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 This past week my brother Peter came north to visit us. We took time to do things that we did all the time as kids. Explore! An archeology site in the high desert across the state line in Nevada is about 2 hours away. Pretty remote, over some rough dirt roads, the 7,000 year old petroglyphs give pause. It is fascinating to imagine the lives of people who made this rock art. Obsidian shards are scattered across the ground, vestiges of tools made for survival. Did the maker contemplate the beauty of the form, appreciate the emerging knife or point in aesthetic terms? As a kid climbing around caves near our house in Yosemite Valley I remember seeing orange circles drawn on rocks. Made by human hands like the grinding stones all over the woods where we played, they were remnants of past lives.

There is a thread stretching across the centuries between those art makers and  todays. Why did they make art? Was it for decoration, a pleasant pastime? “Petroglyphs are powerful cultural symbols that reflect the complex societies and religions of the surrounding tribes,” is what the website for Petroglyph National Monument in New Mexico states. There are many recurring symbols in the rock art. Geometric patterns, and human and animal figures are common. They tell stories. Is that the main purpose of art, to tell stories?

Before recorded history, storytelling was a major form of communication. It carries the seeds of cultures going back to their geneses. In my own Celtic roots the Seanachai, or storyteller is a very important member of the society. Humans are hardwired to be attuned to stories. Art is a visual language. Each painter, sculptor, designer or creator of any kind has their own particular spin. Certain themes and currents may run through an artwork indicative of the time and cultural influences the artist lives in, but there is something in the work that is unique to an individual.

I believe art exists in all kinds of ways in our contemporary society. It is in the skylines of cities, and little county parks. The way someone like my husband plants flowers amongst the lava rock walls he built is an artform. I recall my children engrossed in building their castles and villages in the sand along the Merced River. All the while they talked to themselves and each other, telling stories, making sense of their place in the world. What is your artform? How do you make sense of your place in the world?