Happy Monday, everyone!
This week, I thought we’d try something a bit different: Ekphrastic Writing—writing that has been inspired by a piece of art. I will admit to you right now that I’ve never tried this type of writing before. So, we’re all in on this experiment together!
Here’s how ekphrastic writing is described at Poets.org:
“Ekphrasis is the use of vivid language to describe or respond to a work of visual art.”
And this is from the Poetry Foundation:
“Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the [writer] may amplify and expand its meaning.”
So that’s what we are going to do today—write stories that amplify, expand upon, describe, respond to, imagine, or re-imagine the meaning in a work of art.
Or, to put it another way:
We’re going to look at a piece of art and then…write stories.
I’m guessing many of you have read some form of writing that’s been inspired by a work of art. The bestselling “Girl with a Pearl Earring,” by Tracy Chevalier, has a Vermeer painting at the center of its plot. And then there’s the Pulitzer Prize-winning “The Goldfinch,” by Donna Tartt, whose plot intertwines with a painting by Carel Fabritius. (Loved that book! And I love the painting, too.)
I’ve got three examples of ekphrastic short fictions to share with you. In each, the writer has used a piece of visual art as a jumping off point for their imagination.
The first is a story written in response to an Edward Hopper painting. “After Nighthawks,” by Francine Witte, can be found in the journal Five South.
I love this next one. “The Birth of Athena,” by Tina Berry, was written in response to a photograph.
And here’s another one inspired by Hopper, “Somewhere in the West,” by Janet S. John.
The two examples based on Hopper paintings imagined the stories behind the characters on the canvas. The Tina Berry story, on the other hand, is more descriptive. Both of these methods work! In fact, anything works. Begin with the painting. See where it takes you.
THIS WEEK’S PROMPT
So here we go!
This week, you’re going to write a story using a piece of art (choices are below) as a jumping-off point. You can approach this in any number of ways:
1. You can look at, say, a painting or a photograph, and imagine the story taking place within its image.
2. You can write a story from the viewpoint of the painter or photographer who created the art.
3. You can create a story in the “voice” of someone or something that appears in the piece of art.
4. You can let the art take you someplace else—in other words, the piece you end up with may not seem to have much to do with the art at all.
5. You can write about yourself and your interaction with the piece of art.
6. You can use the art to inspire you in some way I haven’t mentioned here!
Here are several choices of visual art for inspiration (mostly Hopper, who seems to be everyone’s favorite when it comes to this sort of writing):
Use the photo at the top of this page. “Susanna and the Elders” was painted in 1610 by Artemisia Gentileschi.
Summer Evening: https://www.edwardhopper.net/summer-evening.jsp
Sunlight in a Cafeteria: https://www.edwardhopper.net/sunlight-in-a-cafeteria.jsp
Room in New York: https://www.edwardhopper.net/room-in-new-york.jsp
Hotel Lobby: https://www.edwardhopper.net/hotel-lobby.jsp
Train Car : https://www.edwardhopper.net/compartment-c-car.jsp
Photography choices : https://creativecloud.adobe.com/discover/article/street-photography-in-the-urban-landscape
Choose something else.
PLEASE LET US KNOW WHICH ARTWORK YOU USED.
You can write as much as you like, but try to keep your posted comments to 400 or, at most, 450 words.
See you in the comments!
Until next Monday—
I used one of the photographs--the one with three women looking at maps, trying to figure out where they are. Seeing them sort of lost brought back this memory for me.
Centrum
That time in Fort Worden, walking the trails I’d never noticed before, and suddenly it occurred to me that we were making circles. I didn’t say I was nervous, not at first, but then the sun began to go down and I saw the two of us lost and alone in the woods. It would soon get colder, and colder still. And would we die there? Would we never find our way out? I finally asked Daniel what did he think, and he said, yeah, we passed that rock before, definitely making circles here. There was no distance to look out upon, only trees, trees, and more trees, and the shadowy path in front of us. Did we have a match between us? A bottle of water? Are we lost? I said, finally. And Daniel said, it would seem so. And then we turned a corner and a little girl appeared. This is not a joke—she had a balloon! And she was skipping along the trail. A moment later, following her, we were out of the woods, alive. I saw Daniel years later and asked if he remembered, and yes he did. He also remembered the lady who put her finger in my face and said, that’s not funny when I said I couldn’t remember if she was from Indiana, Iowa or Ohio, all of those middle states, they all seem the same. I didn’t sleep with him, if you’re wondering. But he’s right here when so much is not, next to the little girl with the balloon, and the lady with the pointing finger.
Automat - Edward Hopper
I’m looking down now. When Edward first painted me, I was looking straight out at the viewer with an unblinking, unflinching stare. Before, when I was just color, atoms and molecules of color captured in paint, I had a different awareness. I was one with the universe. I was aware, the way everything is aware, and undivided. I was in paradise. Even as Edward took my color and began to form me into woman, I remained in that eternal calm awareness and unity. But when he painted my eyes, my deep brown eyes staring straight out at him, everything changed. I could see. And when I saw I was ejected from my unity. I understood myself, I was aware of myself, as something separate, as woman. I was aware of Edward as other. This awareness created both ecstasy and horror. Ecstatic at knowing myself as an individual. But horrified by the disconnection. Universal longing set in. Longing for Edward. Longing for his touch, his smile, his affection, his friendship, his love. Universal loneliness replaced universal connectedness. Here I was alone with this coffee watching Edward work. Watching Jo come and go discussing me with Edward. I was mad with sorrow knowing that forever more I would be watching people coming and going, looking at me, talking about me, but not understanding that I was woman and I was aware. Hell replaced paradise. It was Jo who saved me. One morning, when the light was perfect, soft and clear, Jo came into the studio alone and stood before me for nearly an hour with her own cup of coffee. Sipping and looking into my eyes. Oh, how I wished that my lips could move, form the words to beg for her help. I had nothing but my eyes to reach her. We were in a trance together. When Edward entered, Jo turned to him. She told him that my eyes were her eyes. The best he’d ever painted. Her eyes filled with tears, and he pulled her close, held her. In his embrace, her tears turned to sobs. When she calmed enough to speak, she said, “I can’t bear the thought of my eyes being exposed in this way.” Without a word, he picked up his brush, and shielded my brown eyes. Relief. Now, I look forever into my coffee. I am not back to universal awareness. I am still separate. But I spend my days in quiet contemplation. An eternal meditation on unity and separation that has become its own gift.