Today, my wife and I watched a program about Chavaut Cave in France. “The Chauvet-Pont-d’Arc Cave in the Ardèche department of southern France is a cave that contains the earliest known and best preserved figurative cave paintings in the world, as well as other evidence of Upper Paleolithic life. It is located near the commune of Vallon-Pont-d’Arc on a limestone cliff above the former bed of the Ardèche River, in the Gorges de l’Ardèche. Discovered on December 18, 1994, it is considered one of the most significant prehistoric art sites and the UN’s cultural agency UNESCO granted it the World Heritage status on June 22, 2014.
The cave was first explored by a group of three speleologists: Eliette Brunel-Deschamps, Christian Hillaire, and Jean-Marie Chauvet for whom it was named. Chauvet (1996) has a detailed account of the discovery. In addition to the paintings and other human evidence, they also discovered fossilized remains, prints, and markings from a variety of animals, some of which are now extinct. Further study by French archaeologist Jean Clottes has revealed much about the site. The dates have been a matter of dispute but a study published in 2012 supports placing the art in the Aurignacian period, approximately 32,000–30,000 BP.”
As I, via the television program, deeper into the cave, I was overcome with excitement. I was steeping into a place of mystery, wonder, and art; yet still very human. Strangely, I am overcome with the same excitement when I write poetry: mystery, wonder, art, and humanity. Am I a good poet? That’s for others to decide, people far more intelligent that I am. Still, I write to tap into the mystery that poetry holds for me. It’s wonderful.