Artworks Through the Ages Inspired by Radical Togetherness

The Paleolithic-era Cueva de las Manos, or Cave of the Hands, is one of the earliest known visual representations of human interaction. Despite being tens of thousands of years old, it conveys an urgency that feels remarkably contemporary in today’s fractured society. While we know little about its inspiration, the message is clear: unity is strength. Notice how the handprints collide and overlap, their fingers wide and outstretched. Its authors shared an instinct to convey a unified identity, the communion found in togetherness. 

While the means of artistic expression have changed throughout the millennia, the foundational themes have not. So many subsequent works from art history echo the power of the communal spirit that our foraging, nomadic ancestors imprinted upon a jagged cave wall. Indeed, some of my favorite works from across the ages remind us that humans are inherently social creatures who flourish in the company of others. So pull up a seat and join me on a tour through the centuries of communion, exchange, and the collective human experience.

While this narrative, colorful work from the High Renaissance is drastically different from the rudimentary nature of cave art, Venetian painter Paolo Veronese’s portrait glorifies the same themes of communal celebration. This revelrous gathering, ripe with ecstatic energy feels palpable and immediate, not unlike the work of our indigenous ancestors. Depicting the famous moment from the New Testament when Jesus magically turns water into wine, The Wedding at Cana offers a look into the miracle of Jesus’s blessing and the beauty of belief. In God, yes, but also in the exuberant joys of feasting together. 

Progressing on to a more introspective form of togetherness, Marie Laurencin’s Apollinaire et ses amis depicts a group of literary and artistic figures central to the Parisian avant-garde, including Picasso (top right), Gertrude Stein (far left), and the poet Guillaume Apollinaire (center), who was both the artist’s muse and lover. In contrast to the exuberance of The Wedding at Cana and the primal handprints in Cueva de las Manos, Laurencin’s curvilinear figures appear stoic and resolute, differentiating Apollinaire et ses amis from the Cubist artist’s later works, which were full of color and lightness. Emanating resolve and purpose, the visionary creatives exude an air of importance, reflecting Laurencin’s intent to highlight the seriousness with which they approached their roles within the Parisian avant-garde. The abstracted landscape and bulbous, rust-colored shapes at the top right and left of the portrait give the painting a timeless quality, hinting, perhaps, at the group’s forward thinking nature and significant contributions to modern art.

In contrast to Laurencin’s calm, intellectual gathering, Henri Matisse’s Dance spotlights the primal jubilee of communal movement. A dramatic departure from the artistic norms of the time, Dance provoked outrage among critics who denounced its nudity, contrarian colors, and crudely depicted figures for engaging in what they deemed barbaric dance. But the unsynchronized movement was exactly what Matisse was after. Two years before completing this work, Matisse wrote, “What I dream of is an art of balance, of purity- and serenity, devoid of troubling or depressing subject-matter, an art which could be… a soothing, calming influence on the mind, something like a good armchair which provides relaxation from physical fatigue.” If Matisse sought authenticity, then Dance was a form of rebellion: to hell with complementary colors and perfected forms—it’s about being free, living for the moment, and being wholly and fully together. 

More often remembered as the vivacious socialite and troubled wife of F. Scott Fitzgerald than as a talented visual artist, writer, and dancer, Zelda Fitzgerald’s vitality was not only reflected in her devoted letters to Scott but in the many paintings and illustrations she left behind. Despite the struggles that marked her later years—suicide attempts and cycles of psychiatric treatment—the theatricality and emotive expressiveness of paintings like Love One Another capture the intensity of her social world, a defining aspect of Zelda’s legacy. In 1937, she started experiencing bouts of religious mania, exacerbating her depression and distorting her sense of reality. While the date of this painting is not widely known, it could have been a product of Zelda’s religious visions. Offering a reprieve, perhaps, from the isolation of psychiatric hospitals, the poised women of Love One Another—whether deities, goddesses, or showgirls—embrace each other in union. Gazing upward in longing, they echo Zelda’s words, “All the material things are nothing… I don’t want to live—I want to love first, and live incidentally.”

Born in 1919 in Harlem at the dawn of the Harlem Renaissance, Roy DeCarava became one of the defining photographers of his generation, producing five art books during his life. DeCarava’s TheSweet Flypaper of Life—a cross-disciplinary work featuring a narrative poem by Langston Hughes accompanied by the photographer’s own documentary photographs of life in Harlem–spotlights the delights of Black culture that were so often overshadowed by the violence of racism. Joe and Julia singing, full of both ebullience and sorrow, shows how the community’s resilience is magnified through the healing power of song.

More than five meters wide, this kinetic photograph by the German photographer Andreas Gursky features the swaying limbs of supple, liberated bodies at a May Day rave in Germany. A sea of young dancers almost too vast to comprehend, Gursky’s image speaks to the paradoxical feeling of simultaneous powerlessness and empowerment that arises when in a great mass of people. Just as the repetition of prehistoric handprints on the Patagonian cave wall suggest solidarity, “the camera’s enormous distance from these figures means they become de-individualized,” Gursky says. Partying on May Day, a controversial holiday in Germany due to its association with Nazism, the ravers—in their sheer abundance—hold collective power. Instead of positioning them up close (shirts off, sweat dripping, eyes wide), he creates distance with his camera, making their powerful energy feel universal.

In the spirit of togetherness, what better note to close on than this tender work capturing the universal power of maternal love? By Bond & Grace’s very own Creative Director and artist Maggie Lemak for The Secret Garden Art Novel, A Mother’s Touch (Empathy) imagines a world where mothers everywhere radiate the selfless, altruistic bond pictured here, offering their children safety, security, and unconditional love. In an effort to counter the hardships faced by Frances Hodgson Burnett’s orphaned protagonist Mary, Maggie embraces the power of rebirth, writing, “Life always blooms again into that familiar garden that cradles you.” Life, fortunately, presents infinite chances to form new relationships, ones that can be just as foundational as a mother’s first touch, if you see them through.