So the wife was away this past weekend which meant that I
got a little Netflix to myself – my wife and I have very different tastes when
it comes to movies – so I was able to watch some of Cave of Forgotten Dreams.
This documentary is about cave art from about 32,000 years ago that, because of
a rock slide, could not be accessed and results in pristine, untouched art.
It is 2015. Our “sense” of history and art really doesn’t
emotionally go back very far. It takes mental energy to connect history to our
present and so we typically don’t, which results in the sophomoric “(art) history
is dead facts” syndrome.
But what this movie made me do is spend that mental energy
and I sat in awe in front of the television thinking about an artist or
artists, in that cave making art as mammoths roamed outside, as torches
provided light, and the difference between life and death was so thin, and yet,
the art was produced. And is it ever striking!
Why? Why take the time to do this when just survival requires
so much?
At some point isn’t it art that separates us from the beasts?
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