Ancient of Days

Through similar or possibly identical means to the earlier occasion when I traversed the apparent boundaries of time and was blessed to witness the birth of language, as described here, I have again been psychically transported back to pre-historic times and sampled some of 'human' life from that primal era, and what follows is my humble and inadequate attempt to give literal form to my privileged perusings.

Two significantly hairy and odorous creatures clothed in blood-stained furs emerge from a cave. The impression gathered from the taller one is an anguished effort to find some form by which to express some inner process, which it might be excessive to describe as thought.
"What did you think of that?"
"Well, you know me and art. How bout yourself?"
"To be perfectly honest, I thought it was a bit cliched. I was at that exhibition of Loutraux' in the Lascaux Cave last month and it seems to me he's too self-consciously trying to out-Loutraux Loutraux; you know that whole primitive art 'tappping into elemental forces, bypassing the corrupting intellect' thing."
"Maybe you're right. Though, I have to say I found the whole exhibition very dark, and actually quite hard to make out the paintings. Do you know who was curating it?"
"Some asshole who thinks this badly lit cave idea is in keeping with the whole primitive ambience...'nascent form emerging from the blackness,' and all that bullshit. I heard one of the organisers twittering on about the question of the existence of an art-work when there's noone there to see it. I felt like saying, what about when there is someone there, but he can't see it cos the stupid organisers won't bother to light the fucking gallery."
"Idiots. You should have spoken up."
"I know. Conscience doth make cowards. Anyway, they'd have probably just dismissed me as some ignorant philistine crawled out of the swamp."
"You're probably right."
"I know I'm right. The chattering classes. Simmering gobshites wouldn't know art if it kicked them on the arse."