Ekphrasis

Responding to Art with Art

Ekphrasis: Definition

• A graphic, often dramatic, description of a visual work of art. In ancient times it referred to a description of any thing, person, or experience.

• The word comes from the Greek ek, meaning 'out,' and phrasis, which means 'speak‘. The verb ekphrazein means to proclaim or call an inanimate object by name.

Modern Ekphrasis

• Where one medium of art tries to relate to another medium by defining and describing its essence and form, and in doing so, relate more directly to the audience.

• A descriptive work of prose or poetry, a film, or even a photograph that employs rhetorical vividness to illuminate themes or intent of an inspirational piece of work.

The Fall of Icarus

Pictures and Poetry

LANDSCAPE WITH THE FALL OF ICARUS by William Carlos Williams

According to Brueghelwhen Icarus fell

it was springa farmer was ploughing

his fieldthe whole pageantry

of the year wasawake tingling

nearthe edge of the sea

concernedwith itself

sweating in the sunthat melted

the wings' waxunsignificantly

off the coastthere was

a splash quite unnoticedit was

Icarus drowning.

ICARUS by Edward FieldOnly the feathers floating around the hatShowed that anything more spectacular had occurredThan the usual drowning. The police preferred to ignoreThe confusing aspects of the case,And the witnesses ran off to a gang war.So the report filed and forgotten in the archives read simplyDrowned, but it was wrong: IcarusHad swum away, coming at last to the cityWhere he rented a house and tended the garden.That nice Mr. Hicks the neighbors called him,Never dreaming that the gray, respectable suitConcealed arms that had controlled huge wingsNor that those sad, defeated eyes had onceCompelled the sun. And had he told themThey would have answered with a shocked, uncomprehending stare.No, he could not disturb their neat front yards;Yet all his books insisted that this was a horrible mistake: What was he doing aging in a suburb?Can the genius of the hero fallTo the middling stature of the merely talented?

And nightly Icarus probes his woundAnd daily in his workshop, curtains carefully drawn,Constructs small wings and tries to flyTo the lighting fixture on the ceiling:Fails every time and hates himself for trying.

He had thought himself a hero, had acted heroically, And now dreamt of his fall, the tragic fall of the hero; Serves on various committees, And wishes he had drowned.

Musee Des Beaux Artsby W. H. Auden

About suffering they were never wrong,The Old Masters: how well they understoodIts human position; how it takes placeWhile someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking

dully along;How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waitingFor the miraculous birth, there always must beChildren who did not specially want it to happen, skatingOn a pond at the edge of the wood:They never forgotThat even the dreadful martyrdom must run its courseAnyhow in a corner, some untidy spotWhere the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horseScratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Brueghel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns awayQuite leisurely from the disaster; the plowman mayHave heard the splash, the forsaken cry,But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shoneAs it had to on the white legs disappearing into the greenWater; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seenSomething amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

ICARUSby Christine Hemp

It was his idea, this flying thing.We collected feathers at night, stuffing

our pockets with mourning dove down. By day,we'd weave and glue them with the waxI stole after we'd shooed the bees away.

Oh, how it felt, finally, to blow off Creteleaving a labyrinth of dead-ends:

my clumsiness with figures, father's calmimpatience, cool logic, interminable devising.

The sea wind touched my face like balm.

He thought I'd tag along as usual,in the wake of his careful scheme

bound by the string connecting father and son,invisible thread I tried for years to untie.

I ached to be a good-for-something on my own.

I didn't know I'd get drunk with the heat,flying high, too much a son to return.

Poor Daedelus, his mouth an O below,his hands outstretched to catch the rain

of wax. He still doesn't know.

My wings fell, yes - I saw him hoverover the tiny splash - but by then I'd been 

swallowed into love's eye, the light I've come to seeas home, drowning in the yes, this swirling 

white-hot where night will never find me.

And now when my father wakeseach morning, his bones still sore

from his one-time flight, his confidence undonebecause the master plan fell through,

he rises to a light he never knew, his son.

Spinal Tap! Step 3 Proposal

Answer the following questions in paragraph form. – What are you making? (Describe your art piece)

– How does it connect to your piece? (The piece you researched with your partner)

– What materials do you need? (Be thorough)

– Who will you get help from? (Teachers and Students for Feedback)

– What is your plan for completion? (Calendar)

– Progress Check – Friday, October 16th

– Peer/Adult Feedback – Friday, November 6th

– Portfolios – DUE: Tuesday, November 24th

– Presentations – Tuesday through Friday, December 1st through 11th

Proposal is DUE: Thursday, October 1st

PROPOSAL RUBRIC

4 3 2 1 0

Addresses all questions

thoroughly and includes a calendar

Addresses all questions and

includes a calendar

Missing 1 component

Missing more than 1 component

Does not address any questions