A crude drawing of a warty pig was one of the oldest cave paintings discovered, “Dat[ing] back at least 45,500 years,” (Ferreira para 2). It was etched using pigments made of berry juice, and when one looks at the photo, they can’t help but feel it to be the type of art a little kid would create. The pig has a massive plump body and course lines for hairs, all stained red with fruit-blood and time. Its head is small, however there is an eye carefully placed - a sideways teardrop. While one may be inclined to assume that all cave paintings were created by early humans, “the [pig] also open[s] a debate over whether the artists could have been Homo sapiens, or members of another extinct human species,” (Ferreira para 4). As a creative nonfiction writer, the notion that beings other than humans have the potential to create art doesn’t surprise me in the least.
My craft is one that requires
consistent field research, the field being the course of my life, and the
research being intent observation. As such, the fact that I have spent a
majority of my life around animals drives much of my personal creative
analysis. Some of the earliest photos of me depict this lifestyle, my favorite
one capturing myself just weeks old, surrounded by two cats who had infiltrated
my crib. The cats squint up into a camera flash, eyes reddened by reflection
and old technology, as mine rest; lids closed, veiny and thin.
As I grew, my connection to the
non-humans who occupied my space did too. I spent time with them, learned their
individual body languages, and pressed my face to their hearts – if they would
let me. Some of them beat faster than others, some felt nonexistent. Small
animals such as hamsters and rats had the fastest heartbeats, and dogs,
especially large ones, had rhythmic hearts, pumping strong and slow. I soon
learned that the speed of an animal’s heart was like a clock, the faster it
beat, the sooner they would die of old age.
I volunteered at animal
rehabilitation centers starting from the age of six. I witnessed gruesome
afflictions, painful amputations, abuse victims, as well as unwavering spirits,
loving licks, and affectionate purring. I learned very quickly that if a person
claims animals have no emotion, they are more simple-minded than the ones they allege
to be superior to. Since my connection with animals was so intense, I drew an
early parallel to mortality and loss – a theme that is prevalent in my writing.
I learned to metaphorize life very early on in my field research, and I believe
it is important for all creative nonfiction writers to have an understanding of
non-human life. I do not claim, nor do I think anybody should claim, that
nonfiction writers need to have animals in their work. I simply state
that there is a worldliness required in the genre - an understanding of the way
different brains operate and feel.
Humans are creatures of respect.
They draw, write, and create things which bring them joy, which garner their reverence.
This is why it comes as no surprise that animals were among the first subjects
to be painted on cave walls – the humans (or humanoids) hunting them, respected
them deeply. These pigs, deer, and buffalo were all mighty beasts, ones which
provided a challenge, beauty, and sustenance. In my opinion, there is a reason
why flowers seem to be neglected in prehistoric art, and that reason is simple.
They were uncomplicated, unimportant: a mere part of the landscape.
A creative nonfiction writer’s main
goal is to write about the world as they see it, presenting it in a manner
which is pleasing, a manner which has purpose. This is impossible if the writer
has no respect for the world around them, as it is their job to dig for fossils
of meaning behind life events.
A
creative nonfiction writer begs their reader to not let their stories become a
simple landscape. A creative nonfiction writer pleads with their reader to pay
attention to deeper meaning and emotion. A creative nonfiction writer gets on
their knees pathetically and implores their reader for respect. If it’s
done right this literary groveling is done tactfully, in a way that immerses a
reader into the story. The reader does not have to ask themselves, why am I
reading this? They will simply know that it is worth reading.
If
a creative nonfiction writer lacks respect for their world, which includes
animals, they will have a hard time breaking into their readers’ hearts. Understanding
emotion is the root of creative nonfiction, and the individuality of animals
coincides with this prerequisite. Evolution is a complex thing, creating delineations
of life; life which is created from the same stuff. If early humans were
able to respect animals enough to draw them, if I learned that this dog likes
ropes more than balls, if my cat kisses my nose when I have a fever, surely a
creative nonfiction writer should be able to observe the complexities of
non-human life.
Animals
spend hours observing us, as they respect us enough to do so. Squirrels watch
the sidewalks until it is safe to descend from their trees. Cats watch the
window, waiting for their human to return home. Goldfish stare wistfully from
their tanks, anticipating the dark looming shadow which will provide them food.
If animals give us enough respect to pay attention, surly we should give them
respect as creative nonfiction writers. Our job is to reflect the world in
meaningful ways, and that is the entire world as we see it. There is no
way in hypothetical hell, that a writer has not had an animal cross their path.
In
order to be completely grounded in reality, a creative nonfiction writer must
respect their surroundings. The notion of animals possessing emotions worth
analyzing just comes with the territory.
I
have no doubt that prehistoric artists watched the pigs sleep, spears at the
ready, respecting their prey’s right to dream.
Science
is busy working to determine if non-human humanoids painted the oldest known
cave art to exist. I wouldn’t be surprised.
My
cat is in my lap. I type softer knowing I could disturb his slumber. Animals
respect other animals. It’s just what we do.
References
Ferreira, Becky.
“Pig Painting May Be World’s Oldest Cave Art Yet, Archaeologists Say.” The New York Times, 13 Jan.
2021, www.nytimes.com/2021/01/13/science/cave-painting-indonesia.html.
Alex Borowsky is an MFA student at Florida Atlantic University, specializing in creative nonfiction. She graduated from New York State University at Oswego, where she majored in Creative Writing and Communication Studies. Borowsky worked as the Editor in Chief for Oswego's literary journal, 'The Great Lake Review,' as well as collecting the 'Rosalie Battles CNF Award.' She hopes to publish a collection of essays in the future, as well as kickstart a career as a creative writing professor.
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