AR104. 20 October 2007.
Copyright © 2007 by Kevin Sharpe and Leslie Van
Gelder. All rights reserved.
In process.
Symbols by a Young Girl of the
Upper Paleolithic:
A Tectiform in
Kevin Sharpe
Graduate College, Union Institute & University,
Harris
ksharpe@ksharpe.com
www.ksharpe.com
and
Leslie Van Gelder
leslievg@ksharpe.com
ABSTRACT.
Tectiforms constitute an accepted class of
Paleolithic symbols from caves in the region of the French village of Les
Eyzies de Tayac-Sireuil. This paper focuses on one tectiform from Rouffignac
Cave, which we find was probably created by a girl aged between two and five.
We also compare the tectiform with two other clusters of finger flutings found
in Rouffignac that this young child also created and that appear at first
glance perhaps to constitute examples of another symbol or sign. An analysis of
the clusters undermines this hypothesis. We then address the issues of the
meaning and origin of such symbols.
KEY WORDS.
Finger flutings, forensic analysis, internal
analysis, Paleolithic symbols, prehistoric art,
CONTENTS.
Introduction
Dale Guthrie’s book, The
Nature of Paleolithic Art, claims ‘that works by youngsters constitute more
of [this] art than had hitherto been proposed...based on new analyses that many
of the hand stencils were done by young males’ (Bahn 2006: 575; Guthrie 2006).
For several years we have studied Paleolithic finger flutings (lines made by
fingers on a soft surface) especially those found in the French caves of Rouffignac,
in the
Symbols are things whose special meaning allows us to conceive, express, and communicate ideas....Signs are a subcategory of symbols. Like symbols, signs are things which convey meaning, but they differ in carrying narrow, precise, and unambiguous information....Symbols and signs are used differently: symbols help us to conceive and reflect on ideas, whereas signs are communication devices bound to action (Schmandt-Besserat 1997: 89).
More than likely, the fluters considered the tectiforms symbols rather than signs. The rock art specialists importantly isolate tectiforms as an identifiable form and, even if they call them signs, still consider them to have symbolic content and think of them as having abstract referents. The meaning of such symbols remains ephemeral, continues Schmandt-Besserat (1997: 90), and usually does not survive the societies that created them. Neither the senses nor logic can help perceive the meaning; only those who use the symbols can pass this on.
Jean Plassard provides (1999: 61, KS transl.) the meaning of
the word ‘tectiform’: ‘these geometrical figures give rise to the diagrammatic
image of a roof with a double slope, resting against a vertical mast which in
turn rests on a horizontal base....This basic structure can be augmented with
various arrangements, such as the addition of side walls or the redoubling of
the slopes of the roof.’ Denis Vialou (1998: 56) puts Plassard’s words into
perspective by writing that ‘tectiforms are complex geometric signs whose shape
evoked huts or roofs for the prehistorians of the beginning of [the twentieth
century], who were immersed in the ethnographic comparisons that were in
fashion at that time.’ Tectiforms reveal a lot ‘as a parietal symbolism,’
Vialou adds (1998: 55-56), by helping ‘to define a cultural space’ that
‘reveals a common identity in a population that [was] active for a certain time
in a certain geographical area.’ Tectiforms appear in other caves around Les
Eyzies de Tayac-Sireuil besides Rouffignac, in engraved forms rather than fluted
ones, such as in Bernifal, Les Combarelles I, and Font-de-Gaume (Plassard 2006:
620; Vialou 1998: 56); Henri Breuil probably incorrectly attributes one cluster
in
Prehistorians usually consider the ‘art’ in Rouffignac, including the flutings, to date at 13-14,000 years old, based on stylistic considerations, though its age could lie up to 27,000 years (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006c: 180). In Rouffignac, the fluters made their tectiforms in moonmilk (a white and potentially soft precipitate from limestone comprising aggregates of fine crystals of varying composition usually made of carbonate materials, e.g., calcite, hydromagnesite, and gypsum); however, the one in Chamber E appears fluted through a thin clay film into the moonmilk underneath.
The widths of one of the hand strokes (called a ‘unit’; see below for definitions) in one of the tectiforms suggests on initial inspection that a young child made it. This contrasts with the usual assumption that the large fingers of adults and probably of men made all tectiforms because they constitute symbols. Further, two images (called ‘clusters’; again see below) far apart in the cave appear similar – though not recognized as a sign or symbolic form in prior publications – and also the products of a young child. Below we will report on investigations into these three clusters and our conclusions regarding the above hypotheses that we formed on initial viewing the artifacts, plus the implications of our findings for assumptions such as Guthrie’s.
The tectiform data come from our current internal and
forensic studies of all of the tectiforms in Rouffignac, and which will build
on other studies of tectiforms, especially the most recent work of
The Plassard father and son duo announce the discovery of the Rouffignac tectiform (number 262) that this paper further investigates:
this representation fits in what one could almost baptize the ‘frieze of the three tectiforms’ since it is associated with tectiforms 246 and 247. This unit forms the last panel of Gallery Hl. This new one is the first and the smallest of the group. In spite of its simpler nature, it lies perfectly within the scope of a group that we describe as tectiforms with a plume. Indeed, among the characteristics of the tectiforms of the cave, it is one that already relates to eight of these signs and consists of a clear extension of the vertical above the figure. Some of these extensions are even accentuated by repetition; such is the case from this 9th specimen of the series (Plassard and Plassard 2000: 93; KS transl.)
Tectiform 262 occurs toward the end of Chamber H1b (see Figure 4 for a plan of the cave), as Plassard and Plassard note (see Figure 1). Barrière (1982) does not mention it.
Figure
1. Tectiform 262 of
The two other figures used as an enhancement to the discussion on the tectiform appear very similar to one another. One lies in Chamber A1 (Barrière 1982: 90, fig. 283, left hand side): we call it Cluster A1-1 (see Figure 2), on the left hand wall facing into the cave at the beginning of the Desbordes Panel in Chamber A1 (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006c provides a fuller description of this panel). (Note that we do not extend Barrière’s [1982] numbering system as followed thereafter by the Plassards [e.g., Plassard and Plassard 2000], because it assumes the isolatable figures are recognizable as animals, symbols, or signs. Instead, we use their numbers where they exist and otherwise number and isolate clusters according to the cave chamber number and our sequence therein.)
Figure
2. Cluster A1-1 of
The third cluster for the study occurs in Chamber I, above the ‘Mammoth aux griffades’ 250 (Barrière 1982: 145, figs. 450-452), which we call Cluster I-1 (see Figure 3). It lies approximately four meters into the chamber, on the right hand wall.
Figure
3. Cluster I-1 of
Figure 4. Plan of
Methodology
As mentioned above, we have developed a methodology for obtaining and interpreting the data for our approach (see Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006a for the methodology spelled out in detail). In brief, the methodology’s corner-stones include multiple examinations of the flutings under investigation, experimentation, and the initial and primarily setting aside of questions of meaning (as such assumptions can determine what investigators then see in the flutings). The physical data in the flutings themselves comprise what we seek: how their fluters constructed them and, if possible, how they functioned.
We employ a terminology (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006a:
282-283) to help with the study: a fluter
makes a fluting by sweeping his or
her fingers across a soft surface; a unit
comprises flutings drawn with one sweep of one hand or finger; the profile of a unit or a fluter comprises
the silhouette of the finger tops left in the medium from the fluting; a cluster comprises an isolatable group of
units that exhibit a unity, for instance because they overlay each other; and a
panel comprises a collection of
clusters that appears geographically or otherwise distant from other clusters
or on a surface of reasonably uniform orientation.
In terms of our field methodology, having become familiar with a cluster, we carry out an internal analysis of it, noting fluting overlays, fluting directions, and (though this rarely becomes necessary with flutings) the cross sections of the individual lines. We follow Alexander Marshack’s question, asked especially for engraved line markings: What do the order, direction of and (especially for engravings) the tools for creation of the lines tell about the mind of the artifact creator when creating? Marshack (e.g., 1977: 287) pioneered this technique and, though modified by others such as Robert Bednarik (e.g., 1986), Francesco d’Errico (e.g., 1994), and Michel Lorblanchet (e.g., 1995), it forms the backbone of research into line markings such as flutings.
One of our additions to this methodological base we call a forensic analysis (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006a: 293). In this, we record where possible whether the left or right hand made the unit under examination, as indicated by the presence of marks that the first or fifth finger – written F1 or F5 – would make. These appear distinctively different from one another and from the marks of the other fingers. We measure the width of the F2-F4 set of marks at their narrowest, calling this the 3-fingered width of the unit. (The reasons for measuring the width of the three fingers rather than of just two or one fingers have mainly to do with accuracy and consistency [Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006a: 289].) Our experiments show that the 3-finger widths of an individual fluter remain consistent across different flutings and media of inextreme hardness or softness (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006a: 289; 2006b: 944). The error in 3-finger measurements consists of at maximum about 2 mm from the measuring process and the indeterminism of the cave wall data (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006a: 292). The width data for the three fingers suggest the age category of the fluter, namely whether a young child or older (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006b: 943).
When ascertaining the sex of the fluter (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006a: 290-291), we examine the top of a 4- or 5-fingered unit, for frequently units start with the tops of fingers and we need at least four fingers to tell whether the hand is left or right. We also need to take care with the angle of the fluting hand and of the wall so that the profile has not become distorted. Then we record the relative height of F2 to F4 against F3.
Consistency of widths, profiles (even occasionally of just F2-F4 assuming most people most often flute with their right hands), and perhaps some other features among units suggest the same person fluted them (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006a: 291). We refer to the individual fluters by the widths of their 3-finger flutings. While we record other data as well, the above description of our method suffices for the results this paper conveys.
We recognize that our method is not 100 percent precise in the data it collects and in the interpretations of the data it offers. We also recognize that others and ourselves can further test and develop the methodology, and hence it remains open. Nevertheless, because of the consistency of our results to date, we feel confident enough in them to offer the method as a way to obtain information on the fluters that hitherto has remained unavailable.
Results
Tectiform 262
Figure 5 summarizes the results of our investigations of Tectiform 262.
Figure 5. An internal and forensic analysis of Tectiform 262. (We use the following notation for the units: ‘NH/M=XYS’ means a unit of N lines, H handed [L or R where ascertainable] whose M-fingered width is XY mm [and, when indicated by an ‘S,’ is splayed].)
The fluter of this tectiform had a 3-fingered width of 28 mm, though the 3-fingered width of the fluter of the 2-fingered unit is unknown.
Cluster A1-1
Figure 6 summarizes the results of our investigations of Cluster A1-1.
Figure 6. An internal and forensic analysis of Cluster A1-1. This differs a little from Marshack’s (1977: 312, pl. 38) internal analysis of the same cluster (it is unclear whether he performed the analysis primarily in situ – as we did – or later from photographs).
The fluter of four units in this cluster had a 3-fingered width of 28 mm; a different fluter made the horizontal unit of 3-fingered width 34 mm; and the 3-fingered width of the fluter of the 2-fingered unit is unknown.
A previous issue raised for the flutings in Chamber A1 concerns whether they were made in clay over hard limestone or through the clay and into the then soft moonmilk under the clay (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006c: 181). Further investigations show that they were in general made through the clay into the moonmilk underneath. Evidence of shallow indentations in the now hard surface under the clay indicates the fingers have often pressed into it, but that it was only a slightly soft at the time of fluting.
Cluster I-1
Figure 7 summarizes the results of our investigations of Cluster I-1.
Figure 7. An internal
and forensic analysis of Cluster I-1.
The fluter of three of the units in this cluster had a 3-fingered width of 28 mm. The 3-fingered width of the other unit measures 31 mm but appears splayed, which means the 28 mm fluter still could have made it.
The floor clay below this cluster shows (cave) bear scratches, suggesting its Paleolithic origin and undisturbed nature. It also lies nearly 1 km from Cluster A1-1.
Profiles
To help identify the fluter of the 28 mm 3-fingered units, we studied the profiles of the 28 mm units in the three clusters. Figures 8a-8e illustrate these profiles when clear, the angle of the hand or the wall not excessive, and when not overlapped by other units. For comparison, Figures 9a-c illustrate a clear profile of a 28 mm fluter from another chamber, and the profiles of two other fluters, those with 34 mm and 38 mm 3-fingered widths. The latter two pictures help to demonstrate the differences between the fluted profiles of different individuals.
Figure 8a (profile of
a unit from Cluster A1-1; possibly left hand); 8b (profile of another unit from
Cluster A1-1; possibly right hand, photo reversed for ease of comparison with
left-handed profiles); 8c (profile of a third unit from Cluster A1-1; possibly
left hand); 8d (profile of a unit from Cluster I-1; left hand); 8e (profile of
a unit from Tectiform 262; possibly left hand). All profiles are of a 28 mm
fluter.
Figure 9a (Chamber
A1, Alcove II; left hand) 28 mm profile (note the right-hand line is not of
this unit); 9b (Chamber A2; right hand, reversed) 34 mm profile; 9c (Chamber G,
Mammoths of Discovery Panel; right hand, reversed) 38 mm profile.
The profiles for the pictured 28 mm profiles, including that from Chamber A2, appear consistent: all three fingers have much the same height, F2 and F4 in particular being roughly equal in height with F3 protruding only a little from them. Note the difference between the profiles of 28 mm from 34 mm and 38 mm: F2 and F4 have different heights and F3 protrudes well beyond either of the others.
Discussion and Conclusions
From the three clusters, appropriate units of 28 mm 3-fingered width show the same profile. This means the same person probably fluted them (though of course more than one person could have the same finger width and profile). Hence we can say that the same person probably fluted the tectiform and the other two clusters, apart from the 34 mm unit in Cluster A1-1 and assuming this person made the 2-fingered units.
The relative heights of F2 to F4 in relation to F3 also show, whether left or right hands, that F2 extends the same distance as F4. The profiles of all units in Figures 8a-d cohere with this conclusion. This suggests the female sex for the fluter. Moreover, as our previous research shows, the width of 28 mm indicates this person was probably a young child aged between 2 and 5 (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006b: 943). We call this young girl, Miss 28.
We believe, with respect to Tectiform 262, that our conclusions demonstrate the probable making of a symbol – assuming the symbolic nature of the tectiform for the Rouffignac fluters, as prehistorians usually accept – by a young girl of the Upper Paleolithic. Cave explorers may have observed many young child-made symbols, but have not recognized them as such. The hand prints of apparently young children (though the quantitative establishing of their ages remains open) observed, for example, in Gargas and Cosquer caves (Breuil 1952: 256; Clottes et al. 2005: 5, fig. 9) may indeed constitute Paleolithic symbolism, but a case for this with respect to either of these prints also remains open.
We also conclude that Clusters A1-1 and I-1 show sufficient differences that they do not follow the same template. Three indicators suggest this: (1) the 34 mm horizontal in Cluster A1-1 as opposed to the 28 mm horizontal in Cluster I-1; (2) the existence of the 2-fingered unit on the left of Cluster A1-1; and (3) the different number of 3-4 fingered units in each, namely four in Cluster A1-1 and three in Cluster I-1. These two clusters probably do not constitute fluted examples of a public or a personal (to Miss 28) symbol or sign. We will discuss below the similarities between these two clusters.
Use of Two Hands
Clusters A1-1 and I-1 differ fundamentally. But they appear similar visually – hence our original hypothesis that they may constitute symbols or at least repeats of the same underlying form – and this raises a point concerning Miss 28’s use of her left and right hands. The same point also shows up with Tectiform 262.
The three clusters examined in this study show four pairs of units that the left and right hands could have fluted at one time (the right hand pair of units in Cluster A1-1 do overlap a little, but in such a way that Miss 28 could have still made them at the same time). We will not provide here the evidence supporting this possibility, because it requires a more in-depth description of Miss 28’s flutings than this paper could support. The profile discussion above helps, but is not conclusive on this point. Further, on a quick examination of other units, fluting with two hands at once rarely occurs; hence perhaps the reason why Clusters A1-1 and I-1 stood out as similar.
If Miss 28 did flute with the left and right hands at once, then she could not have been holding a torch and someone else had to do this for her. Alternatively, she could have carried a lamp to the places where she fluted and put it on the floor; given the unevenness of the floor, however, a person would probably not carry a lighted lamp whose oil could spill. Does her not carrying a torch further emphasize her young age? In the context of a discussion of the larger group, we can ask further social questions, such as whether Miss 28 was the only one who fluted with both right and left hands at same time. Perhaps she liked to do this. Or perhaps young children did not carry torches. Who lit the way for her and was that person older? What ages were the people exploring the remote back chambers of the cave such as Chamber I? How does not carrying a torch impact her exploration of the cave? A study like this one on Tectiform 262 in part aims to generate insight into the social structures and relationships of these Upper Paleolithic people.
Meaning and Explanation
The question of the meaning or intention of the images rises and also needs addressing. As we emphasized before (e.g., Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006c), such issues must come after and subject themselves to the type of analysis we engaged in above. Scholars and popularizers too easily decide on the meaning of flutings beforehand and then selectively read the data the cave presents as confirming their biases.
One direction toward an explanation for meaning and
intention could explore the hypothesis that tectiforms represent a type of
‘signature’ or ‘self-portrait.’ This would imply, for tectiforms made by the
same person (and one person would probably make each of them if this suggestion
were correct) and that stand for that person, a consistency about them that
differs from those made by others. They would all, however, fall within an
overall pattern or definition. This hypothesis requires and is capable of
further empirical investigation. Another obvious direction to explore concerns
the activities of Miss 28 being play.
Below we look at some recent extended and published attempts at explaining the origin if not also the meaning and intention of flutings, including tectiforms.
Guthrie’s (2006) attempted explanation incorrectly
emphasizes the sexual nature of Paleolithic ‘art.’ It also, and more
importantly for the current discussion on the Rouffignac flutings of Miss 28,
claims ‘that works by youngsters constitute more of the art than had hitherto
been proposed...based on new analyses [some of which were inspired by our own
work; Chazine and Noury 2006: 21] that many of the hand stencils were done by
young males’ (Bahn 2006: 575). The chief difference between Guthrie’s
conclusions and ours does not need explaining: Miss 28 is not a sexually
charged young male, but a quite young girl.
This echoes our previous point (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006c: 194) that the young-child
origin of some of the flutings in the Desbordes Panel of Chamber A1 (which
includes Cluster A1-1) counters the idea that they come from an initiation
ceremony for boys at puberty. Guthrie’s conclusions and ours also differ, as
suggested by the comments of Paul Bahn, in that no immediate known connection
exists between the three clusters of flutings by Miss 28 and figurative art;
further investigations in
Several of our recent publications (e.g., Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006c: 192-194) indicate the paucity of the phosphene and shamanic interpretations (e.g., Lewis-Williams 2002) for the flutings of Chamber A1, the same applying to Chambers H1 and I. Supporters of such hypotheses need to provide in situ evidence for these activities having taken place as opposed to something more mundane having happened.
Derek Hodgson proposes a competitor to drug- or similar-based hypotheses such as the shamanic one. An early version of his hypothesis builds a case for the neurovisual origin of geometric forms, which would include tectiforms and nonfigurative flutings and hence Tectiform 262 and the other two clusters of Miss 28. He bases his ideas on the intimate connections between geometrics and ‘the early visual brain’s preferences relating to its functional organization’ (2006b: 35; see also Hodgson and Helvenston 2006):
The proclivity to perceive geometric figures was hard-wired into the primate brain millions of years ago….Certain…geometric motifs…as subjectively experienced, are a consequence of how the neural structure of the visual brain fits together – in hexagonal columns as a means of tightly packing components into a limited space….The preference for order, repetition, and geometric patterns in both animals and humans may therefore arise from certain longstanding determinants, relating to their importance for detecting form in various situations, as a means of holding constant the flux of the world so that objects can be reliably perceived….Correspondingly,...‘the production and repetition of geometric shapes...seems to be a fundamental psychobiological propensity in humans.’...This means the system can be activated by external stimulation [including]…through straightforward making or perception of repetitive lines and geometric shapes, as in early art (Hodgson 2006b: 30-32).
Another version of this hypothesis (Hodgson 2000: 870) investigates the primary visual cortex as playing a preeminent and ‘central role in the initial processing of visual information concerned with line’ (2000: 871). In the development of the ‘search for order and structure and a complex world,’ building on the experience of phosphenes and marks that look like them, emerges ‘the production and repetition of geometric shapes’ (2000: 870). The principal source of these marks, Hodgson continues, lay in ‘the practice of or preoccupation with mark-making itself.’
He parallels the situation across the Paleolithic to the development from modern infants’ spontaneous drawing of ‘simple repetitive lines into more complex geometric motives…similar to phosphenes’:
Both…are contingent on the same neurophysiological
mechanism – the primary visual cortex….The first primitive marks of the Lower
and Middle Paleolithic can therefore be regarded as a prerequisite for the
realization of representational form, a process also seen in the similar
universal, sequential development among infants….This analysis explains the
exclusive existence of geometric marks in the Lower and Middle Paleolithic and,
moreover, the persistence of such marks alongside of representation in the
Upper Paleolithic, as children also tend to refer back to earlier geometric
forms even after the representational stage has been attained (2000: 870).
The most recent version of his hypothesis (2006a) involves ‘pseudohallucinations.’ ‘Certain types of experience relating to “normal” interaction with the world,’ he suggests (2006a: §22), can induce hallucinatory episodes. This idea applies to more recent periods of the Paleolithic and builds on the other two versions of the hypothesis. The ‘normal’ or ‘regular’ circumstances for people attempting ‘to survive during the fluctuating climate of the Ice Age,’ he claims, ‘directly influenced their psychological state which, in turn, determined how parietal art was made.’ He summarizes these: ‘Hunters seeking refuge in these caves will have been engaged in stressful and demanding situations on expeditions involving highly focused and prolonged concentration that led to an accentuation of visual imagery at the expense of externally perceived stimuli. This may have been further reinforced by hunger or traumatic experiences in relation to the dangers of tracking game and avoidance of predators whereby survival of the individual hunter regularly came under threat.’ His words ‘fatigue’ and ‘loss’ build the pathos of the situation (2006a: §42).
Hodgson suggests reasons why geometric forms had an intrinsic psychological importance to their creators. ‘As the early visual cortex…is particularly concerned with the processing of geometric forms, the depiction of such “primitives”…adds… a “perceptual type of intensity to the resultant constructions”’ (2006a: §39). They appear in Paleolithic ‘art’ because they provoked resonance in the lower visual centers. ‘Geometrics therefore both simulate and stimulate the way the visual brain constructs images and were realized in cave art due to the sense of empathy thereby evoked by way of a feedback mechanism’ (2006a: §39). The imagery thus probably provided ‘pleasurable feelings of mastery, security, and relief from anxiety’ (2006b: 32). Even more, the ‘artists’ would have found them ‘special’ or ‘so compelling’ that they sometimes treated them as real (2006a: §22, §42), ‘a significance beyond what originally inspired their production’ (2006a: §39).
Hodgson also provides (2006b: 35) a disclaimer as to his
hypothesis’s potential to explain everything about Paleolithic ‘art’: he terms
his ideas ‘coarse grained’ and leaves the ‘fine-grained’ issues ‘pertaining to
specific cultural factors to the archaeologist or anthropologist.’ Hopefully,
however, counter-evidence from the ‘fine grained’ class of observations could
call for revisions or even for the discarding of the ‘coarse grained’ hypothesis.
Several other matters need consideration:
· Do the flutings of the Desbordes Panel in Chamber A1 of Rouffignac Cave look like phosphenes or is an appropriate range of phosphenes depicted there? As we pointed out before (Sharpe and Van Gelder 2006c: 193-194), the answer to both questions is negative. So it overstretches the data to say phosphenes inspired them, unless phosphenes inspire all ‘art’ – the claiming of which empties the hypothesis.
· More generally, what figures does Hodgson’s understanding of geometric forms include and what does it not? If he can differentiate between them this way, what in situ data or reasons would suggest applying his hypothesis in some circumstances and not in others?
· Hodgson’s hypothesis does not seem to explain the symbolic nature of the tectiform, despite its geometric form. Would he allow alternative mechanisms to underlie geometrics or are all such drawings only a result of the processes he suggests? A more mundane (social) situation may provide an adequate explanatory base in the quest for the intention or even meaning behind the flutings (e.g., artistic expression, decoration, play, social communication or symbolism, tactile experience). Where does social conditioning take over from the direct influence of the primary visual cortex? Perhaps the issue concerns how these potential explanations fit with Hodgson’s; can more than one explanation apply? The hypothesis needs expansion and applying more finely and not so all-encompassing.
·
Hodgson supplies a hunting and survival scenario
to explain the pseudohallucinations of Upper Paleolithic people. He seems to
assume with this story that the Rouffignac Cave ‘artists’ hunted the animals
depicted or else those depicted predated on humans. Did the cave ‘artists’ of
Rouffignac actually and regularly hunt the large animals depicted (e.g.,
mammoths and rhinoceroses) and, if the animals were predators (including the
engraved bear in the cave), why did the artists often draw them smiling (see
various figures in Barrière 1982)?
· The story of the hunting and survival situation as the background for Upper Paleolithic ‘art’ probably does not apply to Miss 28 or her fluting companions, whom we can provisionally say include other children and youths as well as adults. So why did she create a geometric symbol? Is it just a childhood thing to do?
·
Were Miss 28’s people so different from us that
we lie in another neurological-psychological developmental stage from them?
Hodgson says (2000: 870) his hypothesis applies to Upper Paleolithic adults ‘as
[modern] children also tend to refer back to earlier geometric forms even after
the representational stage has been attained’; does this also apply to modern
adults? His scenario suggests an inner life for the Upper Paleolithic ‘artists’
that seems quite divorced from ours; but they may lie much closer
psychology-wise to how we function today with respect to art and geometrics;
our economic and technological lives have changed almost out of recognition,
but ‘the potential that underwrites our modern lifestyles and achievements was
there from the very start. Deep down, human beings haven’t changed one whit
since prehistoric times’ (Tattersall 2003: 89). How might we tell? It feels
that Hodgson levels a value judgment about the capabilities of these people,
especially when they also produced beautiful representational drawings of
animals.
·
Hodgson says the neurovisual explanation applies
to the Lower and Middle Paleolithic. The pseudohallucination hypothesis, on the
other hand, seems to apply only to the Upper Paleolithic. What explanation
applies to what era and how do the versions of the hypothesis relate?
As far as we can tell, no one offers an appropriate hypothesis for the origin or the underlying mechanisms (neurological, social, or otherwise) behind the intention or meaning of flutings such as those of Miss 28. Hodgson’s may offer the most adequate hypothesis at present. His and all other attempts appear too speculative and theoretical, however, too broad or widely applicable to help in an individual instance such as the flutings of Miss 28 in Rouffignac Cave. Grand ideas about the origin of prehistoric ‘art’ – including Hodgson’s and Lewis-Williams’ – fail because they do not relate to the data of particular instances and circumstances of the ‘art.’ Unless the hypotheses can bridge the gap, they are probably useless for studies like ours, though interesting.
Further Cave Study
This paper focused on the symbols or potential symbols made
by Miss 28 and marks the beginning of an internal and forensic study of all the
tectiforms in
Given our experience of our past investigations, however, this future research may open up other questions and lead to other or refinements to our existing methods, and hence to new and sometimes complementary information. This opportunity not only applies to the study of tectiforms, but also to our knowledge of the person who was Miss 28 and her social context.
Our results on Miss 28’s tectiform in general suggest that young girls of at least one group in the Upper Paleolithic were involved in perhaps the ‘highest’ aspect of cognitive activity. This coincides with the experience of modern children who learn to write and create symbols at about the same age. Scholars and popularizers should take this segment of the population’s cultural participation more seriously than they have.
Acknowledgements
Thanks are due to the many people who have helped support
this research: Jean, Marie-Odile, and
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