Caves are one of the last unexplored places on our planet — we still don’t know what the deepest cave is on Earth, and we probably never will. Caves have drawn people since prehistoric times, either because of belief in the supernatural, or because they were rare safe shelters. Today, we enter the underground for quite another reason. When you find yourself in a cave, you become aware of the fact that you are standing in the same place where some of our distant ancestors occasionally stayed a few million years ago, where some Paleolithic humans dwelled and used the cave walls as their canvases.
Eternal darkness, blackness — is the first association that comes up with caves. However, there is a narrow area around the entrance where daylight merges into darkness. Where the field of vision is surrounded by the cave walls, and the entrance becomes a kind of film projector or cinema screen. And once you step into the darkness and look back you become aware of what you are leaving behind. Light. Looking from the inside toward the sky you begin to wonder whether our ancestors’ attempts of covering the entrance have just been unsuccessful enough to let those few rays of sunlight glimpse through a hole in the fur or skin, creating the effect of camera obscura. Did they, through the interplay of light and shadow, turn the caves into archaic cinemas? How did they feel in the darkness of the void? How much is our fear and anticipation when we step into the unknown, or our exhilaration of seeing the sky once again on the way back, different from theirs?
What color was their sky?
Published as an artist book: Void
