e Silence of the Muses by SEBASTIAN CHING

If you ever nd yourself inside the Tate Gallery, you might come across a painting of a forlorn woman adri in a river. Cruelly spurned and maltreated, she is driven mad with grief, her fate consigned to a watery grave. John Everett Millais’ Ophelia is a beautiful, albeit grim, depiction of its subject matter. It is rendered tragic because of his treatment of Elizabeth Siddal, who modelled for his painting. In his pursuit of transposing Siddal’s despondence onto canvas, he le her submerged in icy cold water for hours. Siddal nearly died from pneumonia as a result. It is her su ering and anguish that is immortalised in Ophelia.

To argue that one’s su ering is necessary to create beauty is a horri c claim. Unfortunately, the archetype of the artist mistreating his muse is a recurrent one. In Portrait of a Lady on Fire, director Celine Sciamma depicts this relationship in a di erent light, breaking the silence of the muses.

Portraiture presents itself as a di cult task for the artist. e artist must o er an authentic depiction of their subject through their representation of them. But can such a goal be achieved if the portrait is solely constructed using the artist’s gaze? Sciamma’s solution is to ask who is gazing back at the artist. If Ophelia is a portrait de ned by its artist’s singular gaze, Sciamma’s notion of portraiture is de ned by reciprocity.

In part a retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, throughout the lm, portraitist Marianne is haunted by a silent apparition of her muse and lover, Héloïse. Clad in a wedding dress, her spectre haunts Marianne throughout the lm. Much like Orpheus, Marianne initially gazes back at the apparition in fear of losing her lover. It is a gaze borne out of a furtive desire to preserve the image of her lover. Towards the end of the lm, Marianne’s fears are realised. She must depart, and Héloïse must marry her betrothed. As Marianne departs, Héloïse requests her to turn around. Reciprocating her request, Marianne turns to see Héloïse clad in matrimonial white.

In doing so, both acknowledge the other cannot be recreated by revisiting past memories. To do so would be a representation borne from only the gaze of one, the antithesis of the portrait they had constructed together. e static and denite nature of memory can capture neither the transience or vivacity of their relationship.

In acknowledging this, their love endures, overcoming the limits of temporality. It is in the aesthetic realm where the two lovers bridge past with present. For Marianne, the experience of meeting her lover’s gaze in portraiture is enough to conjure the memory of her. It is the same for Héloïse. At the lm’s closing, she nally experiences the thunderous strings of Vivaldi’s Spring. e memories they conjure involuntarily bring her to tears.

Clockwork

written & illustrated by JULIETTA GRAMIGNI

Let the space transform, Let it slowly - almost Without realising - become home. Walk aimlessly and know Its hidden passages, Return again And again

To learn something joyously New each time.

Inspect each part of your view, In every season, Remembering soon it will belong to Anyone else.

Collect newspapers you read once And coins you won’t keep; Keep the loose leaf teas you can’t use And turn your plants like clockwork So the sun won’t draw their Bodies too close to the window, ready

To topple.

Pin up strange postcards, And chip away the walls with Art that falls and needs Endless tending to.

Open the window, Even in Winter, To hear the Brief moments when tra c Is only a quiet rumble

And you can listen to the birds.