The Ekphrasis Effect: An Analysis of Goya’s
Black
Paintings
within Antonio Buero Vallejo’s play the Sleep of Reason
In the most minimalist terms, ekphrasis is the literal representation of visual art. From time immemorial, artists have been creating all kinds of visual art and writers, the contemporaries to these visual artists and also those looking back to the artistic expressions of the past, have been speculating about these works, including their ekphrastic descriptions within literature in the form of prose, poetry, narrative, and theater. In his classic and indispensable elucidation on the history and functions of ekphrasis, James A. W. Heffernan, cites specific famous ekphrastic texts, such as the description of Achilles’ shield in Homer’s Iliad and Keats’s ekphrastic poem “Ode on a Grecian Urn” (297). He uses these examples to demonstrate that the tendency to “translate graphic art into narrative persists in ekphrastic literature of every period” (302). Despite the vast historical presence of ekphrasis in literature, the rich value it brings to both the literature it exists within and the art it describes, has yet to be fully examined. In addition to this, the continued utilization of ekphrasis is far from satisfactory, especially when viewed in relation to the depth of meaning it has the ability to produce and the astounding potential it has to expound upon any message contemporary authors or visual artists wish to convey.
Since “ekphrasis” as a cohesive literary term and theory is reasonably modern, researchers on this subject are yet to agree on a comprehensive definition and its consequent functions. For this study, I have decided on the ekphrastic model set down by James A. W. Heffernan in his article “Ekphrasis and Representation”. In his study, Heffernan distinguishes ekphrastic literature from other types of literary methods. He describes beautifully the function typical of ekphrastic literature to deliver “from the pregnant moment of graphic art its embryonically narrative impulse, and thus make explicit the story that graphic art tells only by implication” (301). In other words, the visual art, and for this study, the physical painting, is merely the beginning, the jumping off point. It is the initial event that begs to have its story told and telling stories is precisely what literature is all about.
The standard feature of ekphrasis, to write about art, in itself lends to a complex and edifying discussion. The intriguing nature of this literary mode encourages further thought on the subject. It introduces a fundamental question regarding the extent of the functions of ekphrasis beyond what Heffernan outlines in his synopsis of ekphrastic principles. One basic question, which provides the backbone to this study and will appear repeatedly asks: Is ekphrasis only limited to a direct description of an art object or are there more levels, especially subtle ones that this literary mode is capable of?
This study proposes
that there must
exist an even more profound usage of ekphrasis, an ekphrasis that all
at once
not only provides a link between the literal and visual realms, but
also exists
within the sphere of historical, political, social, emotional,
psychological
and even literal thought. This “extreme” ekphrasis, as I have
coined it, is exemplified in one work of theatrical prose which
includes
ekphrastic descriptions of Francisco Goya’s visual creations. Antonio
Buero Vallejo in his play The Sleep of
Reason (1970) uses ekphrasis, the
literary tool normally employed to simply describe art within a work of
literature,
as a strategy to covertly communicate to his audience messages about
his
contemporary society, the society of
In addition to this distinctive use of the literary representation of visual art, the author uses another interesting literary technique identified as “pictorialism” by Heffernan, in which an author, in this case Buero Vallejo, manipulates his writing style to mimic the painting style of an artist, in this case Goya; thus creating a work of literature inextricably linked to the works of art it references through style as well as through obvious content. Pictorialism and ekphrasis are very closely related and the inclusion of pictorial writing within an ekphrastic piece undoubtedly amplifies the art-literature connection. However, it must be clarified that while an author can create a pictorial piece of literature without drawing attention to the physical art object itself, an ekphrastic work is completely dependent on the art of which it employs. Keeping this in mind, one can certainly notice the contingency The Sleep of Reason has on the art work it describes.
Within this literary masterpiece created by Buero Vallejo, we find an ekphrasis that is utilized above and beyond the usual “call of duty” for this particular literary technique. One not only interested in a simple verbal representation of a visual representation, but a verbal representation of a visual art that results in a piece of literature bound so tightly to painting, where it is almost impossible to dissect the text away from the visual art. In order to arrive at an understanding of the implications of ekphrasis used in this way and the enormous future possibilities for literature and visual art that it holds, this study deems it necessary to view the reasons behind Buero Vallejo’s choice to include ekphrasis in relation to Goya’s paintings within his play The Sleep of Reason, which techniques he used to bring about this special art-literature integration, and what benefits this ekphrastic inclusion brings to the literature.
It has been established
that it
would not be accurate to state that Francisco Goya was the first to
publicly
express his dissatisfaction with his contemporary government. There
does exist,
however, evidence as to his origination of a specific artistic style.
There are
many who believe Goya was the harbinger of a new kind of painting: that
being
modern painting, which later extended throughout all of
Francisco Goya, born in
In 1814, Fernando VII
returned to
power, at first welcomed by the Spanish public with his claims to
withhold the
newly made constitution. It is well known that King Ferdinand VII ruled
with an
iron fist. His tyrannical despotism waged war on anyone opposed to his
rule. Creating
his own sense of terror, Ferdinand VII required the sadistic
persecution of
Liberals, “of whom 120 were executed in eighteen days” (31). Goya,
was summoned to the Secret Chamber of the Inquisition in
One look at this group of paintings and anyone trained in the arts or not, could tell they are a creation of a person living in fear. The dark colors, thick, hasty brushstrokes, looks of terror and repelling images convey a horror that had to have existed physically or at least inside the mind of Goya.
Buero Vallejo
(1916-2000), a writer
who during his life came to be known as “
In 1936, the beginning of the Spanish Civil War, Buero Vallejo, being opposed to the war, enlisted as a medic for the Republican (or Loyalist) forces in their struggle against the Nationalist forces of Francisco Franco. At the end of the war, and the defeat of the Republican forces, as punishment for his participation in the fight against the Republicans, Buero Vallejo was sentenced to death (15). Although the artist was not killed, he was sentenced to an indefinite prison term, which was later reduced to six years and he was released in 1945.
Upon his release Buero Vallejo turned to theater and completed numerous plays, all with the over-arching theme of tragedy as “an expression of our struggle to free ourselves from the bonds – external and internal, social and individual – that enslave us” as Halsey quotes the author himself as testifying to that end (104). As the years passed, the so-called “bonds” of Spanish society evolved under the dictatorial rule of Francisco Franco, thus shaping the message behind the works of the socially and politically conscious dramatist. The Sleep of Reason, Buero Vallejo’s work chosen for this analysis, was published in 1970. Within Franco’s totalitarian state, censorship and repression were extremely widespread. The Falange (Franco’s political party), the military, and the Catholic Church all played a pivotal role in the areas of censorship, propaganda, and education.
A juxtaposition of the political climate during Goya’s life and the life of the author being discussed here lends a clear picture of their similarities. It is well known through Goya’s previous works, such as his series of etchings entitled Disasters of War and his indictments of the conditions in the mental institutions through works such as The Madhouse, that during his time, the figure of Goya himself represented a non-conformist attitude toward the Spanish governments’ mistreatment of its citizens. Perhaps his earlier works were too time-specific with regards to the topics they portray. Either way, Buero Vallejo’s choice to entitle his play based on one of Goya’s famous Caprichos and also to center the entire work around the Black Paintings had to be for a particular reason. Every other aspect of this work of literature did not fall together by chance, as most great literature does not. There was something that the Black Paintings exhibited that even Goya’s earlier work failed to encapsulate. The Black Paintings, the capstone of Goya’s artistic career, convey disillusionment with the urgency, darkness, needed to convey the seriousness of the terror he felt towards the end of his life.
Antonio Buero Vallejo’s
play,
The Sleep of Reason, is an exploration
into the life and profound mind of the sensational Spanish painter,
Francisco
Goya. Since no one can know the exact meanings behind Goya’s
controversial Black Paintings, his
last significant series of paintings, all discussion about them,
including
Buero Vallejo’s, are purely hypothetical answers. But
even still, whatever message the audience
receives from viewing or reading The
Sleep of Reason is a valid and true meaning, whether it was the
intended
vision of the creator of the piece or not. Even if Buero Vallejo’s sole
purpose in writing this play was to speculate on the life of one of the
greatest painters that
The play The
Sleep of Reason, set in the year 1823, portrays a few days in
the life of Francisco Goya, who at this time resides in his country
home, called
La Quinta del Sordo, located in
A connection between text and “life” at the diegetic level - the level of reality established in a literary piece - can be seen all throughout Buero Vallejo’s play, The Sleep of Reason; the first obvious evidence being that the entire piece is based on a few days within the last few years of the artist’s life. Although historical information provides the basic structure for the piece, Buero Vallejo, as an artist himself, takes liberties with the work to express concrete statements about parts of history that are for the most part unverifiable. Not only is this play an expression of Buero’s interpretation of Goya’s Black Paintings, his life, and relationships, but furthermore it stands as a complex work of connected imagery and ideas, some with hidden meanings, that express a desire for artistic freedom. It is precisely the ekphrastic element of the theatrical prose that allows for the communication of all of these distinct and complex ideas. José Manuel Hidalgo agrees that the use of actual projections of Goya’s paintings increase the audiences understanding of the fear that exists within the artwork (77). The images within the play, the physical ekphrastic elements, also operate to expose political and social injustices that exist in all time periods. As will be evident in the images of the paintings themselves, the horror these visual objects convey transcends time and space through their connection with basic human emotions. For Buero Vallejo, these paintings serve his agenda, functioning as criticism of the Franco dictatorship concealed within the guise of the historical and artistic value of Goya and his powerful Capricho and macabre Black Paintings.
Here, in Buero Vallejo’s work, the use of ekphrasis is manifold, chosen so precisely by the author and used so explicitly that the literature and the physical works of art actually melt into one. After this immersion of the two, the literature cannot be as fully understood without the paintings. Ever since the publication of Buero Vallejo’s piece, the moment in which he gave it over to the interpretation of the public, and consequently added his play to the repertoire of interpretations of Goya’s work, the paintings and the play have become inextricably linked. An additional aspect which ties The Sleep of Reason to the artwork it describes exists within the actual syntax and form of the prose. David K. Herzberger declares that a “painterly metaphor” underlies the structure and also thematic elements of Buero Vallejo’s The Sleep of Reason (93). As the paintings exhibit hasty brushstrokes and muddied colors, the dialogue of the play mirrors these characteristics with choppy dialogue, dark scenes, and confusing sounds. These details are excellent examples of the previously described literary device of “pictorialism”. Furthermore, the extensive stage notes contain also any change of light, sound, or feeling that Buero Vallejo includes within the actual theatrical dialogue allow the reader of the play, or the audience, to develop a complete understanding of the situations taking place on stage. Carmen Chávez succinctly observes that “in this play, Buero ‘paints’ a scene with words and sounds” (62). Consequently, the inclusion of Goya’s paintings does not end with increasing the audiences’ perception of hidden messages about history, politics, and society. Goya’s art, his influence, extends itself through the very structure of the prose.
For even someone who has only read the play, and not witnessed it in its full theatrical splendor, it is clear that The Sleep of Reason would be greatly lacking without the inclusion of the actual Black Paintings of Goya. Throughout the entire play, the paintings themselves play a central role. In fact, one could go so far as to say the Black Paintings themselves are the main character and all else serves to explain, interpret, and further their meaning. The action takes place in front of the paintings that are projected in larger-than-life size on the walls of the set. In several scenes, Goya adds to the paintings, touches them up in front of the audience. Without the paintings available for viewing by the audience, the meaning of the play would be lost.
The quantity of comprehensive studies that have been completed on this specific work by Buero Vallejo and its connection to and interpretation of Goya’s Black Paintings is significantly lacking. However, the few that have been published specify very clearly how the paintings on the wall move the play along and give extra meaning, and even clarify, the dialog that takes place on the set. It is also necessary to mention that anyone viewing Buero Vallejo’s The Sleep of Reason during the time of the dictatorship of Franco could easily connect the struggle Goya encounters under King Ferdinand VII with the struggle Buero Vallejo endured under the censorship imposed by the Franco regime.
This study, being concerned with the role that the ekphrastic inclusion of Goya’s art plays within the prose, will only go in depth into the paintings that most explicitly refer to the political struggle that both Goya and Buero Vallejo experienced. While all of the paintings depict a sense of fear, darkness, decay, solitude, and so on, there are a select few that exemplify the point of Buero Vallejo’s work. The three paintings that exude the greatest political metaphors, and also appear more than once within Buero Vallejo’s work have been titled by critics as “Saturn”, “The Holy Office”, and the “Witches’ Sabbath”. The comprehensive examination of these three works allows for a clear perception of the precise union of art and literature. The first painting of this discussion, “The Holy Office” makes its premier appearance in the play when Goya’s friend and doctor, Eugenio Arrieta, comes to visit and check on the old painter’s condition. Goya returns from his walk and announces that a platoon of Royal Volunteers have been installed on the bridge, probably to monitor the actions of the civilians. Goya moans:
How do I know how long
they’re going to stay! I can’t stand their criminal faces and stupid
laughter […] This is my house, this is my country! I haven’t gone
back to the palace, and old flat nose doesn’t like my paintings […]
I in my house, unremembered, and painting what I feel like painting.
But tell
me what’s happening in
The painting appears while this monologue from Goya is taking place.
This large landscape style work depicts a long line of people descending down a path on a tree-covered mountain underneath an ominous, overcast sky. The diagonal line of what seems to be a procession, leads the viewer’s eye to three larger figures located in the bottom right corner. These figures appear to be the focus of this piece. Like all of the Black Paintings, the colors are muted and the brush strokes visible. However, the brushstrokes within this painting are not uniform in style which could depict a change of feeling within the artist. The brushstrokes of the background and landscape are much smoother and more refined than the extremely choppy strokes of the central figures’ clothing and features.
The initial feeling Buero Vallejo links to this painting is frustration. Goya exudes aggravation with the governing powers as he complains about the Royal Volunteers on the bridge, the fact that King Ferdinand VII does not approve of his paintings, and in general the state of affairs around the country. These statements by the artist, in conjunction with the painting, its three prominent figures staring down at Goya, reveal the anxiety he feels about being watched, being pent up within his own country. Previous scenes depict the king actually attempting to spy on Goya from his palace across the river. Surely the constant supervision of an authoritarian governing power would cause anyone to feel a sense of uneasiness, not only from the loss of personal privacy, but from the fear for their safety if the governing authority happens to see something that they do not like.
Buero Vallejo makes his interpretation of this painting extremely clear through the comment by the character of Goya that follows within his continuing conversation with Doctor Arrieta. The artist views his own work and declares:
Don’t they resemble animals? They’re looking at us, not realizing how ugly they are. They’re looking at me…Exactly as they did when they denounced me to the Holy Inquisition. They looked at me like insects with their insect eyes because I’d painted a nude woman. They’re insects that believe themselves human. Ants around a fat queen…who is the big-bellied friar. They think it’s a beautiful day, but I can see the dark clouds. Yes. The sun is shining in the background. And there is the mountain, but they don’t see it. It’s a mountain I know is there.(13)
This statement made by
Goya,
follows traditional ekphrastic narrative to the degree that it
describes the
appearance of what is taking place within the boundaries of the
painting, and
also adds to it a story that extends beyond the purely visual. What
strays from
a normal ekphrastic narrative are the overtly political and historical
assumptions that Buero Vallejo links to this piece of art and the
overtly esperpentic depiction. Not only does Buero
Vallejo assume, as most other examiners of Goya’s life do, that Goya
was
deeply affected by his encounters with the Spanish Inquisition, but
also, underneath
this statement he expresses his own frustrations with working under the
ever-watchful
eyes of a censoring government. Jesús Rubio Jiménez
quotes Buero
The main feeling
experienced when
viewing this painting is the ominous presence of those three figures,
which, by
their dress, seem to be in positions of higher authority. Priscilla E.
Muller
in her study on Goya’s Black
Paintings describes it as a scene of the Inquisition itself (115).
When
this painting is projected onto the wall, no one, the audience
included, is
exempt from its critical eye. Buero Vallejo describes the grotesque
features of
the three prominent figures, as no longer human but bug-like. Their
obese
abdomens, oversized intensely forward-focused eyes set in darkened
sockets, and
blurry repulsive features exhibit the qualities inherent in esperpento.
Buero emphasizes his point
that these leaders can no longer possibly be normal humans, because if
they
were, they could not possibly bear to witness such repressive measures
against
their own people. He therefore conveys them as sub-humans, as he now
considers
them in light of their tyrannical actions against their own kind.
Perhaps to
Goya, and certainly to Buero Vallejo, the personality and objectives of
the
governing authorities were best described in terms of an infestation of
insects, following the fat, ravenous leader in front who in Buero
Vallejo’s terms is Francisco Franco. In his painting the people, monks
or
not, are displayed in a very dark, negative light, in the play they
elaborate
that these are no longer people with their ugly expressions but have
morphed
into bugs. Some critics have speculated, as Muller expresses, that
these people
were devil worshippers who typically convened in caves within the
mountainous
terrain of the Basque country of
“The Holy Office”
returns at the beginning of the third scene, along with two other of
the Black Paintings. At first it is a bit
unclear as to why this painting is included in the scene. Then the
other two
paintings disappear, and directly before Father Duaso, the king’s
priest
and head of the censorship of publications (28), appears, “The Holy
Office” increases in size, quickly encouraging the audience to
anticipate
some event with inquisitorial undertones. Alongside the visit with the
priest,
“The Holy Office” grows in size, and the connection between the
priestly orders and Goya’s work continue to become clearer, especially
in
conjunction with the dialogue presented and with the knowledge already
expounded about the Inquisition in the earlier scenes.
Therefore, despite the fact that Duaso
presents himself as a friend of the family, he undoubtedly, due to the
negative
light the religious authorities are painted in, has other interests in
mind
with his visit to Goya. The negative impression given of ecclesiastical
leadership furthermore entices speculation into the authority of the
Catholic
Church itself and the purity of its motives. After Franco came to power
in
1939, “Pope Pius XII sent his blessings to Franco, commending his
‘Catholic victory’” obviously forgetting that “half a
million people had been slaughtered, many of them Basque Catholics”
(Hodges 155) as a consequence of the violence of 1936. These
conflicting facts
undoubtedly increased Buero Vallejo’s mistrust and repugnance towards
the
The presence of the
line of
followers trailing behind the three central figures in the painting is
elucidated upon by an event that takes place within this scene. Vandals
come
and paint a cross with the word “heretic” on Goya’s door. To
this he responds, “Blessed country, heaven’s favorite. Even the
criminals work for the Inquisition” (30). We find out shortly after
that
King Ferdinand VII has actually sent Father Duaso there to demand that
the
painter humble himself before the king and ask for forgiveness. Goya
exclaims,
“Divine right, you say, paisano?
Submission to the royal authority even when it’s unjust? Church
doctrine?” (31). It is highly probable, that statements such as this
one
are outcries of Buero Vallejo against the tenants of Franco’s rule,
which
was decisively religious in doctrine. The painting “The Holy
Office” serves as a mechanism by which Buero Vallejo explains his own
feelings through Goya’s own reflections on his own painting. The
inclusion of the painting begs an interpretation out of the audience,
so that after
formulating some ideas, the viewer then has a framework to connect the
art with
the action of the play. Buero Vallejo utilizes this necessity for an
explanation as a conduit for his own motives. This painting bespeaks
the
religious tyranny, the social repression in place during Franco’s rule.
The
society of
Some people may have thought there was no way to combat an oppressive authority, but both Goya, as shown through the perspective of Buero Vallejo, and Buero Vallejo himself, were not of that mindset. Buero Vallejo projects onto this painting an indictment of the everyday Spanish citizen’s complacency. Neither one of these men could allow themselves to follow a leader who committed atrocities against his own people, who forced his authority upon them at all costs. The crowd dawdling behind the three principal figures represent those who merely follow authority without questioning, even in the face of severe injustice.
As Goya, once again argues with Leocadia he exclaims:
The king is a monster, and his advisors-jackals he urges on not just to rob but to kill. Protected by the law and the blessings of our prelates! Strip a liberal of his property? He’d better not complain or he’ll get the gallows. We’re not Spaniards but demons, and they’re the angels who are fighting against Hell. I get even. I paint them with the faces of witches and devil worshippers in their rites that they call the Celebration of the Kingdom. (25)
In this same vein, the painting entitled, “Saturn”, (http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Imagen:Saturno_devorando_a_sus_hijos.jpg) emanates with pathos of what could be called “political cannibalism”. When a governing authority does not look out for his/her own people, the effect is quite similar to a species consuming its fellow being. The actual image depicts an enormous monster-like being with long shaggy hair and bulging eyes gnawing on the bloody arm of an already decapitated human body. The brush strokes are again very choppy and rough, connoting haste and lending to the fear inherent in the subject. The piece itself references a tale in which the god Saturn devours his own child. Expanding on this idea, Buero Vallejo places this ancient tale within the context of King Ferdinand’s oppressive monarchy, and additionally places his entire piece, The Sleep of Reason within the context of the Franco dictatorship. This painting is the second to appear on stage, its only predecessor being the “Witches’ Sabbath”. The painting emerges when Doctor Arrieta asks Goya’s maid and probable lover, Leocadia, “What’s wrong with Don Francisco?” (8). While these two characters continue to discuss Goya’s physical ailments, the presence of the paintings, both the “Witches’ Sabbath” in conjunction with “Saturn”, entice the audience into further speculation about the actual cause of the painter’s deteriorating condition. Neither painting seems to be about physical illness, but more to do with power and corruption.
“Saturn” reappears
during this same act when Goya takes his spyglass and looks toward the
palace. After
his maid, Leocadia communicates to him that the Royal Volunteers are
rounding
up the liberals, Goya responds, “Liberal, yes. But they’re not
going to hang all the liberals!” (19). The presence of this painting
contradicts
Goya’s statement. The painting asserts that it is quite possible for
the
larger, stronger power to consume all those underneath it. Although the
character of Goya seems slightly optimistic with his statement, most
likely he
is actually just suffering from denial. His words also serve as a plea
to the
man with the power across the river to end this continuing torment.
Buero
Vallejo, having seen the disasters within his country during the
dictatorship
of Franco, understands that it is quite possible to be consumed by a
repressive
power. Another element that emerges during the discussion of this
painting
within the play is Goya’s predisposition toward denying the enormous
reality of the situation. Not only with this piece, but as an
underlying
current throughout the play, horrible images such as this aggressively
confront
Goya within his own house to such a degree that he is forced to discard
his
denial and view the atrocities in
Prior to the emergence
of the
murderous image of “Saturn”, Goya actually laments that there are
fears he may be killed, in his own country (18). Yet even at this point
in the
play, Goya refuses to admit the extremity of the atrocities that are
being
committed in
At the end of the scene, all that remains on stage for Goya to contemplate is the giant head of Saturn devouring his own child. The frightful appearance of the painting would make anyone uncomfortable in its presence, which is seemingly Buero Vallejo’s desire. Not a single one of the Black Paintings would allow a viewer to be at peace. Buero Vallejo takes advantage of this inherent quality of this set of paintings in order to make his audience uncomfortable and hopefully startle them into opening their eyes wider to view the world, their closed off world of Spain, with a critical eye.
“Saturn” appears for
the final time, following a loud banging noise that awakes Goya up from
a
terrible nightmare. The noise turns out to be a brigade of five royal
volunteers who beat Goya into submission, dress him up in a
“sambenito” (the penitent’s gown of the Inquisition), bind
his hands with a cross between them, rape Leocadia, and pillage his
house. The
juxtaposition of the painting with the text articulates the many ways
in which
an authority can devour those of lesser power. As the royal volunteers
leave,
they actually view the painting “Saturn” and one of them ridicules it
with a face of mock terror emphasizing their connection with the
authoritarian
powers. The painting the “Witches’ Sabbath” appears at the
same time as the “Saturn”. However, when “Saturn” and
the other painting fade away, the “Witches’ Sabbath” remains
and grows. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Image:Witches.jpg)
The “Witches’
Sabbath” seen by this study, and the majority of studies on Goya’s Black Paintings, as the most prominent
painting of the group, was also given special attention by Buero
Vallejo within
his play. Although it is not the most projected painting, Buero uses
its
presence judiciously to make a point. In his in depth study of the Black Painting’s presence in The Sleep of
Reason, John Dowling
observes that although Buero does not offer direct interpretation of
this
painting through the dialogue of the characters, he does decide to
begin and
end the action in the villa with it. Directly following the initial
scene
depicting the tyrannical King Ferdinand VII, the
“Witches’ Sabbath” appears on the wall, the painting
automatically connecting with the political scene prior as it bridges
the world
of the monarch with the world of Goya. Also, the dialogue that does
take place
in front of the painting clearly reveals that Buero Vallejo sees this
painting
as the Spanish society of 1823, “a world of darkness and terror that is
at the opposite extreme form the optimism of the Enlightenment”
(453).
The first painting to
be seen by
the audience of the play is the “Witches’ Sabbath” (6).
This painting is characterized by a
large, grotesque crowd of people, surrounding the central figure a
large black
goat. While its premiere presence on stage is brief, it sets the tone
for the
rest of the paintings and also the dialogue and actions that are to
take place.
Doctor Arrieta says, “The devil, the witches … He doesn’t
believe in witches, señora. These paintings may be frightening
to you,
but they’re the work of a satirist, not a madman” (9). Through his
statement, the doctor is alluding to the idea that the images in the
paintings
are real. They are not merely imagined in the painter’s mind. Goya is
drawing from real life to create his art, which is ironically, also
what Buero
Vallejo is doing as he writes his play both on the real life of Goya
and also
metaphorically on the real condition of Spain under Franco. This
painting does
not appear again until the second act. Once again it serves the purpose
of
setting the stage, this time being the first, along with two other
paintings,
to be depicted and set the mood for the beginning of the action within
Goya’s house. While the other two paintings are spoken of more
obviously,
this painting remains, endures almost simply as a ghastly reminder of
the
present state of
Pity us all! Why do we go on living? To paint like that? These walls are oozing fear. Yes, fear! Art cannot be good if it is born from fear. Against fear? And who triumphs in those paintings-courage or fear? I delighted in painting beautiful forms, and these are filled with maggots. I drank in all the colors of the world, and on these walls darkness is draining away the color. I loved reason and I paint witches…and the devil-worshipper laughing between them. Well, someone is laughing. It’s all too horrible for no one to have a good laugh. I’m the puppet one of them is holding. They’ll cut the thread, and the devil’s priest will laugh at the rag of flesh whose name was Goya” (45).
The “Witches’ Sabbath” is not present when this monologue is said but the viewer, having been accosted by this image already, will by now conjure it up on their own at hearing what Goya has said. This painting appears during the aforementioned scene with the brigade of royal volunteers. After all of the other paintings have faded away, the “Witches’ Sabbath” grows in size and remains throughout the entire final scene. All of the characters disappear, as they take Goya away during his forced exit from his house out of the fear that he may be killed the next time the brigade returns. Buero Vallejo’s repeated use of the word fear highlight his negative opinion of its use as a form of control. In fact, this whole monologue of Goya could easily be interpreted as ideas closely related to those of the author himself. Due to the oppression of the Franco regime, Buero Vallejo was hindered and forced to focus on ways to subvert the authority, instead of being able to devote all of his time to the creation of beautiful literary art (although, as one can see, he excelled in this latter endeavor despite the obstacles put forth by the government).
As the stage light fades and the curtain is about to fall, the “Witches’ Sabbath” continues to “shine through the deafening din” (64), imprinting its ominous presence and ghastly scene into the minds of the viewers as they leave the theater. Through its permanence, Buero Vallejo uses this final piece as a stark reminder of the reality that will endure until the Spanish society takes notice of it.
Just as the paintings incorporated into the drama serve as ekphrastic examples, there remains one final ekphrastic as well as completely esperpentic example that if neglected within this study would be cause for lament. One of Goya’s famous Caprichos entitled The Sleep of Reason, aforementioned as the turning point in the thematic element of Goya’s art, was chosen by Buero Vallejo to be the title of his piece. The reference to this crucial piece does not end with a mere link to the name of the play. Without a doubt, the most esperpentic and arguably the most ekphrastic representation within the entire play exists within one scene in which Goya, napping on the stage, is visited by various forms in his dream. The complete visual element presented by Buero Vallejo within this scene exactly mimics the visual created by Goya in his etching, the precise body position of Goya as he sits, head on the desk, the look and size of the animals. However, with the tool of ekphrasis in his power, Buero Vallejo gives life to the image, inserting sounds, dialogue, color, and light to the black and white image. He brings what was once a static image of the past, into the forefront of reality.
The addition of the ekphrastic element to the long standing tradition of esperpento, undoubtedly creates an effect of profound significance. Buero Vallejo does not merely reference the history of Goya or the works he created. He does not only situate a painting on the wall within the scene of his play in hopes that someone may notice it and draw a connection. Buero Vallejo directly seizes Goya, his legendary life and art work, and reinserts it directly into the present through an ekphrastic literary theatrical representation. He integrates his own interpretations of the life and work of Goya into precise historical events, in order to draw out a parallel between this past he has created and the present of which the audience exists within. In other words, Buero Vallejo uses the connotations already connected with the figure of Goya as a strategy to increase the significance of his ekphrastic production. Without this defining element, the specificities of Francisco Goya fused within a contemporary piece of literature, the words would have a noticeably lesser impact. In fact, without this emphasis, the political, historical, social, and even literal value would be diminished.
From the very first syllable of his piece and with each that follows, Buero Vallejo sought to paint with words that which Goya had already painted with his brush. He aligned his mind and message with Francisco Goya, a man who lived more than a hundred years prior, continuing in the esperpentic tradition in order to depict the same horror and disillusionment that he felt, the same disdain for his repressive contemporary, yet still Spanish, society.
At the very end of The Sleep of Reason, as the painter is being forced to leave his home, he takes one last moment to pause and give his paintings a farewell look. As the stage directions specify, “Contemplating them, a strange smile calms his face” (63). This smile and calm is perplexing within the context of the violence and chaos witnessed within all of the prior scenes. Buero Vallejo inserts this detail as a suggestion of hope for the audience. Although Goya will no longer be able to resist the repression of King Ferdinand VII’s government, his paintings will remain as a testament to the horrors of the Spanish society. For this reason, he turns and looks at his paintings with fondness for they will tell the story that he may no longer be able to tell. In this same vein, Buero Vallejo’s inclusion of hope at the end of his work serves as a reminder that although the situation under Franco may seem bleak, the fact that society is becoming aware of the ugliness of the present state of Spain, through art such as the play The Sleep of Reason, there is potential for change. This one glance by Goya at the very end, the place where a vision of hope can be seen, also brings the focus back to the paintings themselves. In this precise moment, the close relationship between the text (the theatrical performance) and the visual art can be felt tremendously. Without the actual presence of the paintings, this glance would not be possible, and the allusion of hope would not be achieved.
Where then, within these works is the line between the literary and the visual? Buero Vallejo has effectively blurred that line. Through this blurring of the definitive boundaries between one form of art and message making, a more powerful piece is born. Elaborating on the original metaphor of painting as the pregnant moment; it can be defined that the painting is the pregnant moment, the literature is the action of birth, and both of these elements together bring into the world a new creation, one that has more power than either form of art making in isolation. The concept described here deserves even further in-depth study so that its ability to communicate ideas and convey meaning can continue to be developed until a new field of art emerges into the limelight, the literal and visual phenomenon that is ekphrasis.
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