An examination of both the Cro-Magnons who made cave art and the devotees who try to explain it.
Their very names are evocative: Font-de-Gaume, Lascaux, Altamira, Les Combarelles, particularly if you have had the good fortune to visit one or two of them.
These are the caves, mostly in northern Spain and southern France – some 350 of them are now known – in which prehistoric art, paintings and engravings, have been discovered. That means works of art that are up to 32,000 years old.
I'd challenge anyone not to feel stirred by the sheer age and yet remarkable immediacy of these works. They mainly depict animals – horses, bison, lions, mammoths, aurochs, cows, reindeer, and now and then even a rhinoceros or an owl or a human. Works of art that are shadowy, suggestive, bold, repetitive, full of energy and often so skillfully exploiting the formations of the cave walls and ceilings that they appear to have emerged from within them.
They are knowing works of art. Although baffling to us, they know their purpose, and are practiced in the skill with which they are painted or engraved.
And most impressively, they are works of art that have survived eons of ignorance of their existence and now, in the past century or so, have survived the doubts of skeptical scholars, the invasive influx of curious tourists, academic arguments (sometimes prickly and personal), prehistorical specialists' theories and speculations. And in spite of everything, they retain their mystery.
In The Cave Painters: Probing the Mysteries of the World's First Artists, Gregory Curtis, who is no dry academic (he was himself emotionally overwhelmed by his first cave-art experience at Font-de-Gaume and this book stems from that moment) offers a survey of the history of response to Paleolithic cave art in Europe as it has been discovered over the years – two caves most recently in the 1990s.