Article
Art
Culture
5 min read

Witnessing the unseen: why cave art captivates us

Iwan Russell-Jones recounts the discovery of stone age art that still connects 30,000 years after its creation.
A cave wall drawing of wild animals galloping across other images of themselves.
Animals on the wall of Chauvet Cave.

Late on a winter’s afternoon in December 1994, a group of three French cavers received the kind of Christmas present that most spelunkers can only dream of. They were exploring a cave system that they had just discovered in a deep gorge in southeastern France, and were already delighted by some of the natural geological formations that they’d seen. Suddenly they emerged into a large cavern and found themselves standing in front of a series of wall paintings that took their breath away. In the feeble beams of light from their torches the three explorers were stunned to see huge painted panels swarming with vibrant, beautifully crafted images of animals, including species like mammoths, lions and rhinoceros that had long been extinct in Europe.  

The only way in and out of the cavern was through a series of narrow passageways and shafts. So, these experienced explorers understood immediately that the paintings must have been created in the Stone Age and that they were probably the first people in tens of thousands of years to see them. They had made a spectacular archaeological discovery and Chauvet Cave - named after the group’s leader, Jean-Marie Chauvet - quickly took its place alongside Altamira and Lascaux as one of the most important sites of prehistoric art. 

Although the cavers were very much aware of the historical and scientific value of their discovery, what really overwhelmed them was the nature and quality of the images. In their book, The Chauvet Cave: The Oldest Known Paintings in the World (London: 1996), Chauvet and his colleagues described their feelings in this way:  

“During those moments there were only shouts and exclamations; the emotions that gripped us made us incapable of uttering a single word…. Everything was so beautiful, so fresh, almost too much so. Time was abolished, as if the tens of thousands of years that separated us from the producers of these paintings no longer existed. It seemed as if they had just created these masterpieces. Suddenly we felt like intruders. Deeply impressed, we were weighed down by the feeling that we were not alone; the artists’ souls and spirits surrounded us. We thought we could feel their presence; we were disturbing them.”  

These modern explorers felt strongly connected across an almost unimaginable chasm of time to the people who had once frequented the cave, and at the heart of this vivid sensation was the images they had created. This is a remarkable thing to consider. ‘Presence’ is certainly a quality that contemporary lovers of art look for and admire in paintings. When viewers stand in front of an original work by the likes of Caravaggio or Van Gogh or Chagall, they often experience a very powerful connection with them. They see their brushstrokes, marvel at their distinctive technique, and get a strong sense of their personal investment in the work, their individual genius and vision. It’s as if the artists are very much alive and kicking and still making their presence felt. Jean-Marie Chauvet and his colleagues had an electrifying sense of that on their first encounters with the cave paintings.  

Many of the painted caves discovered across France and Spain have a shrine-like quality and contain evidence that rituals of one kind or another were practised in them. 

But the notion of ‘presence’ in art goes way beyond the artist’s personal charisma and touches on an even more profound matter - the feeling that one is somehow being confronted by the mystery and reality at the heart of life. It’s an understanding of presence that modern people, in their enthusiasm for the individual brilliance and skill of artistic superstars, can sometimes overlook. But it’s an important dimension of palaeolithic art which cannot be ignored. The painters of Chauvet Cave were clearly captivated by the multitude of creatures who shared the world with them. Their imaginations were stirred by the grace of the ibex, the power of the bison, the dignity of the horse, the inquisitiveness of the bear, the ferocity of the lion, and their close observation of these animals is striking. There can be little doubt that the behaviour and characteristics of these fellow creatures led them to reflect on the meaning and significance of their own lives. And underlying all of this is a quality of wonder in their paintings, a sense of what the Jewish philosopher, Abraham Heschel, called ‘radical amazement’ at the sheer fact of being alive in such an extraordinary and beautiful world. 

Of course, we’ll never know exactly what was in the minds of these ancient artists as they were busy creating their masterpieces twenty thousand years before writing was invented. But archaeologists and anthropologists are convinced that the cave paintings are intimately linked with the beliefs and rituals of Stone Age peoples, and that this was their way of connecting with unseen spiritual realities. Many of the painted caves discovered across France and Spain have a shrine-like quality and contain evidence that rituals of one kind or another were practised in them. It seems that when these people went deep underground to create their images, it was in the belief that they were immersed in, and surrounded by, spiritual power and meaning. As scholar David Lewis-Williams puts it, ‘Every image made hidden presences visible’.

 Art still has this power. In the modern world it is rarely produced for overtly religious or ritualistic purposes. Nevertheless, art of any era cannot but bear witness to the unseen, sometimes in ways of which the artists themselves are not aware. Whatever their own philosophical and religious convictions may be, artists who labour in the fields of truth and beauty and meaning cannot help but create work that is allusive and open to transcendence. They cannot avoid the untameable and disruptive presence of their Creator. This will come as no surprise to anyone who has read the Psalms:  

Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there also…  

 The understanding of reality found in the Bible leads to a recognition that wherever people may be on the face of the planet and at whatever point they stand in the long, long history of the human race, they are always in the presence of, and confronted by, the Great I Am, who is the Lord of all times and places. 

The spelunkers of Chauvet Cave received an extraordinary gift at Christmas 1994, and through their discovery the rest of the world has been its beneficiary too. It’s a truly wonderful thing to have been given this glimpse into the lives of people so long ago, and through their creative endeavours to recognise our common humanity and the abiding power of art and the imagination. And at the heart of this present to us all was a presence that Jean-Marie Chauvet and his friends felt so vividly. But they were only partly right in linking that sense to the creative artists. For beyond those ancient cave painters is the object of their concern, the One who, as the Welsh poet, Waldo Williams put it, stands before us all as ‘Each witness’s witness, each memory’s memory, life of every life’ - the Presence behind all presence. 

Review
Culture
Film & TV
Trauma
5 min read

Unforgivable: Jimmy McGovern’s brave storytelling

Intelligent, understanding, and compassionate stories of a family affected by abuse

Henry Corbett, a vicar in Liverpool and chaplain to Everton Football Club.  

  

A family sit together watching a trial in a court.
BBC.

Jimmy McGovern would rather be called a storyteller than a writer. 

And what important, life-changing stories he has told. 

His 1996 TV film Hillsborough told the true story of the disaster in which 97 Liverpool supporters lost their lives. His 2014 story Common was written after he received a letter from a woman whose son was in prison unjustly under the Joint Enterprise Law. His 2017 BBC series Broken showed a caring priest dealing with a mix of situations, including the often hidden, catastrophic effects of gambling addiction. 

In those, as in all the stories he has told over the last 45 years, he seeks to serve the story, to be each character’s best barrister where possible, and to help an understanding of the often-complex situations the characters find themselves in. 

Brave, important stories, and here is another extremely brave story. 

A psychologist who worked with sex offenders contacted McGovern with the stories she was encountering in her role, and she mentioned the disturbing fact that so many people who abuse children have themselves been abused. A story that needs to be told? So to Unforgivable

Joe, played by Bobby Schofield, is in prison for sexually abusing his young nephew Tom. Tom blames himself for not saying more at the time. Joe’s sister Anna, played by Anna Friel, is trying to cope with her son Tom’s silences that are only interrupted by a “Yes” or a “No”. She has to go into school after Tom has been involved in a fight and amidst all this her and Joe’s mother dies, “from a broken heart”. Who broke her heart? Joe, surely. Joe’s father Brian, played by David Threlfall (the cast are all brilliant), agrees with his daughter Anna: they are both furious with Joe. His mother was the only person from the family who visited Joe in prison. Joe cannot come to his mother’s funeral. And young silent Tom has an older brother Peter who sits at the table with a stressed mother Anna and a non-communicative younger brother Tom. The whole family is blitzed. 

The mother’s funeral happens, and then Joe’s release date from prison comes. Where can he go? Right safeguarding procedures are put in place and he goes to St Maura’s, a place under the caring watchful eye of Katherine, an ex-nun, played by Anna Maxwell Martin. 

Joe is ashamed, penitent: “I am just a piece of s**t”. He gets spotted as he walks alone by the River Mersey and gets beaten up. In hospital the nurse asks “Why?”. He tells her that he is a child abuser and wonders if the nurse will continue to help him. She does. Is his life worth living, shunned by family, beaten up by lads who know him? 

Two things move him to action. The ex-nun goes with him to therapy sessions and tells him of her breast cancer. He is sorry to hear that. And he tells her the story of his abuse at the hands of Mr Patterson the football coach of his very successful under-12 team, and not only of his abuse but of one of his team mates too. 

The case against Mr Patterson goes to court, the family hear of Joe’s abuse, and Anna has another level of stress to deal with: if the abused often become abusers, then what about her Tom, will he become an abuser? Of course, not necessarily, and the other abused player tells Joe he didn’t go on to become an abuser. 

Not for one moment is the drama being soft on the horrors of child abuse. Joe was wrong, totally wrong. His act of abuse has and is affecting the whole family massively and tragically, and he should go to prison, serve his sentence and when he comes out there should be vigilant, effective safeguarding measures put in place to stop any repeated abuse. And child abusers can be very manipulative, can put on acts of contrition, and go on to abuse others. Not for one moment should we lower our guard. 

So where does this leave us? Many of us at some stage may be in the company of a family where a shocking, shattering act of child abuse has taken place. How do we respond? Do we blank the offender, wish them dead or in prison with the key thrown away? Are they inhuman monsters, just “pieces of s**t” as Joe describes himself? But Joe is a human being, he does seem penitent, and he was himself abused and he has taken his abuser to court to stop that person abusing others. What of others in the family? Anna’s hate, the father’s hate, the older brother feeling side-lined, Tom’s monosyllabic “yes” and “no”s, the desperate burdens they are carrying. How do we respond to them? 

A story-teller’s role is sometimes to ask awkward questions. Here is a final awkward question: is Joe forgivable or unforgivable? 

It’s also an ancient question. The unforgivable sin that Jesus talks of is the sin against the Holy Spirit, and that is calling good evil and evil good. Joe calls out his abusive act as the work of a piece of s**t. He goes after the person who abused him to prevent others suffering from a horrible, wrong, bad, traumatising act. 

I’ll finish with thoughts from people who know something of abuse, torture, injustice. 

Bryan Stevenson, the American lawyer and activist who has worked with many people on death row, says: "Each of us is more than the worst thing we've ever done." 

Desmond Tutu and his daughter Mpho who lived through the atrocities and abuses of apartheid say in their Book of Forgiving that forgiveness is not easy, is not a sign of weakness, is not forgetting, and is not quick. They suggest a fourfold path: telling the story, naming the hurt, granting forgiveness, and, depending on the situation, renewing or releasing the relationship. 

Jimmy McGovern tells the story and names the hurts movingly, bravely, and compellingly. 

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