I ride a miniature train that squeaks and groans as it winds 20 of us down into the heart of the cave, more than a half mile from the entrance. Once in the main gallery, I look up to see constellations of creatures mapped on an overhead sketchbook.

Bold, greasy black lines — horse, mammoth, ibex, and bear — cover the ceiling. These are not abstract signs or stylized glyphs. These are beautifully individual portraits. Their eyes differ; the mouths are crooked,
open, closed; some seem to smile; one cocks its head as if listening. They are lovingly drawn. In the mind of the artist there was room for distinct faces and a repertoire of movement.

Rouffignac’s artists worked during the Mid to Late Magdalenian period — about 11,000 BC — which was towards the end of the era of parietal art.

By that time the woolly mammoth, which is drawn here 150 times, far more than any other animal, and the woolly rhino, which also figures in a frieze, were nearly extinct. In no other known cave are the seldom-drawn mammoths represented in such abundance.

What power did the artists invest in these frail lines? What information did they hope would be carried on strands of black soot as thin as a wish?


ROUFFIGNAC