and

non-elites wearing face-paint and suggests that body paint could be used for different occasions,

and by persons of different status—perhaps symbolized by different colours or designs. The

murals at Chichen Itza illustrate the use of body paint by warriors as well (Morris, et al. 1931:

Plate 139).

A final dress item that is visible in imagery (though not prevalent), but not visible from

the osteological record, is a pierced nasal septum. Houston, et al. (2006: 19) identify the practice

of piercing the septum as a marker of royalty on Late to Terminal Classic monuments from sites

such as Seibal and Uxmal, and surmise that it was probably introduced from outside the Maya

region. Kettunen (2005: 276) has demonstrated that ‘nose bars’ were worn as early as the Late

Preclassic in the Southern Highlands and appear sporadically throughout the Maya region until

the Postclassic. Thus, it may have been appropriated in certain regions during the Late and

Terminal Classic as a marker of royal status. Houston, et al. (2006: 142) suggest that nose

ornaments worn through a pierced septum related to breath, and their abstract portrayal with

scrolls and profile serpent faces imply the ephemeral and supernatural quality of the jewellery.

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Ethnohistoric Evidence

Various texts from the colonial periods provide information about Maya dress at the time of the

Spanish conquest and thereafter. Scholars have used these texts to piece information together

about the appearance and dress customs of the Maya. Schevill (1986) for example has used the

text of the Popul Vuh to interpret evidence for the decoration of dress. Specifically, she argues

that descriptions of cloaks with images that are “on the face” and “on the inside” are references

to single-faced brocading and double-faced brocading, respectively (Schevill 1986: 16).

While the Popul Vuh may not provide direct information about the appearance of the

ancient Maya, Fray Diego de Landa’s Relación de las Cosas de Yucatán (Tozzer 1966 [1941])

does provide information about the physical appearance of the Maya, their clothing, and other

dress practices. Though specific to the Yucatan, his observations are often extrapolated to the

wider Maya region. Caution should be taken because Landa had specific values and biases that

likely influenced his observations and records. Thus, some information may be inaccurate,

exaggerated, or altogether fabricated. Furthermore, Landa penned some of his observations in

Spain, not Central America, and the Relación, which was compiled after his death (and may

include the writings of other individuals), cannot be considered a primary account of Maya dress

(Restall and Chuchiak IV 2002).

Nevertheless, material from the Relación is often taken to support information about

dress found on other media. As discussed above, Landa’s description of young girls wearing

shells around their loins (Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 106) has been taken as evidence that the

placement of shells on the waist of individuals signifies female gender (Trachman and Valdez Jr.

2006). Furthermore, Schele and Matthews (1999: 145) claim that beards were a rare feature

among Maya men, and have suggested that the long beard worn by Waxaklahun-Ubah-K’awil on
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Copan Stela C was false. This may be because Landa observed that the Indians of Yucatan “did

not grow beards…their mothers burned their faces in their childhood with hot cloths, so as to

keep the beard from growing” (Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 88).

The information presented in Landa’s Relación proposes various meanings for

indigenous dress practices. For instance, tattooing is described both as a punishment and a

method of celebrating bravery (Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 91, 124) while body paint, depending on the

colour, is associated either to aesthetics, warriors, periods of fasting, and sacrificial rites (Tozzer

1966 [1941]: 89, 118). Interestingly, while his writings provide evidence for the close

relationship between females and weaving (Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 127), Clark and Houston (1998)

identified that crafts associated with the manufacture of jewellery and ornamentation were

described in early colonial dictionaries as being practiced exclusively by males. Consequently,

other ethnohistoric sources should be used to supplement Landa’s Relación.

Another useful source that can be used to assemble information about indigenous Maya

dress practices is Francisco Antonio de Fuentes y Guzmán’s La Recordación Florida (also

known as Historia de Guatemala). Fuentes y Guzmán used a number of early native Guatemalan

documents to prepare his text, and Neutze de Rugg (1981: 28) credits him as the author who

wrote the most about indigenous Maya garments. A description of funeral preparations among

the southern Poqom Maya illustrates the detail that Fuentes y Guzmán provides: “they dress him

afterwards in rich and figured clothes, in the style that he wore in life, with the same insignia

which he wore reigning” (Miles 1957: 749).

Other colonial documents also provide information about indigenous dress practices

elsewhere in Mesoamerica. The most extensive is Fray Bernardino de Sahagún’s, Historia

General de las Cosas de Nueva España, otherwise known as the Florentine Codex. The twelve
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books contain information about Aztec Mexico in the sixteenth century, with books 8 and 10

containing the most pertinent information about dress. In the former, the clothing and adornment

of elites is described in terms of material, decoration, garment, and colour (Anderson and Dibble

1954). In the latter, the clothing of the wider populace is described in similar terms, but also

includes detailed information about the manufacture and sale of various dress items (Dibble and

Anderson 1961).

Another useful ethnohistoric document that details information about dress in Aztec

Mexico at the time of the Spanish conquest is the Codex Mendoza (Berdan and Anawalt 1997).

The codex was commissioned by Antonio de Mendoza, first Viceroy of Mexico, for the King of

Spain. It was written roughly two decades after the conquest of Mexico and contains information

about Aztec history, daily life, and a tribute list. The list contains information about the tribute of

dress and textiles to the Aztec capital by the provinces that made up the Aztec empire (Long

1942). Some of these items were reportedly restricted to the upper classes, as Aztec sumptuary

laws in Fray Diego Durán’s Historia de las Indias de la Nueva España report (Heyden 1994:

208-211). Sumptuary laws are documented as emerging between the twelfth and eighteenth

centuries in Europe, as a means to limit expenditure on extravagant forms of conspicuous

consumption (Craik 2005: 229). Craik (2005: 14) suggests that rules about how people should

dress are fundamental to human society while Hurlock (1965) explains that sumptuary laws are

primarily used to preserve class distinctions, and appear at a time when the social structure has

reached a stage of development where wealth is no longer in the hands of the nobility alone.

However, Berdan and Anawalt (1997: 188) claim that regulations appear to have been

greatly exaggerated because primary sources reveal that “lower classes were far more colourfully

dressed than the sumptuary laws would indicate.” Morris Jr. and Karasik (2015: 48) claim that
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although it has been suggested that the Spaniards redesigned native dress as a means of

distinguishing and controlling indigenous peoples there is no evidence, in Chiapas at least, that

this happened. There is evidence however that Maya men were forced, by Church decree, to

wear pants to conceal what the loincloth did not. They suggest that loincloths continued to be

worn in conjunction with pants but over time altered into a belt (Morris Jr. and Karasik 2015: 48-

50). Furthermore, Olko (2014: 335) reports that Nahuatl texts attest that by the seventeenth

century European jackets, shirts, hats, and shoes were common items in the repertoire of male

dress in Mexico, and the cape was the principle pre-contact garment to survive well into the

colonial period.

Polanco and Arathoon (2003: 54) also explain that “it has never been proven that

differences in colour, style, decorative patterns, or the manner of wearing the garments were

imposed by the authorities.” They suggest that these differences arose gradually and discreetly,

and that diversity of dress was apparent in Maya communities by the end of the nineteenth

century (Polanco and Arathoon 2003: 57). Even where there may have been sumptuary laws,

Olko (2014: 301-311) argues that scholars cannot be sure how strictly such laws were enforced.

For example, in Aztec Mexico archaeological evidence suggests that commoners had access to

exotic goods and certain items may have been more heavily used by the elite but also available to

commoners.

While the evidence for explicit laws to control indigenous dress is unclear, there does

appear to have been an explicit law for wearing dress itself. In 1513 the Spanish crown issued a

law to “order and command that within two years the men and women shall go about clad”

(Altman and West 1992: 21). The law was reiterated in 1618 by King Philip III, which suggests

that the first law had not been observed (ibid). The church appears to have influenced clothing
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development strongly, promoting decency and modesty. For example, there was a ban on

entering a church with the upper body unclothed which prompted women to cover their bodies

and adopt items such as the veil and shawl, and make the huipil their garment of choice rather

than the sarong (Holsbeke 2003: 31; Polanco and Arathoon 2003: 53).

Ethnohistoric sources can also provide information regarding the development of

community-specific traje. It is generally agreed that the diversity and complexity of Maya dress

has increased since the Spanish conquest because colonial sources do not indicate any

differences between one municipality and another in terms of clothing (Polanco and Arathoon

2003). For example, Guatemalan historian Severo Martínez Pelaez claimed that “in the latter part

of the colonial period the indigenous people had not yet adopted the great variety of costume

seen today…there is no reason to think that in each town they wore distinctive dress” (Polanco

and Arathoon 2003: 54). Altman and West (1992: 21) explain that at some time following the

conquest highland dress became village specific but the reasons for this are debated. Osborne

(1965: 147) argues that it is unlikely the Spanish were responsible for the diversity in indigenous

dress because “the priests could never have devised so many costumes or created such diversity

of decoration of the textiles.” Thus, ethnohistoric documents point to the development of

regional traje after the Spanish conquest and not before.

Ethnographic Evidence

“Most native garments worn by Highland Guatemala women today owe their shapes to

Prehispanic Maya costume” (Altman and West 1992: 22).

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Although the Spanish conquest of the Americas in the sixteenth century introduced European-

style garments, new technologies (such as treadle looms), and new materials (such as wool) to

indigenous communities in the Maya region, some aspects of Pre-Columbian dress survived. The

most noticeable vestiges are textiles, which maintain similar manufacturing techniques, designs,

and shapes. Consequently, as the above statement infers, textiles worn by modern indigenous

Maya communities resemble those produced in the distant past. For example, Altman and West

(1992: 23) have identified comparisons between the randa (decorative stitches) on modern

huipiles and seam areas on huipiles in ancient Maya art. However, due to the new policies and

expectations introduced by Spanish conquistadors, male textiles changed drastically54 and Pre-

Columbian textile garments have mostly vanished from the repertoire of modern male dress

(Polanco and Arathoon 2003: 52). Thus, it is mainly female textiles, particularly huipiles, that

have received attention from scholars conducting ethnographic studies.

Polanco and Arathoon (2003: 61) explain that formal study of traditional Maya costume

in Guatemala did not begin until the 1930s but photographic records prior to that time are

available for study. Using these, they determine that the dynamic of change appears to be slow in

the first third of the twentieth century, and due to the availability of chemically dyed yarns the

main change was colour. Drastic changes came about at the end of the twentieth century due to

the socio-political, economic, and cultural context in Guatemala (Polanco and Arathoon 2003:

67). In addition to the deaths of many indigenous Maya, many abandoned their tradition traje

and women discontinued the tradition of teaching weaving to their daughters. Continuing

54
Morris Jr. (1986: 54) describes the changes to male dress in Highland Chiapas from Postclassic times onwards.
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changes to female traje in the Maya region are a result of economic changes and educational

improvements (Greenfield 2004; Polanco and Arathoon 2003: 67).

Looper (2004) claims that little ethnographic fieldwork specific to Maya textile studies

has taken place, and that which has is restricted to certain communities. Certainly, graduate

studies such as those conducted by Hendrickson (1986) and Norton (1989) have been restricted

to communities in Highland Guatemala and the long-term study by Greenfield (2004) was

restricted to Chiapas in Mexico. This is unsurprising, since the traje of these communities retain

some of the closest affiliations to Pre-Columbian textiles in all of Central America. Walter

(“Chip”) Morris Jr. is perhaps the best-known scholar to specialize in the study of indigenous

Maya textiles, having produced a number of publications spanning more than three decades

(Morris Jr. 1979, 1985a, 1985b, 1986, 1987, 2003; Morris Jr. and Karasik 2015). These, and

other studies, provide unequivocal evidence of the strong association between textiles and the

female gender. Ethnographic studies such as these have also revealed that, for modern

indigenous communities, textile manufacture is strongly related to the female birthing process

(Greene 2009: 35) and has agricultural associations to ‘Mother Earth’ (Arathoon 2007: 8-9). This

is undoubtedly why the deity Chak Chel/ Ixchel was the patroness of both weaving and

childbirth (Knowlton 2015; Taube 1992: 101).

Various scholars have attempted to study the design motifs of Maya textiles to interpret

their symbolism and link them to ancient designs. Morris Jr. (1985b) demonstrates that designs

such as toads, flowers, and snakes appear in both Pre-Columbian and modern Maya textiles,

though it is likely their meaning has changed over time (1986: 57). However, he explains that

“the relationship between modern and Classic Maya design motifs will never be established

unequivocally, because there are too few surviving textiles from the Classic period to form a
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statistically valid sample” (1985b: 67). For continuity to be considered likely, he reasons, a

whole complex of motifs and meanings from the Classic period would have to appear in modern

weavings. He himself challenges the notion of an unbroken design tradition by demonstrating

that modern Christian myths and stories are often woven into textiles (Morris Jr. and Karasik

2003: 85).

Interestingly, in his interviews with Guatemalan weavers, Greene (2009: 3) discovered

that designs were sometimes chosen for personal aesthetic reasons (“it is the shape we like”)

rather than any significance. In other instances, designs were selected based on an activity, date,

or purpose of the textiles. In fact, Greene (2009: 19) suggests that it is the treatment of space and

colour in textiles, rather than design, that is significant. Similarly, Arathoon (2007: 1) suggests

that many design motifs in Guatemalan textiles have no particular meaning or have lost their

cosmological components, and serve merely aesthetic or technical function. She even

demonstrates that similar designs can have different meanings in different communities

(Arathoon 2007: Table 1). It has been suggested that differences in textiles and their designs

correlate more closely with languages and dialects rather than geographic distances between

towns (Hearne, cited in Fisher 1984, 8, 11). However, Polanco and Arathoon (2003: 69) assert

that the relationship between linguistic diversity and the diversity of clothing remains unknown

because a correlation cannot be made for every language group in the Maya region. This may be

because each community in the highlands of Chiapas “has its own fixed rules for the creation of

traje…flexible enough to allow for some measure of change and innovation” (Morris Jr. and

Karasik 2003: 76).

Where meanings are attached to designs, they are not always preserved through

generations and sometimes cannot be explained in words (Arathoon 2007: 4). Even Taylor
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(1983) found that Maya weavers, when questioned about why they incorporated certain motifs

into garments, answered “this is the way we do it. My mother taught me so.” Looper’s (2004)

study of weaving in San Martin Sacatepequez also demonstrates that design motifs in modern

textiles are based on aesthetic judgements and overall composition, rather than any specific

meaning. He asserts that the search for fundamental symbolic references of designs assumes a

uniformity of culture and is misguided (Looper 2004: 52). In fact, Looper (2004: 5) has

suggested that knowledge of ancient symbolism may be a form of “restricted knowledge”, which

may account for the lack of continuity in textile designs.

In fact, there are recognizable differences between the heavily decorated textiles seen in

Maya art and in some indigenous communities. Greenfield (2004: 91) recognized such a

discontinuation when she observed scantly decorated textiles in Zinacantán in 1969 (though

decorative textiles remerged again in the 1990s). Morris Jr. (1986: 55) explains that the move

away from decorated garments in the Maya region began in the nineteenth century, when the

abolishment of Spanish laws protecting indigenous land caused many Maya to lose their lands

and become impoverished. Consequently, women did not have the time nor finances to make

elaborately decorated garments and began wearing undecorated huipiles or simple European-

style blouses. He reports that in the community of Cancuc, women wear solid white huipiles as a

deliberate reminder of the older style of dressing (Morris Jr. and Karasik 2015: 85-86). Changes

to textiles came again in the latter half of the twentieth century because of the impact of roads,

missionaries, tourism, and radio (Pettersen 1976: 12).

Although there is a disparity between design motifs in past and present Maya textiles,

there is certainly a continuity in the manufacturing process of textile garments. As discussed in

Chapter One, Greenfield (2004: 70) determined that one of the means by which tradition in Maya
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textile production has been retained includes weavers being guided in the same manner as their

predecessors. Another means by which the continuity in manufacture was able to survive is

because traditional dress styles were preserved during the colonial period, through the dressing

of saints in churches (Morris Jr. and Karasik 2015: 78). Using a saint’s huipil as a model,

weavers were able to reproduce older designs and continue long-lived weaving practices. Since

communities in highland Chiapas believe that female saints taught each woman how to weave at

the beginning of the world (Morris Jr. 1987: 68; Morris Jr. and Karasik 2003: 78), it is likely that

the religious importance of dress and its relationship to the ancestral past secured its place in the

present. Indeed, Carlsen’s (2003: 144) research among the Maya of Santiago Atitlán in

Guatemala has demonstrated that the loom itself is conceived to be associated with the world

tree, which is attached to the weaver by way of a yujkut (umbilical cord) and therefore provides a

direct link to the ancestors.

Dress in the Ancient Maya Court

“Judging from the outrageously diverse costuming of members of the upper class, no

one…seems to have been costumed like that of any other” (Adams 1970: 494).

“The paintings and reliefs of the Classic Maya show not fancy dress, but real uniforms” (Coe

and Kerr 1997: 91).

The two preceding quotes speak to the contrasting views of dress in ancient Maya society. On

the one hand, diversity in elite clothing and adornment implies that dress was heterogeneous and

likely reflected individual, private, identity. On the other hand, shared outfits, or homogeneous
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dress styles would suggest that dress reflected a shared, public, identity. Unfortunately, despite

the numerous studies that scholars have conducted on the ancient Maya royal court, as

demonstrated in Chapter Two, dedicated studies concerning the dress of courtiers are lacking.

Thus, while various scholars have suggested that courtier dress indicated roles or offices within

the court (Coe 2001: 275; Reents-Budet 2001: 196; Saturno, et al. 2015: 129), there is currently

little evidence to prove or dispute the presence of ancient Maya courtly ‘uniforms’ as evidence of

those roles or offices.

The only explicit study of dress within the court thus far is Alexander Parmington’s

(2003) study of the dress of individuals named by the sajal title. Principally using monumental

data, he aimed to uncover if dress elements identified the social position of sajals. Interestingly,

his study “found no costume element that identifies the office of sajal specifically, nor any

element that differentiates sajals from ajaws” (Parmington 2003: 49). In fact, he suggested that

the only means of securely identifying a sajal in Maya art was through hieroglyphic captions

(Parmington 2003: 51). This would suggest that there is little evidence pointing to the presence

of courtly uniforms, at least not for sajals. Miller and Brittenham (2013: 122) also recognized

that sajals in the Bonampak murals wear clothing with similar, but not exact, matching colours

and patterns, “as if following a dress code rather than wearing a uniform.”

Despite the lack of dedicated studies regarding courtier dress, several studies relating to

the royal court and its members have uncovered interesting trends concerning clothing and

adornment. Perhaps one of the most influential has been Michael Coe and Justin Kerr’s The Art

of the Maya Scribe (1997), in which the authors associate various dress elements to scribes.

These elements include a “sarong folded at the waist, short hair wrapped in a headcloth or a long

bound hank of hair protruding from the headcloth, and a bundle of sticks tied to the headcloth”
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(Coe and Kerr 1997: 91-92). The authors also recognize other scribal tools in headdresses, such

as brush pens and/or a stick-like instrument with a curved end in scribal headdresses. However,

they later accept that it is possible stick bundles and other scribal tools were not the exclusive

perquisite of scribes, but could be worn by all high ranking persons as an emblem of their

literacy (Coe and Kerr 1998: 99). For example, they recognize that musicians in Room 3 of the

Bonampak murals wear ‘stick bundles’ in their headdresses (Coe and Kerr 1998: 99). Houston

and Inomata (2009: 258) have also suggested that the scribal ‘uniform’ may have been used by

various types of court officials, including those who did not write or paint.

Just as Coe and Kerr were unable to demonstrate that specific dress elements were

restricted to scribes only, Zender (2004) was unable to demonstrate the existence of a priestly

uniform. Although he recognized that priests tended to wear a cylindrical shaped headdress

(which he referred to as a ‘miter’) and cape, he found many inconsistencies and variations in

their dress. As demonstrated in Chapter Five, the cylindrical headdress is similar in many

respects to the ‘napkin’ headdress that has variously been associated with lower-ranked

individuals such as musicians and servants (Coe 2001: 275; Miller 1988: 320). For example,

Figure 20 in Zender’s dissertation (MSM 117A-2 [K2698] here) illustrates a male wearing a

napkin headdress that Zender identifies as a miter. Reents-Budet (2001: 216) recognized that

napkin-like headdresses are worn by individuals in various roles, and therefore suggests that they

may relate to an event rather than an office position. Houston et al. (2006: 273) have even

suggested that these types of headdresses may have been lightweight armatures for

interchangeable headdresses, which may explain why they are largely undecorated and worn by

individuals in various courtly roles rather than exclusively by priests.

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 Similar to Zender’s inability to demonstrate that all priests wore the same dress, Bethany

Duke (2014) was unable to demonstrate that all musicians wore the same attire. Although she

recognized two distinctive styles of dress, which she termed the ‘White Standard Style’ and the

‘Chama Procession Style’, she also recognized that “not all musicians wear a standard form of

dress, nor…identical outfits” (Duke 2014: 63). Interestingly, she noticed that their attire varied

more in interior settings compared to exterior settings (Duke 2014: 81). This would suggest that

in public settings a dress style more akin to a ‘costume’ was worn, whereas in private settings a

more individualistic style was worn.

One courtly title that does appear to be associated with a specific dress element is

ch’ajoom. In their study of the representation of individuals with this title in Maya art, Scherer

and Houston (2015) recognized that individuals named by the ch’ajoom title wear a leafed cloak

and bound hair with a tendril headband. They suggest that the tendrils (or curls) represent smoke

or sprouting vegetation, while the cloak represents leaves from trees such as allspice, copal, or

tobacco that were burnt as offerings. Mary Miller (in discussion after the presentation of Scherer

and Houston’s paper) proposed that the leaves may be tobacco because these leaves become

crispy and dark when burnt— which is reminiscent of night-time and sacrifice. Importantly, they

create a link between the costume elements of the ch’ajoom with sacrificial events. Panel 19

from Dos Pilas shows a male child undergoing a bloodletting rite (Miller and Martin 2004:

Figure 11), and the child appears to wear a similar leaf-like garment to the chaj’ooms identified

by Scherer and Houston. The full-figure hieroglyph for this title includes a leaf-like cloak, which

strengthens the association between this particular dress element and ch’ajooms.

Interestingly, Guernsey (1992: 115,117) identified the T188 symbol on female attire,

which has the phonetic value le meaning “leaf”, yet suggested an association between female
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dress and fertility, rather than sacrifice. Bruhns (1988: 111) suggests that most of the women on

polychrome vases seem to be servants and sarongs with tie-dye patterns appear to be the uniform

of a palace servant, while women who are not of subordinate status wear the huipil. However,

K4996 (Figure 2.2), which features hieroglyphs that name the female in the scene as an ajaw

(Tokovinine and Zender 2012), illustrates a female who is clearly not of subordinate status

wearing a sarong.

Other individuals associated with the court, such as ebeets (messengers), have also been

identified with shared outfits. Specifically, these individuals have been recognized to wear white

cloaks and shell ornaments (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 77). Houston, et al. (2006: 244-245)

suggest that such individuals were tributary lords bringing the most coveted items to court and

“can be understood as walking tribute bundles”. They suggest that these individuals stripped off

their raiment, down to their loincloths, to remove overt marks of social status and cede to the

overlord (Houston, et al. 2006: 247). However, as demonstrated in Chapter Five, many rulers

wear little more than loincloths themselves so it is unlikely that the quantity of dress in painted

ceramic scenes reflected social status or hierarchy within the court.

McAnany (2013: Figure 9.4) suggests that tribute collectors in the court can be identified

wearing a “bulbous headdress”, such as those worn by several of the individuals on ceramic 4P/2

from Tikal (Culbert 1993: Figure 68a). Her suggestion is based on the identification of “quill

pens” worn in combination with these headdresses (McAnany 2013: 241), presumably to record

tribute.

Other types of distinctive dress elements have been associated with other members of the

court, including the “drum major headdress”—named for its resemblance to hats worn today by

drum majors in military bands (Schele and Miller 1986: 69). Various sculptures from Palenque,
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including The Oval Tablet, show the drum major headdress as a prominent element in its own

right, even when not worn on a human body (Figure 3.14). Although recognizing that it may

have been war-related at times,55 Bassie-Sweet, et al. (2012) suggest that the secondary lords of

Palenque who carry the yajawk’ahk’ title may have been responsible for maintaining the drum

major headdress and the buildings that housed it. The notion that dress and costume required

specialized storage has also been discussed by Miller (2001: 211), who proposed that wooden

and wicker chests probably held most ritual attire. She posits that these chests would have been

hoisted up to rafters for storage, and the hoisting up and down of the ceremonial attire in these

chests may have been ritualized.

Hellmuth (1996) also suggested that headdresses, as well as skirts, could be used to

identify both hunters and ballplayers. Based on shared attire, he proposed that hunting and the

ballgame share a common meaning or common heritage. As athletes attached to the royal court,

ballplayers competed against rival teams and may have symbolically ‘hunted’ their opponents.

Indeed Hellmuth suggests that ballplayers wearing bird or deer headdresses were dressed as

metaphorical prey. Alternative explanations for animal headdresses are that they represented

various way, a spiritual companion or animal protector (Freidel, et al. 1993: 190).

Headdresses are one of the principal dress elements that have received most attention by

scholars— likely because they are usually one of the largest dress elements and therefore highly

visible. Reents-Budet (2001) has identified the headdresses most frequently worn by courtiers as

the “net head scarf, spangled turban, and the stiff white head wrap”. She explains that ‘spangled

turbans’ also appear on prisoners and their captors, suggesting turbans connotes special status. It

55
Indeed, Schele and Mathews (1998: 223) recognized that the "Pillbox" headdress is the Chichen Itza version of
the drum major headdress, and it was associated with warfare.
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is also apparent that certain headdresses, and other dress elements, were emblematic of certain

deities and were worn to assume their supernatural powers or communicate with them directly

(Bassie-Sweet, et al. 2012: 213; Danien 1997: 42; Looper 2003a: 2).

Headdresses associated with the k’uhul ajaw have also been identified. The Jester God

headband has long been recognized to be an indicator of rulership (Fields 1991). The headband

may have been manufactured from bark cloth, and by itself was known as the Sak Hunal (white

headband), worn by rulers to signal their coronation (Looper 2003: 2). Concurrent with the

crowning, a ruler assumed a new huun k’aba’ (headband name [Martin and Grube 2008: 14]).

Houston, et al. (2006: 83) suggest that the metaphor of “bundling” a ruler at his accession may

have given rise to the use of the headband to “wrap” the divine king in office.

Instances in which rulers receive the headband in Maya art include Palenque Temple XIX

(Bassie-Sweet, et al. 2012: Figure 7.4). Such headbands were usually adorned with jade jewels

depicting the jester god, named for its resemblance to medieval court jesters (Schele 1974: 49).

Monument 122 from Tonina shows K’an Hoy Chitam II wearing what appears to be a jewelled

version of the headdress (Miller and Martin 2004: Plate 101). Taube (1998: 454) suggests that

placing an item of jade at the central crown of the head symbolized the world axis, which

demonstrates that the jade headdress was also a symbol of royal status. Unfortunately, as Stone

and Zender (2011: 37) have recognized, the “characteristic paper headband of lordship” was

frequently obscured by elaborate headdresses and helmets in monumental art so it is not always

clear whether the headdress was worn by a ruler.

Houston, et al. (2006: 274) have suggested that ajaws also wore features of thrones

around their waist, including ancestral jewels, feline pelts, shiny mirrors, and prominent bulges.

They propose that in doing so, the ruler transported his throne with him. The ruler is usually
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considered to wear the most elaborate clothing (Reents-Budet 2001: 213), so it is possible that

dress elements associated with thrones were restricted attire for other members of the court.

Donning various elements associated with thrones may have been cumbersome for the ruler,

especially if they were large and heavy. Houston, et al. (2006: 26) have proposed that to carry

heavy dress elements was to graphically embody the duties of high rank. The main necklace

worn by Tikal ruler Jasaw Chan K’awiil in his burial weighed 8.5 pounds for example (Trik

1963: 8), demonstrating just how heavy some dress elements were. Furthermore, at the site of

Yaxchilan, sculpted figures are described as having “massive thighs” to support the weight of the

masses of feathers, ornaments, and headdresses that they wear (Tate 1992: 37).

Despite the various dress elements that have been associated with k’uhul ajaws, it is clear

that there was no one specific set of elements that constituted a royal outfit. Perhaps the best

examples of this in Maya art are Altar Q and the bench inside Temple 11 at Copan, which

illustrates 16 and 20 rulers of the site respectively (Schele and Freidel 1990: Figures 8.3 and

8.14). Some wear similar headdresses and jewellery, while others wear vastly different

headdresses and accoutrements. Indeed, in many instances there are “only slight differences” in

the dress of the ruler and those around him (Taylor 1983: 2), which makes it less likely that the

k’uhul ajaws wore a specific royal outfit.

It has also been recognized that rulers wear “simple” dress (Coggins 1975: 503; Halperin

2007: 224). This is of course a problematic term for it implies undeveloped or non-complex

dress. In reality, while garments and other accoutrements that made up outfits of ‘simplicity’

were perhaps smaller and less extravagant they were manufactured from materials such as

cotton, greenstone, and marine shell—all of which involved time-consuming processes to

transform them into wearable dress items. Thus, they should not be understood as any less
139
developed or less complex. It is perhaps useful to consider such outfits as everyday dress while

large elaborate outfits can be considered costumes. Foias (2013: 200) suggests that rulers on

painted ceramics deliberately wore less elaborate dress (as compared to stone monuments) to

“understate their wealth and political influence…in an attempt to create a common identity

among elites.” Alternatively, she suggests that if ceramics were commissioned by secondary

elites it is they who understated the wealth and political influence of the ruler in claiming a status

equal to the k’uhul ajaw (ibid).

In conclusion, various dress elements have been associated with a number of different

individuals within the court. Although Coe and Kerr (1997) argued for the existence of uniforms;

Zender (2004) suggested that clothing corresponded to an individual’s role; and Duke (2014)

claimed that certain attire could be related to group membership, all three studies were limited to

one particular office position. By excluding all other individuals within the court, and only

analyzing the dress of a limited number of individuals, any patterns in the homogeneity or

heterogeneity of dress are skewed. As Tseëlon (2012: 123) has argued, research on dress has

been limited because in the past studies “cherry-picked” dress and thus privileged certain forms

of dress and contexts. Prior to presenting the results from a study of the dress of all individuals

within painted courtly contexts in Chapter Five, the next chapter explores issues with interpreting

the representation of dress in Maya art. As Ekholm (1985: 211) explained, “there is disagreement

as to whether the person depicted really wore all the objects shown or whether many were

conventions employed by sculptors and painters, who had to show a person with accoutrements

and/or symbols of a specific office or status.” Understanding the intention behind the

representation of dress is thus necessary before the relationship to courtly identity can be

determined.
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 CHAPTER 4: THE ART OF REPRESENTATION

“A representation is…something that stands for something else. This description implies the

existence of two related but functionally separate worlds: the represented world and the

representing world. The job of the representing world is to reflect some aspects of the

represented world in some fashion” (Palmer 1978: 262).

This chapter explores theories of ‘reading’ visual art, to aid in interpreting the dress worn by

courtiers in Late Classic ceramic scenes. The above quote reminds us that the ceramics used in

this study cannot be taken as direct evidence of dress; the representation of dress on these objects

is controlled by those who commissioned or painted the ancient artworks (i.e. those in the

represented world). As Hall (1997) explains, a representation is the production of meaning of the

concepts in our minds through language—whether that language be spoken or visual.

Understanding the various factors that can influence the painted scenes on ancient Maya

ceramics is an important first step in interpreting the representation of dress. However, as

discussed below, modern collectors and restorers can also impact the representation of dress on

these objects. Thus, as Just (2012) and Nørskov (2002) have recognized, it is important to

acknowledge both the ancient and modern contexts of ceramics when interpreting their visual

imagery. In regard to ancient contexts, it is possible to explore the way in which political,

economic, social, religious, and artistic concerns affect visual representations. In regard to

modern contexts, the impact of aesthetic and monetary concerns on these same representations

can be identified and evaluated.

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Representation in Ancient Maya Ceramics

Ceramics are objects of fired clay. Clays are composed of small particles, formed by the

weathering of certain rocks. The main constituent of clay is often kaolinite, an aluminium

silicate, but there are a wide range of other components such as metal silicates and oxides

(Craddock 2009: 186). Clay deposits in Mesoamerica differ in quality and chemical composition

by region and are therefore fairly diverse. Thus, temper or filler was usually added to clay to

improve the quality and malleability of clay, assist in building taller and/or larger vessels, and

provide support during firing. Materials used in Pre-Columbian times included sand, rock, straw

or other plant fibres, and crushed ceramics. Arnold (1978) demonstrated that in modern

Guatemalan communities, some travelled to obtain clay whereas others obtain clay locally and

some clays contained a sufficient amount of naturally occurring non-plastics that they did not

require temper.

Ceramic vessels were built by one of two main techniques. The first was by “adding coils

of clay to a pancake-shaped bottom created by pressing clay into a shallow or flat wooden mold

or into the palm of the hand” (Reents-Budet 1994: 210). The other was “construction from a

single slab for the walls and another for the base” (Nunberg 2012: 227). Whether built by coils or

slab, the sides were subsequently smoothed and allowed to dry to a leather hardness, whereby as

much water as possible evaporated, prior to burnishing and the addition of decoration to the

surface. Common methods of applying decoration to the surface of a ceramic included the

traditional slip painting technique, known as terra sigillata (Reents-Budet and Hole 2010: 31), or

incising or excising the surface. An alternative decorative method made use of the damp surface

of the clay: the so-called dry-fresco technique, which is similar in appearance to painted murals,

whereby a vessel was covered with a thin stucco layer and then painted with pigment while still
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damp (Solis 2005: 30). Reents-Budet and Hole (2010: 31) claim that the Maya adopted the dry-

fresco technique, as well as the concept of pictorial narrative decoration, from Teotihuacan.

Terra sigillata is characteristic of the Late Classic ceramics in this study, and the water-

colour like painting required skilled handling and application (Reents-Budet and Hole 2010: 39).

It is possible that a device comparable to a modern k’abal, which is a plank of wood that can be

turned between the soles of the potter’s feet to help shape a ceramic, was used to rotate ceramics

during the painting process (Reents-Budet 1994: 210). To manufacture paints for the decoration

of ceramics, the Maya had to obtain, prepare, and mix various pigments. As with clay

preparation, pigments were rinsed in water to remove impurities and subsequently crushed or

ground to a fine powder. To create paint, pigments need to be mixed with a vehicle that will

eventually dry, such as water or oil which has led to the suggestion that painting usually took

place in the dry seasons [Miller and Brittenham 2013: 48 ]. This allows for smooth application to

a surface and when dry, a solid layer of colour will remain. As with the addition of temper to

clay, the Maya improved the quality of paint by mixing vegetal gums, various clays, and lime

slurries (Houston, et al. 2009: 62). Vegetable gums also aided in slowing the drying of pigments,

allowing painters more time to complete their work (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 48).

As discussed in the previous chapter, the Maya had access to several earth pigments—

which are naturally occurring minerals (principally iron oxides). These pigments are found in

natural deposits such as rocks and soils and produce soft, earthy, hues such as yellows, oranges,

and browns. Many pigments had a limited regional distribution and were likely obtained through

trade. For example, cinnabar is only available in areas of hot springs and volcanic activity,

azurite is mostly from the Mexican highlands and western Mexico, and malachite is associated

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with copper deposits around limestones (Houston, et al. 2009: 65; Miller and Brittenham 2013:

51).

Not all earth pigments could be used as paints because not all can withstand the high

firing temperatures necessary to make ceramics. All organic compounds (except carbon black)

burn off during firing. Azurite and malachite oxidize to powdery copper black when fired and

cinnabar sublimes (turns into a vapor and back into a solid); yellow and brown goethites can

dehydrate to yield red hematites, and red hematite can turn black in a reducing atmosphere

(Houston, et al. 2009: 66-67). The Maya understood that the colour of pigments could be

manipulated by heating them (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 49), so this may have been a

technique adopted to achieve different colours. In contrast to the restricted range of colours used

in Maya ceramic painting, analysis of mural paintings (mostly undertaken by Magaloni [1996,

2001] ) have found that almost 30 distinct pigment combinations were used (Miller and

Brittenham 2013: 49).

The terrain of much of the Maya region is calcareous and thus lacks mineral abundance

and variety (Álvarez 1999). To compensate for the limited availability of natural pigments the

Maya developed synthetic pigments known as lakes, which were manufactured by mixing dyes

with a base that would not react, such as clay or chalk (Houston, et al. 2009: 62). The famous

Maya blue pigment was made by combining indigo dye with a base of palygorskite clay, and is

thus not a naturally occurring organic colourant. Houston, et al. (2009: 78) suggest that Maya

blue developed out of consultations with textile producers, who were familiar with the plants and

techniques necessary for dyeing cloth. The palygorskite clay source was once thought to derive

only from the Yucatan, and thus have limited availability, but it has also been found in the

144
Central Peten (Cecil 2010). Due to its sensitivity to extreme temperatures and habit of

blackening upon firing, Maya blue was used only as a postfire paint (Houston, et al. 2009: 65).

The availability of palygorskite clay, since it was a geographically restricted material,

may have been controlled in Pre-Columbian times—as the knowledge of how to use it to

produce Maya blue may have been (Arnold, et al. 2012: 2259). Consequently, the very materials

being used to produced ceramics and their decorative scenes can be indicative of political,

economic, or social relationships in the past. Religious or symbolic concerns can also be revealed

by studying the ceramic manufacturing practices. Magaloni-Kerpel (2006) claims that the ancient

Maya did not use the easiest and most abundant raw materials to make pigments, but instead

chose materials that best suited the artistic and symbolic needs of the painters or the painting

tradition. Thus, access to restricted materials may not only indicate economic ties but also

religious or symbolic concerns on the part of the artist.

A green lake has also been identified in ancient Maya mural paints, thought to have been

produced from mixing indigo and a yellow extract from the kante root (Houston, et al. 2009: 66).

Perhaps initially a suitable pre-fire paint, many Ik’ style vessels have a metallic grayish black

colour on green objects such as quetzal feathers (e.g. K1050 and K1399). Some scholars have

suggested that the paint was initially green but over time has completely oxidized to black

(Houston, et al. 2009: 88), but Nunberg (2012: 234) has demonstrated that some grayish black

pigments were intentionally applied instead of green. Synthetic yellow and red pigments were

also manufactured, but the mineral pigments used in their creation have not yet been identified

(Álvarez 1999). In addition to expanding the available colours for painting, the advent of

synthetic lakes allowed for different kinds of visual effects to mineral-based paints; the former

can be applied in layers to create glaze-like transparent colours whereas application of the latter
145
in layers creates opaque colours (Magaloni-Kerpel 2006). Therefore, the colours on the surface

of a ceramic cannot be taken at face value. While certain dress elements on a ceramic may be

represented as blue, green, or even grey, there is no guarantee that the actual elements being

represented were the same colour.

Decorative application techniques can indicate political or social relationships. Ceramic

artists can be differentiated from one another based on association with, or mastery of, a specific

decorative style or technique of applying painted decoration to Maya vases. It may even

association them to a particular ‘school’ or ‘workshop’ (Ball 1993), which may also reveal

political or social concerns in regards to representation. Both Adams (1971: 68) and Sabloff

(1975: 128) have described the process of applying outlines to ceramic surfaces first, and then

adding interior details and colours. A similar process was recorded by Buti, et al. (2014) in their

analysis of the Madrid Codex, and Miller and Brittenham (2013: 49, 53) in their study of the

Bonampak murals. Artists responsible for the decoration of painted ceramics have long been

presumed to be the same individuals responsible for the decoration of other media (Coggins

1975: 507; Kelemen 1969: Volume I: 177; Thompson 1962: 17), so similar decorative

techniques are unsurprising. Another method of applying paint to ceramic surfaces was the resist

technique, which is also known as negative painting. This involved covering sections of the

vessel surface with an impermeable substance, such as wax, and painting the remainder of the

surface (Taylor 1982: 110). When fired, the substance would disappear and the original surface

or slip colour would remain underneath (see Figure 4.1).

After decoration was added to the surface of ceramics they were fired in open kilns at

temperatures between 500-700°C. Even though low temperatures such as this caused the

ceramics to be fairly porous and weak, higher temperatures would have caused the painted
146
surfaces to become murky from excessive vitrification and the paints to be significantly less

glossy (Reents-Budet 1994: 214-216; Taylor 1982: 108). Ceramics that were painted with scenes

of the Maya court are almost exclusively cylindrical vases—albeit for a small number that can be

classed as jars and bowls (n= 2 and n=20, respectively, in this study). The majority of these vases

have flat bottoms, yet a minor amount (n=10 in this study) have tripod feet attached. The lack of

appendages or other diversions from a cylindrical form allow for an uninterrupted surface

suitable for decoration with wrap-around scenes.

Justin Kerr (personal communication 2015), following Michael Coe (1973: 11), has

questioned the idea that cylinder vases were passed around so that their wrap-around scenes

could be viewed up-close; instead he suggests they were intended as funerary objects and

humans may not have been privy to viewing them. However, their decorated exteriors suggest

that they were intended for viewing and handling on an intimate level (it should be noted that

many cylinder vases also feature decoration around their interior rims, generally of a simple,

repeated, shape or colour [Figure 4.2]). Just as the painter of a wrap-around scene on a cylinder

vase “could only work on and see a small portion of the composition at any one time” (Reents-

Budet 1994: 7), a person viewing the vase must hold it in their hands to view the entirety of the

scene (compare the narrow visible surface area of LOC PC0040 [K6341] with its rollout

photograph [Figure 4.3]). Ceramic scenes such as those on MSM 4P-110 (K8001 [Figure 2.16]);

DO PC.B.564 (K2784 [Figure 2.17]); and NOMA 69.33 (K2800 [Figure 3.8]) strongly suggest

that painted ceramics were handled during court activities (Boot 2014: 19; Just 2012: 74).

Indeed, Boot (2014) has even convincingly suggested that some ceramics required active

engagement on the part of a human handler, and that physical rotation in certain directions was

147
necessary to read hieroglyphic texts. Consequently, “manipulation is…an intricate part of the

(textual and visual) reading experience” of Maya vases (Boot 2014: 22).

Understanding whether or not vessels were viewed up-close impacts the way in which their

painted designs were intended to be ‘read’. If they were destined only for the final resting place of

deceased individuals, they were unlikely to have interacted with individuals as usable objects. Both

Chase (1985: 201) and Hansen, et al. (1991: 239) question the assumption that highly decorative

vases were restricted to elite burial contexts, because they have recovered these types of vases

from other contexts. The famous ‘Jauncy’ vase from Buenavista del Cayo has hieroglyphics that

name its owner as the ruler K’ak-Tiliw Chan Chaak of Naranjo, yet it was excavated from the tomb

of a different male— likely a member of the Buenavista royal family (Houston, et al. 1992; Martin

and Grube 2008: 75; Taschek and Ball 1992). It has been theorized that the Naranjo ruler gave the

ceramic to ruler K’ak-Tiliw Chan Chaak as a gift, who subsequently deposited it as a burial

offering in the tomb of the male (perhaps his son). Thus, it is an example that some ceramics were

clearly not made solely for burial purposes, but had active lives as political and social objects.

Residue analyses conducted on ceramics recovered from within burial contexts also

appear to contradict the view that they were solely used as burial goods (Hall, et al. 1990;

Loughmiller-Newman 2012; Matheson, et al. 2009; McNeil 2010; McNeil, et al. 2006; Powis, et

al. 2002), although it is difficult to determine whether their contents were intended specifically

for a burial or whether they were remnants related to prior use. Unfortunately, since the majority

of vessels in this study are from unprovenienced contexts in public and private collections,

residue analysis has not been conducted on their interiors. Attempts to undertake residue analysis

may fail to yield any viable results because many have been cleaned or contaminated, or their

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residues have been affected by bacteria in the burial environment (Coyston 2002: 200;

Zagorevski and Loughmiller-Newman 2012: 403).56

As discussed in Chapter Two, highly decorative vessels were used in courtly activities as

serving or storage wares (yet decorative polychrome ceramics have also been found in non-elite

contexts [Halperin and Foias 2010: 394; Hansen et al. 1991]). Accordingly, such ceramics were

manufactured as usable objects and the painted scenes on their exteriors were designed with a

viewing audience in mind. Whether highly decorative ceramics were used on a regular or

infrequent basis cannot be known (scholars such as Aimers [2013] have attempted to recreate the

‘daily lives’ of ceramics), but ceramics with ancient drilled holes suggest that some were used

frequently enough to require repairing in antiquity (e.g. K6312 and K6436).57 Lack of evidence

for ancient re-painting indicates that the Maya did not attempt to restore pigment loss that may

have resulted from frequent use—perhaps because it would have required re-firing the vessel

(Reents-Budet, personal communication 2015). As discussed in Chapter Two, different

individuals may have been involved in different stages of ceramic manufacture and those tasked

with painting decorative scenes may not have been the same as those who formed and fired the

vessels (Bishop, Reents, et al. 1985: 80).

Evidence of in situ production areas has benefitted scholarly understanding of the

ceramic manufacturing process (Becker 2003; Halperin and Foias 2010), as have chemical

analyses using Instrumental Neutron Activation Analysis (INAA) (Reents-Budet and Bishop

2003). Although evidence of the former is relatively scarce, the latter is a technique that has been

56
However, unprovenienced tobacco flasks from the Kislak collection in the Library of Congress have yielded
positive results from residue analysis, likely because they have extremely narrow openings which makes cleaning
their interiors difficult (see Zagorevski and Loughmiller-Newman 2012).
57
The author has not assessed either in person, so is unable to comment on their authenticity. These “ancient
repairs” have been identified as such by Justin Kerr.
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applied to a wide range of ceramics throughout the Maya region. From 1968 onwards the Maya

Ceramics Project has used INAA to chemically characterize the ceramic pastes of thousands of

vessels and sherds (Reents-Budet, et al. 2012: 434, note 431). Their results have determined that

various clays from the Maya region have distinctive chemical characteristics, yet the results do

not immediately identify which clay sources were used in the manufacture of specific ceramics

(Bishop, Harbottle, et al. 1985: 161). In fact, members of the Maya Ceramics Project have

acknowledged “that there are no secure paste compositional matches in their database” (Just

2012: 91, footnote 63). Precise identification of discrete production centers using INAA is

difficult, as demonstrated by the work conducted by Arnold and colleagues (1978, 1991, 1999).

Consequently, the Maya Ceramics Project has combined iconographic and stylistic analysis with

INAA to correlate specific decorative styles to certain geographic regions (Bishop, Reents, et al.

1985; Reents-Budet, et al. 2012).

In situ evidence and INAA results are helping scholars to gain an increased

understanding of different stages of ceramic manufacture, yet there is still a long way to go to

fully understand the entire chaîne opératoire. In regards to the process of applying painted

decoration to the exterior of ceramics, scholars disagree about whether artists were constrained

by canons of acceptability (as suggested by Looper [in Looper and Tolles 2000: 36] and Schele

and Miller [1986: 41]) or whether they enjoyed free creative reign (as suggested by Just [2012:

54]). The presence of regional styles suggest that there were opportunities to deviate from certain

artistic traditions, yet general similarities between representational efforts of Maya artists

demonstrate that there were culturally accepted (and expected) means of communicating cultural

information.

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 Recognized ceramic regional styles include the famous ‘Codex’ style, which was

manufactured in the north-central Peten (Hansen, et al. 1991). Table 2.3 lists the characteristics

of styles associated with polychrome ceramics detailing scenes of the Late Classic Maya court.

The shift to polychrome painting came at a time of profound social changes at the beginning of

the Late Preclassic, when the institution of divine kingship was coalescing, yet did not appear

until the end of the Late Preclassic and beginning of Early Classic in ceramic media (Houston, et

al. 2009: 75-76). Scholars generally divide Early Classic and Late Classic polychrome ceramics

into two phases, Tzakol and Tepeu respectively, and recognize that ceramics of the latter phase

became increasingly embellished with decorative imagery (Reents-Budet 1994: 72). Within each

phase there are three subphases, “each marked by the introduction of new vessel shapes and new

forms of decoration” (Smith 1955: 3). Tepeu 1 dates roughly to A.D. 600-700; Tepeu 2 to A.D.

700-800; and Tepeu 3 to A.D. 800-900 (Willey, et al. 1967). The ability to link ceramics styles to

certain regions and their courts can inform scholars about particular social, religious, political, or

economic concerns that influence artistic representation.

The influence of political concerns can clearly be seen through representations of the

ruler Yajawte’ K’inich of Motul de San José (commonly known as the “Fat Cacique”), who is

recognizable due to his corpulence (Figures 3.11 and 4.4). It is often assumed that his large size

is a direct indicator of wealth, prosperity, and royal status (Gillespie 2008: 129; Kerr 1989b: 32).

The decision to portray the ruler in this manner may have been a result of instructions from

whomever commissioned the vessel, or a conscious choice by the artist. While representations of

rulers such as Yajawte’ K’inich could be assumed to be true-to-life portraits, they may instead be

comparable to ‘tronies’ of seventeenth century Dutch art (discussed below). Scholars have

argued for (Robertson, et al. 1976; Spencer 2007) and against (Gillespie 2008: 125) portraiture in
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Maya art, and also disagree over the existence of portraits in other regions of Mesoamerica as

well (e.g. compare Beekman 2016 and Norwood 2016).

The importance of individuals in a painted scene can also be emphasized through careful

composition. For example, rulers are often positioned higher in pictorial scenes or shown

frontally (Benson 1974: 110; Looper 2009: 56; Miller 1981: 30). The status of individuals can be

inferred from their proximity to the dominant figure of a scene as well, which, as discussed in

Chapter Two, has been referred to as “hierarchical space” (Houston and Stuart 2001: 63).

Elsewhere, Houston, et al. (2006: 37) have suggested that social distance may have been close

among courtiers but expanded greatly with rulers and high-ranking lords, who often sit apart in

Maya imagery. Furthermore, both Benson (1974) and Miller (1981) have suggested that certain

hand gestures can indicate submission and indicate hierarchy within pictorial art (yet Looper

[2009: 86] argues that there is no evidence for specific denotative meanings of individual

postures akin to sign language).

An important step in the interpretation of dress in ancient Maya ceramic scenes is an

examination of whether they are symbolic, iconic, or indexical signs. To identify this, it is

important to understand whether signs are grounded in a real relationship to a signified or

whether the relationship is completely arbitrary. This involves understanding the culturally

specific rules that the Maya created between a signifier and signified. Unfortunately, scholars

often offer varied explanations for the same signs in ancient Maya imagery which demonstrates

the difficulty in identifying the type of sign and connecting it to a signified. For example, Looper

(2009: 104) explains that the sarcophagus lid from Palenque (Figure 4.5), which appears to

illustrate K’inich Janaab Pakal’s loincloth in an upward stance, has been interpreted differently

by different scholars. Schele and Miller (1986: 282) interpret the loincloth as indicative of a
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downward motion as the ruler falls into the underworld whereas Proskouriakoff (1950: 23, 28)

considered the implied movement of the loincloth as upward and thus interpreted the image as

one of resurrection.

Looper (2009: 104) claims that the disparity is due to confusion between indexical and

iconic features of visual art (i.e. between those which encompass aspects of artistic style versus

those which convey significant action). Differences of interpretation can also result from the

failure to consider compositional devices. For example, Nygard, et al. (2015) suggest that profile

postures were designed to pull the viewer’s attention down to the feet whereas Looper (2009: 56)

and Reents-Budet (1994: 22) suggest that figures shown in profile are often subordinate to those

shown frontally. It is also likely that a profile posture was often a compositional choice in order

to better display certain dress elements. A case in point is that when individuals are in profile,

necklace counterweights are usually shown; counterweights would help to reinforce the weight,

and value, of necklaces.

To understand dress elements in terms of signifier and signified, and identify whether

elements are symbolic, iconic, or indexical, it is also necessary to judge how accurately they are

portrayed. Eicher and Evenson (2015: 63-64) warn that we cannot always be sure how accurately

visual images portray garments, since we are only privy to what an artist decides to present. They

remind us that an artist “may have a goal of promoting an idea rather than showing dress people

actually wear” and “their ability to depict reality may also be limited by art conventions or the

media they use” (Eicher and Evenson 2015: 62). Ribeiro (1998: 322) also explains that artists

may “invent costume, and it isn’t always easy…to distinguish the real from the fanciful”. Even

Spinden (1975 [1913]: 148) suggested that textile designs in Maya art “may have been purely a

ceremonial elaboration possible in sculptures but not used in real life.” He also suggested in
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regard to tattoos that “it is doubtful whether these markings represent real body ornamentation or

merely adventitious elaboration by the artist” (1975 [1913]: 150). Looper (in Looper and Tolles

2000: 7-8) has also suggested that scholars should not assume a documentary quality to Maya

art, and that the geometric patterns of many textile designs may have had formal functions rather

than being photographic likenesses. In particular he suggests that the quatrefoil designs on the

Yaxchilan Lintel 25 textiles balance the heavy detail that frames the woman’s face, and therefore

aid in visual clarity.

In addition to Spinden and Looper’s hesitation to take the representation of dress at face

value, Ekholm (1991: 248) has commented on the “impossible sizes and attributes” of

headdresses in Maya art. Such dress items are common in pictorial representations, and those on

stelae at the site of Nim Li Punit even influenced the name of the site (meaning “large

headdress” in Kekchi Maya [Hammond et al. 1999: 2]). The tall headdress carved in graffiti at

Caracol Structure B20-2nd (Chase and Chase 2001: Figure 4.12) is an example of a headdress

that was likely exaggerated in size. Since it is larger than the individuals carrying it, the

dimensions do not seem realistic nor practical for use. Tall headdresses such as these reflect an

association to the roof-combs of temple-pyramids (Houston, et al. 2006: 273). This suggests that

the Maya may have considered dress elements such as headdresses to have an animate quality,58

since built structures were considered to be living objects (Schele and Matthews 1999: 26;

Webster 1998: 29). Taube (1998: 463-466) discusses the close relationship between tall

headdresses and temples, suggesting that individuals wearing the former became a living

embodiment of the latter and its divine occupants. Miller (2001: 204) has also related patterning

58
Bassie-Sweet et al. (2012: 202-203) suggest that the ux pop huun of Palenque may have been “born”,
strengthening the idea that dress elements were considered to be animate objects.
154
on textile garments to the motifs painted on Maya architecture, mirroring the analogy between

roof-combs and headdresses.

The representation of dress on ancient Maya ceramics may in some cases have been

intended to imitate reality, as the loincloths that imply vigorous motion on Tikal Dancer Plates

suggest (Looper 2009: 122). In other instances the representation of dress may have been

intended to exaggerate reality, as the “unnatural positions” of garments suggest (Ekholm 1991:

248). Indeed, Miller (2001: 209) explained that archaeologically excavated adornments are

usually much smaller than the Maya depicted them, and therefore they “felt free to paint a world

far grander than the one they actually inhabited.” Since Maya art was largely commissioned by,

and likely manufactured for, the upper elite, artists may have been subject to requests to inflate a

person’s hierarchical importance or obligated to present exaggerated presentations of wealth. As

Miller and Brittenham (2013: 148) have stated, “art can conjure wealth…that may or may not

exist in truth.” Alternatively, certain dress elements may have been distorted or exaggerated for

the purposes of filling pictorial scenes. Consequently, the purpose of the artwork and the

intentions of the artist(s) are both important considerations when interpreting dress, and it should

be determined whether artistic license may have come into play or not.

As discussed above, the concept of ‘tronies’ may be applicable to ancient Maya art.

Tronies were popular studies among Dutch artists in the seventeenth century and although the

specific meaning of the word is unclear, it is usually translated as ‘face’ or ‘head’ (Hirschfelder

2001). These types of paintings are representations of individuals rather than true portraits, and

are generally understood to be studies of their expression or physiognomy (Van de Veen 1997:

71). Exotic or curious garments were incorporated into these paintings, likely to demonstrate

artistic technique, which were allusive indications to the individual’s wealth or occupation
155
(Schwartz 1989: 96). The identity of the individual in a tronie representation was considered

unimportant (indeed they were not named), and they usually lacked the attributes and context to

identify them.

A similar concept is that of the àròyá, or conceptual portrait in Yoruba art, which

deemphasizes physical likeness and instead includes personal adornment and insignia as a form

of identification (Norwood 2016: 202). Perhaps, in a manner similar to tronies and àròyá,

ancient Maya ceramic artists used dress as a primary form of identification rather than attempt to

reproduce the physical likeness of individuals within the court.59 However, this does not mean

that dress represented in imagery was worn by an individual in real life. James and Tougher

(2005) argue that the “appropriateness” of dress, rather than its accuracy is important and

although “we cannot be sure that this is what X ever wore…we can be very sure that this was the

appropriate way to depict X” (James and Tougher 2005: 160). Equally important to the

consideration of accurate (or perhaps appropriate) dress is the consideration of inauthentic, or

misrepresentations, in ancient Maya art.

Authenticity and Misrepresentation

“As with any research that uses undocumented material, there is always the danger that the

interpretations may be found to have been based on a scene inaccurately restored, incorrectly

repainted, or—the complete nightmare—that the pots may be nothing but well-executed

forgeries” (Danien 1997: 41).

59
Similarly, Jones and Stallybrass (2000: 34-35) explain that painters of Renaissance portraits were concerned
principally with the representation of clothing and adornment, rather than the face.
156
An important, but often neglected, aspect of ancient Maya art is whether or not a representation

is authentic. The term ‘authentic’ derives from Greek and Latin terms for original, yet its

meaning is historically dependent and constantly changes through time (Lowenthal 1999).

Scholars have discussed modern concepts of authenticity in terms of a materialist approach

versus a constructivist approach (Jones 2010; Reisinger and Steiner 2006). The former views

authenticity as something that is inherent in the material fabric, form, and function of an object;

the latter is a culturally or personally constructed view and therefore variable and subjective.

Consequently, the materialist approach considers authenticity as an objective and measurable

attribute, which invites scientific testing and analysis (Craddock 2009: 10-11), while the

constructivist approach cannot be accurately measured. These two opposing views demonstrate

that there is no common agreement on what authenticity means, which has led scholars such as

Lowenthal (1999: 186) and Reisinger and Steiner (2006) to argue that the term has lost meaning

and should be abandoned.

With no definitive definition of what constitutes an authentic or inauthentic object, there

are no clear guidelines or standards to determine authenticity within the art market (Okil 2004:

225). While an archaeologist may consider an ancient Maya artwork to be authentic only if it is

entirely materially original and temporally accurate, an art historian may consider the same

artwork to be authentic even after modern restoration (i.e. intervention that alters the temporal

nature of its material constituents in some way). Even The Nara Document on Authenticity,60

drafted by the World Heritage Committee in 1994, stated that “it is not possible to base

judgements of values and authenticity within fixed criteria” (Article 11). The committee was

60
Viewable at: whc.unesco.org/document/9379
157
made up of leading experts in the field of preservation of cultural properties, and their goal was

to clarify the application of “the test of authenticity” to World Heritage nominations (Larsen

1995). The document did suggest a link between authenticity, credibility, and truth —which is

upheld in the most recent guidelines prepared by the committee.61 The relationship between

authenticity and truth in art is not straightforward, and further muddled by the presence of

heavily restored objects, fakes, and forgeries on the art market.

Restorations, Fakes, and Forgeries

Time, environmental conditions, and the process of rediscovery all impact the modern condition

of ancient Maya ceramics. The majority do not survive the archaeological record intact and

require stabilization via preservation, and modification via restoration (commonly conducted by

conservators within museums and other institutions). While both are often mutually dependent,

the aim of the former is to prevent further deterioration and the aim of the latter is to achieve a

resemblance to the original condition (see Viñas 2005 for a discussion of both types of

treatment). Restoration should not be guided primarily by aesthetic concerns, though it is often

influenced by them, nor monetary profit. Objects may be considered ‘authentic’, despite modern

restoration, if it is accepted that they have a continuing history since their moment of creation

(Jones 1990b: 14). This is akin to considering the ‘social life’ or ‘life history’ of objects

(Appadurai 1986; Just 2012).

As with the definition of authenticity, the definition of restoration is in constant flux and

there are many different concepts of what a legitimate restoration should constitute (Craddock

61
http://whc.unesco.org/en/guidelines/
158
2009: 497). In some cases, especially if there is misinformation or lack of knowledge about the

original object, restorations can unintentionally cause changes not only to the physical properties

of an object but also its integrity. Scholars such as Boone (1982: vi) and Kelker and Bruhns

(2010: 17) call attention to the dangers of excessive restorations and explain that it is a

recognized problem for Pre-Columbian art. Even more damaging are changes to an object that

are intended to mislead, sometimes introducing “embellished and fallacious forms” (Johnson

1992: 22).

Intentionally misleading restorations are commonplace in the art market and their overall

purpose is to aesthetically improve, or recreate parts of, artworks in order to increase their

monetary value (depending on their extent, such restorations can be considered fakes—see

below). Unfortunately, the prevalent attitude in the art world is that such restorations should be

invisible so as to disguise the true extent of intervention (see Lauffenburger 2012: Figure 15).

Therefore, without accompanying documentation, they are often difficult (if not impossible) to

visually detect. Such restorations are usually carried out by private dealers or other individuals

hired by collectors, from whom a record of restoration treatments is usually unavailable, rather

than museum conservators—who document treatment procedures and prioritize restorations that

are reversible, relevant, and visually discernable (Bellingham 2008: 188; Craddock 2009: 498).

In regard to ancient Maya ceramics, the most common forms of candid restoration

include adhering broken sherds together; infilling areas of loss (with material such as plaster);

and in-painting areas of pigment loss (with modern paint). Lynn Grant (2006) provides a clear

overview of these types of restorations, demonstrating that restraint is sometimes necessary in

order to maintain integrity. Barbara Kerr (wife of photographer Justin Kerr) even ‘restored’

photographs of vessels rather than the vessel itself, in order to make the scene easier to interpret
159
(Kerr and Kerr 2013 [Figure 4.6]). Misleading restorations include various forms of altering

decoration, and modifying the size, shape, and form of ceramics. Taylor (1982) provides

examples of misleading restorations, including instances in which completely eroded imagery

has been repainted. Hellmuth (1996: 55) laments that “repainting has become more subtle…in

order to lull the viewer into believing that only a little bit was retouched…these vases are more

the measure of skill of the restorer than any ability or style of an original Maya painter”.

Prominent scholars have recognized that restorers ignorant to ancient Maya iconography

and hieroglyphic writing have misconstrued imagery on ceramic vases (Coe 1981; Kerr and Kerr

2013), which emphasizes the dangers of restoration. On his Maya Archaeology website Nicholas

Hellmuth declares that “more than 75% of the repainting on Maya vases, plates, and bowls is

either inaccurate or is so obviously modern that it obliterates the inherent natural beauty of the

original”.62 In an attempt to combat misleading restorations, Bryan Just, curator at Princeton

University Art Museum, employed conservator Sarah Nunberg to remove restorations from

vessels in the museum’s collection (Nunberg 2012). Just (2012: 170) explains that Nunberg’s

work revealed a high “degree of damage…suffered during the previous campaigns of repair and

revision.” K718 is another example of a “very heavily restored” vase

(http://research.mayavase.com/kerrmaya_hires.php?vase=718) which later had its modern

restorations removed, to return to a more authentic condition (Figure 4.7). Decisions to remove

modern restorations from vases is uncommon, and the majority of ancient Maya vases in public

and private collections have restorations that remain undetected and/or understudied.

62
http://maya-
archaeology.org/Mayan_archaeology_art_museums_Guatemala_national_parks_travel_tourism/Mayan_archaeology
_Peten_Maya_vases_rollouts_painting_plates_jade_artifacts_jaguar_iconography.php
160
 Unfortunately, it is not only misleading restorations that negatively impact ancient Maya

visual representations. Fakes and forgeries abound in the art world, and are especially common

in collections of Maya antiquities. Although the two terms are often used interchangeably, in this

dissertation a fake is defined as a genuine ancient artefact that has been deliberately altered for

the purpose of enhancing its value; a forgery is a fraudulent copy of an ancient artefact (or one in

the style of) that pretends to be an original, again, for the purposes of monetary gain (Bellingham

2008: 184; Savage 1976: 1). Fakes and forgeries are thus related by their intention to confuse,

deceive, and/or exploit. As Czegledi (2010: 160) and Polk and Chappell (2009: 77) explain, both

are illegal when they are intentionally represented as authentic. Feld (2004) explains that the

statute of limitations is usually a barrier to a purchaser succeeding in claiming compensation

from a vendor if they discover an artwork is not authentic.

Fakes and forgeries have concerned scholars of Pre-Columbian Art for some time (Batres

1910; Boone 1982; Ekholm 1964), and are understood to have a negative impact on the

understanding of ancient artworks because they are “a pollution of the historic and artistic

records” (Kelker and Bruhns 2010: 128). Another, related, category is that of pastiche, which is

an artefact assembled from various ancient pieces and is therefore partially authentic (Craddock

2009: 11; Kelker and Bruhns 2010: 17). Sellen (2008: 226) provides examples of pastiche

Zapotec urns and describes how they are manufactured in a mix-and-match type scenario,

effectively arranging motifs into a “meaningless grammar”.

Other instances in which ancient artefacts are copied are done so in completely honest

instances, including replicas—which can be defined as contemporary reproductions—yet they

may subsequently be used for dishonest reasons (Kelker and Bruhns 2010: 18; Savage 1976: 1).

For example, in her study of the Oaxacan replica market, Brulotte (2012: 94) explains that
161
vendors occasionally advertise replicas as authentic artefacts because it boosts their profits

significantly. The sale of replicas of original artefacts arose after the passing of the 1972

Mexican federal law (described in Chapter One) and a dwindling supply of authentic artefacts

(Brulotte 2012: 67). The federal law decreed that artefacts and monuments were the property of

the Mexican nation (Coggins 1998: 63; Harris 1999: 156) and therefore impacted the tourist

demand for excavated artefacts (Brulotte 2012: 61-62). Even today, a Oaxaca tourism website

warns tourists about the creation of archaeological relics by means of burying recently

manufactured objects “in the earth or painted with tar to achieve a weathered look.”63

Polkinghorne (2016) also reveals a similar marketing tactic of contemporary replicas in

Cambodia, where they are offered as genuine Angkorian sculptures. He accompanied artist Jim

Sanborn to Cambodia, where Sanborn collected information for his installation ‘Without

Provenance: The Making of Contemporary Antiquity.’64 The installation consists of sandstone

sculptures manufactured in Cambodia and falsely aged in his US studio using a process that

renders them “scientifically and aesthetically indistinguishable from genuine antiquities”.

Sanborn refers to these works as “contemporary antiquities” or “high-end reproductions” rather

than forgeries, because they are not offered for sale as genuine.

Replicating ancient objects is considered to be a profession of deep antiquity (Bellingham

2008: 183; Cole 1955: 6; Craddock 2009: 1). Kelker and Bruhns (2010: 12, 15) claim that in the

New World forgeries were being produced early in the conquest period, if not before, perhaps as

a response to the destruction of indigenous objects by missionaries. Lehmann (1962: 115) also

suggests that souvenirs sent back to Spain by the first conquistadors created a demand that could

63
http://www.oaxacainsider.com/oaxaca-tourist-information.asp
64
http://jimsanborn.net/main.html
162
not be met by the availability of genuine works, leading to the rise of manufacturing centers to

produce contemporary examples of indigenous works. The production of forgeries increased

dramatically in the early nineteenth century to satisfy the demand for objects that resulted from

the recognition of Pre-Columbian antiquities as ‘art’. Maya antiquities in particular were sought-

after for their “Classical-looking” styles (Pasztory 1998: 12), and a romanticism which appealed

to audiences of the time (Villela 2012). Craddock (2009: 1) claims that forgeries of Pre-

Columbian antiquities were major trade items in some areas of Mexico by the late nineteenth

century, and Johnson (1992: 14) explains that rising prices of antiquities in the late twentieth

century escalated the problem of fakes and forgeries even further. Today, the market for

fraudulent copies of antiquities is considered to be bigger than ever before—driven by

“the ever-expanding middle classes across the world with too much cash and too little

discrimination” (Craddock 2009: 2).

The desire to create fakes and forgeries is predominately driven by financial motives (e.g.

see Perenyi 2012), but Cole (1955) explains there are also political and psychological motives

for forgery. The famous forger Han Van Meegeren for example wanted to fool the art critics who

had steadily ignored his original paintings (Rieth 1970: 12). Jones (1990b: 13) goes as far to

suggest that “each society, each generation, fakes the thing it covets most.” In regard to ancient

Maya ceramics, their limited supply (in relation to the size of demand) and high value are the

principal stimulants for the manufacture of fakes and forgeries. The knowledge that a ceramic is

forged appears to act as a deterrent for purchasers (Craddock 2009: 21), which has resulted in

methods of manufacture that attempt to disguise evidence that it is anything other than genuine.

Combined with a secretive trade network, forgeries are able to infiltrate the art market

masquerading as authentic antiquities.

163
 The numbers of fakes and forgeries on the market cannot be known. Thomas Hoving

estimates that 40%, or about 20,000 of the 50,000 or so works he examined while Director of the

Metropolitan Museum of Art, were fakes (Kelker and Bruhns 2010: 45). Stanish (2009) claims

that online auction sites such as eBay provide an opportunity to sell forgeries and fakes to the

public, and therefore it is likely there is a burgeoning trade. Fay (2011) examines the market for

antiquities on eBay to investigate authenticity of artefacts and suggests that it is very difficult to

hamper the market in fake antiquities. The ‘guarantees of authenticity’ that are provided by

numerous sellers appear to be questionable, and the cost of authenticating an object by a

recognized expert in many cases would far surpass the price paid for the object. In addition to the

open market, there are likely a good quantity of fakes, forgeries, pastiches, and replicas in the

majority of large museum collections (this author has personally identified fakes and forgeries in

several museum collections in North America). Even Stanish (2009: 60) has claimed that “as a

former curator myself, I know that an embarrassingly high percentage of objects in our museums

are forgeries”.

Hyland (2004) explains that staff often do not have the expertise, and not all institutions

have the necessary finances and resources, to authenticate objects. Craddock (2009: 6) laments

that the subject of authenticity is not seriously studied or taught to curators, which undoubtedly

increases the risk of fakes and forgeries entering museum collections. To avoid risk of

embarrassment and remove any association to them, many museums have quietly deaccessioned

fakes and forgeries (Ekholm 1964: 20-21; Kelker and Bruhns 2010: 54; Wilson 1990).

Illustrative of this practice is a note discovered by the author from Barbara Kerr pertaining to

ceramic PC0083 in the Kislak Collection at the Library of Congress, which read “get rid of, too

much repainted”.
164
 Despite practices of deaccessioning, various museums have held exhibitions dedicated to

fakes, including the 1990/1980 exhibit ‘Fake: The Art of Deception’ at the British Museum

(Jones 1990a) and the 2010 exhibit ‘Fakes and Forgeries: Yesterday and Today’ at the Royal

Ontario Museum.65 This is because, despite the dangers that fakes and forgeries can cause, they

remain meaningful works of art that should be studied (as scholars such as Jones [1990b, 1992]

and Sellen [2015] have argued). Not only do they inform us about aesthetic taste of the time in

which they were produced (and thus changing attitudes through time), but they also reveal the

value of the faked or forged object. For example, in the documentary Loot: The Plundered

Heritage (Chase, et al. 2013), Gillett Griffin, who was a well-known collector of Pre-Columbian

antiquities, explains that he used forgeries in his collection for teaching purposes because they

help to reveal the mind of a forger. Furthermore, Pasztory (2002: 159) discusses fake Aztec

masks in the British Museum to explain that fakes embody Western taste at a particular time, and

are therefore valuable objects. In fact, she argues that “fakes tell us what we want to see in the

authentic” (ibid). Indeed, the famous forger of Pre-Columbian antiquities, Brigido Lara, claimed

that “sometimes they prefer my pieces to originals” (Lerner 1999). Lara’s skill as a forger was so

extraordinary that the Mexican Government thought his artworks were authentic and charged

him with dealing in illegally excavated (i.e. authentic) antiquities (Crossley and Wagner 1987:

98).

65
http://www.rom.on.ca/en/learn/travelling-programs/travelling-exhibitions/fakes-and-forgeries
165
Identifying fakes and forgeries

Lara’s success rested on the techniques he used to produce his forgeries. In Lerner’s (1999)

documentary Ruins, Lara reveals that the clays he used in the manufacture of his pieces were

from the same sources used by the ancient Totonacs. He also explains that he based his forgeries

on ancient fragments that he discovered. Thus, Lara replicated artworks in the same style and

materials of authentic artefacts. These are just two methods among many others that forgers

employ to evade detection. Basing a forgery on authentic Pre-Columbian styles is a barrier to

visual detection by curators and collectors (since there is no immediate reason to believe that it is

anything but authentic) and the use of original clay sources is a barrier to Thermoluminescence

dating (which measures the amount of time that has passed since a ceramic was fired [Johnson

1992: 15]). Where modern materials have been used, Thermoluminescence dating has proven an

effective technique to identify fakes and forgeries. For example, 46 objects from the Ludwig

collection at the Rautenstrauch-Joest Museum in Cologne were tested by Thermoluminescence

and 12 objects were subsequently identified as inauthentic (Clados and Teufel 2013: 208). A

painted vessel from the Rautenstrauch-Joest-Museum (Figure 4.8) is a good example of a fake

manufactured from an ancient ceramic with completely overpainted decoration.

Thermoluminescence dating is an archaeometric method of approaching authentication

(Artioli 2010). Although such methods might be viewed as superior to, and less biased than, art-

historical methods, in and of themselves they do not prove that an object is authentic or

inauthentic. In fact, many participants of the recent International Winter School Anthropology of

Forgery: An Multidisciplinary Approach to the Study of Archaeological Fakes66 agreed that

66
The author attended this Winter School, which took place in the Italian cities of Padua, Vicenza, and Venice
between February 13th-17th 2017.
166
visual analysis is a necessary precursor to archaeometric methods. Since some archaeometric

methods may not be suitable for certain objects; may be carried out on the wrong section of an

object; or may be conducted using an incorrect strategy (Semeraro 2017), it is important to

carefully plan their selection and application. Visual analysis helps to select appropriate

archaeometric methods, and in some cases can eliminate the need for archaeometric methods

altogether. In combination, they can strengthen the interpretation of an object as authentic or

inauthentic.

Unfortunately, the fields of archaeometry and art-history continue to be largely separate

and there is still a long way to go before their combination is harmonious. A recent example of

the failure to implement art-historical and archaeometric analysis together is Coe et al.’s (2015)

analysis of the Grolier Codex. Despite the results of visual analysis and archaeometric testing by

Calvo del Castillo, et al. (2007), Rodríguez-Lugo, et al. (2001) and Ruvalcaba, et al. (2007),

which called the authenticity of the codex’s painted surface and degradation patterns into

question, Coe et al. largely dismissed these results and placed emphasis on the results of their art-

historical analysis (Love 2017). As yet, there have been no attempts to combine the expertise of

archaeologists, art-historians, nor conservators, in examining the authenticity of this codex.

It is possible that the Grolier Codex is a fake, having been manufactured by painting the

surfaces of plain ancient bark paper or repainting the imagery of a largely eroded codex. This

technique is similar to the repainting of ancient vessels to create fake Maya ceramics (Kelker and

Bruhns 2010: 139-140). In some instances the original vessels may have been plain, or may have

had traces of largely unpreserved decoration which was subsequently removed with sandpaper or

by scraping (Kerr 1992b; Taylor 1982: 109). The use of modern paint on ceramics, such as zinc

white (which only came into use in the eighteenth century [Cole 1955: 175]), leaves itself open
167
to detection via solvent tests, so a lacquer is often applied to the exterior of ceramics to create an

impenetrable surface for solvents (Johnson 1992: 15). Without a lacquer, modern paints such as

acrylic can be visually identified because it “simply looks different from slip; its plastic binder

reflects light differently from the translucent glossiness of the mineral pigments” (Just 2012:

169). To avoid the suspicion of modern paint under a lacquered surface, ancient pigments are

often used—making it even more difficult to identify an inauthentic painted surface. In some

instances, correct application of pigments can also reveal a fake or forgery. As discussed

previously, Maya blue was used only as a postfire paint and examples in which a blue pigment

appear under pigments not usually applied as postfire paints could indicate incorrect usage by a

modern restorer.

In addition to decoration, paint can also be used to create a false ‘aged’ appearance on

fake and forged ceramics. The ‘splattered’ paint effect that is intended to replicate dirt or soil

(Figure 4.9) is fortunately relatively easy to identify visually. Other applications to the surface

intended to ‘age’ a ceramic are less easy to authenticate, such as applied accretions that are

visually similar to manganese dioxide accretions (O'Grady 2005; Pickering and Cuevas 2003).

The author has identified in-painting on vessels with potential manganese dioxide accretions, in

which great care has been taken to avoid covering or removing the accretions (Figure 4.10).

Instances such as this suggest that a restorer was aware of the potential authentication value of

the accretions (regardless of whether or not they were in fact authentic).

Root marks are also sometimes difficult to authenticate, since they can be forged by

applying dirt mixed with pigment and water using steel wool (Kelker and Bruhns 2010: 21).

Even in cases that they are genuine, they may be the result of burying a fake or forged ceramic

for a period of time to create an aged appearance (Ekholm 1964: 31). In instances where a forger
168
does not wish to bury a ceramic, an aged appearance can also be achieved by intentionally

abrading the surface or even by intentionally breaking and re-fixing a ceramic. In some

instances, Ultra Violet (UV) light can be used to identify breaks that are not readily visible in

natural light, usually because they have been covered with modern substances that fluorescence

differently under UV light compared to ancient, original, materials (Figure 4.11). X-radiography

has also proven useful in the analysis of ceramics, especially for identifying areas of repair and

areas of modern application (Lauffenburger 2012: 195).

Other methods that forgers employ to evade detection include using ancient molds, tools,

and techniques. Both Lehmann (1962: 116) and Stanish (2009: 60) report the use of ancient

molds to make modern replicas, which makes it difficult to visually distinguish modern replicas

from authentic objects. Visual identification of fakes and forgeries based on tool marks are also

difficult to achieve when they align with what is expected of ancient manufacturing techniques.

Scanning Electron Microscopy (SEM) can be used to identify modern tool marks, as was

achieved with the crystal skull in the British Museum (Sax, et al. 2008; Walsh 2005, 2011).

Forgers are known to constantly improve and modify their methods according to the latest

scholarly research (Cole 1955: 202; Kelker and Bruhns 2010: 57; Polkinghorne 2016; Rieth

1970: 7), which can also make it difficult to identify forgeries once a technique has been

identified as inauthentic.

In some instances scholars have published examples of fakes and forgeries in order to

share information about techniques and methods—information which could inadvertently be

used for fraudulent purposes. Kerr claims that he and his wife have been able to recognize

“almost 99%” of fakes that they came into contact with (Kerr and Kerr 2013), and has published

his opinions on two ceramics (K5655, K2211) he believes to be fake (Kerr 1992b, 1997). He also
169
lists several other ceramics as probable fakes on the Maya Vase Database (K1839; K2957;

K2958; K3232; K8789; K9060). Kelker and Bruhns (2010) have also identified fake Maya

ceramics (Lot 237 Sotheby’s Auction 5th December 1981, and Figure 7.4 in their publication), as

have the Museum of Fine Arts Boston (e.g. MFA 1988.1281 and MFA 1988.1260).67

One of the most recent in-depth publications of a fake Pre-Columbian artefact is Berger’s

(2013) study of the authenticity of a mosaic skull in the collection of the National Museum of

Ethnology in Leiden. The study demonstrates the variety of techniques that can be employed to

investigate authenticity, in this case including Digital Microscopy; Gas Chromatography-Mass

Spectrometry (GC-MS); Isotopic analysis; Osteobiological assessment; Particle Induced X-Ray

Emission (PIXE); Ultra-Violet (UV) Light Photography; X-Ray Diffraction (XRD); and X-Ray

Fluorescence (XRF). The results demonstrated that the skull and mosaic pieces are likely of Pre-

Columbian origin, but the adhesive used to bind the two together is modern; therefore the skull

in its current condition is a fake (there is a very slim possibility that the mosaic did once decorate

the skull and was later re-applied by a modern restorer).

Berger’s study demonstrates the time and money that can be required to identify fakes

and forgeries, and the high cost of such scientific analyses is recognized to be a deterrent in itself

(Okil 2004: 220). The expertise that is required to impede the inclusion of fakes and forgeries

into collections around the world is also in danger of being muddied because “experts are

sometimes being trained on fakes” (Stanish 2009: 65). The forging of provenience or provenance

can also mislead experts (Kelker and Bruhns 2010: 220), since it provides a false context or

history of ownership for an object. Unfortunately the numerous barriers to identification of fakes

67
These objects can be viewed on the museum’s online collection, accessible at http://www.mfa.org/collections).
170
and forgeries has created a situation in which, as explained by Theodore Rosseau (former curator

of European art at the Metropolitan Museum), “we can only talk about the bad forgeries, the ones

that we have detected; the good ones are still hanging on the walls” (Marlowe 2013: 100).

Consequently, when ‘reading’ Maya vases it is important to consider both authentic and

inauthentic representations and appreciate that both have an impact on the interpretation of

ancient dress. The results presented in the next chapter have been carefully considered from a

viewpoint of object authenticity, and how this might affect the representation of courtly dress.

Thus, the relationship between ancient Maya courtly identity and dress is also related to the life

history of the ceramics decorated with scenes of the Maya court.

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 CHAPTER 5: A SURVEY OF COURTLY DRESS

“To study ancient Maya vase painting is inevitably also to study ourselves and the ways in which

we interact with traces of the past” (Just 2012: 55).

This chapter explores the sartorial representations of members within the ancient Maya royal

court, through an analysis of Late Classic painted ceramics. Beginning with an explanation of the

methodology used to do so, it then describes the ceramics that were used in this study and the

various dress elements that appear in the ceramic corpus. The final part of the chapter examines

the evidence for courtly roles being made visually salient through dress and whether there is

evidence for homogeneous or heterogeneous dress within the court. It should be remembered that

visual representations can only provide select information (Gombrich 1986: 176), and therefore

this survey cannot speak to the full range of dress worn within the ancient Maya court.

Furthermore, the methodology chosen is the author’s personal method of analyzing dress

elements and the results are likely to be different from those of other dress studies. Thus, as the

above quote suggests, the results not only illustrate the way in which ancient Maya artists chose

to represent courtly dress but also illustrate the way in which the author has interacted with Maya

ceramic imagery.

Methodology

In order to achieve as representative a sample as possible, criteria for the inclusion and exclusion

of ceramic scenes were established. The decision was taken to study only complete, or largely

complete, scenes in order to assess the “total pictorial narrative” (Reents-Budet 2001: 226).
172
Thus, ceramic scenes that were too eroded or unclear to be of use, sherds, or scenes where only

one view was available were not included in the dataset. Although the primary concern was

creating a dataset with scenes of the royal court or members of the royal court, in some instances

ceramics from an excavated context where no clear indication of a court setting is apparent were

included (e.g. ROM L962.66.9 and NICH 28/179-5:7 [K2699—Figures 5.1 and 5.2]) because of

the otherwise low number of provenienced ceramics available for study. Similarly, in some

instances unprovenienced ceramics where no clear indication of a court setting is apparent were

also included if they were assessed in person and deemed authentic (e.g. AMNH 30.3/2491

[K4019, Figures 2.13c and 5.3] and DYM 1986.67.5 [K5004, Figure 4.11]).68

Ceramic scenes were included in the dataset if they were polychrome representations of

an ancient Maya royal court setting, or representations of individuals who were likely members

of the royal court. Such scenes either contained hieroglyphic texts naming individuals of the

court69, or contained an indication of court context. Indications of court context include

architecture (e.g. thrones), tribute (e.g. cloth or food), furniture (e.g. mirrors, curtains), and

people (e.g. dwarves). Such indicators can point to court roles without the assistance of

hieroglyphic texts. For example, an individual seated on a throne can be interpreted as a ruler and

an individual offering tribute to them can be interpreted as a court assistant or visiting dignitary.

The decision to exclude scenes without these indicators was taken, despite many of them likely

68
Note that the author is not intending to increase the commercial value of objects in any way by commenting on the
authenticity of their painted scenes. It is solely intended to increase the confidence with which a painted scene can
be used for analysis.
69
Note that hieroglyphic texts have not been deciphered by the author, and this study is therefore reliant on the
availability and accuracy of existing decipherments. In some cases, the author disagrees with prior interpretations
based on hieroglyphic text. For example, individual 3 on Vessel T7B/6-22 from Tayasal was identified as a female
by Chase (1985), based on the probable text, but the individual appears to wear a male skirt rather than a huipil or
sarong and has therefore been identified as male in this study.

173
representing court members, due to the hypothesis that it would be difficult to identify roles

within the court without clear indicators. It is of course possible that some of the scenes

contained representations of elite individuals who were not court members, but this is not

possible to conclusively determine. Since the criteria set out above was the main guiding

principle for the selection of scenes, the author feels confident that the vast majority, if not all, of

the scenes are indeed representative of court members.

Accordingly, scenes that were disregarded include those in the Ulua and Copador styles

(since they are largely peripheral to the Maya region, and of a very different style); bichrome,

excised, or incised ceramics (because they were likely created by different specialists and this

study is concerned with the representation of dress by artists of polychrome ceramics); hunting

scenes (not only because this activity took individuals outside of the physical court, but because

attire in these scenes has already been investigated [e.g. Hellmuth 1976b]); ballgame scenes

(these may have been public events not limited to court members, and their attire has been

studied elsewhere [e.g. Ekholm 1991; Hellmuth 1987, 1996]); procession scenes (again, this

activity took place outside of a physical court setting); and mythological scenes (since the

investigation is concerned with historical court actors). Finally, the decision to exclude plates

from the dataset was taken because, although they are a form of polychrome ceramic, the

technique and skill of decorating them is different to wrap-around and panel-style scenes and

they may have been created by different specialists.

Examples of royal court scenes were collected from a variety of sources: publications;

archaeological field reports; museum collections; Justin Kerr’s Maya Vase Database,70 Inga

70
Numerous terms associated with the court, including ‘ruler’; ‘curtain’; ‘tribute’; and ‘throne’ were used to search
the database for relevant ceramic scenes. Kerr also provided the author with several high resolution photographs of
ceramic scenes that were only available as low resolution from his online database.
174
Calvin’s Mesoamerican Pottery Database;71 and auctions (using both print catalogues and

websites). The author is confident that all available resources were consulted, and the dataset

used in this study is reflective of the present corpus of known royal court images on ancient

Maya painted ceramics.

The analysis of ceramics in person was a primary goal of this dissertation, but access to

collections was limited by finances and time. In total, the author visited nine collections in

person: the National Collection of Archaeological Artefacts, Belize; The British Museum,

London; Denver Art Museum, Colorado; Museum of Fine Arts, Houston; American Museum of

Natural History, New York; Library of Congress, Washington, D.C.; Dumbarton Oaks Research

Library and Collection, Washington, D.C.; DeYoung Museum, San Francisco; and National

Museum of the American Indian, Washington, D.C. Although more than 100 ceramics within

these collections were assessed in person, only a fraction met the requirements to be included in

the dataset (Table 5.1). Time spent in museum collections did provide the author with a greater

appreciation of the manufacture and decoration of ancient Maya ceramics, as well as affording

the opportunity to assess restorations, fakes, and forgeries. Furthermore, in conjunction with the

conservation departments at various institutions, the author was able to use Optical Microscopy

and Ultra Violet (UV) light equipment to assess ceramics (see Table 5.1 for ceramics in the

dataset that were assessed under UV light)72. In the absence of such equipment, a 16 x 21 mm

loupe was used (Figure 5.4).

71
Available at: http://research.famsi.org/rollouts/rollout_search.php. The database has examples of excavated
ceramics from 23 archaeological sites in Guatemala and 2 archaeological sites in Mexico. It also has examples of
more than 60 unprovenienced ceramics.
72
In addition, the Michael C. Carlos Museum provided UV photographs of K7797 and K7796 for the author to
study.
175
 Ceramic images, assessment notes, and other pertinent information collected from visual

and in-person analysis were entered into a FileMaker database. This database enabled the author

to compare and contrast numerous fields of information, including decoration; form; dimensions;

scene content; painting style; and dress elements. The entire dataset was analyzed multiple times,

allowing as much information to be collected as possible. In doing so, the author is confident that

the analysis is reflective of a full and complete range of information about Maya dress.

Ceramics Studied

In total the author collected 241 examples of royal court scenes (Appendix II), 16 of which were

assessed in person by the author (Table 5.1). The majority (n= 187) are available to view on

Justin Kerr’s Maya Vase Database, either because they have been photographed by him or he has

included an illustration of the ceramic scene in his database. A much smaller number (n= 5) are

available to view on Inga Calvin’s Mesoamerican Pottery Database. Overall, 80% (n= 192) of

the ceramic scenes in the author’s dataset are easily accessible from online sources. The majority

of ceramics in the dataset are known to be or thought to be73 currently in a museum collection or

on display in a museum (n= 123).74 A large number are also part of private collections (n= 108),

while a very small number are housed in archaeological storage facilities in Central America (n=

6). The exact location of four ceramics in the dataset is unknown, but it is likely they are housed

in archaeological storage facilities because they were recovered by archaeological excavations.

Of the total number of royal court scenes within the dataset, 37 are from provenienced

ceramics and 204 are from unprovenienced ceramics. Sixteen of the provenienced ceramics are

73
Museum collections followed by a ‘?’ in Appendix II could not be verified by the author.
74
Some of these ceramics are property of private collectors but on loan to a museum.
176
from Tikal, 10 of which are from Burial 116: 4P-8/2; 4P-106 (K7999); 4P-107 (K8000); 4P-108

(K8003); 4P-109 (K7998); 4P-110 (K8001); 4P-119 (K8002); 4P-122; 4P-123 (K7996); and 4P-

124 (K7997). In addition to Tikal, provenienced ceramics from the sites of Altun Ha; Aguateca;

Baking Pot; Caracol; Chama; Chichen Itza; El Señor de Petén; Guaytan; Hokeb Ha; La

Angostura; Motul de San José; Nebaj; Seibal; Tamarindito; Tayasal; Uaxactun; and Zacualpa are

also in the dataset.

Almost a quarter of the unprovenienced ceramics (n= 42) were at one time sold through

public auction.75 A small number of these (n= 11) are currently within museum collections.

Recorded prices were available for 21 of the ceramics sold at auction. The highest recorded sale

price was $170,500 USD in 1991 for K3008 (Figure 5.5), which is the equivalent of $303,994

USD in 2017.76 This vase is currently part of an unknown private collection and has never been

published nor exhibited (to the author’s knowledge). The lack of provenance information for this

vase is not unusual, since 136 of the ceramics in the dataset have no specific provenance

information (apart from perhaps auction public auction records—see Appendix II). The author

has been able to trace some form of provenance for 68 of the unprovenienced ceramics in the

dataset, mostly by using auction catalogues and museum records. Where dates for the

provenance of ceramics have been provided, only 14 are described as part of a collection outside

Central America preceding the 1970 UNESCO convention. Accordingly, 94% of the

unprovenienced ceramics in the dataset have no clear provenance prior to 1970 (at least none that

is available publicly or discovered during the author’s archival research). 16 of the museums

75
It is not possible to speak to the number that have been sold through private, or ‘invisible’ auctions.
76
For a fair comparison of prices, I adjusted all to the 2017 US dollar (USD) inflation rate using the United States
Department of Labor CPI Inflation Calculator (https://www.bls.gov/data/inflation_calculator.htm) and rounded up to
the nearest dollar.
177
with unprovenienced ceramics in the dataset are members of the Association of Art Museum

Directors (AAMD, see Appendix I), yet only a single ceramic in the dataset is currently part of

the AAMD Object registry (MFA 2009.318 [K1463, Figure 3.11]).

Although only 37 ceramics are provenienced, the author considers three additional

ceramic scenes to be ‘authentic’. Two of these were assessed in person (Table 5.2) while the

third resides in the Museo Juan Antonio Valdés in Uaxactun, Guatemala (Figure 5.6). This vase

is deemed authentic based on the appearance of the slip; the low level of restoration; the

composition of the imagery; and the assessment of the hieroglyphs by Guido Krempel (personal

communication 2016). The author determined the authenticity of other ceramics based on

personal assessment; visual assessment from a photograph; or from remarks by other researchers

(for example, Justin Kerr has identified K1303 as ‘extremely overpainted’). Where there was

doubt about a ceramic scene (i.e. due to paint that is inconsistent with authentic slip paint,

unusual composition or scene format, and dress that appears to be incorrect), but not enough

evidence to point to a fake or forgery, it was included in the dataset but treated with caution. No

ceramics that have been conclusively identified as fakes or forgeries were included in the

dataset.77

While the majority of ceramics with royal court scenes were painted in a continuous

wrap-around (or rollout) composition (n= 183), others were painted in a panel-style (n= 47)

whereby the ceramic’s pictorial surface was clearly divided into two halves by vertical panels,

vertical decoration, or hieroglyphic texts (or pseudoglyphs) and decorated with near-identical

imagery (see Figure 2.13b). Others can be classified as repetitive-style (n= 11) because they have

77
This is course does not mean that there are no fakes or forgeries in the dataset. The majority of ceramics have not
been subject to in-depth visual analysis nor archaeometric analyses to determine their authenticity.
178
near-identical imagery but are not divided clearly by panels, decoration, nor text (Figure 2.13c).

It should be noted that directionality is not considered here because some of the compositions on

Justin Kerr’s Maya Vase Database have been flipped. For example the rollout photograph of

MFH 86.410 [K6494] shows the seated rulers facing left but an in-person assessment of the vase

by the author demonstrated that in fact the rulers face to the right.

Of the 241 total ceramics in the dataset, 234 were decorated with polychrome paint and 7

were decorated with stucco. The most common polychrome styles were Ik’ (n= 31) and Chama

(n=21), while a very small number (n=3) of Fenton style ceramics were also present (Figure

2.11c). Other ceramics were classified based on their background decoration, and included

orange background (n=69), cream background (n=40), white background (n=39), black

background (n=15), red background (n=4), pink background, (n=3), and blue background (n=1).

15 ceramic scenes were only available to the author as a black and white drawing or photograph

(without accompanying description of the decoration), and their decorative style were therefore

categorized as ‘unknown’ (see Appendix IV).

The forms of the ceramics in the database are predominately vases (n= 211), followed by

a smaller number of bowls (n= 20) and very few jars (n= 2, see Appendix III). Due to

dimensions and photographs of their form being unavailable, the form of 8 ceramics is not

known. Of the 211 vases, the most common shape is a cylinder (n= 120). Other shapes include

outcurving (n= 29), barrel (n= 10), and insloping (n= 6). Due to photographs of their shape being

unavailable, the shape of 46 vases is not known. See Figures 5.7 and 5.8 for examples of ceramic

forms and shapes. Although the majority of ceramics used in the dataset are cylinder vases,

which appear across all Tepeu ceramic subphases, barrel-shaped vases are often diagnostic of

Tepeu 1 (Smith 1955)—which dates roughly to A.D. 600-700 (Willey, et al. 1967). If the 10
179
vases of this shape in the dataset have dress elements that are unique or unusual compared to

other vases, this may speak to dress elements restricted to Tepeu 1. Table 5.3 illustrates the dress

elements (explained below) worn in each barrel-shaped vase scene, which will be compared to

the results of the overall study toward the end of the chapter.

Scene Content

The royal court events depicted on the ceramic scenes in the author’s database were arranged

into five main categories: tribute presentation; captive presentation; performance (including

individuals dancing and playing instruments); preparation (involving dress and regalia); and

court gathering (including scenes featuring outside dignitaries and those inside the ruler’s own

court). Since some scenes feature what could be considered a combination of events, such as

tribute and performance, the main event was selected.78 This was usually determined by the

activities of those in close proximity to the ruler, or by the most predominate activity

represented. The most common category of scenes are tribute presentations (n=101), followed by

court gatherings (n=76). Less popular events include performances (n=15), captive presentations

(n=14), and preparation (n=7). Scenes depicted on panel-style ceramics usually contain an

indication of two royal court members, one in each panel, facing in the same direction without

any interaction (e.g. MSM 4P-110 [K8001, Figure 2.16]). Some rollout and repetitive

compositions also appear to represent court members devoid of interaction (e.g. AMNH

30.3/2491 [K4019, Figure 2.13c]). In both instances, such scenes have been categorized simply

‘court members’ (n=28).

78
In the case of LACMA M.2010.115.12 (K1599 [Figure 3.10]), the hieroglyphic text describes a bloodletting event
yet the main scene does not show this act taking place so it has been recorded as a court gathering.
180
 Every ceramic scene in the database contains at least one representation of a male, but

only 22 contain one or more females. Male and female gender was identified based on the type

of garment (i.e. loincloth vs. huipil) and on the presence or absence of secondary sexual

characteristics such as breasts. Interestingly, no Chama style ceramics in the dataset feature

females and all of the scenes with females are painted in a rollout format (the anomaly being a

panel format). A total of 30 females are represented in the 22 scenes. A smaller number of scenes

(n= 14) contain a representation of a dwarf,79 even fewer (n= 5) contain a representation of an

animal, and even less (n= 3) contain a representation of a hunchback. Dwarves and hunchbacks

appear no more than once each in a singular scene (unless NGA 82.2292 [Figure 2.7] features

two dwarves) and while animals also usually only appear once, one scene (K4617 [Figure 5.15])

features two animals in the same scene.

Unsurprisingly, since royal court scenes usually contain representations of historical

actors, only two scenes feature a representation of a deity. The rarest representation is of a child,

appearing in a single scene. The dress of deities, animals, and the child are not discussed in this

dissertation.

The author discovered that the greatest number of individuals in a royal court scene is 17,

the smallest is 1, and the most common number is 4.80 Interestingly, no more than three females

are ever featured in one scene together (MFA 1987.719 [K3035, Figure 5.10]), and no more than

one dwarf or hunchback appear in a scene with other royal court members. The most common

court indicator is a throne (present in 153 scenes), but other common indicators include a cushion

79
NGV 2002.221 (Figure 5.9) also features a painting of a dwarf on the ruler’s throne.
80
The most common number was calculated by adding the number of human individuals in each scene, which totals
1075, and dividing by 241. The result is 4.46, which has been rounded down to 4. In the instances where a question
mark is beside the number of individuals in Appendix IV, the question mark was ignored and the number preceding
it was used in the calculation.
181
(present in 90 scenes), curtains (present in 77 scenes), and jaguar skin (present in 66 scenes).

Other indicators such as a mirror and woven mat are present in only 40 and 15 scenes,

respectively. The most popular tribute items or offerings include a ceramic vessel (present in 92

scenes), bundles (present in 49 scenes), feathers, and cloth (both present in 47 scenes).

Less than half of the ceramic scenes have legible hieroglyphic texts (n= 107), and a large

number (n=84) have pseudoglyphs.81 Other scenes (n= 32) have largely illegible texts, and 18

have no hieroglyphic texts or pseudoglyphs. A very small number (n= 6) have been ‘signed’ by

artists (Table 2.2), while a larger number (n= 23) have a named patron and/or ruler named (Table

2.1). MFA 2004.2204 (K5453) and MJAV 17.2.1.543 (Figures 5.11 and 5.6 respectively) were

not recorded as ceramics with calligraphic signatures by Houston (2016) because they are not

examples with u-tz'i-ba nor u-tz'i-bi (personal communication, 2017). Other ceramics are thought

to be in the style of certain artists but were not signed. For example, Reents-Budet, et al. (2012:

85) suggest that AIC 1969.239 (K2795), KAM 1985.10 (1452), K8889, and MFA 1988.1177

(K1439) are in the corpus of the artist Tubal Ajaw, whereas K5445 and MFA L-R 394.1985

(K1728) are in the corpus of the artist Mo...n Buluch Laj (or Mo...n B'uluch Laj).

Decorations that appear to be hieroglyphic signs or pseudoglyphs are incorporated into

the dress of various individuals in nine different ceramic scenes (Table 5.4), but the author is not

aware of attempts by epigraphers to translate any of these signs. The skirt on BM Am1930,F.1

appears to be a k’in sign (usually translated as ‘sun’ [Stone and Zender 2011: 153]), and it may

be the same sign featured on the skirt from MFA 1988.1170 (K558).82 Taylor (1983: 6) doubted

that glyphs and glyphic signs on dress were intended to be read as phonetic signs and thought

81
The presence of legible glyphs versus pseudo glyphs were verified using ‘Appendix 6: Pottery with Legitimate
Glyphs’ from Inga Calvin’s doctoral dissertation.
82
A similar design appears on the long belt of the rightmost figure of K1549 (which is not included in this study).
182
they were no more than design motifs. It is interesting that all but one of these scenes feature

glyphs in garments (the exception being a headdress). Other findings related to garments are

discussed below.

Garments

To classify the full range of garments represented in ancient Maya painted ceramic scenes, the

author catalogued what could be seen versus what was expected. For example, based on the

representation of females in carved monuments, it might be expected that females predominantly

wear huipiles. Furthermore, based on the representation of females wearing ‘sheer’ garments in

murals, which were likely manufactured by gauze weaving (Halperin 2016), it might be expected

that this type of garment was exclusive to females. As is demonstrated from the results presented

below, neither assumptions about female garments can be upheld.

Throughout the study, the author has developed clear definitions of each garment based

on their representation in ceramic scenes. An attempt has been made to remain consistent with

the terminology used in previous studies of Maya dress, but in some instances the author felt it

was more appropriate to use different terminology. One example is the use of ‘skirt’ to describe

the male garment worn around the waist and legs instead of ‘hipcloth’ (see below). It also is

important to acknowledge the difficulty in interpreting three-dimensional clothing from two-

dimensional images. The concentration has been on the shape and length of garments but

patterns and colours have also been considered, since these details are visually identifiable. The

author has not examined the specific cut of certain garments, such as whether a huipil has a

scoop or close-fitting neck, since this level of detail is often reliant on the positioning of an

183
individual within the scene; the skill of the original artist; and understanding the level of

restoration undertaken on the ceramic.

Textile garments are first discussed in regards to gender, since there appears to be a very

strong correlation between specific garments and gender, and then extended to dwarves and

hunchbacks since they are visually identifiable members of the court. Effort to prioritize

evidence from provenienced ceramics is taken, where possible, in order to accurately identify

dress elements.

Male Garments

There are seven different garments worn by males in painted ceramic scenes: loincloth; short

skirt; long skirt; flapped skirt; animal hide; cape, cloak, and mantle (Table 5.5, Figure 5.12). In

some scenes there is a thin fabric wrapped several times around the midriff of males, and is

visible extending above the garments covering their waist. It appears in only one provenienced

ceramic scene (MNAE 11419 [K2695, Figure 5.13]) so its authenticity can be verified, but its

exact function is difficult to determine.

Of the 241 total ceramic scenes, 211 contain one or more males wearing a skirt (30 of

these are provenienced); 89 contain one or more males wearing a loincloth (15 of these are

provenienced); 18 contain one or more males wearing a cape (2 of these are provenienced); 16

contain one or more males wearing a cloak (3 of these are provenienced); 15 contain one or more

males wearing a mantle (two of which are provenienced); and 6 unprovenienced ceramics

contain one or more males wearing an animal hide in combination with short skirts (and perhaps

in one case, a loincloth [Figure 5.14]). Most of these garments appear on ceramics of different

184
styles (e.g. Ik’ or Chama)83 and in scenes of different activity (e.g. tribute presentation or

performance). However, animal hides do not appear in performance scenes; scenes categorized

as ‘court members’; nor Chama style ceramics. Neither are they worn by enthroned rulers.

Similarly, capes do not appear in scenes categorized as ‘court members’ nor Chama style

ceramics. While one Chama vessel in the database (K4617 [Figure 5.15]) does feature an

individual wearing a cloak, these garments do not appear in performance scenes; preparation

scenes; nor scenes categorized as ‘court members’. Finally, mantles appear on ceramics of

several styles except Ik’ and are also absent from the same types of scenes as cloaks. These

findings may be a result of the small sample size of scenes in the database featuring these

garments, yet any potential relationship to courtly identity is explored in the final chapter.

Clearly, skirts are the most common male garment and it is short skirts that are

represented more frequently than long skirts (the former are worn in 195 scenes and the latter in

164 scenes). Significantly less common are ‘flapped’ skirts, which are worn in only 18 scenes (2

are provenienced). Of the 211 scenes where a skirt is worn, 127 show a long tie or belt. Since

skirts require an additional piece of material to act as a fastener around the waist, in order to

secure them to the body, it is likely that some skirts were secured with short ties/ belts that could

be tucked under fabric and are therefore not visible in painted scenes. Unlike skirts, which

required an additional fastener, loincloths were likely secured to the body using a single piece of

fabric (Figure 5.16). Taylor (1983: 21), however, claimed that loincloths were worn in

conjunction with hipcloths (here identified as skirts—see below), and could either completely

83
Fenton style scenes are not considered because there is such a small number that it would likely skew the results.
185
obscure them from view or show their long ends. If this is true, it is possible that what has been

identified as a long tie or belt here is in fact the long ends of a loincloth.

Other studies of male garments have used different terminology to classify skirts. Coe

and Kerr (1997: 92) identified a ‘wrap-around sarong bundled at the waist, which may extend to

the knees of even to the ankles’ as part of the “uniform” of ah k’u huns. I identify this garment as

a skirt (long and short versions) rather than a sarong. Zender’s analysis of priestly dress also

identified a garment known as a ‘hipcloth’, which he described as a large square cloth folded into

a triangle or rectangle and tied high around the waist (2004: 129). He followed Anawalt's

(1981:177) identification of this garment, but, as described in Chapter Three, her study was

largely limited to Postclassic Codices. While the depiction of this garment may have been a short

triangular shape in the codices, they are not triangular nor consistently short in other media.

Consequently, the author did not feel it was appropriate to use the same terminology in this

study. The garment that Zender identified as a hipcloth on various Late Classic ceramics has

been categorized as a male skirt in this study. Little-Siebold (1999) also followed many of

Anawalt’s descriptions and similarly identifies what is here considered a male skirt as a hipcloth.

Taylor also identified a male hipcloth, which she differentiated from a skirt because she defined

the latter as having an even hemline (1983: 20).

Following Anawalt (1981: 179), both cloaks and capes have been identified as a form of

Maya dress. However, she identified chest and back capes as a form of male dress, but did not

identify cloaks as a male form of dress. Rather than use the same terminology to describe a

garment worn around the chest and the back, the author decided to classify Anawalt’s chest

capes as ‘mantles’ and back capes as either ‘cape’ or ‘cloak’ (depending on the length). The

author recognized that thinner versions of what Anawalt had identified as chest capes, not
186
covering the shoulders, were also worn around the necks of males (see MNAE 310042 [Figure

5.17] for an example) and were therefore included in the category of mantles.

One of the most unusual male garments in the database is that worn by the leftmost

individual on LOC KPC 0070 (K6316 [Figure 5.4]). Assessment of the vase in person revealed

that it has been repaired from many pieces and extensive in-painting occurs throughout the

painted scene. This is an example of why caution should be taken when interpreting garments

from unprovenienced ceramics. This type of garment will not be investigated in this dissertation,

for fear that is has been extensively altered through restoration or completely falsified.

As discussed in Chapter Three, it can be difficult to verify the accuracy of patterns or

colours from visual imagery. However, the decoration of garments can be investigated using

provenienced ceramics as a secure measure. The 37 provenienced ceramics in the database all

feature at least one male. As discussed above, 30 scenes from provenienced ceramics feature

skirts; 15 feature loincloths; 3 feature cloaks; 2 feature capes; and 2 feature mantles. The

decoration of skirts include plain (e.g. MSM 117A-3 [K8006, Figure 2.6]), one or more block

colours (e.g. MNAE 11418 [K2697, Figure 2.12), jaguar skin (e.g. MNAE 11419 [K2695, Figure

5.13], fringe decoration (e.g. BM Am1930,F.1 [Figure 3.12), and repetitive patterns (e.g. ibid

and MGM 117A-2 [K2698, Figure 2.13a]). The decoration of loincloths include a single colour

(e.g. ibid), decorated ends (e.g. MNAE 11418 [K2697, Figure 2.12]), and repetitive patterns (e.g.

MGM 4P-123 [K7996, Figure 5.18]). The representation of skirts and loincloths on

unprovenienced ceramics demonstrates similar methods of decoration for both garments. Scenes

with unusual combinations of decoration on these garments (e.g. K7796 [Figure 5.19]) should be

interpreted with caution.

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 It is difficult to ascertain if plain, undecorated, loincloths were worn because several

provenienced ceramics in the database are heavily eroded or available only as a greyscale

illustration. Landa (in Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 89) described loincloths as “a band of the width of

the hand…wound (it) several times round the waist, so that one end fell in front and one end

behind, and these ends the women made with a great deal of care and with feather-work.”.84 If

the accuracy of decoration in the painted scenes is assumed, it lends credence to Landa’s

observation and suggests that the decoration of loincloths was a tradition that survived into

colonial times. It may also indicate that plain loincloths were worn less frequently compared to

decorated loincloths.

The decoration of cloaks includes a single block colour with decorated edges (e.g.

MNAE 4P-8/2 [Figure 5.20]) and what appears to be a layered structure, with numerous thin

strips visible across the garment (e.g. MNAE 11418 [K2697, Figure 2.12] and MNAE

2004.24.18153). One provenienced ceramic hints at a cape decorated with feathers (MSM 4P-

109 [K7998, Figure 5.21]) while the other is largely eroded but suggests a cape with decorated

edges (MNAE 2004.24.18153). The representation of cloaks on unprovenienced ceramics

includes those decorated with two or more colours (e.g. MFA L-R 394.1985 [K1728, Figure

2.18]), animal-skin cloaks (e.g. MDM 1991/11/06 [Figure 5.22]), those decorated with repetitive

patterns or designs (e.g. K8526 [Figure 5.23]), and those that resemble so-called ‘leaf cloaks’

(ibid). The representation of capes on unprovenienced ceramics includes those decorated with

two or more colours (e.g. MM 1981.204.6 [Figure 5.24]), repetitive patterns or designs (e.g.

84
Morris Jr. and Karasik (2015: 48) claim that because the Hero Twins in the Popul Vuh tricked their brothers into
rearranging their loincloths to have the ends hang at the back, which subsequently allowed them to be turned into
monkeys, male loincloths were only allowed to hang at the front of the body. It is clear from the survey of royal
court scenes that the ends of loincloths were positioned on both sides of the body.

188
MAS.IB.2010.017.086 [K1563, Figure 5.25]), and those seemingly manufactured from mosaics

(e.g. PUAM y1986-91 [K767, Figure 5.26]).

Reents-Budet (2001: 216) has suggested that short fringed capes are related to the

presentation of war captives, but her identification of capes include the author’s identification of

cloaks. Of the 34 scenes in the author’s database containing capes and/ or cloaks, only 7 feature

captives. These garments appear more frequently in tribute presentation scenes (n=16), some of

which feature the distinctive ‘fringed’ cape as identified by Reents-Budet (e.g. TCMA 1990.181

[K5513, Figure 5.27] and LACMA M.2010.115.330 [K4825, Figure 5.28]). Thus, these garments

do not appear to be restricted to captive presentation scenes.

The decoration of mantles can only be attested from two provenienced ceramics. One

(MNAE 2004.24.18153) is thought to feature individuals from a mythic past (Carter 2015),

which may explain the unique shape and decoration of the mantles they wear (compared to

mantles worn on scenes representative of the Late Classic). The other ceramic (MNAE 310042

[Figure 5.17]) features two individuals wearing mantles that are reminiscent of the so-called

‘vomit bib’—associated with scenes of feasting, drinking, and inebriation (Henderson 2008: 63).

The representation of mantles on unprovenienced ceramics include those decorated with a single

block colour and decorated edges (e.g. K4806 [Figure 2.11b]).

In one instance, the author was able to identify the probable weaving pattern of a male

garment. The author, working in conjunction with conservator Sarah Nunberg, was able to

identify a ‘sheer’ fabric worn by two individuals on AMNH 30.3/2491 (K4019 [Figure 5.3]).

Under close examination, it is clear that the artist carefully applied various layers of paint to

deliberately create a translucent quality for the garments. This is likely the representation of

fabric manufactured by gauze or open-spaced plain weaving. Unlike traditional weaving, where
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weft threads are parallel to one another, in gauze weaving weft threads are made to cross one

another—causing them to push one another apart and create wide spaces between them (Pancake

and Baizerman 1982). These spaces form the open texture that creates a translucent appearance,

akin to modern lace (Asturias de Barrios 1997: 75). Open-spaced plain weaves are made by

interacting single warp and wefts in an over and under fashion, spacing them far enough apart to

create openings in the fabric (Halperin 2016).

Evidence for translucent textiles in Maya art can be seen in the painted murals at

Bonampak (Miller and Brittenham 2013: Figure 159) and the painted murals at Calakmul

(Vargas and Baqueiro 2012). Halperin (2016) has suggested that translucent textiles worn by

men may be represented in Bonampak Panel 1, but acknowledges it is difficult to determine

whether it was intended to show the quality of weave or a result of the process of carving the

stone panel (and therefore not intended to be interpreted as a translucent textile [Halperin

personal communication, 2015]). The best examples of gauze weaving in the archaeological

record is Textile A from Tomb 19 at Rio Azul in Guatemala, which clearly displays an open

weave structure (Carlsen 1986: 127), some of the textiles recovered from Cuevo del Lazo in

Chiapas (Domenici and Valenzuela 2016), and some of the textiles fragments recovered from the

‘Cenote of Sacrifice’ at Chichen Itza (Lothrop 1992: 66).

Female Garments

There are two main garments worn by females in painted ceramic scenes: huipiles and sarongs.

As discussed in Chapter Three, a sarong is classified as a long garment tied under the arms,

exposing the shoulders, whereas a huipil is a long garment that covers the shoulders, chest, and

hips (Figure 3.6a). Of the 22 scenes that contain a female, 13 scenes feature a female wearing a
190
sarong and 9 feature a female wearing a huipil (Table 5.6). In two unprovenienced scenes

(K8386 [Figure 5.29] and MFA 1987.718) a female wears a sash in combination with a sarong,

tied under the chest (though there may be a third example on LACMA M.2010.115.75 [K5062]).

In all other instances, a sarong is worn by itself. In two different unprovenienced scenes (DAM

2003.1 [K2914, Figure 5.30] and MJAV 17.2.1543 [Figure 5.6]), the breasts of females are

exposed above their sarongs.

The findings agree with Looper and Tolles’ (2000: 3, 6) study, which documents that

huipiles were uncommon in painted ceramic scenes and appear to be garments represented less

frequently than the sarong. The representation of female garments in the Bonampak murals

appear to feature huipiles exclusively, with no instances of sarongs (Miller and Brittenham 2013:

Figures 125, 160, 165).85 Similarly, female garments in the murals from Calakmul Chiik Nahb

Structure Sub 1-4, SE-E2 include huipiles but no sarongs (Vargas and Baqueiro 2012). However,

the murals of Chilonche do feature a female wearing a sarong (Ministry of Culture and Sports of

Guatemala 2013). The Bonampak and Calakmul murals reflect the popularity of huipiles in other

media such as monumental art (Joyce 1999), while the polychrome ceramics and Chilonche

murals suggest that sarongs were also worn on a regular basis in different contexts.

The two provenienced ceramic scenes featuring females represent decorated sarongs and

a decorated huipil. The sarong on MNAE 11419 (K2695 [Figure 5.13]) appears to be a single

colour with a decorated edge or fringe, while the two sarongs on MNAE T7B/7-37 (K2707

[Figure 3.13]) feature two colours. The latter style was probably the result of attaching plain or

coloured fabric between a width of cloth. Similar examples from unprovenienced ceramics exist,

85
Unless Figure 4, Room 3, is a female child—in which case the garment appears to be a sarong.
191
including one in the National Museum of the American Indian that the author assessed in person

and considers to be authentic (Figure 5.31a). The intricate patterning on the huipil from MNAE

11419 (K2695 [Figure 5.13]) may have been the result of brocading, or even painting the fabric

(using a tool such as a brush or a stamp). A similarly decorated huipil is known from K2573

(Figure 2.3), though up-close inspection of the vase86 revealed in-painting on the female’s left

shoulder; on her right outstretched arm; at the bottom of her huipil; and in her hair. The

combination of modern restorations, plus the unusual representation of her huipil (e.g. the large

red-coloured shape in its center), invites caution in the interpretation of dress on this ceramic.

The decoration of female dress on other unprovenienced ceramics in the database ranges from

plain (e.g. K5416 [Figure 5.31b) to large patterns (e.g. GAM G83.1.0129 [K6059, Figure

5.31c]).

Dwarf and Hunchback Garments

All representations of dwarves and hunchbacks in the database of royal court images are male.

Consequently, they wear male garments including skirts and loincloths. Of the 14 scenes

featuring a dwarf, 10 wear a short skirt and 4 wear a loincloth (Table 5.7). Unfortunately, only

one of these is provenienced and it is severely eroded so secure information about the decoration

of garments worn by dwarves is lacking. The decoration of garments worn by dwarves on

unprovenienced ceramics include plain garments (e.g. LOC PC 0040 [K6341, Figure 4.3]), block

colours (e.g. NGA 82.2292 [K1453, Figure 2.7]), and repetitive patterns (e.g. K5505 [Figure

5.32]). Schele and Miller (1986: 150) suggested that in monumental stone carvings, dwarves are

86
The author viewed this vase on display at the Metropolitan Museum of Art on February 20 th 2015, where it was on
loan from a private collector.
192
usually shown dressed in the same costumes as the lords they attend. This does not appear to be

the case in painted ceramics, since dwarves clearly do not wear cloaks or capes when rulers do

(e.g. TCMA 1990.181 [K5513, Figure 5.27]); do not wear loincloths when rulers do (e.g. LOC

PC 0040 [K6341, Figure 4.3]); and the decoration of their garments can be different to rulers

(e.g. MAS.IB.2010.017.086 [K1563, Figure 5.25]).

Some evidence of dwarves from murals can be added to this evidence, to demonstrate

that the garments seen on painted ceramics were also worn by dwarves on different media.

Drawing 68 at Naj Tunich cave features a dwarf wearing a loincloth, and Drawing 83, which

may also be a dwarf, features a dwarf wearing a short skirt. Furthermore, a band of dwarf

musicians appear in Room 3 at Bonampak (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 84), and they wear a

variety of garments including short and long skirts; cloaks; and perhaps capes decorated with

feathers. Of the three unprovenienced scenes featuring a hunchback (Table 5.8), all wear short

skirts. The decoration of these garments include plain, one or more colours, and repetitive

patterns. As with dwarves, hunchbacks do not wear the same garments as rulers in painted

ceramic scenes.

Cloth Tribute

As discussed previously, the presentation of tribute is the most common event represented in

scenes of the ancient Maya royal court. Almost half (n=46) of the 101 scenes featuring tribute

presentation include the presentation of cloth. Four of these scenes are from provenienced

ceramics (BM Am1930,F.1 [Figure 3.12]; MNAE 310042 [Figure 5.17]; Tayasal T7B/6-22;

Motul de San José Vessel 7 [Figure 2.14]), and demonstrate that both plain cloth and decorated

cloth were presented as tribute. Overall, 21 of the 47 scenes feature stacks of cloth (or, as
193
discussed in Chapter Two, these stacks may be representative of stacks of plain fibers); 16

feature cloth held in the hand; 1 features loose cloth among other items of tribute; and 4 feature a

combination of these methods of presenting cloth tribute. An additional 4 scenes feature cloth in

unusual placements or compositions (DO PC.B.569 [K4338, Figure 5.33]; the Dora and Paul

Janssen vase; DYM 78.41 [K625, Figure 5.34]; K4120), and stand out as anomalies. It is clear

from these results that the tribute of textiles within the royal court did not include finished

garments such as huipiles, capes, or cloaks. Tribute did include cloth that could be woven into

finished garments, as well as decorated widths of cloth that were suitable for use as loincloths.

Head Decoration

As with garments, clear definitions of headdresses were developed throughout the study with the

intention of remain consistent with the terminology used in previous studies. However, the

author felt it was appropriate to establish different categories of decoration to the head because it

was clear that both headdresses and embellishments were separate dress elements. In their basic

form, headdresses on painted ceramics are fairly large coverings over the crown of the head, and

perhaps the forehead. Embellishments include various attachments to the head and/or a

headdress, usually covering a much smaller surface area compared to headdresses. Nine types of

headdress were identified in royal court scenes (Table 5.9, Figure 5.35), compared to eight types

of embellishment (Table 5.10, Figure 5.36). Discussion begins with an overall analysis of the

data on headdresses and embellishments, and then proceeds to explore whether, like garment,

headdresses and/or embellishments correspond to gender identity. As with the analysis of

garments, effort to prioritize evidence from provenienced ceramics is taken (this approach will

follow for the remainder of the chapter).

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 Interestingly, even when an individual’s body is represented in a frontal position their

head is almost always turned to the side (exceptions include the leftmost individual on MFA

2004.2204 [K5453, Figure 5.11] and the third individual from the right on K8526 [Figure 5.23]).

This allows for the shape and form of the headdress to be seen clearly, and for any attachments

or embellishments to be visible in the pictorial space. The predominance of representing the head

in profile can also be seen in monumental sculpture, indicating that it was an artistic convention

that cross-cut various media in Maya art.

The most common type of headdress represented are napkins (Figure 5.35a), appearing in

140 scenes (23 of which are provenienced; see Figure 5.37). They are worn in scenes that

represent a range of different activities and in scenes of different styles. The name of this

headdress was introduced to the literature by Coe (1973: 71), who suggested they “appear to be

lengths of stiff cloth apparently folded like fancy starched napkins at a dinner party.” Other

descriptions of the headdress have included “stiff white head wrap” (Reents-Budet 2001: 216)

and “white standard style” (Duke 2014: 52). Miller (1988: 320) has even compared the shape of

the headdress to the snout of some saurian beast. The napkin headdress can be plain (i.e. white)

or coloured and is worn alone or with additional layers of decoration, usually close to the base

(e.g. compare those worn on an NICH 28/179-5:7 [K2699, Figure 5.2] with the plain variety on

MGM 117A-2 [K2698, Figure 2.13a]). Reents-Budet (2001: 216) explains that the wearers of

this headdress have been identified as subordinate to the k’uhul ajaw, yet she recognizes two

instances (K5453 [Figure 5.11] and MNAE 305007) in which they are worn by enthroned ajaws.

Therefore, she suggests that this headdress relates to an event rather than to an office or court

position. Numerous other scenes in the author’s database demonstrate that napkin headdresses

are worn by enthroned rulers (such as MGM 4P-109 [K7998, Figure 5.21]). Halperin (2014a: 80)
195
considers napkin headdresses with other forms of cloth headdress and has suggested that because

these headdress types are quite diverse and worn by various individuals, they do not seem to

denote any one status in particular.

A similar headdress is the ‘netted napkin’ (Figure 5.35b) which appears in 30 scenes (9 of

which are provenienced). Except for preparation scenes, they are worn for a variety of activities,

and appear in most styles except Chama. Coe (1973: 49, 131) claimed that this is a characteristic

headdress of God N, and that it may have been manufactured from henequen fibres. It often has

the same shape and characteristics as the napkin headdress, though can be shorter (as on the

MMC ‘El Señor de Petén’ vase [Figure 2.9]), yet a distinctive difference are the thin crossed

lines reminiscent of netted fabric.

Following the same tubular shape as the napkin and netted headdresses, is the head cloth

(Figure 5.35c). They do not appear on Chama style ceramics but they are worn in scenes of

various activities. Since they are almost always bound with a tie, these headdresses appear to be

flexible material—perhaps cloth (hence the designation)—that required securing in place. Hair is

often visible protruding from the ends of this headdress, so it does not appear that they were used

to completely cover the hair of courtiers. The head cloths that were identified by Coe and Kerr

(1997: 92-92) as being part of the “uniform” of aj k’uhuuns in some instances are the same as the

head cloth identified here (e.g. see Figure 48 in their publication) but in other instances they

conflate it with the napkin headdress (e.g. see Figure 47 in their publication [Figure 2.7 here],

which clearly shows a hunchback wearing a head cloth and a dwarf wearing a napkin headdress).

Head cloths appear in 51 scenes (4 of which are provenienced) and, like napkin

headdresses, can be plain or coloured. A headdress that was used to completely envelope the hair

is the head wrap (Figure 5.35d), which appears in 17 scenes (4 of which are provenienced). They
196
are worn in ceramic scenes of various styles and some activity scenes except captive

presentation, preparation, nor scenes classified as ‘court members’. Similar to a modern turban, a

head wrap was worn close to the head and usually completely enveloped the hair (e.g. MGM 4P-

109 [K7998, Figure 5.21]). As with the other headdresses discussed thus far, it appears in both

plain and coloured varieties.

The distinction between head wrap or head cloth is sometimes difficult to make, as is the

distinction between head cloth and napkin headdress (due to artistic capability; use of colour;

composition; or preservation of the scene). A more recognizable headdress type is the hat (Figure

5.35e). This is a ‘catch-all’ category that encompasses large head coverings that have a

discernably rigid form such as those that have been identified elsewhere as a broad-brimmed hat

(Halperin 2014a: 84). In this manner, they are distinct from the seemingly flexible quality of the

headdresses discussed above. They appear in 18 royal court scenes and the 3 provenienced

ceramics that feature individuals wearing hats (MNAE K30118; MNAE 2004.24.18153; MNAE

11419 (K2695 [Figure 5.13]) demonstrate that there was no one apparent shape or style.

Although the category includes head coverings that appear disparate at first, based on the variety

of shapes and styles, they are alike in their rigid form. It is therefore appropriate to subsume such

headdresses under the category of ‘hats’. By doing so, comparisons across ceramic scenes can be

made. The results demonstrate that hats are worn in a variety of ceramic styles, except Chama,

and in a number of different scenes except those classified as ‘court members’.

Another recognizable type is the animal headdress (Figure 5.35f), which appears in 65

scenes, not appearing to be exclusive to any one style nor activity. Such headdresses may have

been manufactured from the heads of deceased animals, or manufactured from other materials

such as wood. Alternatively, the headdresses may be artistic representations rather than true
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reflections of head coverings. Such headdresses may be related to way (spiritual companions) or

animal protectors. The eight provenienced ceramics that feature animal headdresses include

animals such as a jaguar (UPM NA11221), bird of prey (MGM 117A-2 [K2698, Figure 2.13a]),

and peccary (Tayasal T7B/6-22). Unprovenienced ceramics include other animals such as deer

(LACMA M.2010.115.330 [K4825, Figure 5.28]) and rabbit (NGA 82.2292 [K1453, Figure

2.7]). A unique example of a human head being worn as a headdress appears on K4096 (Figure

5.38), which Kerr describes as “heavily restored” and therefore caution should be made before

accepting that the ancient Maya wore headdresses representing both animal and humans in the

royal court.

A headdress variety that has long been recognized is the so-called ‘Spangled Turban’

(Figure 5.35g), which appears in 18 scenes (4 of which are provenienced). They are not worn in

performance scenes nor those classified as ‘court members’ but do not appear to be restricted to

particular ceramic styles. The headdress is usually identified by its bulbous shape and small

sphere-like shapes, which may be small shell disks (Coe 1973: 40). Coe and Kerr (1997: 105)

suggested that this headdress was largely confined to supernaturals, since it is sometimes worn in

combination with a netted napkin headdress (Coe 1973: 49, 131).They are not turbans in the

strict sense because they do not bind the hair (e.g. the hair of the individuals wearing this type of

headdress on BM AM1930, F.1 [Figure 3.12] is clearly visible), and because they appear to

require additional material to bind them around the crown of the head (compare the bindings on

the aforementioned vase with MNAE 4P-8/2 [Figure 5.20]).87 Reents-Budet (1994: 259) suggests

that although the headdress has been associated with scribal costume it has a wider distribution

87
Though this may just as easily be decorative, and not functional, attachments to the headdress.
198
and symbolic meaning in Classic Maya raiment. Thus, she believes the headdress “connotes

some type of special status rather than earthly office” (Reents-Budet 2001: 216). As discussed

below, visually similar headbands are often worn in conjunction with another headdress and have

been separated from the Spangled Turban headdress category.

The last two varieties of headdress are zoomorphic and balloon (Figures 5.35h-i), which

appear in 28 scenes and 3 scenes respectively. As Table 5.9 explains, a zoomorphic headdress is

elaborate with an unusual form that has indications of animal features but is not a clear or

distinctive animal (e.g. Figure 5.17). They do not appear in preparation scenes, and there is only

one provenienced ceramic (MNAE 310042 [Figure 5.17]) bearing such a headdress. Balloon

headdresses are oversized rounded headdresses that have been linked to Teotihuacan (Stone

1989: 157). Potentially they are exaggerated versions of head cloths, since they are somewhat

similar in shape, but it is difficult to determine whether they were manufactured from the same

material. Schele and Miller (1986: 213) claim that the balloon headdress worn on Dos Pilas Stela

16 was manufactured from deer pelt, and Chinchilla-Mazariegos (2005: 121) asserts that the

balloon headdress on Aguateca Stela 2 was also made from deerskin. Schele and Miller (1986:

187) described that worn by Shield Jaguar on Lintel 25 from Yaxchilan as representative of

jaguar skin. The balloon headdress worn on MNAE 11418 (K2697 [Figure 2.12]) is clearly

different from the deerskin varieties and that worn by Shield Jaguar since it is decorated with

designs that resemble glyphs and the profile of what appears to be a deity head. Despite this vase

being provenienced, it was reconstructed from fragments and there is a possibility that the

balloon headdress was altered by a modern hand. Unfortunately, efforts by the author to locate

pre-restoration photographs of this vessel were unsuccessful.

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 The second balloon-style headdress is worn by a ruler on DAM 2001.44 (Figure 5.39), in

combination with what appears to be a napkin headdress. It may or may not have been intended

as a representation of a balloon headdress; it may be a voluptuous representation of layering at

the base of a napkin headdress. Either way, the restoration of this unprovenienced vase is

extensive and caution should be taken with the interpretation of the dress in this scene. Based on

the shape of the bulbous headdresses worn on LACMA M.2010.115.25 (K7461 [Figure 5.40]),

this is the third vase featuring balloon headdresses (though it should be noted that they may have

been intended as Spangled Turbans). Unfortunately, not all headdress types could be identified.

In 39 scenes, headdresses of one or more individuals did not fall neatly into any of the above

nine types and were instead categorized as ‘miscellaneous’. Furthermore, 57 ceramic scenes

were too eroded for certain headdress to be identified on one or more individuals. Interestingly,

headdresses were not always worn and in 66 scenes one or more individuals do not wear any

form of headdress. Except for a few occasions (usually with scenes featuring captives),

embellishments to the head are worn even when headdresses are not.

Of the 11 embellishments to the head/ headdress identified in royal court scenes, the most

common is the feather (appearing in 177 scenes; see Figure 5.41). This embellishment (Figure

5.36a) is attached to the head or headdress in a variety of ways, ranging from a single feather to a

bunch of several feathers, and is worn by one or more individuals on ceramics of different styles

and in scenes of different activity. Feathers are often represented as long and dark coloured, and

are usually assumed to be representations of Resplendent Quetzal tail coverts (Tremain 2016) but

were likely also from other birds such as macaws and turkeys. Different lengths of feathers, and

presumably feathers from different birds, are sometimes worn by the same individual (e.g.

MNAE 2004.24.18153). One of the most identifiable feathers is from the so-called ‘muwaan
200
bird’, which is, in fact, a forest falcon (Bassie-Sweet 2008: 107), and appears in 17 scenes.88 25

provenienced scenes illustrate the use of feathers as an embellishment to the head and

demonstrate that they were usually attached towards the back of the head, allowing the feather(s)

to trail down the back, but were also worn at the front of the head and even at times at both the

front and back of the head. In one instance, feathers appear from the open mouth of a jaguar

headdress (MNAE 2004.24.18153). The provenienced scenes also demonstrate that feathers were

used in combination with a wide range of headdress types, yet there was no standardized way in

which they were attached to the head nor specific headdresses that they embellished. What is

clear is that not all headdresses contained feathers, as has been suggested in the past (e.g. Grube

2006: 96).

The second most common embellishment to the head is a flower (Figure 5.36b),

appearing in 128 scenes painted in different styles and representing different activities. These

include recognizable flowers such as the waterlily (Nymphaea ampla) and those of the

Bombacoideae species (Cano and Hellmuth 2008; Zidar and Elisens 2009). However, Stone and

Zender (2011: 223) explain that flowers “were treated with great artistic license—every dot and

squiggle was not required to match a botanical feature”. Thus, it is not possible to correlate every

representation of a flower to a particular species. 16 provenienced ceramics illustrate the use of

flowers as an embellishment and demonstrate that they were attached to the head or headdress in

a variety of ways and were often associated with birds and fish. In fact, 9 scenes (4 of which are

provenienced) feature fish feeding on flowers and 14 scenes (2 of which are provenienced)

feature birds feeding on flowers. The birds are presumably feeding on the nectar of the flowers,

88
Interestingly, TCMA 1990.181 [K5513, Figure 5.27] shows a ruler wearing only a single muan feather
201
whilst the fish are feeding on the fruit; it is known that the fruit of the waterlily is an important

food source for many species of fish (Cano and Hellmuth 2008: 1). Coggins (1975: 520)

suggested birds and fish attached to headdresses were prevalent in areas close to the Peten,

probably because there were many important water routes in the region.

As with feathers, there was no standardized way in which these floral embellishments

were attached to the head nor specific headdresses that were embellished with flowers. They

appear as singular flowers at the back and front of the head, and as several flowers combined

together in a band around the base of headdresses. Interestingly, flower and feather

embellishments are often combined together with feathers seemingly taking the place of stamen

(e.g. NICH 28/179-5:7 [K2699, Figure 5.2]). Coe and Kerr (1997: 96) suggest that waterlilies

seem to be a metaphor for brush pens (explained in more detail below) and have a connection to

scribes because one of the meaning of nab, from the scribal title Ah nab, is waterlily.

While not attached directly to the head, hair ties (Figure 5.36c) embellished strands of

both long and short hair and are visible in 63 scenes (not appearing to be limited by ceramic style

nor activity). They were likely manufactured of fairly flexible material such as cloth, twine, or

leather. They often bound hanks of hair near the crown of the head, yet could also be tied several

more times throughout the hair (e.g. D.O. PC.B.564 [K2784, Figure 2.17]). Hair ties are visible

on four provenienced ceramics, one of which (MNAE T7B/7-37 [K2707, Figure 3.13])

demonstrates the use of either multiple thin hair ties layered atop one another or one piece of

wide material wrapped around a breadth of hair.

Headbands are another common embellishment to the head (Figure 5.36d-f), appearing in

47 scenes (2 of which are provenienced). They appear in most styles and in scenes of different

activity. They were likely manufactured from cloth, leather, or perhaps bark paper. They are
202
worn around the forehead (or higher) and back of the head, sitting on top of the hair. The famous

‘Sak Hunal’ is accepted to be a bark paper headband representing the headdress of the god

Hu’unal (the god of royalty), worn by rulers to signal their coronation (Grube 2006: 96). They

were often combined with jade ornaments representing the so-called “jester god”, named by

Linda Schele for its resemblance to a medieval court jester (Schele 1974). Grube (2006: 96)

explains that the three points of the jester god’s cap are thought to represent sprouting vegetation

or petals. In 5 scenes a headband is worn in conjunction with jester god ornaments (separate

from a headdress), and in 13 scenes a jester god and headband are worn in conjunction with a

headdress (of various types). Only two provenienced ceramic scenes feature jester god

ornaments (MSM 117A-1 [K8008, Figure 4.6] and MNAE 2004.24.18153) and demonstrate that

these ornaments are worn by both rulers and their attendants. One scene (MET 1999.484.2

[K5492]) features a headband similar to the effigy gods identified at Palenque (Schele 1974:

Figures 9c and 9d).

In one instance (LOC 2004.2204 [K6316, Figure 5.4]) a headband is worn in a twisted

manner, reminiscent of the abstract serpent headdress worn by females in the Dresden codex

(Ciaramella 1994 ).89 Realistic animal headbands are worn in nine scenes (one of which is

provenienced), embellishing the front of the head and various headdresses. Different animals are

represented, including birds, a peccary, a jaguar, and a caiman (MNAE 11419 [K2695, Figure

5.13]).90 The small size of some of the animal heads suggests that infant or juvenile animals were

used for these embellishments, or that their representation is false (either because of ancient

enhancements to Maya dress or modern additions to the painted scene).

89
A similar twisted element is also worn in conjunction with a hat on MFA 2004.2204 (K5453 [Figure 5.11]).
90
Identified as a curl-snouted caiman by Martin and Grube (2008:51).
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 The sphere-like shapes that decorate the Spangled Turban headdress (Figure 5.42) appear

in 31 scenes (6 of which are provenienced, all from Tikal burials 196 and 116) as

embellishments worn in conjunction with other headdresses (usually napkin headdresses).91

These embellishments appear in both wide (Figure 5.42b) and thin (Figure 5.42c) varieties and

are categorized here as headbands with sphere-like decorations (or sphere headband for short).

Although they may appear visually similar to Spangled Turbans, because they adorn other

headdresses they are acting as embellishments to headdresses rather than headdresses in their

own right. The shape of the decorations suggest that they may be manufactured from shells,

beads, or even cotton bolls. Interestingly, there are several instances in which Spangled Turbans

and headbands with sphere-like decorations are worn by different individuals in the same scene

(e.g. K8469 [Figure 5.43]). This introduces the possibility that they are one and the same, but it

is impossible to determine if this is the case. They do not appear in captive presentation scenes

nor preparation scenes.

The final embellishments worn are scribal tools. These include short, thin, horizontal

layers stacked atop a headdress that have been identified as ‘stick bundles’ (Figure 5.36g). Coe

and Kerr (1997: 92) interpret stick bundles as writing instruments—specifically quill pens.

Elsewhere, stick bundles have been interpreted as brushes or bark paper (Lacadena 1996: 46;

Zender 2004: 146). They are worn by individuals in 35 unprovenienced scenes, and are always

attached to a headdress with a thin band. Interestingly, they do not appear on any Chama style

ceramics nor captive presentation scenes. Although it is often difficult to distinguish the exact

91
K1303, an “extremely overpainted” scene (as identified by Kerr), features an unusual combination of headbands
with sphere-like decorations and animal headdresses. No other scenes in the dataset feature this combination of
headdresses and embellishments, so it is likely that their combination in this scene is the result of modern restoration
or forgery.
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number of sticks within a bundle they appear to vary anywhere from 4 to about 15,

demonstrating that there was no standard number worn. In only two scenes (K1728 and K2573

[Figures 2.18 and 2.3 respectively]) are stick bundles worn in combination with what appears to

be a headband instead of a headdress.

Scribal tools also include long thin objects attached near the forehead to various

headdress types, with a slight curve in the end furthest from the headdress, identified as ‘curved

tools’ (Coe and Kerr 1997: 92 [Figure 5.36h]). They are worn by individuals in 20 scenes, one of

which is provenienced (MNAE 108.9.2 [K3009]). Unlike the stick bundle, the curved tool does

appear in Chama style ceramics but does not appear in captive presentation scenes; preparation

scenes; nor court member scenes. A third scribal tool is an elongated stem with floral bud,

identified as a ‘brush pen’ (Coe and Kerr 1997: 92 [Figure 5.36i]). They are attached near the

forehead to various headdresses in 12 scenes (2 of which are provenienced), either as singular

elements or in pairs. They do not appear on Ik’ style ceramics; captive presentation scenes; nor

court member scenes, though this may be a result of the small sample size. They have been

categorized separately from flower embellishments, yet in 6 of the 12 scenes in which brush pens

occur they are worn in combination with such embellishments. Finally, in two unprovenienced

scenes (K6552 and MFA 2003.778), oval paint pots are worn as part of headdresses (Figure 5.36j

[Kerr 2003]).

As with headdresses, not all embellishments could be identified. In 51 scenes,

embellishments did not fall neatly into any of the above types and were instead categorized as

‘miscellaneous’. Since all of the above headdress and embellishment types are worn by men,

only those worn by females, dwarves, and hunchbacks are discussed below.

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Female Head Decoration

From the author’s analysis it is clear that the majority of females in royal court scenes wear

embellishments to the head rather than headdresses (Table 5.6). This contrasts the study of

female headdresses on figurines, which suggests that broad-brimmed hats are one of the most

common headdresses worn by Late and Terminal Classic period figurines of women (Halperin

2014a: 85). The most common head decoration in royal court scenes appear to be hair ties,

appearing in 8 of the 22 ceramic scenes featuring one or more females. In two instances (K2573

and MFA 1988.1176 [K764, Figures 2.3 and 2.5]), females appear to have stick bundles attached

to their heads yet their representation in these scenes diverts from the regular representation of

stick bundles and can therefore not be securely identified. Three types of identifiable headdress

are worn (hat, head cloth, and napkin), yet there is no evidence that any identify marital status (as

suggested by Houston and Inomata [2009: 186]). Guernsey (1992: 115) suggested that symbols

associated with females included those of earth and fertility, and argued for a connection

between females and waterlilies. However, it is clear that the majority of waterlilies are worn as

embellishments in royal court scenes by males and not females.

Murals show females wearing similar headdresses to those worn by females on painted

ceramics. For example, two seated females in the Uaxactun murals wear what appear to be either

napkin headdresses or head cloths (Coe and Houston 2016: 37), while a young female in

Bonampak Room 1 and the female seated to the left of the ruler in Room 3 (Miller and

Brittenham 2013: Figures 160, 165) both wear napkin headdresses. Females in the murals from

Calakmul Chiik Nahb Structure Sub 1-4, SE-E2 differ because they wear hats or what appears to

be a headband (Vargas and Baqueiro 2012). There may or may not have been a connection

206
between certain headdresses and/ or embellishments with female gender identity but the small

sample size makes it difficult to determine.

Dwarf and Hunchback Head Decoration

Table 5.7 lists the headdresses and embellishments to the head that are worn by dwarves in 14

different scenes. It is clear that headdresses are far more common than embellishments, and

napkin headdresses are the most common (appearing in 4 of 14 scenes). Drawing 68 at Naj

Tunich cave also shows a dwarf wearing a napkin headdress and Drawing 83 features a probable

dwarf wearing a cloth headband and hair tie. The majority of the dwarf musicians in Room 3 at

Bonampak (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 84) wear a miscellaneous headdress that appears to be

embellished with feathers, while one wears a headdress similar in form to a napkin headdress and

decorated with feathers. Of the three scenes featuring a hunchback, two feature a napkin

headdress coupled with different embellishments, and the third features a head cloth coupled

with a stick bundle (Table 5.8).

Jewellery

Here defined as items of ornamentation, manufactured from materials such as shell, stone, and

ceramic, ancient Maya jewellery was worn on or around key parts of the body such as the ears,

neck, wrists, and ankles. Most jewellery appears on ceramics of different styles and in scenes of

different activity. As with garments and headdresses, definitions of various jewellery items was

established in order to identify and classify them.

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Neck Ornamentation

Different styles of jewellery were worn around the neck, including necklaces, pectorals, and

collars. Neck ornamentation appears in the majority of royal court scenes but in 61 scenes (5 of

which are provenienced) one or more individuals do not wear any neck ornamentation. In 30

scenes, it was not possible to identify whether one or more individuals were wearing neck

ornamentation. The most popular form of neck ornamentation in royal court scenes was the

necklace, the foundation of which would have been manufactured from a length of cloth, rope,

leather, or twine. They were often strung with additional elements such as beads and/ or had

large pendants hanging from them. The simplest beaded necklace consisted of a strand of

identical beads but more intricate necklaces appear to have consisted of multiple strands of beads

or combined beads of different shapes. The weight of the beads and pendants usually required a

counter-weight, many of which were strands of beads yet others were singular objects usually in

oval form.

The length of necklaces varied from short forms that encircled the base of the neck to

longer forms that extended past the collar bone and upper chest. Short necklaces appear on one

or more individuals in 190 scenes (22 of which are provenienced) while longer necklaces appear

on one or more individuals in 57 scenes (7 of which are provenienced).92 Counter-weights are

visible in 117 scenes (17 of which are provenienced), usually in combination with short

necklaces but also in combination with longer necklaces (in some instances only a counterweight

is visible and not the necklace itself). Some counter-weights were also decorative, the most

unusual (and perhaps inauthentic) being a human head (MFA 1987.718).93 In 142 scenes (15 of

92
Length was based on the length of the necklace, not the length of pendants. Thus, short necklaces were often
combined with lengthy pendants.
93
In the authors’ opinion, many dress elements in this scene point to the painted scene being spurious.
208
which are provenienced), various pendants are worn by one or more individuals. It is clear that

both males and females wear necklaces of various designs, as do dwarves and hunchbacks (see

Tables 5.6 - 5.8). It is also clear that necklaces were not worn by royal court members at all

times, and therefore cannot be considered a fundamental nor essential form of courtly dress.

Pectorals can be distinguished from necklaces with pendants based on their large size. In

their basic form, pectorals usually consist of a rectangular bar worn horizontally across the chest

but some were more oval or rounded in form. All pectorals were suspended from a necklace with

or without beads and in most cases they rested at chest height. It can be difficult to distinguish

pectorals from large pendants, and where the author was in doubt it was classified as a pendant

rather than pectoral. Thus, the 12 identified scenes that feature pectorals being worn (1 of which

is provenienced [MNAE 4P-8/2—see Figure 5.20]) may be under representative of the true

number. Within the small number of scenes in which pectorals appear to be worn, they adorn the

necks of various male individuals but no females, dwarves, nor hunchbacks (see Tables 5.6 -

5.8).

Collars are wider than necklaces, and appear in 18 royal court scenes (1 of which is

provenienced [MNAE 2004.24.18153]). Some collars consisted primarily or exclusively of beads

or other non-textile ornaments layered atop each other. Others had a backing of leather, woven

textile, or comparable material, onto which ornaments were sewn. They were secured around the

neck with a tie or clasp, and often extended onto the shoulders. Like necklaces, they were often

embellished with pendants. Within the small number of scenes in which collars are worn, they

adorn the necks of various male individuals and one dwarf, but no females nor hunchbacks (see

Tables 5.6 - 5.8).

209
Ear Ornamentation

While some researchers have established typological divisions between earspools and earflares

(Carter and Carteret 2014), the detailing visible in painted ceramic scenes does not always allow

for such a strict categorization. Thus, ear ornamentation was organized into the categories of

earspool; shaped; material strip; unclear; and none. The first category included all ear

ornamentation with a basic oval, circular, or cylindrical shape, including any additional

attachments such as an elongated ‘stem’ or a counterbalance. Thus, it is somewhat like the catch-

all category used for identifying hats. Earspools were likely manufactured from wood, bone, or

stone, and some were probably highly decorative yet it is not possible to distinguish between

plain and decorative types in the painted ceramic scenes. 191 scenes feature one or more

individuals wearing earspools, demonstrating that it is the most popular ear ornamentation

represented in royal court scenes. They are worn by males, females, dwarves, and hunchbacks

(see Tables 5.6 - 5.8).

The second category, shaped, included all ear ornamentation that did not have a basic

oval or circular shape. Again, it is somewhat of a catch-all category as it included fairly varied

shapes and sizes of ear ornamentation. 42 scenes feature one or more individuals wearing this

type of ear ornamentation, and the 5 provenienced ceramics within this count demonstrate that

there were a range of different shapes worn by court members. They do not appear to be worn by

females, dwarves, nor hunchbacks (see Tables 5.6 - 5.8). Perhaps the most interesting instance in

which shaped ear ornamentation is worn is UPM NA11221, which appears to show two types of

ornamentation worn in two different positions in the ear by all three individuals in the scene.

This suggests that, akin to modern customs of piercing the ear, the ancient Maya may have also

pierced their ears in multiple positions.

210
 The third category of ear ornamentation, material strip, is worn by one or more

individuals in 33 scenes. This type of ornamentation may have been manufactured from bark

paper, fabric, or animal skin (e.g. DAM 2002.95; DAM 2005.147; K7797). The only

provenienced ceramic showing a material strip worn in the ear is the MMC ‘El Señor de Petén

vase’ (Figure 2.9), yet it does not offer an easily identifiable material. It is often suggested that

strips of material are worn in the earlobes of individuals undergoing bloodletting rites, or by

prisoners who are to be sacrificed (Schele and Miller 1986: 176, 212). Yet the two scenes in the

database with hieroglyphs that reference bloodletting (LACMA M.2010.115.12 [K1599, Figure

3.10] and MNAE T7B/7-37 [K2707, Figure 3.13]) they are not worn, and 31 of the 33 scenes in

which they are worn (including the MMC ‘El Señor de Petén vase’) show non-prisoners wearing

them. This type of ear ornamentation may also have been worn by hunchbacks (see Table 5.8)

but there are no instances within the database that illustrate females or dwarves wearing them

(see Tables 5.6-5.7). However, Drawing 83 at Naj Tunich, which may be a representation of a

dwarf, appears to show this form of ear ornamentation (Stone 1995).

In 12 scenes the ear ornamentation of one or more individuals could not be identified, yet

it is clear from all other scenes that ear ornamentation is always worn. Thus, unlike necklaces,

ear ornamentation appears to have been a staple dress item for members of the royal court.

Wrist and Ankle Ornamentation

Horizontal decorations are sometimes worn around the ankles, presumably as a form of anklet or

rattle, and around the wrists, presumably as a form of bracelet. Wrist and ankle ornamentation

could not be identified on one or more individuals in 49 scenes in the database, but from the

scenes in which they could be identified it is clear that both forms of ornamentation appear in
211
horizontal, vertical, mosaic, and wide cuff-like forms. The latter were likely manufactured from

cloth or leather while the other forms were likely a foundation of string or twine onto which

beads, shells, and/or other materials were strung. Wristlets are worn by one or more individuals

in 192 scenes (29 of which are provenienced). Additionally, in five scenes (one of which is

provenienced) fabric strips are worn around the wrists. In three scenes (K7288, K8123, K8220),

material of some kind, perhaps ornamentation, is worn around the upper arm of one or more

court members. Both males and females wear wristlets (see Table 5.6), but evidence for dwarves

and hunchbacks wearing wristlets are only known from unprovenienced ceramics that the author

deems ‘questionable’ (Tables 5.7 and 5.8).94

Anklets appear in horizontal, vertical, mosaic, and wide cuff-like forms. They are worn

by one or more individuals in 25 scenes (4 of which are provenienced). In a very small number

of scenes (KAM 1985.10 [K1452], K1454, K5445, and LOC PC 0089 [K6316]), material of

some kind is worn around the knees of one or more individuals. While it is clear that males wore

anklets, no scenes in the database shown dwarves or hunchbacks wearing this form of jewellery.

Only one unprovenienced ceramic (MFA 1988.1176 [K764, Figure 2.5]) shows a female wearing

anklets, yet the dress of this female is certainly questionable and therefore it cannot be

determined whether females did wear anklets in the royal court.95

94
The author regards K5505 [Figure 3.33], K8774, and MAS.IB.2010.017.086 (K1563 [Figure 5.24]) to be
questionable based on the iconography; dress elements; identified restorations (Justin Kerr notes that K8774 has
been restored); and form of the ceramic (MAS.IB.2010.017.086 [K1563] is not a cylinder vase).
95
Not only does the huipil on this vase appear to have sleeves, which is not the usual representation of this garment,
but it appears to be fairly short and worn over an underskirt. No other combination of short huipil and long skirt
appears in the dataset. The face of this female in particular appears to have been altered in some way by modern
restoration (note in particular the unusual position of the eye), suggesting that the dress may also be a product of
modern restoration—if not outright forgery.
212
Nose Ornamentation

As discussed in Chapter Three, the practice of piercing the septum has been identified as both a

marker of royalty and related to breath and supernatural qualities (Houston, et al. 2006: 19, 142).

While 34 ceramic scenes feature what appear to be floating beads or elements in front of an

individual’s nose, only 3 scenes (one of which is provenienced) appear to feature individuals

with what are likely to be nose ornamentation achieved through the practice of piercing the

septum. UPM NA11221 features two individuals, one of whom appears to be the ruler, with

circular shapes either side of their noses in what could be examples of a pierced septum. K8526

(Figure 5.23) features a larger, more elaborate, ornament in front of the ruler’s nose— clearly an

example of a pierced septum. The smaller element in front of the attendant’s nose opposite him

may also be evidence of a pierced septum. The ornament through the ruler’s nose on K5456

(Figure 5.445) is equally elaborate, and undoubtedly attached by way of a pierced septum, yet

the decoration in front of the ruler’s nose on K910996 may either be a nose ornamentation or an

attempt to represent breath or speech. Based on the results of the analysis, it seems that rulers did

indeed wear nose ornamentation yet it is unclear whether other members of the court also wore

this form of jewellery. What is clear is that if piercing the septum was a marker of royal status, it

does not appear to have been a common practice or at least one that was not represented often in

painted royal court scenes.

96
This photograph cannot be reproduced because it is property of a private collector but is available to view on
Justin Kerr’s Maya Vase Database.
213
Accoutrements

In addition to garments, headdress, and jewellery, members of the ancient Maya royal court are

also depicted wearing other accoutrements. These include footwear, body paint, hair decoration,

backpieces, and ‘X-ray masks’.

Footwear

41 of the ceramic scenes, excluding those categorized as court members, in the author’s dataset

feature one or more individuals wearing a range of footwear. The designs include straps around

the ankles and arch (e.g. TCMA 1967.203) and straps around the ankles, heels, and between the

toes (e.g. MAS.IB.2010.017.086 [K1563, Figure 5.25]). While some artists clearly afforded great

detail to footwear (e.g. MFA 1988.1177 [K1439, Figure 4.4]), the majority of artists appear to

have painted no more than thin lines around the feet. Footwear is usually represented on feet in

profile view, even when an individual may not be standing in profile (e.g. MNAE 11419 [K2695,

Figure 5.13]), but on two occasions footwear is visible on feet in near-frontal view so that the

top, rather than the side of the foot, is visible (NGA 82.2292 [K1453, Figure 2.7] and NOMA

69.33 [K2800, Figure 3.8]). One unusual case appears to show what may be the underside of

footwear against the sole of feet (DO PC.B.564 [K2784, Figure 2.17]). One of the three

provenienced ceramics that feature individuals donning footwear (MNAE 11419 [K2695, Figure

5.13]) demonstrate that both males and females wear footwear, so it is not a dress item that is

restricted by gender. The small number of ceramic scenes that feature dwarves and hunchbacks

do not appear to illustrate these individuals wearing footwear (Tables 5.7 and 5.8).97

97
Though YPM ANT 235236 is eroded and if footwear were originally worn by the dwarf on this vase it is unclear
now.
214
 While it could be expected that footwear is more commonly worn by visitors to court (as

suggested by Houston [2012: 319]), the database demonstrates that footwear is also worn by

individuals who appear local to a court. In several unprovenienced scenes, a ruler seated on a

throne is even shown wearing footwear (K4549, K4617 [Figure 5.15], K8469 [Figure 5.43],

NOMA 69.33 [K2800, Figure 3.8]). Footwear does appear to be more common among scenes

indicating a performance (14 scenes), perhaps because events such as dance required not only

adornment for the feet, but also protection and comfort. The results contrasts monumental art,

which demonstrates that bare feet were restricted to captives, ballplayers, dancers, and seated

rulers (Just 2006: 244).

Body Paint

Much more popular than footwear was the application of body paint as a form of dress, visible in

what appears to be 149 scenes in the database. It is worn by one or more individuals on ceramics

of different styles and in scenes of different activity. It is difficult to identify body paint in some

cases, and therefore achieve an exact number, because an artist may have used different coloured

pigments to represent shading or highlights on the body—something Coe (2005) suggests is

comparable to the technique of chiaroscuro. What is clear is that both males and females appear

to wear body paint, and dwarves and hunchbacks are sometimes represented in tones indicative

of body paint as well. Colours appear to have been applied to various parts of the body, such as

the face, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, and legs. Solid colours, rather than designs or shapes, are

more prevalent, yet appear in some scenes such as MNAE 11419 (K2695 [Figure 5.13]) and

K4996 (Figure 2.2).

215
 The limited range of colours available to artists of Late Classic ceramics prevents a full

understanding of whether the colours in royal court scenes were representative of those worn on

the body (i.e. yellows, blues, and greens were available as colourants for different media and

may have been worn on the body yet not represented in painted ceramic scenes). The suggestion

that the body of the ruler was rendered in a different colour than that of other figures in a royal

court scene (Reents-Budet 2001: 213) is however not supported by the data: it is clear that the

ruler is often represented with the same coloured body as those around him (as demonstrated by

provenienced ceramics such as BM Am1930,F.1 [Figure 3.12] and MGM 4P-106 [K7999, Figure

2.13b]).

Hair Decoration

The decoration of hair is another form of dress visible in royal court scenes. Both facial hair and

hair on the head are visible in ceramic scenes; 26 scenes show one or more individuals with

facial hair (4 of which are provenienced), whilst 130 scenes show one or more individuals with

hair from their head visible (10 of which are provenienced). Facial hair does not appear in scenes

categorized as court members nor preparation scenes. Apart from one instance on NGA 82.2292

(K1453, Figure 2.7]), where a hunchback appears to have coloured facial hair, it seems that only

hair on the head was decorated. For example, BM Am1930,F.1 (Figure 3.12) shows a ruler with

bound hair decorated with small objects—perhaps beads—and hair that is a different colour to

those around him—perhaps achieved by adding a dye or other colourant. The hair of the ruler on

HM533 (K6984 [Figure 5.45]) also appears coloured, as does the hair of the dwarf of NGA

82.2292 (K1453 [Figure 2.7]). Another form of hair decoration appears on DO PC.B.564 (K2784

[Figure 2.17]) and HM1172 (K7021 [Figure 5.45]): both scenes show individuals with objects
216
(perhaps beads) throughout their hair. There are no obvious instances in which females appear to

have decorated their hair with objects such as beads or colourants (Table 5.6).

The database shows many examples of hair that is neatly bound in an upright stance,

which may be reflective of a substance such as vegetal gum that was used to coat the hair to

allow it to be styled into such an arrangement. Even Drawing 83 at Naj Tunich (Stone 1995),

which may be a representation of a dwarf, shows hair in a vertical stance. Such a style was likely

only achievable with a substance to stiffen the hair into an upright position. As discussed in

Chapter Three, hair was symbolic and associated with status, and the results of the analysis

demonstrate that hair received just as much adornment and attention as other parts of the body.

In eleven unprovenienced scenes (K694, K767, K3412, K3984, K4549, K5416, K5850, K6437,

K6674, K7516, K8793) hair of one or more male individuals was represented as undecorated,

unbound, and unaccompanied by a headdress or embellishment. The length of hair in these

scenes calls into question the assumption that “women wore their hair longer than did men”

(Schele and Miller 1986: 67).

Backpiece

An additional accoutrement that is seen in 12 ceramic scenes (2 of which are provenienced) is a

backpiece. The majority of examples in the database appear to incorporate feathers, suggesting

they were lightweight to wear. They are worn by individuals dressed as warriors (e.g. MNAE

310042 [Figure 5.17]), individuals in performance attire (e.g. LFRM 1.2.159.53 [Figure 5.46]),

entertainers (e.g. K4120), and individuals in mythically-related scenes (e.g. MNAE

217
2004.24.18153),98 but they do not appear on Chama style ceramics. One scene features a female

wearing a backpiece (MFA 1988.1176 [K764, Figure 2.5]) but there are no examples of dwarves

or hunchbacks wearing these accoutrements (Tables 5.7 and 5.8). It is unfortunate that there is

such a small sample size of this particular dress element, yet the results suggest that they were

not a common dress item within the royal court.

X-Ray Mask

A final accoutrement that can be identified in the database is the so-called ‘X-ray mask’ (Coe

1978: 130), identifiable in only three unprovenienced scenes (AIC 1969.239 [K2795]; LRMF

1.2.159.53 (Figure 5.47); MFA 1988.1177 [K1439, Figure 4.4]). The mask, which is painted in a

cut-away style to reveal the wearer’s face underneath, is associated with Ik’ style ceramics and is

thought to suggest that human and divine identities coexist within the wearer (Houston 2006:

145-146). In each of the aforementioned scenes a ruler wears the mask, and appears to be dressed

for, or in the process of, a performance.99 Two scenes appear to show anthropomorphic masks

while one features the mask of a toad. X-ray masks of toads and other animals have been

identified on ceramics not in the author’s database (e.g. K533 and K3054), and demonstrates that

they appear to have been forms of male dress.

98
Indeed, the backpieces on this vase are similar to the elaborate styles worn on other mythological vases such as
those painted in the Holmul style.
99
Although LRMF 1.2.159.53 (Figure 5.46) also features the presentation of tribute and this scene has therefore
been categorized principally as a tribute presentation.
218
Pictorial Placement

To test whether the placement of individuals within royal court scenes could reveal evidence

about courtier dress, an analysis of the garments and headdresses worn by central and peripheral

individuals in a scene was undertaken. Since they usually covered the largest surface area of the

body (except, perhaps, for body paint—which is sometimes difficult to accurately identify), these

elements were considered suitable for initial analysis. The intention was to evaluate whether

patterns relative to pictorial placement emerged, and whether these patterns could reveal

information about the identity of courtiers. Central figures consist of the two main protagonists

in a scene. They are usually the ruler and the individual immediately adjacent to, and facing,

them (i.e. the individual actively participating in, or directly receiving action from, the ruler).

The ruler is often the largest in size and placed at the highest point in a scene, and normally

draws the most attention or action from those around him. As discussed in Chapter Two, the

closer an individual is to a ruler the higher their status is generally considered to be. Even if not

indicative of status, the dress worn by the individual in closest proximity to a ruler may reveal

the type of garment or headdress appropriate to wear in the intimate space of the court’s highest

authority.

Peripheral figures are those located elsewhere in the scene, away from the primary action

and event taking place. Peripheral figures can even be seated behind the ruler, but because they

are not actively engaged with them they cannot be considered principal agents in the scene (e.g.

the female seated behind the ruler on K4996 [Figure 2.2]). Instead of a count of scenes in which

the dress elements appear, a count of each individual wearing the element was recorded (Tables

5.11 and 5.12). The results are not intended solely to be a measurement of frequency; the results

are also intended to reflect patterns of dress elements in both central and peripheral pictorial
219
space. Garments and headdresses that could not be securely identified were not included in the

analysis.

Only rollout scenes were included in the analysis because both repetitive and panel style

scenes were composed with a different intention comparative to rollout scenes (and they may

have intended to show the same individuals twice rather than a group of different courtiers). It

was not possible to take into consideration the placement of individuals to the left or right of the

central figure in a scene because, as discussed previously, some of the compositions on Justin

Kerr’s Maya Vase Database have been flipped. Neither did the author consider whether an

individual was placed high or low in a scene because in most cases the k’uhul ajaw was the

highest positioned individual in a scene (though in some instances such as K8526 [Figure 5.23],

the ruler is on a lower plane).

The results demonstrates that there is no garment or headdress that is restricted to only

central figures in a scene nor peripheral figures surrounding them (Figures 5.47 and 5.48).

Interestingly, the data also reveals that two garments in particular—loincloths and capes—appear

to have been worn more frequently by central figures than peripheral figures. It would be

expected that dress elements appear more frequently in peripheral spaces because there are

usually a greater number of individuals in these spaces. Indeed, every other garment and

headdress appears in greater quantity on individuals in the peripheral regions. Therefore, the

greater quantity of loincloths and capes on central figures is notable and indicates a pattern that

might be related to the identity of courtiers in the central spaces of royal court scenes.

What it might suggest is that these garments were considered appropriate clothing not

only for the highest authority of the court—the k’uhul ajaw—but also by the individuals in their

immediate intimate space. The latter may not necessarily have been individuals of higher rank
220
compared to those in the periphery (indeed they may have been assistants or subordinates), and

so the results do not necessarily reflect status, but it is an interesting pattern deserving of future

study. Future investigations of the relationship between pictorial placement and other dress

elements (perhaps even incorporating gesture and pose, akin to Virginia Miller’s [1981] study),

as well as the relationship between different dress elements themselves, may help to shed more

light on the identities of courtiers. Due to space and time constraints, such investigations are

beyond the scope of this thesis.

Courtly Dress

Having surveyed the dress elements worn by royal court members, some general trends can be

identified from the data. It is clear that textile garments such as male skirts and loincloths and

female sarongs and huipiles were strongly gendered and certain headdresses may also have been

gendered in some way. Other dress items, such as jewellery and ornamentation appear to have a

weaker connection with gender identity (or there is too small of a sample size to establish any

connections to gender) and may have instead been an indication of wealth or a method of

beautification. Items such as headdresses and neck ornamentation cannot be conceived of as

representing role identity within the court because there are numerous occasions that neither are

worn in courtly scenes.

The barrel-shaped vases, perhaps manufactured during the Tepeu 1 phase (A.D. 600-

700), do not show any unusual or unique dress elements that are not seen in other ceramic scenes

(Table 5.3). Consequently, little can be said at this time regarding specific elements of courtly

dress being more or less popular at certain times during the Late Classic period. All scenes

include representations of garments, head decoration, jewellery, and accoutrements that are worn
221
by individuals on ceramics with different forms and shapes. Future studies could try to identify

additional ceramics within the dataset that are diagnostic of Tepeu subphases. Consideration of

paste, and the type or variety of a ceramic may help to identify dress elements that are more or

less popular during certain periods of the Late Classic period.

Regarding a relationship between painting style and dress, the results demonstrate a fairly

distinctive pattern among Chama style ceramics. In addition to the lack of females in Chama

court scenes, they also lack individuals wearing animal hide, capes, and back pieces.

Furthermore, three headdress types (hat; head cloth; netted napkin) and one head embellishment

(stick bundle) are not represented in Chama court scenes. The absence of females is suggestive

that a different political strategy was adopted in this region, compared to the Ik’ region for

example, and that females were either absent from the court or were incorporated in a manner

that was not reflected in painted imagery. Perhaps the narrower repertoire of dress elements worn

in Chama courts is reflective of a smaller number of courtiers in the Chama region, or a different

set of ‘norms’ of dressing the body.

In addition to revealing potential regional trends, the data also reveal the sharing of

certain dress elements across different ceramic styles. The author recognized several scenes100 in

the dataset with two or more courtiers wearing several very similar dress items, such as BM

Am1930,F.1 (Figure 3.12) and ROM L962.66.9 (Figure 5.1). To demonstrate the sharing of dress

items, the author recorded the number of scenes in which the same headdress is worn by two or

more courtiers. As Figure 5.49 illustrates, each headdress is worn by at least two individuals on

one or more ceramic vases. It is interesting that Spangled Turbans are worn fairly regularly by

100
Panel-style and repetitive scenes are not considered with these scenes because they may have been intended to
represent the same individual and therefore similarity in dress is to be expected.
222
more than one courtier, especially since they do not appear in royal court scenes as frequently as

other headdresses.

While the sharing of dress items this may indicate evidence of homogeneity, there are

usually slight differences between dress elements that visibly set individuals apart from one

another. For example, the headdress of the five individuals in BM Am1930,F.1 (Figure 3.12) are

all spangled turbans, but only four are embellished with brush pens; only one is embellished with

a feather; and only one is embellished with a flower from which a fish is feeding. Furthermore,

not all individuals in the scene wear body paint and neither do they wear the same jewellery. On

ROM L962.66.9 (Figure 5.1), although all five individuals wear long skirts decorated with belts

or ties; masks around their eyes; and short necklaces with long counterweights or ties at the back

of the neck, only three wear napkin headdresses decorated with the same embellishment. One

wears a napkin headdress without the same embellishment while another individual is clearly

differentiated by his animal headdress embellished with feathers. Thus, court members likely had

the ability to wear similar dress to those around them, as well as combinations that differed from

those around them—suggesting some individuality in dress practices.

Consequently, the data reveals that members of the royal court were not dressed

completely homogeneously. While the most common garments worn in the court were short

skirts (for males) and sarongs (for females), there are occasions in which loincloths and huipiles

are also worn. Similarly, the most common forms of jewellery were short necklaces and

earspools yet there are occasions in which other types of jewellery are worn. Overall, the dress

elements worn by court members are not consistent. While there are examples of very similar

outfits on ceramics such as VMFA 82.131 (K1392 [Figure 2.11c]) and MNAE 4P-8/2 (Figure

5.20), it is far more common for court members to be dressed differently than the same.
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 However, it does not appear that courtly dress was completely heterogeneous (Rafaeli

and Pratt’s [1993] ‘random heterogeneity’). For this to be possible, there could be no examples

of court members in similar outfits or dress styles. It is clear from the visual imagery discussed

above that there are various occasions in which court members are dressed in a very similar, if

not identical, manner. This then leaves open the possibility that stratified homogeneity existed

within the court, perhaps associated with certain office roles (Rafaeli and Pratt’s [1993]

‘subgroups’).

A means of demonstrating whether certain dress items were associated with particular

court roles is to compare the dress worn by titled courtiers. If certain dress elements are

exclusive to courtiers with the same hieroglyphic title, a basis for stratified homogeneity and

potential subgroup uniforms can be made. Alternatively, if no patterns in dress appear among

titled courtiers, there is no basis for stratified homogeneity and this negates the possibility of

dress making certain roles or offices positions within the court salient. Unfortunately, there are

very few instances in which courtier titles appear on ceramics in the database. Five different

courtier titles appear on 14 different ceramics in the database (4 of which are provenienced—see

Table 5.13). The low number of courtier titles on ceramics is unsurprising, especially since

Jackson (2013) identified 200 instances101 in which courtly titles appear on ancient Maya

artefacts—only nine of which were on painted ceramics.102

101
Although her Ph.D. dissertation states that she compiled 219 examples (Jackson 2005).
102
All of these examples contained the aj k’ uhuun title. In addition, she lists two ceramic sherds, one with a ti’huun
title and the other with a sajal title, but it is not clear whether or not these are from painted vessels.
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Aj k’uhuun

This title is associated with 11 individuals on 9 scenes in the database (Table 5.13). Coe and Kerr

(1997: 92) identified a “wrap-around sarong bundled at the waist, which may extend to the knees

or even to the ankles” as part of the ‘uniform’ of aj k’uhuuns. This garment is identified as a skirt

rather than a sarong in this study, and it is clear that it garment is not limited to individuals with

this title because it is the most popular male garment worn within the court—even males with

different courtier titles wear this garment (see below). Coe and Kerr also claimed that aj

k’uhuuns had “short hair wrapped in a headcloth or a long bound hank of hair protruding from

the headcloth, and a bundle of sticks tied to the headcloth” (1997: 91- 92).

As discussed above, Coe and Kerr’s identification of a head cloth conflated it with a

napkin headdresses. While at least three, and possibly four, individuals with this title wear a

napkin headdress, two wear a head cloth. Other aj k’uhuuns wear a spangled turban and possibly

a zoomorphic headdress. This is much more in line with Reents-Budet (2001: 216), who

suggested that aj k’uhuuns usually wear the spangled turban. However, she also suggested that

they wear the net head scarf and there is no evidence that any aj k’uhuuns in the dataset wear this

headdress. It is also clear that only one of the aj k’uhuuns in the database wears a stick bundle

while another wears what could be considered a scribal tool in the form of a brush pen. Since not

all aj k’uhuuns wear scribal tools nor a head cloth/napkin, they cannot be considered a signifying

dress elements for this courtly title.

Baah Te’

This title appears on only two ceramics in the database. As Table 5.13 demonstrates, the

individuals who correspond to this role wear different dress elements. It has been suggested that
225
the baah te’ title is associated in some way with an individual at court who held a wooden staff,

perhaps a bailiff of some kind (Houston 2008). However, only the baah te’ on K6674 (Figure

5.50) holds a staff. Of the 28 other scenes in the dataset featuring an individual holding a staff,

10 feature individuals in an animal headdress and short skirt (similar to the individual on K6674)

yet differ in their jewellery and accoutrements. As the provenienced vase MNAE 11419 (K2695

[Figure 5.13]) demonstrates, staffs were also held by rulers and were therefore not limited to

individuals with the baah te’ title. Thus, neither the dress of baah te’ nor the objects they hold

appear to be unique to this courtly title.

Ch’ajoom

Individuals with this title have been associated with an outfit consisting of a leafed cloak and

bound hair with a tendril headband, though this combination of dress elements does not appear in

every scene with ch’ajooms (Scherer and Houston 2015). No instances of this title appear in the

author’s dataset, yet it may be possible to identify individuals with this courtly role based on

their dress. There are only two individuals who wear a leaf-like cloak in the dataset (K8526

[Figure 5.23]), one of whom is directly in front of an enthroned ruler and the other who carries

what appears to be a tribute bundle. Neither appear to wear the tendril headband that has been

associated with ch’ajooms, but instead wear a napkin headdress with embellishments and what

appears to be a zoomorphic headdress. It appears that both wear short skirts and similar, if not

identical, ear ornamentation. They both also appear to have long bound hair and one may even

wear ornamentation through their nose septum.

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Ch’ok

This title appears on only two ceramics in the dataset, as Table 5.13 demonstrates. Fortunately,

the title also appears in painted murals and the dress of these individuals can therefore be

compared (Table 5.14). It is clear that there is no one specific dress item worn by ch’oks, even in

scenes with a similar event (e.g. a dance). Although zoomorphic headdresses are common among

ch’ok dancers, they are not identical by any means. It is not surprising that there is no evidence

of a ‘uniform’ for ch’oks because the title relates to a royal or noble youth rather than an office

within the court. Interestingly, individuals 2 and 3 on the west wall of the Xultun mural (Saturno,

et al. 2015) appear to wear identical dress but are named as a ch’ok and sakun taaj, respectively.

This is an example of individuals with different courtly titles wearing the same dress.

Lakam

This title names three individuals on one ceramic in the database, as Table 5.13 demonstrates.

This is unsurprising because it has been identified on only a few polychrome vases from the

Peten region (Foias 2013: 119). Lacadena (2008) suggested that individuals with the lakam title

may not have formed part of the royal court, yet the dress that can be identified on the three

individuals with this title in the database is in no way different to the dress worn by other court

members (both with and without titles). This suggests that even if the lakams on K4996 (Figure

2.2) did not form part of the royal court, they appear to have been able to wear the same dress

elements as members of the court.

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Sajal

Despite this title being the most frequently recorded title in the Maya region (Jackson 2005) it

appears on only one ceramic in the database (Table 5.13). Fortunately, Miller and Brittenham

(2013: 122) have identified eight sajals, four of which are captioned by hieroglyphic texts

(figures 65, 69, 71, and 72), on the West Wall of Room 1 at Bonampak which can be used as a

comparison (Table 5.15). Miller and Brittenham (2013: 122) suggest that five of these (figures

65-69) wear sombreros. However, the element that has a similar shape to a hat instead seems to

be an attachment for a bunch of feathers. Each sajal at Bonampak has different designs on their

skirts; different forms of jewellery; different coloured headdresses; and different embellishments

on their headdresses.

Clearly, the sajals in the Bonampak murals and the sajal on the painted ceramic in the

author’s database do not wear the same dress elements and therefore do not demonstrate

evidence for any kind of stratified homogeneity in the dress of individuals with this courtly title.

The one female sajal at Bonampak (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 84) does not appear to show

evidence for a distinctive form of female dress nor evidence of a specific sajal outfit for females.

These results match the findings of Parmington (2003), who demonstrated that there was no one

dress element in monumental data that identified sajals, nor differentiated them from ajaws.

Baah tz’am

This title has been suggested to have a closeness to royalty (Miller and Brittenham 2013: 79),

perhaps translating as “head throne” (Houston 2008). Although this title is not present on any of

the ceramics in the author’s database, it is present in the murals in Structure 10-K 2 at Xultun in

Northern Guatemala (Saturno, et al. 2015) and in the Bonampak murals (Miller and Brittenham
228
2013: 79). Unfortunately, it is difficult to ascertain which figures the title is associated with in

the latter murals. Five scenes in the database show six un-named individuals in similar positions

to the baah tz’am in the Xultun murals, located behind throne cushions with only their head and

perhaps chest visible (Table 5.16). Reents-Budet (2001: note 18) records that Justin Kerr has

suggested these figures are the protector of the ruler, ensuring his safety in the face of any threats

or unforeseen circumstances. Clearly, such individuals on painted ceramics do not wear the same

dress as the individuals labelled with the baah tz’am title in the Xultun mural. While earspools

and necklaces are common among all individuals, they are of different styles and even use

different colours of body paint (both red and black).

Other Courtiers

A final means of using information from hieroglyphic texts is to compare the dress of individuals

with personal names in court scenes (Table 5.17). Not only can the similarities and differences

between the dress of named individuals on specific ceramics be compared, but the dress of the

same individuals on different ceramics can also be compared. It is clear that there are some

similarities between dress elements, yet there are still slight differences in colour, design, and

embellishments. In fact, there are consistently more differences in dress of named individuals in

the same scene than there are similarities. However, it is clear from looking at the same rulers on

different ceramics (e.g. Tayel Chan K’inich on IDAEH 206002/DPT009 and K4996 [Figure 2.2])

that they did not consistently wear the same types of dress.

It is also possible to see that neither named nor unnamed rulers do not wear specific items

of dress that other courtiers do not; rather, the differences in dress worn by rulers and other

courtiers is sometimes slight. For example, the dress of Ho’k’in Bat? VMFA 82.131 (K1392
229
[Figure 2.11c]) is almost identical to those around him, and the dress of the unidentified ruler on

MNAE 4P-8/2 (Figure 5.20) has few differences to the two attendants in front of him. Thus, the

suggestion that “the k’uhul ajaw often wears the most elaborate clothing” (Reents-Budet 2001:

213) is not supported by the data presented here. This suggests that individuals within the court

may have had access to a range of dress elements, regardless of their role, perhaps akin to having

a modern ‘wardrobe’.

The analysis of the dress of individuals with courtly titles and names presented in

hieroglyphic texts does not suggest that there was stratified homogeneity of dress within the

Maya royal court. Courtiers with the same title wear different dress, and individuals with the

same role (i.e. the k’uhul ajaw) also wear different dress. Thus, there was no one standardized

dress element, or combination of elements, worn by individuals with the same role or formal

office within the court. Even different ceramic scenes with hieroglyphic texts describing the

same activity (e.g. bloodletting) show individuals wearing both elaborate dress and minimal

dress (compare LACMA M.2010.115.12 [K1599, Figure 3.10] with MNAE T7B/7-37 [K2707,

Figure 3.13]).

In conclusion, while some dress elements were worn more frequently than others within

the court, there is no strong evidence to suggest that particular dress elements signalled

membership or roles within the court. Neither is there evidence of a completely homogenous

court dress nor a completely heterogeneous court dress. It would thus seem that dress did not act

as an automatic identifier of an individual’s role, nor perhaps membership, within the court. The

explanations for this are explored in the final chapter.

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 CHAPTER 6: DISCUSSION AND CONCLUSIONS

The final chapter brings the reader back to the original intention of this dissertation: an attempt to

understand the relationship between ancient Maya identities and dress through an analysis of

sartorial representations of members within the royal court. It should be remembered that the

results have been interpreted from an etic perspective, and are reliant on the accuracy of the

visual scenes used in the study. The discussion centers on the relationship between dress and

courtly identity by situating the results within the context of the Late Classic, and interpreting the

results using Rafaeli and Pratt’s (1993) model of organizational dress. The chapter also considers

the relationship between ancient and modern Maya dress, and concludes with a discussion of the

relationship between the representation of dress and the life history of painted ceramics. Overall,

the chapter demonstrates that dress is a useful means of examining the political nature of Maya

royal courts, though at present it cannot alone speak to all the identities of those within the court.

This is likely due to the fact that static painted representations of courtiers are at odds with the

fluidity with which they could change dress and shift their identities based on context and

audience. Role identities in particular were not static nor fixed but performed and therefore

different role identities were appropriate in different situations.

Dress and Courtly Identity

The results of the previous chapter demonstrate that dress in the ancient Maya royal court was

not homogeneous (there are 10 different types of headdress alone), and therefore does not lend

support to the presence of an overarching courtly uniform. The results also demonstrate that

individuals with the same office title, even in the same scene (and presumably the same court),
231
do not wear the same dress. Thus, there is no evidence for stratified homogeneity (following

Rafaeli and Pratt’s [1993] terminology) within the court nor evidence that dress made specific

courtly roles salient. Previous scholarship on courtly dress, which suggested there were “rigidly

codified uniforms” for certain members of the court (Coe 2001: 275), failed to compare the dress

of all courtiers and did not observe the widespread sharing of dress elements within the court.

This dissertation has demonstrated that to detect the presence or absence of uniforms within the

court, it is imperative to compare and contrast the dress of different courtiers.

Although it is clear that dress within the Maya court does not align with either complete

or stratified homogeneity, it cannot be described as exclusively heterogeneous either—despite

court members often demonstrating individuality in their dress. The similarity that does exist is

likely due to Maya courtiers choosing dress elements that align with their gender and elite

positioning within society—choices that were regulated by informal rules (or norms) that

percolate through society and reproduce the social order (Entwistle 2000; Rafaeli and Pratt 1993:

34). Dress within the Maya royal court is therefore similar to Craik’s (2005: 17) concept of an

‘informal uniform’, which are combinations of clothes that seek to construct the visible signs of a

unique identity but conform to informal rules that percolate through civil society. In adhering to

societal norms of dressing, Late Classic courtiers were offering an idealized view of society and

forgoing actions that were inconsistent with expectations (Goffman 1959).

In addition to social norms, Late Classic fashions likely influenced the dress worn within

the court as well. Understood to be a set of ideals or popular styles of dress, specific to a point in

time, these fashions dictated the manner in which dress was worn. For example, the results of the

analysis demonstrate that Chama-style royal court scenes lack a number of dress items seen in

other courtly scenes. As discussed in the previous chapter, this narrower repertoire may be
232
reflective of a smaller number of courtiers in the Chama region, or a different set of ‘norms’ of

dressing the body. Alternatively, it may be that the fashion in the Guatemalan highlands was

understood as the wearing of specific headdresses and garments, which is reflected in the

narrower range of items seen in the visual imagery. Since the Chama ceramic style stands out, it

is worthy of further exploration. The analysis of dress on other Chama-style ceramics, and the

consideration of archaeological evidence from the Chama region, would help to supplement the

existing data and hopefully provide further insight into the royal courts of this region.

Any changes in fashion during the Late Classic period are likely to be too subtle for

modern eyes to distinguish from visual imagery, especially painted ceramics. Although the Maya

did not have the ability to change the fabrics, forms, or colours of their dress as effortlessly as we

can today, it was possible for them to create new fashions. However, with what was likely a

fairly minimal personal stock (akin to the idea of a modern ‘wardrobe’), the pace of fashion was

probably much slower in the Maya region than it is today and the ancient Maya may not have

been constantly striving to change dress because of changing fashionable standards.

Overall, the representation of Late Classic courtly attire demonstrates that dress does not

automatically communicate information about all the identities of its wearers, because some

identities (such as gender) are visible while others (such as courtly office) appear to be invisible.

Tseëlon (2012: 121) was correct to be critical about the acceptance of a straightforward

relationship between dress and identity. Dress has various functions and significance, including

identity, protection, and beautification (Joyce 2000a: 13).

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Which elements of courtly dress are semiotic signs of identity?

A semiotic approach to dress has been criticized because of the disparity that can exist between

wearer and viewer, and the restrictive attitude that it can introduce. Nevertheless, the Piercian

model has been applied to the study of material culture and scholars such as Barthes (1983) have

attempted to investigate dress in a semiotic manner. Keeping in mind the restrictions that a

semiotic model can bring to the analysis of identity through dress, it is useful to analyze the data

for evidence of semiotic signs of identity within the Maya court.

Garments that appear to be symbolic signs of female gender are the huipil and sarong,

while loincloths appear to be symbolic signs of male gender (as discussed in Chapter Two, skirts

are worn by females in other contexts outside those of Late Classic painted ceramics and were

therefore not restricted to males). Other garments including animal hide, mantle, and cloak may

also be symbolic signs of male gender since they are not worn by females in royal court scenes

(though this may be a result of the small number of scenes in which females appear).

The colour of a garment, as well as the material from which it was manufactured and its

decoration, were likely symbolic signs of status. For example, motifs such as the diamond may

have been symbolic representations of the landscape or cosmos (Morris Jr. 1985c: 317) and

therefore signified that an individual held an important status within society. It is assumed that

class distinctions were marked by differences in the amount or type of decoration on a garment,

as well as the material from which it was made (Altman and West 1992: 33). However, due to

the lack of archaeologically recovered examples, it cannot be determined whether decoration in

Maya art is generally representative of physical garments. Neither can colour and material be

confidently interpreted from painted ceramic scenes. Consequently, many symbolic signs related

234
to garments are likely to remain conjecture and others will be lost to modern observers who do

not have the cultural knowledge of these signs.

As well as the material from which a garment was made (i.e. cotton or maguey), the

material from which other dress elements were manufactured were also likely symbolic signs of

status. For example, jadeite is a geologically restricted material for much of the Maya region and

access to large quantities likely indicated high status. The colour of jadeite itself is known to

have been imitated, as the strands of clay beads covered in blue-green in the burials of Rulers 3

and 4 at Piedras Negras demonstrate (Escobedo and Houston 1997: 221; Scherer 2015: 63-65).

Unfortunately, it is incredibly difficult to correctly interpret materials from Late Classic painted

ceramics because it has been demonstrated that there may not be a one-to-one correlation

between pigment choice and representation of dress (Magaloni-Kerpel 2006: 234; Nunberg

2012).

Other dress elements that likely functioned as symbolic signs can be identified in royal

court scenes, but it is difficult to relate them to courtly identity. For example, the animal

headdress was probably a symbolic sign of a way (spiritual companions) or animal protector

while birds and fish feeding of floral embellishments may have signified a court close to

important water routes (Coggins 1975: 520). Floral embellishments themselves may have been

symbolic signs of various significance including beauty and vitality (Stone and Zender 2011:

223). Yet, even where specific floral species can be recognized, it is difficult to achieve precise

symbolic significance. In the case of waterlilies for example, Coe and Kerr (1997: 96) claim that

they were related to literacy and scribes whereas Coggins (1975: 520) has suggested they may

have associations to the underworld. As Smith-Shank (2004: vii) explains, “we will never know

all of what any specific sign means for another person because their experiences, interests, and
235
habits will not be exactly the same as ours”. Some dress elements may have functioned as clear

semiotic signs of identity yet cannot be ‘read’ by eyes far removed in time and space from the

ancient Maya.

Other dress choices within the court may have been semiotic signs of activity rather than

courtly identity. For example, enthroned rulers do not wear animal hide, nor are they worn in

performance scenes or scenes categorized as ‘court members’. Therefore, perhaps they are

largely related to activities that took place outside of the court such as hunting or warfare.

Indeed, animal hides were recognized in scenes of hunting by Nicholas Hellmuth (1996) and

K680 (Figure 6.1) features an individual with a staff in a scene with captives. Since there are no

provenienced ceramics in the dataset with individuals wearing animal hides it is incredibly

difficult to determine whether they functioned to communicate an activity or identity. Another

dress element that may be a semiotic sign of activity is footwear. The majority of scenes which

feature individuals wearing footwear are performance scenes, which suggest they had a practical

aspect for protecting the feet during rigorous movement outside of courtly structures.

In conclusion, a semiotic approach to the study of courtier dress is a useful exercise but

cannot reveal the full range of identities within the royal court. Other considerations such as

performance and embodiment will help to reveal other identities (Butler 1990), and will lead to

an improved understanding of dress from a more dynamic and rounded perspective.

Why was complete homogeneity absent in Late Classic courtly dress?

Considering that dress within the Maya court appears to align with Craik’s (2005: 17) concept of

an ‘informal uniform’, whereby social norms and processes influence dress choices, it is

important to reflect on why homogenous dress was not imposed in the court. As Rafaeli and Pratt
236
(1993: 45-46) suggest, homogeneity in dress ensures that individual behaviour is driven by

organizational, rather than individual, goals, values, and priorities. By suppressing individuality

in this manner, the head(s) of an organization can control the behaviour of those at the bottom.

Since members of the court likely had family, social, and religious ties to the ruler, and not

simply economic ties, compliance was probably strong enough that it did not need to be

enforced. The lack of enforced homogeneous dress within the court also mirrors Inomata (2001a)

and Foias’ (2013) views that bureaucracy and its rules were undeveloped in Classic Maya

society.

A further consequence of homogeneous dress within an organization is that it minimizes

the possibility of confusing members of an organization with non-members (Joseph 1986: 67).

Painted ceramics with court scenes likely only circulated among elites, all of whom were

familiar with the court so there was no need to wear highly conspicuous clothing to identify

individuals as members of the court. In wider Maya society, the institution of the court, and

undoubtedly its members, was widely known and therefore did not require visual advertisement

of its existence through dress. Any interactions that took place between court members (while

acting in an official capacity) and those outside the court were likely regulated, with the identity

of the courtier known a priori. Although homogenous, and highly conspicuous, dress within an

organization can also affect the behaviour of non-members toward members (Bickman 1974), it

is likely that members of the court were respected members of society based on their social

position close to the k’uhul ajaw.

The lack of homogeneous dress is also likely associated to the function of the royal court.

Joseph (1986: 204) links the advent of the modern uniform to the emergence of highly

specialized institutions in Western society that serve fewer functions than before. The Maya
237
royal court served multiple functions within society, acting as the political nucleus of polities and

residential quarters for the royal family, foreign dignitaries, and other visitors. The variability in

court organizations across the Maya realm likely allowed courts to be flexible and adjust to

changing circumstances. The lack of homogeneous dress therefore reflected their “hybrid”

function in Maya society (McAnany 2013: 230).

Another reason for the lack of complete homogeneous dress within the Late Classic

Maya court is likely the power struggles that existed during this period (Sharer and Golden 2004:

41). Foias and Emery (2012: 11) explain that rulers liked relied on the elite class to administer

the political affairs of the state, and because these elites had their own power base (social,

economic, etc.) they were not solely dependent on the ruler for power. Courtiers were accessing

resources, wealth, and power that had previously been restricted to the ruler, and perhaps

dressing independently (yet, as discussed below, within social boundaries) signified

an individual's ability in decision-making strategies and their power independent of the ruler. In

modern organizations, homogeneous dress has been imposed as a means of symbolizing an

egalitarian culture (Grey 2013: 66; Hodder 1987). Within the context of the Late Classic power

struggle and courtiers vying for authority, the imposition of homogeneous dress may not have

been possible.

If the absence of homogeneity in dress is a reflection of unwillingness to dress identically

to other courtiers, or even the ruler, this may be a salient clue to the growing tensions within the

court and the sharing of power between court members at this time. If a decision to adopt some

shared dress elements (e.g. the headdresses on BM Am1930,F.1 [Figure 3.12]) was taken, this

might have been a visual means of communicating a system of lateral power sharing to

demonstrate that ancient Maya society was not truly centralized. However, this does not
238
automatically mean that courtiers were using dress to enhance their status. Rafaeli, et al. (1997:

31) discovered that employees in a modern organization without homogeneous dress codes were

not using dress to improve their career nor advance in the organization. It is equally possible that

Maya courtiers did not conceive of dress as a means to advance their position within the court.

Why was stratified homogeneity absent in Late Classic courtly dress?

Based on the representation of courtly dress, there is no compelling evidence to suggest that

subgroups within the court (i.e. those performing the same role or holding the same office) wore

visually similar dress nor identical dress akin to a uniform. While there are specific dress

elements that appear on a more regular basis than others (e.g. the napkin headdress), it is clear

they are worn by individuals of different genders and by individuals with different office titles.

Thus, completely stratified homogeneous dress did not exist within the royal court during the

Late Classic, likely because the Maya did not conceptualize dress solely as a marker of role

identity. Rafaeli and Pratt (1993) associate stratified homogeneity with organizations that value

divisions of labour and emphasize distinctions between individuals. In modern organizations,

shared values dispel the need for large hierarchies of managers to oversee and enforce the

workforce (Grey 2013: 62). Since it is probable that many of the individuals within the court had

some shared values or mutual interests, there is likely to have a high degree of motivation and

commitment from courtly members. Therefore it is probable that the Late Classic court did not

operate as an organization with structured hierarchical distinctions.

This aligns with Jackson’s (2005: 598) observation that “the class distinction between

royalty and courtly elites was not marked absolutely, and was less salient in understanding high

status identity.” Indeed, she instead suggested that because courtly offices were flexible and
239
interchangeable, the status identities of rulers and courtly elites blended into one another so that

an absolute division between the two cannot be made (2005: 599- 600). Since courtiers in the

Late Classic did not have static roles, mirroring the fluidity and adaptability of the court itself, it

is likely that the lack of stratified homogeneity reflected this; in other words, salient markers of a

specific office were unnecessary because courtiers held more than one office. In this manner, it is

possible to suggest that role identity was not a fixed category of being but was instead more akin

to an identity that was performed (Butler 1990).

Another effect of homogeneous dress is that it increases the validity and legitimacy of an

individual’s role within an organization (Rafaeli and Pratt 1993: 46). Courtiers with specific

titles may not have worn dress to make their role legitimate because the legitimacy did not

necessarily rest on dress. As Burke and Stets (2009) have suggested, role identity is verified by

what one does, not who one is. However, identity is also contingent on context; what an

individual embodies, knows, learns, or experiences in a certain context can affect or determine

their identity. Furthermore, some identities are culturally ascribed or pre-determined.

Consequently, it may have been a courtier’s actions, the context of their position within the

court, or their ascribed identity that verified their role within the court (rather than what they

wore).

This is not to say that the Late Classic Maya did not associate dress with certain roles in

society. It is clear that specific dress items such as masks were used as devices to indicate that

the wearer has assumed a particular role. Indeed, “in the art of the Classic period, rulers are

costumed to represent the god of the specific ritual being celebrated” (Danien 1997: 42). Perhaps

large, extravagant, dress (aligning more with a costume than everyday dress) was conceived of

240
having transformational abilities and was used for ceremonial or ritualistic occasions to

demonstrate the adoption of an identity other than the wearer’s own.

Why was complete heterogeneity absent in Late Classic courtly dress?

Late Classic courtiers appear to have had access to a range of dress elements, regardless of their

role, perhaps akin to having a modern ‘wardrobe’. Yet the repertoire of Late Classic Maya dress

was certainly not completely heterogeneous either. Rafaeli and Pratt (1993: 42- 43) suggest that

random heterogeneity of dress reflects organizations that are flexible, innovative, and adaptive to

their environment. The lack of enforced homogeneous dress in the court may have enabled its

members to become more fluid and creative in their decision-making processes, reflecting the

adaptive nature of the court itself. Yet the lack of complete heterogeneity may reflect the social

identities of courtiers; Burke and Stets (2009) reason that social identity is based on membership

in certain groups, leading individuals to view themselves as embodiments of group prototypes

and thus de-personalizing themselves. Heterogeneity in dress may have been at odds with

courtiers’ identification of themselves as members of the court.

Social norms also influenced the choice of dress within the court—demonstrating lack of

complete freedom and therefore lack of complete heterogeneity. The most important social norm

appears to have been covering sexual features of the human body. Every member of the court is

dressed in a manner that covers, at minimum, the sexual features of their body. Even scenes with

male prisoners almost always represent them with loincloths to cover their sexual features (see

K5850 for an exception). Thus, while dress may be extremely minimal within court scenes it was

obviously considered socially unacceptable to be devoid of garments. The contrast between daily

dress and ceremonial dress was recognized as early as 1931 by Mary Butler. Dress in painted
241
ceramic scenes may not cover as much of the body as dress on monuments because the focus on

the latter appears to have been ceremonial dress (or costume) rather than everyday dress (Taylor

1983: 16). However it is clear from all Maya art that while in the public ‘front region’ (Goffman

1959) the body needed to be dressed in an acceptable manner, influenced by the norm of being

clothed.

The choice of garment was another important social norm: it was acceptable for females

to wear sarongs and huipiles but, since males are never dressed in these garments, it was not

acceptable for males to do so. These were norms that extended beyond the court; as Rafaeli and

Pratt (1993: 40) explain, “standards of dress…in the broader social environment are likely to

have some effect on dress in an organization because organizations are open systems that are

influenced by their environment.” By adhering to these wider social norms, ancient Maya

courtiers reproduced an idealized view of society and were able to communicate their gender

identities. Another norm that may have been restricted to elite courtiers was dressing in items

manufactured from exotic and expensive materials. By adhering to this norm, elite courtiers

ensured that their high status was communicated through dress. While lower status individuals

may have had access to these materials, it may not have been a socially accepted norm for non-

elites to wear elaborate or expensive dress.

Ancient Dress vs. Modern Dress

While there have been significant societal changes in the Maya region from ancient to modern

times, there remains a recognizable connection between past and present dress styles. It is clear

from the survey of courtly dress that ancient huipiles have the closest association to their modern

counterparts in both form and association to female gender identity. Although the skirt does not
242
appear as a female garment in royal court scenes, it is worn by females in other instances (as

discussed in Chapter Three) and therefore was likely associated with both males and females

among the ancient Maya. However, this garment is no longer related to male gender among the

modern Maya and has therefore altered its dual-gender association to a single gender association.

Perhaps after a church decree in the colonial period forced men to adopt pants (Morris Jr.

and Karasik 2015: 48-50), skirts lost their place in the repertoire of male attire but continued to

be worn by females. This speaks to the processes involved in creating new a cultural rule for a

relationship between skirts (the signifier) and female gender (the signified), thereby excluding

male gender. Clearly, the association between a garment and a specific gender identity in the

Maya region is cultural and demonstrates that garments in their basic form are neither iconic nor

indexical signs of gender (though it is possible for design motifs to be iconic or indexical if they

resemble or are directly connected to gender in some way). Thus, the form of ancient and

modern Maya dress may be similar but their symbolic connections to identity are likely to have

changed over time.

There is also a clear relationship between ancient and modern manufacturing practices.

Many modern Maya textiles, like their ancient counterparts, are woven on a backstrap loom and

this has enabled garments such as the huipil to retain their basic shape through time. Pancake

(1991: 46-47) suggests that the un-tailored shape of Maya dress “instantly marks the wearer as

being “of Indian space”…it implies an acknowledgement of the Indian/non-Indian ethnic

boundary and an explicit association with one group.” Consequently, by maintaining the tradition

of wearing loose garments and not conforming to the Western tradition of fitted clothing, the

modern Maya are able to visually and spatially mark their identity.

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 The decision to preserve the practice of weaving textiles on the backstrap loom, despite

the introduction of the treadle loom, also suggests that there are benefits to its use. Holsbeke

(2003: 29) explains that the backstrap loom allows weavers more creative free reign than the

treadle loom, resulting in a fluid arrangement of design motifs. It is also lightweight, portable,

and significantly smaller that a treadle loom. Certain indigenous communities may also have

strong community ties to loom weaving. The continuity of use of the backstrap loom is also

likely due to its symbolic association with fertility and creation (Arathoon 2007: 8-9; Greene

2009: 35). Holsbeke (2003: 34) suggests that the loom, acting as the metaphorical ‘tree of life’

and linking a weaver to the ancestors and place of creation, ensures the existence and

regeneration of the Maya for the present and future. This association with fertility, by which the

Maya associate cloth to the vitality of maize agriculture (Carlsen 2003: 139), is another reason

for the endurance of weaving through the ages. Like maize, Carlsen (2003: 139) argues, cloth is

a strong ethnic indicator of being Maya.

In addition to preserving manufacturing techniques, knowledge of these techniques are

also being preserved. As discussed in the previous chapter, representations of sarongs on Classic

Maya ceramics illustrate panels of plain or coloured fabric between a width of cloth—likely the

result of stitching cloth together to produce the desired size and shape of a sarong. The technique

of joining separate pieces of cloth to form a whole garment was also used for the manufacture of

huipiles. Interestingly, Greenfield (2004: 104) has identified modern Zinacantec huipiles,

manufactured from a single piece of material, with decorative embroidery that reference an older

techniques of stitching together three pieces of cloth. Since the embroidery is not necessary, but

is purposely added to replicate the joining of cloth, she suggests that “they preserve one of the

rules defining a Zinacantec blouse” (Greenfield 2004: 104). In this manner, homage is paid to the
244
traditional manufacturing practices of Maya textiles and these decorative designs are helping to

preserve knowledge of such practices. It reinforces the symbolic important of textile manufacture

and the importance in the act of creating textiles. Indeed, as a meaningful and embodied

experience, the chaîne opératoire of producing textiles is intimately linked to the body and

identity (Dobres 1999). Preserving the knowledge behind their creation is thus likely an

important means for the creation and strengthening of certain social and personal identities

among the Maya.

Other dress elements have also been preserved through the years and appear in the

repertoire of modern Maya dress. One such example is head decoration, particularly the use of

bands of cloth to decorate the hair. This practice likely stems from the ancient use of material to

bind or tie the hair (e.g. MNAE T7B/7-37 [K2707]). Carlsen (2003: 145) has identified a

similarity between the halo-like wrappings of long cloth around the head worn by females in

modern Maya communities (Figure 3.5) with Classic period versions worn at Copan (e.g. see

those worn on Copan Altar Q [Schele and Freidel 1990: Figure 8.3]).

Another similarity between ancient and modern dress is its importance as a form of

currency. As discussed in Chapter Three, dress acted as a form of material wealth in Pre-

Columbian times and certain items acted as currency. Although textiles may no longer be given

as forms of official tribute payment (Neutze de Rugg 1981: 35), and coinage and banknotes have

replaced beads as currency (Tozzer 1966 [1941]: 95), Maya textiles still form an important

economic component of many indigenous people’s incomes. Weaving cooperatives such as Sna

Jolobil (Morris Jr. 1986: 59) and organizations such as TRAMA103 have become very successful

103
http://tramatextiles.org/
245
ventures for the market in traditional weavings, and have provided a means for weavers to

receive an income through practice of their craft (Schevill 1997: 141). The sale of textiles by

indigenous weavers is a practice seen elsewhere in Central America, such as in Oaxaca (Stephen

2005; Wood 2008).

Despite many similarities between ancient and modern Maya textiles, their colour and the

quantity and nature of their designs have changed significantly through time as a result of the

proliferation of synthetic fibres and accessibility to new sources of design (Schevill 1997: 137).

As has been discussed throughout this dissertation, the connection between ancient and modern

design symbolism cannot be affirmed. Morris Jr. (1985b: 67) explains that this is because there

are too few surviving textiles from the Classic period to form a statistically valid sample, which

inhibits a relationship between ancient and modern design motifs from being established.

Scholars such as Arathoon (2007: 23), Looper (2004: 52), and Morris Jr. (1986: 57) have

questioned the search in design continuity through time, suggesting that some similarities in

motifs may be no more than aesthetic choice and their symbolism is likely to have changed

through time. Ethnographic and ethnohistoric evidence has also revealed that the quest for

regionalism in ancient dress may also be misguided. As discussed in Chapter Three, the

regionalism in traje for which modern Maya communities are known appears to have been a

development in recent centuries.

Consequently, modern dress practices cannot be simply transposed onto the past and

must be considered as separate, though related, traditions to those of the ancient Maya. As

Polanco and Arathoon (2003: 48) note, “like any cultural dimension, Maya weaving is a product

of continuity and change.”

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 As well as changes in textiles, there have been many other changes in dress practices

between the ancient and modern Maya. For example, the practice of wearing large headdresses

(except perhaps the adoption of modern cowboy-style hats by men) has largely disappeared from

the repertoire of modern Maya dress, as has the practice of wearing body paint and modifying

the shape of the head. Similarly, seemingly exotic and expensive materials such as jadeite and

quetzal feathers do not regularly make their appearance in modern Maya outfits. Importantly,

while it seems that the practice of piercing the ear to hold varied types of ear ornamentation was

an almost universal practice among Maya courtiers, ear ornamentation is far from a universal

practice among the modern Maya. These results demonstrate that differing ways of modifying

and shaping the body via dress practices exist among the ancient and modern Maya, which

brings into consideration for future research changing conceptions of the relationship between

the body and dress over time.

Dress and the Life Histories of Painted Ceramics

“The interpretations based on these (pictorial) vessels are to some degree tautological for they

cannot be confirmed by archaeological data. Any interpretations of the meaning of an

undocumented vessel can only be speculation, for the total context in which the vessel was

situated is not known” (Chase 1985: 194)

The above quotation calls into question the validity of a study based largely on the analysis of

painted scenes from unprovenienced ceramics. Yet, the incorporation of provenienced ceramics

and the effort to identify inauthentic representations strengthens the conclusions that are made

using such data and demonstrates a careful and thoughtful analysis of potentially problematic
247
artefacts. While the reader should keep the above quotation in mind when reading this final part

of the discussion, they should also recognize that the author has made every attempt to ensure

that the discussion and conclusions are based on sound data.

This dissertation encourages readers to think not only about the communicative potential

of ancient Maya dress, and the relationship between dress and identity in the court, but also the

social lives of the ceramics themselves (Appadurai 1986; Just 2012). In doing so, it encourages

the reader to consider not simply the images painted onto their surfaces but the processes and

events that were involved in their application. The author is aware that a study of dress within the

court is possible without physically viewing any painted ceramics in person. However, a desire

to understand the original artists’ hand; their methods of representation; and the intimate viewing

methods necessary for observing royal court scenes, led to a research design that involved

assessing Maya ceramics in person.

Time spent analyzing ceramics in museum collections allowed for an improved

understanding of the method of original paint application and later restorations. This allowed for

an appreciation of the original artist’s intent, as well as the intent of a modern restorer or artist.

Although it has been suggested that “the idea of artistic independence is alien to the Maya artist”

(Looper and Tolles 2000: 36) and “individual taste and creative expression had to be

subordinated to the imperative of communication” (Schele and Miller 1986: 41), the author

believes that Late Classic Maya ceramic artists represented dress in a fluid manner and did not

adhere to strict rules. Instead, there were many subtle variations within ceramic scenes that

illustrate artists maintained individual choice in their representational techniques—particularly as

it applies to dress. This aligns with the opinion of conservator Sarah Nunberg, who worked

closely with a range of Late Classic ceramics for the exhibition Dancing into Dreams: Maya
248
Vase Painting of the Ik’ Kingdom (Just 2012). Nunberg observed a fluidity in the painting

technique of Maya artists and found no strict order or sequence of paint application (Nunberg

2012: 227- 228). It is important to remember that the artists who painted the surfaces of ceramic

vessels were themselves very familiar, both visually and sensually, with the dress that they

represented. This familiarity no doubt enabled a creative process whereby they may have relaxed

or even exaggerated certain dress items at times; they did not adhere to strict methods of

representing components of ceramic scenes such as dress.

This suggests that if polychrome ceramics were indeed products of attached

specialization to the court (as discussed in Chapter Two), there may have been a lack of direct

control over the manner in which artists represented contents of painted ceramic scenes. This

view aligns with Houston and Inomata (2009: 268-269), who consider artisans to be active

players competing in court, and competing for power. They do not appear to have been

powerless craftspeople attached to patrons, unable to produce artworks that were creative and

expressive of the artist’s intentions. While they may have been sponsored and managed by

powerful elites, their artistic products do not seem to have been exclusively managed by their

patrons. The ability to innovate is reflective of the flexible and adaptive nature of the court itself.

As well as understanding the methods by which Maya artists applied dress to painted

scenes, it is important to consider their intentions. As discussed in Chapter Four, in some

instances exaggerations of wealth may have influenced the representation of dress. Painted

scenes are therefore unlikely to always contain accurate representations of dress elements. Yet

ceramic scenes were only intended to be ‘read’ by certain individuals and this undoubtedly

influenced the manner in which they were painted. As modern viewers, we were not intended to

read and interpret these painted ceramic scenes; we are not the intended audience of these
249
ancient artworks. It is probable that the contents of the scenes contain sacred knowledge, perhaps

so subtle that individuals far removed in space and time cannot see nor interpret it.

Consequently, some of the interpretations made in this dissertation may be inaccurately decoded

because of disparity between intended messages and perceived messages (Tseëlon 2012).

Another difficulty in the interpretation of painted scenes involves the comparison of dress

across different ceramics due to the variation in quality, style, and preservation. For example,

one of the most difficult headdresses to categorize was the Spangled Turban. Only in very few

instances does it appear as a large, bulbous, headdress worn apart from any embellishments. The

same material(s) that appears to have been the foundation of this headdress are used to embellish

other types of headdresses and were classified accordingly as embellishments rather than stand-

alone headdresses. The author feels that it is likely the Spangled Turban headband with sphere-

like elements is one and the same as the Spangled Turban, but is represented differently.

Comparisons of dress elements across a wide range of ceramics has enabled the

recognition of what are likely to be the same artists however. For example, the dress of the

leftmost individual on LACMA M.2010.115.12 (K1599 [Figure 3.10])—particularly the ear

ornamentation— is almost identical to that of the ruler on DYM 78.41 (K625 [Figure 5.35]).

Thus, just as Justin and Barbara Kerr (1988) were able to recognize Maya vase painters by

studying details such as the manner of painting eyes and hands, the representation of dress

elements has the potential to reveal ceramics painted by the same artist.

The inevitable outcome of a method that prioritized in-person analysis was a recognition

of the impact of modern restorations, fakes, and forgeries on visual representations of ancient

Maya dress. Studying minute details of dress with the naked eye or under a microscope is an

incredibly effective method to assess the authenticity of painted ceramics. The author identified
250
several instances in which modern restorers or artists introduced fallacious forms of dress, which

have the potential to mislead if they are interpreted as authentic. The author therefore regards

dress as significant means of understanding not only ancient Maya identity but also the

authenticity of royal court scenes. It is essential that authenticity of a scene is considered prior to

any interpretations being formulated from it. This dissertation can only go so far in discussing

authenticity of Maya art and urges other scholars to study the authenticity of ceramics, so that

future researchers can confidently interpret their painted scenes. As Justin Kerr has suggested:

“don’t take everything at face value. Study it, make sure you’ve got it right” (Kerr and Kerr

2013).

Although some scholars may criticize this research for potentially exposing inauthentic

ceramic scenes or inauthentic representations of dress, and may suggest that this will allow

modern artists to improve their methods of deception in the production of fakes and forgeries,

this is not the intention of the dissertation. The author hopes that the main outcome is the

increased scholarly knowledge of ancient Maya dress and its relation to courtly identity.

Dress is a powerful cultural mechanism that people today and in the past adopt for various effect

and purpose, and ‘reading’ it accurately requires carefully study and analysis. It is hoped that this

research provides a framework that can be used to improve the understanding of Maya dress by

future scholars. The results presented here could be extended to include compositional analysis

of royal court scenes, examination of pose and gesture within the court, or even comparison with

other media such as sculpture and figurines. Such studies would allow for examination of dress

on a wider, more comparative, scale and may reveal additional information about the relationship

between dress and identity among the ancient Maya. Forthcoming studies of Maya dress will
251
hopefully explore its phenomenological and somatic effects, and its role as an independent agent.

Rafaeli and Pratt’s (1993) model could also be applied to neighbouring cultural groups, creating

a cross-cultural understanding of organizational dress within ancient Mesoamerica. Ultimately,

the study of dress provides great potential for an understanding of societies past and present.

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Ceramic Patron Site Ruler Site
BM Am1930,F.1 Aj Sihyaj Nebaj?
DAM 2003.1 (K2914) Lady Naab-Nal Rio Azul
DO PC.B.564 (K2784) Tali’ K’in Chahk La Florida? K’ej? Ti Chan / Tali’ K’in Chahk Motul de San José ? / La Florida?104
IDAEH 206002/ DPT009 Tayel Chan K’inich/ K’awil Chan K’inich? Motul de San José / Dos Pilas
KAM 1985.10 (K1452) Yajawte’ K’inich Motul de San José Yajawte’ K’inich Motul de San José
K2573 Tayel Chan K’inich Motul de San José Tayel Chan K’inich Motul de San José
K4120 Yajawte’ K’inich/ Yete' K'inich? Motul de San José
K4996 Ix Ha’al?-jut Puch Xultun Tayel Chan K’inich Motul de San José
K5418 K’inich Lamaw Ek’ Motul de San José Chan Yopaat La Florida
K8889 Yajawte’ K’inich Motul de San José
LACMA M.2010.115.12 (K1599) K’awiil Chan K’inich Dos Pilas K’awiil Chan K’inich Dos Pilas
LRMF 1.2.159.53 Sihyaj K’awiil Motul de San José
MMC El Señor de Petén Aj Yax Tohlook Sak Ho’ok El Señor de Petén?
MFA L-R 394.1985 (K1728) K’inich Lamaw Ek’ Motul de San José K’inich Lamaw Ek’ Motul de San José
MFA 1988.1170 (K558) Ho-k’in-bat ?
MFA 1988.1177 (K1439) Yajawte’ K’inich Motul de San José
MFA 2009.318 (K1463) Yajawte’ K’inich Motul de San José K’inich Lamaw Ek’/ Yajawte’ K’inich Motul de San José
MNAE 11418 (K2697) K’awiil Chan K’inich Dos Pilas
MNAE 11419 (K2695) Yax Nuun Ahiin II Tikal
MSM 117A-1 (K8008) Yik’in Chan K’awiil Tikal Yik’in Chan K’awiil Tikal
NGA 82.2292 (K1453) Sihyaj K’awiil Motul de San José
NGV 2002.221 Tayel Chan K’inich Motul de San José
VMFA 82.131 (K1392) Ho-k’in-bat ?
Table 2. 1. Ceramics with named patron and/ or ruler.

104
Houston (2012: 321) explains that it is not clear whether the emblem glyph associated with Tali’ K’in Chahk is that of La Florida or Itzimte and Just (2012:
74) explains that K’ej? Ti Chan is son of the Ik’ ruler White Bird. Therefore this individual may be associated with Motul de San José.
253
 Artist Signature Associated with/ Patron Ceramic
Aj Ik’ Tun Jasaw Chan K'awiil, Tikal MFA 2004.2204 (K5453)
Akan Suuts’ K'awiil Chan K'inich, Dos Pilas LACMA M.2010.115.12
(K1599)
Kuluub Tali' K'in Chahk, Ik’ polity DO PC.B.564 (K2784)
Sak Mo’ Jasaaw Chan K'awiil, Tikal MJAV 17.2.1.543
Tubal Ajaw Yajawte' K'inich, Motul de San José MFA 2009.318 (K1463)
Tubal Ajaw K’inich Lamaw Ek’, Motul de San José K5418

Table 2. 2 Ceramic scenes with artist’s names in the text.

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 Ceramic Style Characteristics
Chama Yellow or orange background; black and white chevron band around
rim and/or base; white, red, and black palette; glyphs are usually
minimal or pseudo; ceramics are usually short in height
Fenton White or cream background; red band around rim and base, coupled
with a thin black line; palette is mainly white, red, and black;
representation is fairly naturalistic; glyphs are fairly predominate;
ceramics are usually short in height
Ik’ White or cream background; black coloured rims; scallop motif
sometimes inside rims; imagery is usually dense; the palette is fairly
broad; glyphs are predominate; ceramics are usually tall in height

Table 2. 3. Polychrome ceramic styles pertinent to this study.

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 Reents-Budet (2001) Foias (2013)

Royal visits Dances

Reception of tribute/ gifts Presentation/ sacrifice of captives

Consultation of codices Presentation of tribute

Marriage negotiations Small court reunions

Presentation of captives Adornment or preparation for ritual

Preparation for dance

Auto sacrifice or divination

Court banquet and drinking rites

Table 2. 4. Royal court events depicted on painted ceramics.

(as identified by both Reents-Budet and Foias).

256
 Museum Catalog Number
AMNH 30.3/2491 (K4019)*
DAM 1969.276 (K6610); 1976.48 (K5195); 1984.604; 2001.44; 2002.95; 2003.1
(K2914); 2005.146; 2005.147
De Young 78.41 (K625); 1986.67.5 (K5004)*; 2002.84.21 (K4959)
LOC KPC 0070 (K6316)
MFAH 86.410 (K6494)
NMAI 244314.000*, 248750.000*

Table 5. 1. Ceramics in the author’s dataset that were assessed in person by the author.
* indicates that the ceramic was assessed under UV light.

257
 Ceramic Assessment
AMNH 30.3/ 2491 (K4019) Assessed 25 February 2015. Weight and size consistent with
authentic ceramics, as is the appearance of the paint. Restoration is
limited to adhesion of one crack. UV inspection did not indicate any
other restorations.
DYM 1986.67.5 (K5004) Assessed 20 April 2015. Weight and size consistent with authentic
ceramics, as is the appearance of the paint. Restoration includes
minimal in-painting (restricted to repaired crack lines) and adhesion
of cracks. UV inspection did not indicate any other restorations.

Table 5. 2. Ceramics assessed in person and deemed to have authentic painted scenes.

258
 Ceramic Scene Garment Head Decoration Jewellery Accoutrement
K30118 Court gathering Loincloth; skirt Animal headdress; hat; napkin Earspool; necklace (long & None
(long & short) short)
K4120 Performance Loincloth; mantle; Feather; flower; hat; napkin; Earspool; nose ornamentation; Backpiece;
short skirt miscellaneous headdress shaped ear ornamentation;
footwear
wristlet
K5416 Court gathering Loincloth; sarong; Animal headband; hair tie; Earspool; short necklace Footwear
skirt (long & short); head cloth; head wrap
K5456 Court gathering Huipil; short skirt Feather; napkin; Earspool; nose ornamentation; Body paint;
miscellaneous headdress short necklace footwear

K6650 Captive presentation Loincloth; mantle Feather; hat; headband; Earspool; short necklace; None
miscellaneous headdress wristlet
K7062 Court gathering Loincloth; short Animal; animal headband; Earspool; short necklace; Body paint
skirt feather; flower; napkin; stick wristlet
bundle
K7716 Captive presentation Cape; short skirt Animal; feather; hat; Earspool; short necklace Body paint
miscellaneous headdress
K8721 Tribute presentation Short skirt Feather; flower; hair tie; Anklet; earspool; necklace (long Body paint
headband; miscellaneous & short); wristlet
embellishment
LACMA Tribute presentation Cape; loincloth; Animal headdress; flower; Earspool; material strip in ear; None
short skirt napkin headdress short necklace; wristlet
M.2010.115.330
(K4825)
Vase A-45 Court gathering Short skirt Flower; miscellaneous Earspool; short necklace; None
headdress wristlet

Table 5. 3. Dress elements worn in barrel-shaped vase scenes.

259
Ceramic Location of glyph Image
BM Am1930,F.1 Short skirt (1 individual)

LACMA M.2010.115.12 (K1599) Short skirt (1 individual)

LOC KPC 0070 (K6316) Huipil (1 individual)

K8889 Short skirt (1 individual)

MFA 1988.1176 (K764) Huipil (1 individual)

Loincloth (1 individual)

MFA 1988.1170 (K558) Short skirt (1 individual)

MNG 11418 (K2697) Headdress (1 individual)

ROM L962.66.9 Long skirt (2 individuals)

Tikal 4P-8/2 Cloak (1 individual)

Table 5. 4. Ceramics that have probable hieroglyphic signs or pseudoglyphs incorporated into
dress. 260
 Garment Definition

Cape A wide garment fastened around the front of the neck, covering the back
and shoulders, extending in some cases until just above the knees.
Cloak A wide garment tied around the neck, covering the back and shoulders,
extending past the knees.
Loincloth A thin garment, wrapped around the waist, extending past the knees at the
front and back of the body.
Mantle A garment fastened around the back of the neck, extending in some cases
past the knees. In some cases it is thin, only covering the chest, and in other
cases it is wide, covering the shoulders and chest.
Skirt- Flapped A wide garment wrapped around the waist, extending in some cases until
just above the knees. Has a distinctive shape of stepped ‘flaps’, which
appear to be a series of cuts into the fabric to create rectangular shapes.
Usually combined with a long tie or belt that extends until the knees or past
the knees. This long tie or belt is positioned at both the front and back of
the body, or on one side of the body only.
Skirt- Long A wide garment wrapped around the waist, extending past the knees.
Usually combined with a long tie or belt. This long tie or belt is positioned
at both the front and back of the body, or on one side of the body only.
Skirt- Short A wide garment wrapped around the waist, extending in some cases until
just above the knees. Usually combined with a long tie or belt that extends
until the knees or past the knees. This long tie or belt is positioned at both
the front and back of the body, or on one side of the body only.

Table 5. 5. Definitions of male textile garments.

261
 Ceramic Garment Head Decoration Jewellery Accoutrement
AIC 1969.239 (K2795) Huipil Headband Earspool; necklace
DAM 2003.1 (K2914) Sarong Headband/hair tie Earspool
GMCA G83.1.0129 (K6059) Sarong Hair tie Earspool Body paint
K2573 Huipil Feather; headband; stick bundle? Earspool; necklace; wristlet Body paint
K4030 Sarong Headband; misc. embellishment Earspool; necklace Body paint
K4356 Huipil Misc. headdress Earspool? ; necklace Body paint
K4996 Sarong Unclear headdress; hair tie Earspool’ necklace; wristlet Body paint
K5416 Sarong Hair tie Earspool
K5456 Huipil Hair tie Earspool; necklace Body paint
K5505 Sarong Misc. embellishment Earspool; wristlet
K5649 Huipil Napkin; feather Unclear Unclear (body paint?)
K7796 Sarong Hair tie Earspool; necklace Body paint
K8386 Sarong Hat Earspool?
K8526 Huipil Flower Earspool
LACMA M.2010.115.75 (K5062) Sarong Misc. embellishment Earspool; necklace Body paint
LOC KPC 0070 (K6316) Huipil Feather; flower; headband; misc. embellishment Earspool; necklace; wristlet Body paint; footwear
MFA 1987.718 Sarong Misc. embellishment Earspool; necklace; wristlet
MFA 1987.719 (K3035) Sarong Hair tie Earspool; necklace; wristlet Body paint
MFA 1988.1176 (K764) Huipil & Sarong Head cloth; misc. headdress; brush pen; feather; Anklet; earspool; necklace; Backpiece; body paint;
floral headband; stick bundle? wristlet footwear
MJAV 17.2.1.543 Sarong Unclear Unclear Body paint
MNAE 11419 (K2695) Huipil Hat; feather; misc. embellishment Earspool; necklace; wristlet Body paint; footwear
MNAE T7B/7-37 (K2707) Sarong Hair tie Earspool; wristlet Body paint

Table 5. 6. Ceramics with females, and their garment types.

262
 Ceramic Garment Head Decoration Jewellery Accoutrement
DAM 2003.1 (K2914) Short skirt Headcloth Earspool

LOC PC 0040 (K6341) Short skirt Napkin Earspool

LRMF 1.2.159.53 Loincloth Unclear Earspool? / necklace

MNAE 305007 Short skirt Unclear Unclear Unclear

KAM 1985.10 (K1452) Short skirt Unclear Earspool/ necklace

K5505 Short skirt Napkin Earspool/ necklace/ wristlet
K7516 Loincloth None Earspool?
K9101 Short skirt None Earspool
MAS.IB.2010.017.086 Short skirt Napkin/misc. headdress; curved Earspool/ necklace/ wristlet Body paint
(K1563) tool
MDM 1991/11/06 Loincloth Misc. headdress; feather Collar/ earspool
MVH Vase Short skirt Spangled turban Earspool? / necklace
NGA 82.2292 (K1453) Loincloth Headband Earspool/ necklace Decorated hair
TCMA 1990.181 (K5513) Short skirt Napkin Earspool
YPM ANT 235236 Short skirt Unclear Unclear Unclear

Table 5. 7. Ceramics with dwarves, and their dress type.

263
 Ceramic Garment Head Decoration Jewellery Accoutrement
K8774 Short skirt Napkin; flower/ sphere headband Earspool; necklace; Body paint
wristlet
MAS.IB.2010.017.086 [(K1563) Short skirt Napkin; stick bundle? Earspool; necklace Body paint
NGA 82.2292 (K1453) Short skirt Head cloth; stick bundle Material strip (in ear) Decorated (facial) hair

Table 5. 8. Ceramics with hunchbacks, and their dress type.

264
 Headdress Definition

Animal Head of an animal, such as deer or jaguar.

Balloon An oversized rounded headdress, usually at least twice as large as the head.
Hat A shaped head covering with a rigid form, appearing in a variety of shapes.
Head Cloth A short tubular headdress usually worn in a vertical manner atop the head,
covering the hair but not completely enveloping it.
Head Wrap A head covering that follows the shape of the head, often completely
enveloping the hair.
Napkin A long, tubular, headdress that is worn both in a tall, near-vertical, manner and
a long, near-horizontal, manner.
Netted Napkin A long or short tubular headdress with thin crossed lines reminiscent of netted
fabric.
Spangled Turban A bulbous headdress with sphere-like decorations, perhaps decorated with shell
disks or beads.
Zoomorphic An elaborate and unusual form with indications of animal features.

Table 5. 9. Definitions of headdresses.

265
 Embellishment Definition

Animal Headband A small animal head attached to the front of a head or headdress by a thin
band.
Hair Tie A piece of thin or thick material used to bind the hair in one or several places.
Headband A piece of thin or thick material worn around the forehead (or higher) and
back of the head, sitting atop the hair.
Sphere Headband A thin or wide headband with small sphere-like decorations, worn atop a
headdress.
Feather Plumage from a bird, often long and thin, attached to the head or headdress.
Flower Either a single floral attachment, sometimes in bud form, attached to the front
or back of a headdress or several flowers in a band around the base of a
headdress
Scribal Tools These include short, thin, horizontal layers stacked atop the head (‘stick
bundles’); long thin objects with a slight curve in the end (‘curved tools’);
elongated stems with floral buds (‘brush pens’); and oval ‘paint pots’.

Table 5. 10. Definitions of embellishments to the head and/or headdresses.

266
 Headdress Central Peripheral Total
Animal 39 43 82
Balloon 4 1 5
Hat 11 16 27
Head Cloth 25 49 74
Head Wrap 4 12 16
Napkin 90 155 245
Netted Napkin 6 18 24
Spangled Turban 20 33 53
Zoomorphic 20 10 30

Table 5. 11. Headdress frequency relative to the pictorial placement of individuals.

Garment Central Peripheral Total

Animal Hide 2 7 9
Cape 17 9 26
Cloak 11 23 34
Flapped Skirt 6 15 21
Huipil 2 4 6
Loincloth 68 63 131
Long Skirt 43 75 118
Mantle 5 16 21
Sarong 4 18 22
Short Skirt 196 290 486

Table 5. 12. Garment frequency relative to the pictorial placement of individuals.

267
 Title Ceramic Scene Textile Head Decoration Jewellery Accoutrement
Aj k’uhuun BM Am1930,F.1 Tribute Short skirt Spangled turban Necklace; earspool Scribal tool (brush pen)
presentation
Aj k’uhuun DO PC.B.564 Court gathering Short skirt Napkin headdress and Material strip in ear; Footwear?
(K2784) sphere headband necklace
Aj k’uhuun105 MMC ‘El Señor de Court gathering Short skirt Napkin? Earspool; necklace? Body paint
Petén’
Aj k’uhuun (n=2) IDAEH 206002/ Court gathering Short skirt Unclear; napkin Necklace
DPT009
Aj k’uhuun (n=2) KAM 1985.10 Performance Loincloth Zoomorphic? Anklet; collar; knee band; Body paint
(K1452) wristlet
Aj k’uhuun/ Ch’ok LRMF 1.2.159.53 Performance Short skirt Napkin headdress and Earspool
sphere headband
Aj k’uhuun MFA L-R 394.1985 Tribute Short skirt Headcloth Necklace Scribal tools (curved
(K1728) presentation tool; stick bundle)
Aj k’uhuun MFA 2009.318 Court gathering Unclear Headcloth Earspool
(K1463)
Aj k’uhuun MNAE 11419 Preparation Long skirt Spangled turban Earspool; necklace Body paint; decorated
(K2695) hair?
Baah Te’ DO PC.B.564 Court gathering Long skirt Misc. embellishment; Material strip in ear;
(K2784) feather necklace
Baah Te’ K6674 Captive Short skirt Animal headdress Necklace; unclear ear Facial hair
presentation ornamentation; wristlet
Ch’ok LACMA Court gathering Short skirt Napkin; feather; Necklace; shaped ear Body paint
M.2010.115.12 flower ornamentation; wristlet
(K1599)
Ch’ok LRMF 1.2.159.53 Performance Long skirt Napkin headdress and Earspool; necklace Body paint
sphere headband?
Lakam (n=3) K4996 Tribute Short skirt Headcloth; napkin? Unclear Body paint?
presentation
Sajal MFA L-R 394.1985 Tribute Short skirt; Headcloth Earspool Scribal tools (curved
(K1728) presentation cloak tool; stick bundle)
Table 5. 13. Ceramics with courtier titles, and the dress type of those courtiers.

105
Both Stuart and Jackson (2001) and Zender (2004) have identified two aj k’uhuun titles on this vase. One appears to correlate with the leftmost figure, the
dress of whom has been described here. The other title is located underneath the enthroned individual, and it is unclear whether this title correlates with this
individual or the individual to his right. The dress of the second aj k’uhuun has therefore not been described here.
268
 Title Context Scene Textile Head Decoration Jewellery Accoutrement
Ch’ok LACMA M.2010.115.12 Court Short skirt Napkin; feather; Necklace; shaped ear Body paint
(K1599) gathering flower ornamentation; wristlet
Ch’ok LRMF 1.2.159.53 Performance Short/ long skirt Napkin and sphere Earspool Body paint
(n=2) headband
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 1, Figure Dance Loincloth?; jaguar Zoomorphic Anklet; collar; earspool; wristlet Body paint
23 pelt
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 1, Figure Dance Loincloth?; jaguar Zoomorphic Anklet; collar; earspool; wristlet Body paint
25 pelt
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 1, Figure Dance Loincloth; jaguar Zoomorphic Anklet; collar; earspool; knee band; Body paint;
27 pelt wristlet backpiece
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 1, Figure Dance Long skirt Head cloth None? Stick bundle
44
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 1, Figure Dance Long skirt? Zoomorphic Anklet; unclear Unclear
62
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 1, Figure Dance Long skirt Zoomorphic Unclear Unclear
63
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 1, Figure Dance Long skirt? Zoomorphic Wristlet; unclear Body paint
64
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 2, Figure War Cape; unclear Hat Wristlet; unclear
61
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 2, Figure Presentation Jaguar pelt (as Animal headdress; Wristlet Trophy head
95 cape); short skirt feather; napkin?
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 2, Figure Presentation Jaguar pelt (as Animal headdress; Composite earflare; wristlet
96 cape); unclear feather
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 3, Figure Dance Loincloth?; panels Zoomorphic Anklet; collar; knee band; wristlet
16
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 3, Figure Dance Loincloth?; panels Zoomorphic Anklet; collar; knee band; wristlet
21
Ch’ok Bonampak Room 3, Figure Dance Loincloth?; panels Zoomorphic Anklet; collar; knee band
24
Ch’ok Xultun West Wall, Calendrical Loincloth? Miscellaneous Necklace? Body paint
Individual 2 ritual

Table 5. 14. Comparison of the dress worn by individuals labelled with the ch’ok title.

269
 Title Context Scene Textile Head Decoration Jewellery Accoutrement
Sajal MFA L-R 394.1985 Tribute Short skirt; cloak Head cloth Earspool Curved tool;
(K1728) presentation stick bundle
Sajal Bonampak Room 1, Performance Animal hide Napkin? Pectoral?; wristlet
Figure 65
Sajal Bonampak Room 1, Performance Animal hide Napkin?; misc. Earspool; necklace
Figure 66 embellishments
Sajal Bonampak Room 1, Performance Short skirt Feather; napkin; Earspool; necklace
Figure 67 jester band?
Sajal Bonampak Room 1, Performance Short skirt Animal headband; Earspool; necklace
Figure 68 feather; napkin
Sajal Bonampak Room 1, Performance Short skirt Feather; napkin; Earspool; necklace
Figure 69 jester band?
Sajal Bonampak Room 1, Performance Short skirt Napkin Necklace; shaped
Figure 70 ear ornamentation
Sajal Bonampak Room 1, Performance Short skirt Napkin Earspool; necklace Body paint
Figure 71
Sajal Bonampak Room 1, Performance Long skirt/ Head cloth Strip in ear;
Figure 72 animal hide? necklace; wristlet
Sajal Bonampak Room 2, Presentation Huipil Headband Earspool; necklace
Figure 98 (twisted)?

Table 5. 15. Comparison of the dress worn by individuals labelled with the sajal title.

270
 Context Scene Head Decoration Jewellery Accoutrement Others with same dress?
GMCA G83.1.0129 (K6059) Court gathering Head cloth Earspool; necklace Body paint Yes, except headdress
K3412 (n=2) Captive presentation Napkin Unclear Yes
K5450 Tribute presentation Napkin Earspool; necklace Yes, except necklace
NGA 82.2292 (K1453) Court gathering Napkin; stick bundle Earspool Yes
PUAM y1986-91 (K767) Captive presentation Netted napkin Earspool? Body paint Yes, except headdress
Xultun North Wall, Individual 8 Calendrical ritual Napkin Anklet?; ear spool No

Table 5. 16. Comparison of the dress worn by the individual labelled as baah tz’am in the Bonampak and Xultun murals, with
individuals in similar positions in ceramic scenes.

271
 Ceramic Individual(s) in Scene Individual(s) on Throne Similarities in Dress Differences in Dress
DO PC.B.564 (K2784) K’ej? Ti Chan; Tali’ K’in Chahk Body paint; head wrap; Body paint; ear ornamentation;
Ts’unun Bahlam; Ahk- stick bundle; short skirt headdress; necklace; skirt
? decoration
IDAEH 206002/ DPT009 Yax Hixil Tayel Chan K’inich Short skirt? Ear ornamentation; headdress?;
necklace?
K4996 Tayel Chan K’inich and Ix Bead necklace; Body paint; textile garment; wristlet
Ha’al?-jut Puch?
LACMA M.2010.115.12 K’ul Ajaw of Dos Pilas Ah God K Feather in headdress, Body paint; headdress; wristlet
(K1599) pedant; short skirt
MFA 1988.1170 (K558) Kan Xib Awah Ho’k’in Bat? Body paint; headdress Animal hide; body paint; necklace
pendant;
MFA 2009.318 (K1463) K’inich Lamaw Ek’ Yajawte’ K’inich Short skirt?; wristlet? Body paint; ear ornamentation;
headdress; necklace pendant
VMFA 82.131 (K1392) Kan Xib Awah Ho’k’in Bat? Body paint; headdress; Ear ornamentation; embellishment
loincloth; necklace to headdress; loincloth decoration;
pendant wristlet

Table 5. 17. Ceramics with two or more named individuals, and the similarities and differences between their dress.

272
Figure 1. 1. Map of the Maya region, with sites discussed in the text.
Map by John Short, modified from map data ©2017 Google, INEGI.
273
Figure 2. 1. Ajaw glyph.
Illustration by author.

274
Figure 2. 2. K4996.
The hieroglyphic text on the vase names the male seated on the throne as Tayel Chan K’inich of Motul de San José next to a female
who is identified as an ajaw. The three individuals in the lower half of the scene are named as lakams (Tokovinine and Zender 2012:
50). ©Justin Kerr.

275
Figure 2. 3. K2573.
The hieroglyphic text on the vase names Tayel Chan K’inich of Motul de San José with a female, likely his wife, from the Mutul
dynasty (Tokovinine and Zender 2012: 50). ©Justin Kerr.
276
 A B C

D E F

G H

Figure 2. 4. Hieroglyphic titles of members of the royal court.

A) Sajal; B) Aj’ k’uhuun; C) Banded bird; D) Ti’ huun/ ti’ sakhuun; E) Yajaw k’ahk’; F) Lakam;
G) Ch’ajoom; H) Ch’ok. Illustrations by author.

277
Figure 2. 5. MFA 1988.1176 (K764)
©Justin Kerr.

278
Figure 2. 6. MSM 117A-3 (K8006).
Excavated from Burial 196, Tikal. ©Justin Kerr.

279
Figure 2. 7. NGA 82.2292 (K1453).
The hieroglyphic text on the vase names the ruler Sihyaj K'awiil of Motul de San José (Miller and Martin 2004: 43). Note the presence
of both a hunchback and dwarf in the scene. The mirror stand is purported to be a carved representation of a dwarf ©Justin Kerr.

280
Figure 2. 8. A range structure at the site of Tikal.
Photograph by author.

281
Figure 2. 9. El Señor de Peten Vase
Vase excavated from the site of El Señor de Peten, from which it takes its name. The hieroglyphic text describes it as a cacao drinking
vessel and names two aj k’uhuuns. Note the presence of perishable curtains and a cushion in the scene. Image courtesy of Secretaría
de Cultura - INAH - Museo Maya de Cancún.

282
Figure 2. 10. Conch shell inkpot excavated from Structure B1, Burial 7, Cahal Pech.
Photograph courtesy of Catharina Santasilia.

283
 A

C
Figure 2. 11. Ik’, Chama, and Fenton style ceramic scenes.
A) Ik’ style (K6315), B) Chama style (K4806), and C) Fenton style (VMFA 82.131 [K1392]).
All photographs ©Justin Kerr.

284
Figure 2. 12. MNAE 11418 (K2697)
Found in a looters’ trench at Structure 5C-49 of the Lost World Group, Tikal. The hieroglyph text on the vase names the Dos Pilas
ruler K'awiil Chan K'inich (Tokovinine and Zender 2012: 52). ©Justin Kerr.

285
 A B

Figure 2. 13. Rollout, panel-style, and repetitive-style compositions.

A: Wrap-around, or ‘rollout’ composition of a Maya vase (MSM 117A-2 [K2968]). B: Panel-style composition of a Maya vase (MSM
4P-106 [K7999]). C: Repetitive-style composition of a Maya vase (AMNH 30.3/2491 [K4019]). All photographs ©Justin Kerr.

286
Figure 2. 14. Motul de San José Vessel 7.
Ik' Style Vase Cat. No.7/Vessel No. 7/MSJ104 from MSJ2A-3-12-1. Note the stack of what are presumably textiles in the lower left of
the scene, above which are a bunch of what are likely feathers. Courtesy of Antonia E. Foias, Motul de San José Archaeological
Project, Williams College.

287
Figure 2. 15. Joyac Cream Polychrome excavated from Structure B5 at Caracol, Belize.

Image reproduced with permission of Arlen Chase from Chase and Chase (2001: Figure 4.13).

288
Figure 2. 16 MSM 4P-110 (K8001).
Excavated from Burial 116, Tikal. The scene depicts two enthroned lords—one on each side of the cylinder separated by a panel.
There is slight differentiation between the lords and their surroundings. ©Justin Kerr.

289
Figure 2. 17. DO PC.B.564 (K2784).
The hieroglyphic text on the vase names the enthroned ruler as Tali' K'in Chahk of either La Florida or Itzimte. The person sitting in
front of him is K'ej? Ti Chan, possibly of Motul de San José. The hieroglyphic text also names an aj k’uhuun, a baah te’, and two
individuals named Ts'unun Bahlam (Hummingbird Jaguar) and Ahk-? (Turtle-?). See Just (2012: 74, 80) for a translation of the text.
The vase is signed by the artist Kuluub (Just 2012:18). ©Justin Kerr.

290
Figure 2. 18. MFA L-R 394.1985 (K1728).
A scene at the court of the ruler K’inich Lamaw Ek’ of Motul de San José. As well as a sajal, the hieroglyphic text also identifies an
ajk'uhuun named Way Baah Hatts (Tokovinine and Zender 2012: 44). The vase is in the corpus of the artists Mo...n Buluch Laj (or
Mo...n B'uluch Laj), but is not signed by him (Reents-Budet, et al. 2012: 86). ©Justin Kerr.

291
Figure 3. 1. A group of women weaving on backstrap looms in Guatemala.

©FreeImages.com/Marie Herrera.

292
Figure 3. 2. Parts of the backstrap loom.

Adapted from ©flickr.com/Saar.

293
Figure 3. 3. A weaver beats the warp threads on her backstrap loom into place using a batten.

Photograph taken by author in San Juan Chamula, Chiapas.

294
Figure 3. 4. A weaver adding supplementary wefts (brocade) to her loom weaving.

Note that the brocaded shapes are geometric. ©flickr.com/Rob Young.

295
Figure 3. 5 A huipil with embroidered floral designs around the neck.
Note the halo-like wrapping worn around the head and difference to the geometric shapes of the
weaving in Figure 3.4. ©FreeImages.com/Marie Herrera.

296
 A B

Figure 3. 6. Female textile garments.

A) huipil; B) sarong. Illustrations by the author, after examples on provenienced ceramics.

297
Figure 3. 7. Stela H at Copan.

Note the long skirt. Photograph by author.

298
Figure 3. 8. NOMA 69.33 (K2800).
©Justin Kerr.

299
Figure 3. 9. MNAE 108.9.2 (K3009).
©Justin Kerr.

300
Figure 3. 10. LACMA M.2010.115.12 (K1599).

The hieroglyphic text names K'awiil Chan K'inich of Dos Pilas and the leftmost figure as a ck’ok. The vase is signed by the artist Akan Suts
(Just 2012: 24, 74). See Reents-Budet (1985) for further explanation of the text. ©Justin Kerr.

301
Figure 3. 11. MFB 2009.318 (K1463).

The hieroglyphic text on the vase records a joyaj ceremony in A.D. 757 or 765, in which K’inich Lamaw Ek’ (of Motul de San José) as
a baah ts’am attends to Yajawte’ K’inich (also of Motul de San José). The ceremony also features an aj k’uhuun named Chak Tok
Bahlam. The vase is signed by the artist tuub’al ajaw (Just 2012: 187; Tokovinine and Zender 2012). ©Justin Kerr.

302
Figure 3. 12. BM Am1930,F.1.
Excavated from a tomb at the site of Nebaj in 1904, after which it came into hands of English collector C.L. Fenton. The hieroglyphs
on the vase name the ruler as Aj Sihyaj, and the individual furthest to the right is named as an aj k'uhuun (Jackson 2013; Schwartz
2010). ©The Trustees of the British Museum.

303
Figure 3. 13. MNAE T7B/7-37 (K2707).

Vase excavated from Burial T7B-3 in Structure T104, Tayasal. Based on the teeth, the individual was estimated to be three or four
years of age at the time of death. Based on the hieroglyphic text, which includes a reference to bloodletting, and the tripod plate with
what may be bark paper or cloth for absorbing blood, Chase (1985) suggests the scene is related to ceremonial bloodletting. ©Justin
Kerr.

304
Figure 3. 14. SD-143. Oval Palace Tablet from House E, Palenque.
Lady Sak K'uk offers the Drum Major headdress decorated with a Jester God of rulership to her
son K'inich Janaab Pakal. Drawing by Linda Schele © David Schele. Reproduced with
permission of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

305
Figure 4. 1. Ceramic 233800.000 at the National Museum of the American Indian.
As observed under a Wild Heerbrugg M32 microscope. The original surface or slip was white in
colour and is now visible in the damaged and eroded areas. A resist technique was used to
reserve various areas of the design that were intended to be white (such as the eye, earspool, and
tie around the neck) prior to the application of an orange slip followed by red and black
pigments. Photograph by author, using a Leica IC80 HD (courtesy of the National Museum of
the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution).

306
Figure 4. 2. Interior views of polychrome ceramics.
Top: Interior rim of AMNH 30.3/2491 (K4019), showing an orange ‘streaky’ application of slip
paint. Bottom: Interior rim of LOC PC 0040 (K6341), showing a ‘scallop’ motif—common to
Ik’ style ceramics (Reents-Budet 1994: 172). Photographs by author, used with permission of the
American Museum of Natural History and the Library of Congress.
307
Figure 4. 3. LOC P0040 (K6341) in cylinder and rollout form.
Tall cylinder vessels such as this have especially narrow visible surface areas that require
rotation to view their wrap-around scenes. Their corresponding rollout photographs remove the
need for physical manipulation of the object. Top: photograph by author, used with permission of
the Library of Congress. Bottom: ©Justin Kerr.

308
Figure 4. 4. MFA 1988.1177 (K1439).
The ruler Yajawte’ K’inich of Motul de San José sits on a jaguar throne and two dancers in jaguar costumes perform. One of the
individuals in the scene is a “holy Hix Wits lord”. The vase is in the corpus of the artist Tuubal Ajaw but is not signed by him (Reents-
Budet, et al. 2012; Tokovinine and Zender 2012). ©Justin Kerr.

309
Figure 4. 5. SD-7619. Sarcophagus cover inside the Temple of the Inscriptions, Palenque,
showing K’inich Janaab Pakal.

Drawing by Linda Schele © David Schele. Reproduced with permission of the Los Angeles
County Museum of Art.

310
Figure 4. 6. MSM 117A-1 (K8008) rollout photograph and a ‘retouched’ version of the same
photograph.
©Justin Kerr.

311
Figure 4. 7. K718 before and after removal of excessive modern restoration.

Top: ©Justin Kerr (see Kerr 1989: 40). Bottom: ©Justin Kerr.

312
Figure 4. 8. Rba_d024455.
Vessel of unknown provenance, Maya, A.D. 600-900; Rautenstrauch-Joest-Museum Köln, probably with modern overpainting.
© Rheinisches Bildarchiv Köln.

313
Figure 4. 9. Paint ‘spatters’ on the surface of ceramic 242725.000 at the National Museum of the
American Indian.
Observed using a Wild Heerbrugg M32 microscope. Paint on top of the damaged surface was
removed easily with ethanol—indicating that it was applied after the damage had incurred.
Photograph by author, using a Leica IC80 HD (courtesy of the National Museum of the
American Indian, Smithsonian Institution).

314
Figure 4. 10. In-painting on the surface of ceramic 244275.000 at the National Museum of the
American Indian.

Observed using a Wild Heerbrugg M32 microscope. It is clear that care was taken to avoid the
black accretion, to ensure that it was still visible. Photograph by author, using a Leica IC80 HD
(courtesy of the National Museum of the American Indian, Smithsonian Institution).

315
Figure 4. 11. DYM 1986.67.5 under visible and UV light.
Left: visible light, right: UV light. The orange areas fluorescing under UV light may indicate shellac mixed with pigment to cover
areas of repair. Photographs courtesy of the De Young Museum.

316
Figure 5. 1. ROM L962.66.9.
Courtesy of the Royal Ontario Museum.

317
Figure 5. 2. NICH 28/179-5:7 (K2699).
©Justin Kerr.

318
Figure 5. 3. AMNH 30.3/2941 (K4019).
Details of the skirt of the rightmost figure on the vase with the naked eye (top) and under a
microscope (bottom). A translucent quality is clearly perceptible in the images. Both
photographs by author, courtesy of the Division of Anthropology, American Museum of Natural
History. Compare with Figure 2.12c.

319
Figure 5. 4. LOC KPC 0070 (K6316).
Top: As viewed under a 16 x 21 mm loupe. Notice the blueish colour visible on the feather,
which is not visible without close inspection of the vase (it may indicate that the feathers were
decorated with a blueish postfire pigment—perhaps Maya blue?). Photograph by author, used
with permission of the Library of Congress. Bottom: rollout photograph of K6316 ©Justin Kerr.
The approximate section visible under the loupe is encircled in black.

320
Figure 5. 5. K3008.
Of all the ceramics in the author’s dataset, this vase reached the highest sale price at public auction ($170,500 USD in 1991). No other
provenance information is available for the vase. ©Justin Kerr.

321
Figure 5. 6. MJAV 17.2.1.543 (The “Sak Mo’-Vase”).
The scene features a seated male on the right, in front of which appears to have been another figure, and a seated female on the left
carrying what appears to be an elderly male or deity on her back. The hieroglyphic text includes y-uk’ib tu yax ch’ab, “the vessel for
his first creation/penance” and is signed by the artist Sak Mo’, which translates as ‘White Macaw’ or ‘White Cardinal’. The artist was
related to Tikal ruler Jasaaw Chan K’awiil (Guido Krempel, personal communication 2016). Collection Neria Herrera/ Museo Juan
Antonio Valdés, Uaxactun (Inv. No.: 17.2.1.543). Preliminary photo-stitching by Guido Krempel, 2015. Courtesy of Guido Krempel.

322
 A B C

Figure 5. 7. Ceramic forms.

A) vase; B) bowl; C) jar. Illustrations by author. Definitions of ceramic form follow Sabloff

(1975).

A B C D

Figure 5. 8. Vase shapes.

A) cylinder; B) outcurving; C) barrel; D) insloping. Illustrations by author, based on Sabloff

(1975: Figure 12).

323
Figure 5. 9. NGA 2002.221.
Lord of the jaguar pelt throne vase, vase A.D. 700-800. National Gallery of Victoria, Melbourne.
Presented through the NGV Foundation by John Warner, Founder Benefactor, 2002. A painting
of a dwarf decorates the ruler’s throne. The hieroglyphic text names Tayel Chan K'inich of Motul
de San José (Just 2012: 116). Photograph reproduced with permission.

324
Figure 5. 10. MFA 1987.719 (K3035).
Of all the ceramic scenes in the author’s dataset, this scene features the greatest number of females. ©Justin Kerr.

325
Figure 5. 11. MFA 2004.2204 (K5453).
The hieroglyphic text records a sacrificial rite on October 10, A.D. 691 and was commissioned by or for Jasaw Chan K’awiil of Tikal.
The vase is signed by artist Aj Ik’ Tun (Tunesi 2008: 18, 20). ©Justin Kerr.

326
 A B C

D E F

G H

Figure 5. 12. Male textile garments.

A) loincloth; B) short skirt; C) long skirt; D) flapped skirt; E) cape; F) cloak; G) mantle; H)
animal hide. Illustrations by the author, after examples on provenienced and unprovenienced
ceramics.

327
Figure 5. 13. MNAE 11419 (K2695).
Vase excavated from Tomb B in Structure 5D-46 at Tikal. The hieroglyphic text names Yax Nuun Ahiin II of Tikal and an aj k’uhuun
(Martin and Grube 2008: 51; Jackson 2013). ©Justin Kerr.

328
 200

180

160

140

120

100

80

60

40

20

0
Short Skirt Long Skirt Loincloth Cape Flapped Skirt Cloak Mantle Animal Hide

Figure 5. 14. Number of ceramic scenes in which male garments are represented.

329
Figure 5. 15. K4617.
©Justin Kerr.

330
 Front Back Front Back

Front Back

Figure 5. 16. The process of securing a male loincloth.

Illustration by author.

331
Figure 5. 17. MNAE 310042.
Note that the two individuals wearing zoomorphic headdresses and holding staffs are wearing long mantles. Drawing by Alfredo
Román, courtesy of the Aguateca Archaeological Project.

332
Figure 5. 18. MSM 4P-123 (K7996).
©Justin Kerr.

333
Figure 5. 19. K7796.
©Justin Kerr.

334
Figure 5. 20. Drawing of MNAE 4P-8/2.
Reproduced from Culbert 1993 (Figure 68a), courtesy of the Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology.

335
Figure 5. 21. MSM 4P-109 (K7998).
©Justin Kerr.

336
Figure 5. 22. MDM 1991/11/06.
©Museo de América, Madrid. Photograph reproduced with permission.

337
Figure 5. 23. K8526.
©Justin Kerr.

338
Figure 5. 24. MM 1981.204.6.

Gift of Mr. Andrew A. Lanyi, Collection of The Mint Museum, Charlotte, North Carolina.
©Mint Museum. Photograph reproduced with permission.

339
Figure 5. 25. MAS.IB.2010.017.086 (K1563).
©Justin Kerr.

340
Figure 5. 26. PUAM y1986-91 (K767).
©Justin Kerr.

341
Figure 5. 27. TCMA 1990.181 (K5513).
Top: Painted Vase with Ruler and Scribe, 7th-10th century. Northern Peten or Southern
Campeche. Pottery with burnished, coloured slips; overall: 24.5 x 10.5 cm. The Cleveland
Museum of Art, Gift of Mr. and Mrs. James C. Gruener. Photograph reproduced with
permission. Bottom: ©Justin Kerr.

342
Figure 5. 28. LACMA M.2010.115.330 (K4825).
©Justin Kerr.

343
Figure 5. 29. K8386.
Caution should be taken in the interpretation of the imagery on this vase. ©Justin Kerr.

344
Figure 5. 30. DAM 2003.1 (K2914).
©Justin Kerr.

345
 A

B C

Figure 5. 31. Examples of decorative sarongs on unprovenienced ceramics.

A) NMAI 244313.000; B) K5416; and C) GAM G83.1.0129 (K6059). All photographs ©Justin Kerr.

346
Figure 5. 32. K5505.
©Justin Kerr.

347
Figure 5. 33. DO PC.B.569 (K4338).
©Justin Kerr.

348
Figure 5. 34. DYM 78.41 (K625).
©Justin Kerr.

349
 A B C

D E F

G H I

Figure 5. 35. Illustrations of headdresses.

A) napkin; B) netted napkin; C) head cloth; D) head wrap; E) hat; F) animal; G) spangled turban;
H) zoomorphic; I) balloon. Illustrations by the author, after examples on provenienced and
unprovenienced ceramics.

350
 A B C D

E F G H

I J

Figure 5. 36. Embellishments to the head and/or headdresses.

A) feather; B) flower; C) hair tie; D) headband; E) sphere headband; F) animal headband

G) stick bundle; H) curved tool; I) brush pen; J) paint pot

351
 160

140

120

100

80

60

40

20

Figure 5. 37. Number of ceramic scenes in which each headdress types is represented.

352
Figure 5. 38. K4096.

Kerr describes this vase as “heavily restored” ©Justin Kerr.

353
Figure 5. 39. DAM 2001.44.
Vessel with palace scene. Denver Art Museum Collection: Gift of Dr. M. Larry and Nancy B. Ottis. Photography © Denver Art
Museum. Reproduced with permission.

354
Figure 5. 40. LACMA M.2010.115.25 (K7461).
©Justin Kerr.

355
 160

140

120

100

80

60

40

20

Figure 5. 41. Number of ceramic scenes in which each embellishment to the head and/or
headdress is represented.

356
A B C

Figure 5. 42. Comparison of the sphere-like decorations of the spangled turban (a) and wide
(b) and thin (c) varieties of the headband with sphere-like decorations (or sphere headband).
Illustrations by the author, after examples on provenienced and unprovenienced ceramics.

357
Figure 5. 43. K8469.
©Justin Kerr.

358
Figure 5. 44. K5456.
©Justin Kerr.

359
Figure 5. 45. Examples of decorated hair.
Left: enthroned ruler on HM 533 (K6984). Right: HM 1172 (K7021). Both photographs ©Justin Kerr.

360
Figure 5. 46. LRMF 1.2.159.53.
The hieroglyphic text names the ruler (wearing the mask of a toad) as Sihyaj K'awiil of Motul de San José, the individual behind him
as ch'ok 'anaab', and the second figure from the left as b'aah pakal ch'ok 'ajk'uhuun anaab (“first shield, young priest, worshiper”).
See http://www.larutamaya.com.gt/en/collection/catalogue/catalogo/MTg=/Sihyah-Chan-K'awill-Vase for more information about the
vase. La Ruta Maya Fundacion, Guatemala. Photograph reproduced with permission.

361
 160

140

120

100

80

60

40

20

0
Animal Balloon Hat Head Cloth Head Wrap Napkin Netted Napkin Spangled Zoomorphic
Turban

Central Peripheral

Figure 5. 47. Headdress frequency relative to the pictorial placement of individuals.

362
 300

250

200

150

100

50

0
Animal Hide Cape Cloak Flapped Skirt Huipil Loincloth Long Skirt Mantle Sarong Short Skirt

Central Peripheral

Figure 5. 48. Garment frequency relative to the pictorial placement of individuals.

363
 30

25

20

15

10

0
Animal Balloon Hat Head Cloth Head Wrap Napkin Netted Napkin Spangled Turban Zoomorphic

Worn by 2 individuals Worn by 3 individuals Worn by 4 individuals Worn by 5 or more individuals

Figure 5. 49. The number of individuals wearing different headdress types in royal court scenes.

364
Figure 5. 50. K6674.
The standing figure on the left is labelled with the baah te’ tite. See Houston (2008) for a discussion of the hieroglyphic text. ©Justin
Kerr.

365
Figure 6. 1. K680.
©Justin Kerr.

366
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426
 APPENDIX I

Museums with collections of ancient Maya ceramics included in this study. * indicates that the
museum is a member of the Association of Art Museum Directors (AAMD).

Museum Acronym
American Museum of Natural History (New York, USA) AMNH
Chrysler Museum of Art (Virginia, USA)* CMA
De Young Museum, San Francisco (California, USA) DYM
Denver Art Museum (Colorado, USA)* DAM
Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection (Washington, D.C., USA) DO
La Ruta Maya Fundacion (Guatemala City, Guatemala) LRMF
Gardiner Museum of Ceramic Art (Toronto, Canada) GMCA
Hudson Museum, University of Maine (Maine, USA) HM
Jay I. Kislak Collection at the Library of Congress (Washington, D.C., USA) LOC
Instituto de Antropología e Historia de Guatemala Ceramoteca (Guatemala
IDEAH
City, Guatemala)
Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (Mexico City, Mexico) INAH
Kislak Gallery, Miami Lakes (Florida, USA) KG
Kimbell Art Museum (Texas, USA)* KAM
Los Angeles County Museum of Art (California, USA)* LACMA
Ludwig Collection, Rautenstrauch-Joest-Museum (Cologne, Germany) RJM
Michael C. Carlos Museum of Emory University (Georgia, USA)* MCM
Museo de América, Madrid (Madrid, Spain) MDM
Museo Juan Antonio Valdés, Uaxactun (Peten, Guatemala) MJAV
Museo Maya de Cancun (Quintana Roo, Mexico) MMC
Museo Nacional de Arqueología y Etnología (Guatemala City, Guatemala) MNAE
Museo Regional, Chichicastenango (Chichicastenango, Guatemala) MRC
Museo Sylvanus G. Morley (Peten, Guatemala) MSM
Museum aan de Stroom (Antwerpen, Belgium) MAS
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (Massachusetts, USA)* MFA
Museum of Fine Arts, Houston (Texas, USA)* MFAH
Museo Regional de Antropología, Villa Hermosa (Tabasco, Mexico) MVH
Nasher Museum of Art at Duke University (North Carolina, USA)* NMA
National Gallery of Australia (Australian Capital Territory, Australia) NGA
National Gallery of Victoria (Victoria, Australia) NGV
National Institute of Culture and History (Belmopan, Belize) NICH
National Museum of the American Indian (Washington, D.C., USA) NMAI
New Orleans Museum of Art (Louisiana, USA)* NOMA
Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology, Harvard University
PMAE
(Massachusetts, USA)
Popul Vuh Museum (Guatemala City, Guatemala) PVM
Princeton University Art Museum (New Jersey, USA)* PUAM

427
Royal Ontario Museum (Toronto, Canada) ROM
The Art Institute of Chicago (Illinois, USA)* AIC
The British Museum (London, England) BM
The Brooklyn Museum (New York, USA) TBM
The Cleveland Museum of Art (Ohio, USA)* TCMA
The Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York, USA)* MET
The Mint Museum (North Carolina, USA)* MM
University of Pennsylvania Museum (Pennsylvania, USA) UPM
Utah Museum of Fine Arts (Utah, USA)* UMFA
Virginia Museum of Fine Arts (Virginia, USA)* VMFA
Yale Peabody Museum of Natural History (Connecticut, USA) YPM

428
 APPENDIX II

A list of the ceramics in the author’s dataset, in alphabetical order based on the Object ID. The museum or collection number is
provided first, then any corresponding Kerr photograph, and finally the auction lot number. Readers should refer to Appendix I for
museum acronyms. Also provided is information on whether the ceramic is provenienced, and whether there is a known provenance.
Finally, if applicable, the site from which the ceramic was excavated is provided.

Object ID Museum/ Auction / Collection Provenienced? Known Site

Provenance?
0421; K3045 PVM No No
09595 MNAE No No
09600 MNAE No No
1.2.159.53 LRMF No No
108.9.2; K3009 MNAE Yes N/A Tikal
11418; K2697 MNAE Yes N/A Tikal
11419; K2695 MNAE Yes N/A Tikal
1172; K7021 HM No Yes
117A-1; K8008 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
117A-2; K2698 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
117A-3; K8006 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
11803 MNAE No No
1193; K7107 HM No No
17.2.1.543 MJAV No No
1967.203 TCMA No Yes
1969.239; K2795 AIC No No
1969.276; K6610 DAM No Yes
1976.48; K5195 DAM No Yes
1978.4.12.202 MET No Yes
1981.204.6 MM No Yes
1982.192.7 MM No Yes
1984.002; K1643 UMFA No No
1984.604 DAM No Yes

429
 1985.005; K1669 UMFA No No
1985.10; K1452 KAM No Yes
1986.3.1; K5349 NMA No Yes
1986.67.5; K5004 DYM No Yes
1987.718 MFA No Yes
1987.719; K3035 MFA No Yes
1988.1170; K558 MFA No Yes
1988.1176; K764 MFA No Yes
1988.1177; K1439 MFA No Yes
1990.181; K5513 TCMA No Yes
1991/11/02; Lot 185 MDM; Sotheby's 18th Nov 1991 No Yes
1991/11/06; Lot 198 MDM; Sotheby's 18th Nov 1991 No No
1991/11/07; K4355; Lot 199 MDM; Sotheby's 18th Nov 1991 No No
1991/11/11; K5033; Lot 217; Lot 219 MDM; Sotheby's 5th Dec 1981 & 18th Nov 1991 No No
1991/11/28; Lot 482 MDM; Sotheby's 18th Nov 1991 No Yes
1999.484.2; K5492 MET No Yes
2001.44 DAM No Yes
2001-181; K8089 PUAM No No
2002.221 NGV No Yes
2002.84.1.21; K4959 DYM No Yes
2002.95 DAM No Yes
2003.1; K2914 DAM No Yes
2003.778 MFA No Yes
2004.2204; K5453 MFA No Yes
2004.24.18153 MNAE Yes N/A Uaxactun
2005.146 DAM No Yes
2005.147 DAM No Yes
2007.1775; K4169 MFAH No Yes
2009.318; K1463; Lot 345 MFA ; Sotheby's 17th Nov 2006 No Yes
206002 / DPT009 IDAEH Yes N/A Tamarindito
244090.000 NMAI No Yes
244314.000 NMAI No Yes

430
 248750.000 NMAI No Yes
28/179-5:7; K2699 NICH Yes N/A Hokeb Ha
30.3/2491; K4019 AMNH No Yes
305007 MNAE Yes N/A Aguateca
310042 MNAE Yes N/A Aguateca
4P-106; K7999 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
4P-107; K8000 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
4P-108; K8003 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
4P-109; K7998 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
4P-110; K8001 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
4P-119; K8002 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
4P-122 Unknown Yes N/A Tikal
4P-123; K7996 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
4P-124; K7997 MSM Yes N/A Tikal
4P-8/2 MNAE Yes N/A Tikal
532; K7020 HM No Yes
533; K6984 HM No Yes
69.33; K2800 NOMA No No
78.41; K625 DYM No Yes
82.131; K1392 VMFA No No
82.2292; K1453 NGA No Yes
86.395; K1210 CMA No Yes
86.397; K1205 CMA No Yes
86.403 CMA No Yes
86.410; K6494 MFAH No Yes
86.414; K1204 CMA No Yes
Am1930,F.1 BM Yes N/A Nebaj
ANT235236 YPM No No
Carlos H. Nottebohm Vase (Robicsek 1978: Fig 163) Private collection No No
Chichen Itza Bowl (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 110) INAH Yes N/A Chichen Itza
Dora and Paul Janssen Vase (Le Fort 2005: 126-129) Dora and Paul Janssen collection-MAS? No No
El Señor de Peten Vase MMC Yes N/A El Señor de Peten

431
 G83.1.0108; K6062; Lot 181 GMCA; Sotheby's 9th May 1981 No Yes
G83.1.0116; K6061 GMCA No Yes
G83.1.0129; K6059 GMCA No Yes
G83.1.0141; K6067; Lot 208 GMCA; Sotheby's May 12th 1979 No Yes
Guatemalan Vase (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 180) MNAE? No No
Guaytan Vase (Smith and Kidder 1943:Figs. 44f, 45d) Unknown Yes N/A Guaytan
IB.2010.017.086; K1563 MAS No Yes
K1303 (Forgery/ Fake?) Private collection No No
K1454 Edward H Merrin Gallery No No
K1775; Lot 219 Sotheby's 5th Dec 1981 No No
K1785 Private collection No No
K1790 Private collection No No
K2345 Private collection No No
K2573 MET (loan from private collector) No No
K2711 Private collection No No
K2732 Private collection No No
K2923 Private collection No No
K3008; Lot 74; Lot 197 Sotheby's 15th May 2015 & Nov 18th 1991 No No
K30118 MNAE Yes N/A Seibal
K3046 Private collection No No
K3050 Private collection No No
K3203; K5858; Lot 97 Sotheby's 17th May 1993 No No
K3270; Lot 163 Sotheby's 25 Feb 1981 No No
K3389; K5609 PVM No No
K3412 Private collection No No
K3454 Private collection No No
K3461 MM? No No
K3832 Private collection No No
K3983 Private collection No No
K3984 Private collection No No
K4030 Private collection No No
K4096; Lot 194 Sotheby's 28th May 1997 No No

432
 K4120 Private collection No No
K4181 Private collection No No
K4356 Private collection No No
K4412 Private collection No No
K4549; Lot 122 Sotheby's 2nd May 1990 No No
K4617 Private collection No No
K4660 Private collection No No
K4688 Private collection No No
K4800 Private collection No No
K4806 Private collection No No
K4996; Lot 106 Sotheby's 21st Nov 1988 No No
K5037 Private Collection No No
K5085; Lot 153; Lot 183 Sotheby's 15th Nov 1994 & 25th Nov 1996 No No
K5109; Lot 153 Sotheby's 15th Nov 1994 No No
K5176; Lot 204 Sotheby's 18th Nov 1991 No No
K5233 Private collection No No
K5348 MM? No No
K5353 NMA? No No
K5388; Lot 161 KG; Sotheby's 19th May 1992 No No
K5416; Lot 356 Sotheby's 17th Nov 2006 No Yes
K5418 Private collection No No
K5421 Private collection No No
K5445 MFA? No No
K5450; Lot 497 Sotheby's Oct 10-11 1975 No Yes
K5456 Private collection No No
K5505 Private collection No No
K5649 Private collection No No
K5737; Lot 146 Sotheby's Nov 22nd 1993 No No
K5850 LACMA? No No
K5940 Private collection No No
K5943 Private collection No No
K624 NMA? No No

433
 K6437 Private collection No No
K6552 Private collection No No
K6650 Private collection No No
K6666 Private collection No No
K6674 Private collection No No
K6685 Private collection No No
K6688 Private collection No No
K680; Lot 65 Christie's 12 Nov 2004 No No
K6812 Private collection No No
K694; Lot 165 Sotheby's 24th Nov 1997 No Yes
K7062; Lot 159; Lot 144 LACMA? Sotheby's 19 May 1992 & 22nd Nov 1993 No Yes
K7107 Private collection No No
K717 Private collection No No
K7182 Private collection No No
K7183 Private collection No No
K7184 Private collection No No
K7288 Private collection No No
K7447 Private collection No No
K7516 Private collection No No
K7715; Lot 123; Lot 115 Sotheby's 20th May 1986 & 31st May 1985 No No
K7716 Private collection No No
K7796; Lot 167 MCM (loan from private collector); Sotheby's Nov 24 1997 No No
K7797; Lot 159 MCM (loan from private collector); Sotheby's Nov 24 1997 No No
K787 Private Collection No No
K8123; Lot 325 Sotheby's 20th Nov 2000 No No
K8220 Private collection No No
K8277 Private collection No No
K8385 Private collection No No
K8386 Private collection No No
K8469 Private collection No No
K8484 Private collection No No
K8526; Lot 502 Christie's 10 Dec 2003 No No

434
 K868; Lot 218 Sotheby's 5th Dec 1981 No Yes
K8721 Private collection No No
K8746 Private collection No No
K8764 Private collection No No
K8774 Private collection No No
K8790; Lot 187 Sotheby's 14th May 2004 No No
K8792 Private collection No No
K8793 Private collection No No
K8818; Lot 221; Lot 279 Sotheby's 5th Dec 1981 & 11th Nov 2004 No No
K8870; Lot 308 Sotheby's 12th May 2005 No No
K8872; Lot 114 Sotheby's 20th May 1986 No No
K8873 Private collection No No
K8889 Private collection No No
K8926 Private collection No No
K9094 Private collection No No
K9096 Private collection No No
K9101 Private collection No No
K9109 Private collection No No
K9115 Private collection No No
K9135 Private collection No No
K9144 Galerie Mermoz Art Precolombien 21 Sep - 7 Oct 1990 No No
K9146 TBM? No No
K9265 Private collection No No
K9290 Private collection No No
KPC0070; K6316 LOC No Yes
L962.66.9 ROM Yes N/A Baking Pot
Lot 104 Christie's 23 May 2007 No No
Lot 143 Arte Primitivo Howard S. Rose Gallery No Yes
Lot 150 Arte Primitivo Howard S. Rose Gallery No Yes
Lot 245 Sotheby's 17th May 2007 No No
Lot 89 ; Lot 213 Sotheby's 12th Jul 1977 & 10th May 1980 No No
L-R 394.1985; K1728 MFA No Yes

435
 M.2010.115.12; K1599 LACMA No Yes
M.2010.115.25; K7461 LACMA No No
M.2010.115.330; K4825 LACMA No No
M.2010.115.459; K4905 LACMA No No
M.2010.115.491; K5545 LACMA No No
M.2010.115.521; K5918 LACMA No No
M.2010.115.670; K6418 LACMA No No
M.2010.115.75; K5062 LACMA No No
M.90.168.10; K5040 LACMA No No
MVH Vase (Covarrubias 1957: 228) MVH No Yes
NA11221 UPM Yes N/A Chama
PC.B.564; K2784 DO No Yes
PC.B.569; K4338 DO No Yes
PC.B.570; K2780 DO No Yes
PC0040; K6341 LOC No Yes
PC0089; K6315 LOC No Yes
RP 523/1 ROM Yes N/A Altun Ha
Str. B5 Vase Archaeological storage Yes N/A Caracol
T7B/6-22 Archaeological storage Yes N/A Tayasal
T7B/7-37; K2707 MNAE Yes N/A Tayasal
Uaxactun Vase (Smith 1995: Fig.2p-q) Unknown Yes N/A Uaxactun
Vase A-45 Unknown Yes N/A La Angostura
Vessel 7 Archaeological storage Yes N/A Motul de San José
y1986-91; K767 PUAM No Yes
Zacualpa Vase (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 316) MRC? Yes N/A Zacualpa
Zacualpa Vase 2 (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 318) MNAE? Yes N/A Zacualpa

436
 APPENDIX III

The form, shape (for vases only), and measurements of each ceramic in the author’s dataset.
Note that in some cases measurements of the height and diameter were unavailable.
Additionally, where measurements were missing and only a rollout image was available, the
form and shapes of vessels could not be determined.

Object ID Form Vase Shape Height (cm) Diameter (cm)

0421; K3045 Vase Outcurving 21.2 12.5
09595 Vase Unknown 12 9.9
09600 Vase Cylinder 15.3 9.5
1.2.159.53 Vase Outcurving 20.8 13
108.9.2; K3009 Vase Cylinder 19 13
11418; K2697 Vase Cylinder 13.5 10
11419; K2695 Vase Cylinder 16 9.8
1172; K7021 Vase Cylinder 25.6 9.3
117A-1; K8008 Vase Cylinder 12.5 8
117A-2; K2698 Vase Cylinder 17.4 10.4
117A-3; K8006 Vase Cylinder 22 12.7
11803 Vase Cylinder 20.8 12
1193; K7107 Vase Cylinder 18.8 17.5
17.2.1.543 Vase Cylinder
1967.203 Vase Cylinder 19.1
1969.239; K2795 Vase Outcurving 20 16
1969.276; K6610 Vase Cylinder 18.73 12.06
1976.48; K5195 Vase Cylinder 22.86 13.33
1978.4.12.202 Vase Outcurving 16.8 11
1981.204.6 Tripod Vase Cylinder 19.3
1982.192.7 Bowl 12.7
1984.002; K1643 Tripod Bowl 10 22.8
1984.604 Vase Outcurving 20.64 15.24
1985.005; K1669 Vase Unknown 17 13.4
1985.10; K1452 Vase Cylinder 22.3 11.1
1986.3.1; K5349 Vase Cylinder 18.4 14
1986.67.5; K5004 Vase Cylinder 19.6 11.2
1987.718 Vase Cylinder 19 13
1987.719; K3035 Vase Cylinder 17.1 11.4
1988.1170; K558 Vase Cylinder 16.3 14.8
1988.1176; K764 Vase Cylinder 17.2 11.7
1988.1177; K1439 Vase Cylinder 23.5 12.4
1990.181; K5513 Vase Cylinder 24.5
1991/11/02; Lot 185 Vase Outcurving 17.8 14.3
1991/11/06; Lot 198 Vase Cylinder 20.7 11.2
1991/11/07; K4355; Lot 199 Tripod Vase Cylinder 17.3 12.1
1991/11/11; K5033; Lot 217; Lot 219 Bowl 14.8 15.2

437
 1991/11/28; Lot 482 Vase Outcurving 15.1 10.2
1999.484.2; K5492 Vase Cylinder 21
2001.44 Vase Cylinder 20.64 12.7
2001-181; K8089 Vase Cylinder 41.3 18.5
2002.221 Vase Outcurving 20.8 16
2002.84.1.21; K4959 Vase Outcurving 17.2 10
2002.95 Vase Cylinder 19.05 10.16
2003.1; K2914 Vase Insloping 28.57 15.24
2003.778 Vase Cylinder
2004.2204; K5453 Vase Cylinder 21.3 11.7
2004.24.18153 Vase Cylinder
2005.146 Vase Cylinder 15.56 10.48
2005.147 Vase Cylinder 17.14 10.48
2007.1775; K4169 Vase Cylinder 23 10.7
2009.318; K1463; Lot 345 Vase Cylinder 10.5 10.2
206002 / DPT009 Vase Cylinder 22 13
244090.000 Vase Outcurving 21.3 16.5
244314.000 Vase Cylinder 23.5 14
248750.000 Vase Outcurving 16.5 13.3
28/179-5:7; K2699 Vase Cylinder 21
30.3/2491; K4019 Vase Outcurving 17 13
305007 Vase Cylinder 25.1 14.6
310042 Vase Cylinder 19.7 8.5
4P-106; K7999 Vase Cylinder 30.3 17
4P-107; K8000 Vase Cylinder 28.7 18.3
4P-108; K8003 Vase Cylinder 27.1 18.4
4P-109; K7998 Vase Cylinder 28.4 19.2
4P-110; K8001 Vase Cylinder 28.3 19.7
4P-119; K8002 Vase Cylinder 28.6 19.8
4P-122 Vase Cylinder 26.2 18.3
4P-123; K7996 Vase Cylinder 27.9 17.6
4P-124; K7997 Vase Cylinder 29 18
4P-8/2 Vase Outcurving 27 17
532; K7020 Tripod Vase Cylinder 15.5 12.7
533; K6984 Vase Outcurving 17.5 14
69.33; K2800 Vase Outcurving 17.5
78.41; K625 Vase Cylinder 17.5 12.5
82.131; K1392 Bowl 15.8 19.5
82.2292; K1453 Vase Outcurving 24 17
86.395; K1210 Vase Cylinder
86.397; K1205 Vase Cylinder 17 12.8
86.403 Vase Cylinder 14
86.410; K6494 Vase Cylinder 20.1 12.5
86.414; K1204 Bowl 15.3 15.6
Am1930,F.1 Vase Cylinder 17.2
ANT235236 Vase Cylinder 22.86 10.16
Carlos H. Nottebohm Vase (Robicsek 1978: Fig. 163) Vase Cylinder

438
 Chichen Itza Bowl (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 110) Bowl 12.5 20.5
Dora and Paul Janssen Vase (Le Fort 2005: 126-129) Tripod Vase Insloping 30 11.8
El Señor de Peten Vase Vase Cylinder 18
G83.1.0108; K6062; Lot 181 Vase Outcurving 20.3 14
G83.1.0116; K6061 Vase Insloping 24.3 10
G83.1.0129; K6059 Vase Insloping 21.4 8.9
G83.1.0141; K6067; Lot 208 Bowl 13.7 16.7
Guatemalan Vase (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 180) Vase Cylinder 16 10
Guaytan Vase (Smith and Kidder 1943:Figs. 44f, 45d) Vase Outcurving 14 12
IB.2010.017.086; K1563 Tripod Bowl 21.2 25.2
K1303 Vase Unknown 20 13
K1454 Vase Cylinder 20 13.5
K1775; Lot 219 Vase Cylinder 17.8
K1785 Vase Unknown 20 17.2
K1790 Vase Unknown
K2345 Vase Unknown 13.3 9.5
K2573 Vase Cylinder 24 12
K2711 Vase Unknown 19.7 16
K2732 Vase Unknown 24
K2923 Vase Unknown 20 10.5
K3008; Lot 74; Lot 197 Vase Cylinder 18.1
K30118 Vase Barrel 14.8 8
K3046 Unknown Unknown
K3050 Unknown Unknown
K3203; K5858; Lot 97 Vase Cylinder 21.7 10.7
K3270; Lot 163 Bowl Unknown 10.5 16
K3389; K5609 Vase Cylinder
K3412 Vase Cylinder 28.5 14.3
K3454 Vase Unknown 21.2 14.5
K3461 Vase Unknown 21.5 12.5
K3832 Bowl 14.5 19.7
K3983 Vase Unknown 20.7 9.5
K3984 Vase Unknown 21 9.5
K4030 Vase Unknown 23 12.3
K4096; Lot 194 Unknown Unknown 21
K4120 Vase Barrel 21 12.8
K4181 Vase Unknown 16.9 15
K4356 Vase Unknown 19 11.5
K4412 Unknown Unknown 23.4 11.4
K4549; Lot 122 Vase Cylinder 28.1 14
K4617 Bowl 15.2 17
K4660 Unknown Unknown 15 14
K4688 Vase Unknown 15.8 11
K4800 Vase Unknown 14.5 9.5
K4806 Bowl 14 16
K4996; Lot 106 Vase Cylinder 19.2 9.3
K5037 Vase Unknown 22 13

439
K5085; Lot 153; Lot 183 Vase Outcurving 15.3 9.7
K5109; Lot 153 Vase Cylinder 22.1 14.4
K5176; Lot 204 Vase Unknown 22 10.2
K5233 Vase Unknown 23.8 13.5
K5348 Vase Cylinder 21 11.8
K5353 Vase Cylinder 27.5 9
K5388; Lot 161 Vase Cylinder 23.8
K5416; Lot 356 Vase Barrel 24.4 15.3
K5418 Vase Unknown 21 14
K5421 Vase Unknown 21 12
K5445 Vase Unknown 15.8 13.3
K5450; Lot 497 Vase Outcurving 16.5 15
K5456 Vase Barrel 24.5 14.3
K5505 Vase Unknown 15.6 12.3
K5649 Bowl 11.8 12.7
K5737; Lot 146 Vase Unknown 18.4 15.5
K5850 Vase Cylinder 23 8.4
K5940 Vase Cylinder 22.5 10.5
K5943 Bowl 16 16.4
K624 Vase Cylinder 15 9.1
K6437 Vase Unknown 17 10.3
K6552 Vase Unknown 20.2 15
K6650 Vase Barrel 17.7 10
K6666 Tripod Bowl Unknown 9.5 13
K6674 Vase Unknown 19 11
K6685 Vase Unknown 22 8
K6688 Vase Unknown 23.7 9.4
K680; Lot 65 Vase Cylinder 18
K6812 Vase Unknown 18.2 11
K694; Lot 165 Vase Cylinder 21 13
K7062; Lot 159; Lot 144 Vase Barrel 20 12.3
K7107 Vase Unknown 20 19.5
K717 Vase Cylinder 21.5 13.2
K7182 Vase Cylinder 19.7 8.3
K7183 Vase Cylinder 20.5 8.7
K7184 Vase Cylinder 23.2 9.5
K7288 Vase Cylinder
K7447 Vase Unknown 23 11.2
K7516 Vase Cylinder 20 14
K7715; Lot 123; Lot 115 Vase Cylinder 15 9.5
K7716 Vase Barrel 20.5 19
K7796; Lot 167 Vase Cylinder 23 13.6
K7797; Lot 159 Vase Cylinder 23 12.6
K787 Vase Unknown 22 10.5
K8123; Lot 325 Vase Outcurving 14.9 11
K8220 Vase Unknown 21.5 11.5
K8277 Vase Unknown 19.7 16.7

440
 K8385 Vase Unknown 14 12.5
K8386 Vase Unknown 18 12
K8469 Vase Cylinder 24 18
K8484 Unknown 18.5 9
K8526; Lot 502 Vase Cylinder 23.8
K868; Lot 218 Vase Outcurving 22.5 14
K8721 Vase Barrel 15.4 14
K8746 Vase Unknown 23 11
K8764 Vase Unknown 20 13
K8774 Vase Cylinder 16.3 11.6
K8790; Lot 187 Vase Insloping 27 8
K8792 Vase Outcurving
K8793 Vase Unknown 22.2 11.5
K8818; Lot 221; Lot 279 Vase Cylinder 19 13
K8870; Lot 308 Vase Cylinder 19 12.3
K8872; Lot 114 Vase Cylinder 17 13.3
K8873 Vase Cylinder 21 13.8
K8889 Tripod Vase Unknown 11 10
K8926 Vase Cylinder 21.5 13
K9094 Vase Unknown 17.5 12.8
K9096 Vase Cylinder 20.5 12
K9101 Vase Cylinder 17 12
K9109 Vase Cylinder 26 11
K9115 Vase Cylinder 21 12
K9135 Unknown Unknown
K9144 Vase Unknown 17.3 11.8
K9146 Vase Cylinder 20 11.5
K9265 Vase Cylinder 19.5 10
K9290 Vase Outcurving 14.4 11.5
KPC0070; K6316 Vase Cylinder 21 17
L962.66.9 Vase Cylinder
Lot 104 Vase Cylinder 17.3
Lot 143 Vase Cylinder 15.5 12.7
Lot 150 Bowl 16.5 17.8
Lot 245 Vase Outcurving 14
Lot 89 ; Lot 213 Jar 23.5 25
L-R 394.1985; K1728 Vase Cylinder 17.1 14.3
M.2010.115.12; K1599 Vase Unknown 18.2 13
M.2010.115.25; K7461 Vase Cylinder 21 14.7
M.2010.115.330; K4825 Vase Barrel 16.4 9.5
M.2010.115.459; K4905 Vase Cylinder 24 11
M.2010.115.491; K5545 Vase Outcurving 18.1 12
M.2010.115.521; K5918 Vase Outcurving 17.3 14.6
M.2010.115.670; K6418 Vase Cylinder 20.5 12.7
M.2010.115.75; K5062 Unknown Unknown 21 13
M.90.168.10; K5040 Bowl 11 16
MVH Vase (Covarrubias 1957: 228) Vase Outcurving 21.6

441
 NA11221 Bowl
PC.B.564; K2784 Vase Cylinder 20.32 16.51
PC.B.569; K4338 Bowl 11.7 12
PC.B.570; K2780 Vase Cylinder 23.18 10.8
PC0040; K6341 Vase Cylinder 23.5 9
PC0089; K6315 Vase Outcurving 21.5 15
RP 523/1 Tripod Vase Insloping 33.7 13.2
Str. B5 Vase Vase Cylinder 25.6
T7B/6-22 Vase Cylinder 17.4 10.4
T7B/7-37; K2707 Vase Cylinder 11 6
Uaxactun Vase (Smith 1995: Fig.2p-q) Tripod Vase Cylinder
Vase A-45 Vase Barrel 16.5 14
Vessel 7 Vase Cylinder
y1986-91; K767 Vase Cylinder 28 14.6
Zacualpa Vase (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 316) Bowl 13
Zacualpa Vase 2 (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 318) Jar 12

442
 APPENDIX IV

The decoration, style, and format of each ceramic in the dataset. Also included is information on the scene content (including the
number of figures in each scene and whether they are male, female, a dwarf, hunchback, child, deity, or animal). In instances where
scenes were too eroded or incomplete to determine the exact number of figures in the scene, a question mark has been placed next to
the number.

Object ID Decoration Style Scene Figure Figures Scene Content

Format Count
0421; K3045 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
09595 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Court Members
09600 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Court Members
1.2.159.53 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 5 Dwarf; Male Tribute Presentation
108.9.2; K3009 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 8 Male Performance
11418; K2697 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 3 Animal; Male Tribute Presentation
11419; K2695 Polychrome Black background Rollout 4 Female; Male Preparation
1172; K7021 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
117A-1; K8008 Polychrome White background Repetitive 4 Male Court Gathering
117A-2; K2698 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
117A-3; K8006 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
11803 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Court Members
1193; K7107 Polychrome Chama Panels 4 Male Court Gathering
17.2.1.543 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 4? Deity; Female; Male Court Gathering
1967.203 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
1969.239; K2795 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 11 Female; Male Performance
1969.276; K6610 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
1976.48; K5195 Polychrome Cream background Panels 4 Male Court Gathering
1978.4.12.202 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 2 Male Court Gathering
1981.204.6 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
1982.192.7 Polychrome Cream background Panels 2 Male Court Members
1984.002; K1643 Polychrome White background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation

443
 1984.604 Polychrome White background Panels 4 Male Court Gathering
1985.005; K1669 Polychrome White background Panels 2 Male Tribute Presentation
1985.10; K1452 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 7 Dwarf; Male Performance
1986.3.1; K5349 Polychrome White background Panels 2 Male Court Members
1986.67.5; K5004 Polychrome Orange background Repetitive 2 Male Court Members
1987.718 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 5 Female; Male Court Gathering
1987.719; K3035 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Female; Male Court Gathering
1988.1170; K558 Polychrome Fenton Rollout 5 Male Captive Presentation
1988.1176; K764 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 5 Female; Male Preparation
1988.1177; K1439 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 5 Male Performance
1990.181; K5513 Polychrome White background Rollout 4 Dwarf; Male Tribute Presentation
1991/11/02; Lot 185 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
1991/11/06; Lot 198 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 7 Dwarf; Male Court Gathering
1991/11/07; K4355; Lot 199 Polychrome Ik' Panels 3 Male Tribute Presentation
1991/11/11; K5033; Lot 217; Lot 219 Polychrome Black background Panels 2 Male Court Members
1991/11/28; Lot 482 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
1999.484.2; K5492 Polychrome Chama Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
2001.44 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Court Gathering
2001-181; K8089 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 9 Male Tribute Presentation
2002.221 Polychrome Black background Rollout 9 Dwarf; Male Tribute Presentation
2002.84.1.21; K4959 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
2002.95 Polychrome White background Panels 2 Male Tribute Presentation
2003.1; K2914 Polychrome White background Rollout 10 Dwarf; Female; Male Court Gathering
2003.778 Polychrome White background Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
2004.2204; K5453 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
2004.24.18153 Polychrome Red background Rollout 5 Animal; Male Court Gathering
2005.146 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
2005.147 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 6 Male Captive Presentation
2007.1775; K4169 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
2009.318; K1463; Lot 345 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
206002 / DPT009 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
244090.000 Polychrome Black background Panels 2 Male Court Members

444
 244314.000 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Court Members
248750.000 Polychrome Cream background Panels 2 Male Tribute Presentation
28/179-5:7; K2699 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 2 Male Court Gathering
30.3/2491; K4019 Polychrome Orange background Repetitive 2 Male Court Members
305007 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 11 Dwarf; Male Court Gathering
310042 Polychrome Cream background Repetitive 4 Male Tribute Presentation
4P-106; K7999 Polychrome Cream background Panels 4 Male Court Gathering
4P-107; K8000 Polychrome Cream background Panels 2 Male Court Members
4P-108; K8003 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Court Members
4P-109; K7998 Polychrome Orange background Panels 4 Male Court Gathering
4P-110; K8001 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Court Members
4P-119; K8002 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Court Members
4P-122 Polychrome Cream background Panels 4 Male Tribute Presentation
4P-123; K7996 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Tribute Presentation
4P-124; K7997 Polychrome Cream background Panels 4 Male Court Gathering
4P-8/2 Stucco White background Rollout 10 Male Tribute Presentation
532; K7020 Polychrome Black background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
533; K6984 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 8 Male Performance
69.33; K2800 Polychrome Black background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
78.41; K625 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
82.131; K1392 Polychrome Fenton Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
82.2292; K1453 Polychrome White background Rollout 7 Dwarf; Hunchback; Male Court Gathering
86.395; K1210 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Performance
86.397; K1205 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
86.403 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Court Gathering
86.410; K6494 Polychrome White background Repetitive 4 Male Tribute Presentation
86.414; K1204 Polychrome Chama Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
Am1930,F.1 Polychrome Fenton Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
ANT235236 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 7 Dwarf; Male Preparation
Carlos H. Nottebohm Vase (Robicsek 1978: Figure 163) Polychrome White background Panels 3 Male Court Gathering
Chichen Itza Bowl (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 110) Stucco White background Panels 6 Deity; Male Court Gathering
Dora and Paul Janssen Vase (Le Fort 2005: 126-129) Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation

445
 El Señor de Peten Vase Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Court Gathering
G83.1.0108; K6062; Lot 181 Polychrome Black background Panels 2 Male Court Members
G83.1.0116; K6061 Polychrome Cream background Panels 2 Male Court Members
G83.1.0129; K6059 Polychrome White background Rollout 4 Female; Male Court Gathering
G83.1.0141; K6067; Lot 208 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
Guatemalan Vase (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 180) Polychrome Black background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
Guaytan Vase (Smith and Kidder 1943:Figs. 44f, 45d) Polychrome Chama Panels 2 Male Tribute Presentation
IB.2010.017.086; K1563 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 9 Dwarf; Hunchback; Male Tribute Presentation
K1303 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
K1454 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 4 Male Preparation
K1775; Lot 219 Polychrome Black background Rollout 5 Male Court Gathering
K1785 Polychrome Chama Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K1790 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 11 Male Tribute Presentation
K2345 Polychrome White background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
K2573 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 2 Animal; Female; Male Court Gathering
K2711 Polychrome White background Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K2732 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K2923 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K3008; Lot 74; Lot 197 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K30118 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 5 Male Court Gathering
K3046 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 8 Male Performance
K3050 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K3203; K5858; Lot 97 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K3270; Lot 163 Polychrome Chama Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K3389; K5609 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K3412 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 17 Male Captive Presentation
K3454 Stucco Unknown (B&W) Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K3461 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 7 Male Captive Presentation
K3832 Polychrome Chama Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
K3983 Stucco White background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K3984 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 6 Male Captive Presentation
K4030 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 6 Animal; Female; Male Tribute Presentation

446
 K4096; Lot 194 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 5 Animal; Male Court Gathering
K4120 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 10 Male Performance
K4181 Polychrome Chama Rollout 2 Male Court Gathering
K4356 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Panels 4 Female; Male Performance
K4412 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Captive Presentation
K4549; Lot 122 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 7 Male Captive Presentation
K4617 Polychrome Chama Rollout 10 Animal; Child; Male Tribute Presentation
K4660 Polychrome Chama Rollout 1 Male Court Members
K4688 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K4800 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Repetitive 2 Male Court Members
K4806 Polychrome Chama Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
K4996; Lot 106 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 5 Female; Male Tribute Presentation
K5037 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 7 Male Court Gathering
K5085; Lot 153; Lot 183 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K5109; Lot 153 Polychrome White background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K5176; Lot 204 Polychrome White background Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
K5233 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 3 Male Performance
K5348 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Court Members
K5353 Polychrome White background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K5388; Lot 161 Stucco White background Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
K5416; Lot 356 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 7 Female; Male Court Gathering
K5418 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
K5421 Polychrome Orange background Repetitive 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K5445 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 7 Male Performance
K5450; Lot 497 Polychrome White background Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
K5456 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Female; Male Court Gathering
K5505 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 6 Dwarf; Female; Male Tribute Presentation
K5649 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Rollout 2 Female; Male Tribute Presentation
K5737; Lot 146 Polychrome Chama Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K5850 Polychrome White background Rollout 3 Male Captive Presentation
K5940 Polychrome White background Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
K5943 Polychrome Chama Rollout 7 Male Tribute Presentation

447
 K624 Polychrome White background Panels 2 Male Tribute Presentation
K6437 Polychrome White background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K6552 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 3 Male Performance
K6650 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 5 Male Captive Presentation
K6666 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
K6674 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 5 Male Captive Presentation
K6685 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Repetitive 2 Male Court Members
K6688 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 8 Male Court Gathering
K680; Lot 65 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 8 Male Captive Presentation
K6812 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
K694; Lot 165 Polychrome White background Rollout 6 Male Captive Presentation
K7062; Lot 159; Lot 144 Polychrome Orange background Panels 4 Male Court Gathering
K7107 Polychrome Chama Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K717 Polychrome Black background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K7182 Polychrome Pink background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K7183 Polychrome Pink background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K7184 Polychrome Pink background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K7288 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
K7447 Polychrome Cream background Panels 2 Male Court Members
K7516 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 10 Dwarf; Male Tribute Presentation
K7715; Lot 123; Lot 115 Polychrome Red background Panels 2 Male Court Members
K7716 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 17 Male Captive Presentation
K7796; Lot 167 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 6 Female; Male Court Gathering
K7797; Lot 159 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K787 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Preparation
K8123; Lot 325 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 7 Male Tribute Presentation
K8220 Polychrome White background Panels 2 Male Court Gathering
K8277 Polychrome Chama Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
K8385 Polychrome White background Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K8386 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Female; Male Tribute Presentation
K8469 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
K8484 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 5 Male Court Gathering

448
 K8526; Lot 502 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 13 Female; Male Tribute Presentation
K868; Lot 218 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Court Gathering
K8721 Polychrome Chama Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
K8746 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K8764 Polychrome White background Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
K8774 Polychrome Black background Rollout 3 Hunchback; Male Tribute Presentation
K8790; Lot 187 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
K8792 Polychrome White background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
K8793 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
K8818; Lot 221; Lot 279 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 6 Male Performance
K8870; Lot 308 Polychrome Black background Panels 2 Male Tribute Presentation
K8872; Lot 114 Polychrome Chama Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
K8873 Polychrome White background Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
K8889 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K8926 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 3 Male Preparation
K9094 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
K9096 Polychrome Black background Panels 2 Male Court Members
K9101 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 5 Dwarf; Male Court Gathering
K9109 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K9115 Polychrome Cream background Panels 2 Male Court Members
K9135 Stucco Blue background Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
K9144 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K9146 Polychrome Orange background Panels 2 Male Court Members
K9265 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
K9290 Polychrome Black background Rollout 4 Male Court Gathering
KPC0070; K6316 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 4 Female; Male Performance
L962.66.9 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 5 Male Court Gathering
Lot 104 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
Lot 143 Polychrome White background Panels 2 Male Tribute Presentation
Lot 150 Polychrome Chama Panels 2 Male Court Members
Lot 245 Polychrome White background Panels 2 Male Tribute Presentation
Lot 89 ; Lot 213 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 6 Male Court Gathering

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 L-R 394.1985; K1728 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 6 Male Tribute Presentation
M.2010.115.12; K1599 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
M.2010.115.25; K7461 Stucco Red background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
M.2010.115.330; K4825 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 5 Male Tribute Presentation
M.2010.115.459; K4905 Polychrome Red background Repetitive 3 Male Court Members
M.2010.115.491; K5545 Polychrome Black background Panels 2 Male Court Members
M.2010.115.521; K5918 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 3 Male Performance
M.2010.115.670; K6418 Polychrome White background Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
M.2010.115.75; K5062 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 6 Female; Male Court Gathering
M.90.168.10; K5040 Polychrome White background Repetitive 2 Male Tribute Presentation
MVH Vase (Covarrubias 1957: 228) Polychrome Orange background Rollout 8? Dwarf; Male Court Gathering
NA11221 Polychrome Chama Rollout 3 Male Tribute Presentation
PC.B.564; K2784 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 6 Male Court Gathering
PC.B.569; K4338 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
PC.B.570; K2780 Polychrome White background Rollout 5 Male Court Gathering
PC0040; K6341 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 11 Dwarf; Male Preparation
PC0089; K6315 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 6 Male Court Gathering
RP 523/1 Polychrome Unknown (B&W) Panels 5 Male Court Gathering
Str. B5 Vase Polychrome White background Rollout 6 Male Court Gathering
T7B/6-22 Polychrome Cream background Rollout 4 Male Tribute Presentation
T7B/7-37; K2707 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 3 Female; Male Court Gathering
Uaxactun Vase (Smith 1995: Fig.2p-q) Polychrome Cream background Panels 3? Male Court Gathering
Vase A-45 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 3 Male Court Gathering
Vessel 7 Polychrome Ik' Rollout 7 Male Tribute Presentation
y1986-91; K767 Polychrome Orange background Rollout 13 Male Captive Presentation
Zacualpa Vase (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 316) Polychrome Chama Rollout 2 Male Tribute Presentation
Zacualpa Vase 2 (Foncerrada y Ruiz 1979: 318) Polychrome Chama Panels 4 Male Court Gathering

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 APPENDIX V

Copyright permissions.

Permission for Figure 2.9

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Permission for Figure 2.10

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Permission for Figure 2.14

Permission for Figure 2.15

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Permission for Figures 3.14 and 4.5

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Permission for Figures 4.1, 4.9, and 4.10

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Permission for Figures 4.2 and 5.3

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Permission for Figures 4.2 and 5.4

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Permission for Figure 4.8

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Permission for Figure 5.1

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Permission for Figure 5.6

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Permission for Figure 5.9

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Permission for Figure 5. 17

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Permission for Figure 5. 20

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Permission for Figure 5.22

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Permission for Figure 5. 24

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Permission for Figure 5.27

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Permission for Figure 5.39

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Permission for Figure 5.46

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