In Greek myth Icarus, the son of Daedalus, sought to fly with wings made by his father, fashioned of feathers and wax. Daedalus warned his son not to fly too close to the heat of the sun, lest the wax melt and the wings fail. Icarus, in the excitement of flight, ignored his father's warning, fell into the sea and drowned.
The poets William Carlos Williams and W.H. Auden were drawn to a 16th century painting long thought to be Pieter Bruegel's portrayal of the fall of Icarus. Further analysis suggests the painting was by someone else, but in the master's style. If Bruegel created an original it is lost.
There are in fact two such paintings, both in oil, one on canvas, the other on wood. They are much alike, but in the version on wood the figure of Icarus appears flying in the sky as well as drowning, as if the pedantic painter didn't trust his viewers to understand the significance of his scene. On canvas (below), only the legs of Icarus are visible as he falls into the sea. It is the version on canvas, I believe, that Williams and Auden found so intriguing.
Extraordinary events often escape our notice, accustomed as we are to our daily rounds. A man falls from the sky into the sea. The suffering of others is easy to miss.
The ploughman continues to plough.
The shepherd, leaning on his staff, is daydreaming. (In the painting on wood he may be looking at the figure of Icarus in flight.)
There is a third human figure closer to the sea in the lower right corner of the painting, more ambiguous, less easy to interpret. His right arm is extended in some gesture we cannot know.
Musee des Beaux Arts
About suffering they were never wrong,
The old Masters: how well they understood
Its human position: how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water, and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
— W.H. Auden
The image and text below were sent to me today by a friend. They brought the paintings and Auden's poem to mind.
THE SITUATION
In Washington, DC, at a Metro Station, on a cold January morning in 2007, this man with a violin played six Bach pieces for about an hour. During that time, some 2,000 people went through the station, most of them on their way to work. After about three minutes, a middle-aged man noticed that there was a musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds, and then he hurried on to meet his schedule.
About four minutes later:
The violinist received his first dollar. A woman threw money in the hat and without stopping continued to walk.
At six minutes:
A young man leaned against the wall to listen, then looked at his watch and started to walk again.
At ten minutes:
A small boy stopped, but his mother, but his mother tugged him along hurriedly. The kid stopped to look at the violinist again, but the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head the whole time. This action was repeated by several other children, but every parent, without exception, forced their children to move on quickly.
At 45 minutes:
The musician played continuously. Only six people stopped and listened for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32.
After one hour:
He finished playing and silence ensued. No one noticed and no one applauded.
The violinist was Joshua Bell. He played one of the most intricate and sublime pieces ever written, with a violin worth $3.5 million dollars. Two days before he played the same music at a theatre in Boston where the seats averaged $100 each.
This is a true story. Joshua Bell, playing incognito in the DC Metro station, came as part of an experiment sponsored by The Washington Post intended to explore perception, taste and people's priorities.
The experiment raised several questions:
- In a commonplace environment, at an unlikely hour, do we perceive beauty?
- If so, do we stop to appreciate it?
- Do we recognize talent in an unexpected context?
One possible implication of the experiment could be this:
If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world, playing some of the finest music ever written, with one of the most beautiful instruments ever made....
How many other things are we missing?
Enjoy life now. It has an expiration date.
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