Our Cinematic 360 production of Christopher Trapani’s End Words, recorded by Ekmeles and re-mastered by Christopher for this production is now available through Vimeo’s on-demand.
Our intention was to create an uncanny world where Trapani’s music, its poetry and our visuals are symbiotic. The passageway to this environment is nature, filtered through the lens of Trapani’s work; spiraling between the familiar and the dream-like.
from Christopher Trapani:
I’ve always been fascinated by the sestina: this archaic form, thirty-nine lines that spin out in an intricate spiral. Six-line stanzas, with six end words that repeat in a predetermined shape. Those patterns were begging for music.
So I started looking for poems to set to music, and bought an anthology of sestinas. “The Painter” was an old favorite, and the unusual shape of Anis Mojgani’s poem—the way he streamlines crisp, hallucinatory images and tender words— drew me into a propulsive yet nostalgic spiral…
Predictably, things began to spiral out of control when I started to imagine the music I’d devise for Ashbery’s words. “The Painter” turned into a sort of ur-sestina setting: I started with thirty-six lines of related natural harmonies, laid out in the shape
of a six-by-six grid. Then I shaped the harmonic progression as a spiral traced through that plane, drawing curved lines that wander though disjointed consonance—music laid out so that adjacent stanzas of the sestina share a repeated harmony over repeated end words.
Line numbers are embedded in the words as durations. Another grid shapes the map of shifting tempi—so the sestina has influenced all the piece’s parameters. The spiral’s hypnotic rigor invades all aspects of the music. With the singers, I prerecorded many lines,
syllables, and effects, for the electronics—lines to chop up and retune, and sometimes single words— to create collages of vocal sounds. The music for “They raised violins” started to take shape with “bones,” “string,” “petals”— each node in the spiral
set to a unique texture. And Ciara Shuttleworth’s “Sestina” was the perfect compact shape: just six one-syllable words whose meanings shift as the spiral unravels, lines that fray as the sestina thins to stark, still music.
Our intention was to create an uncanny world where Trapani’s music, its poetry and our visuals are symbiotic. The passageway to this environment is nature, filtered through the lens of Trapani’s work; spiraling between the familiar and the dream-like.
from Christopher Trapani:
I’ve always been fascinated by the sestina: this archaic form, thirty-nine lines that spin out in an intricate spiral. Six-line stanzas, with six end words that repeat in a predetermined shape. Those patterns were begging for music.
So I started looking for poems to set to music, and bought an anthology of sestinas. “The Painter” was an old favorite, and the unusual shape of Anis Mojgani’s poem—the way he streamlines crisp, hallucinatory images and tender words— drew me into a propulsive yet nostalgic spiral…
Predictably, things began to spiral out of control when I started to imagine the music I’d devise for Ashbery’s words. “The Painter” turned into a sort of ur-sestina setting: I started with thirty-six lines of related natural harmonies, laid out in the shape
of a six-by-six grid. Then I shaped the harmonic progression as a spiral traced through that plane, drawing curved lines that wander though disjointed consonance—music laid out so that adjacent stanzas of the sestina share a repeated harmony over repeated end words.
Line numbers are embedded in the words as durations. Another grid shapes the map of shifting tempi—so the sestina has influenced all the piece’s parameters. The spiral’s hypnotic rigor invades all aspects of the music. With the singers, I prerecorded many lines,
syllables, and effects, for the electronics—lines to chop up and retune, and sometimes single words— to create collages of vocal sounds. The music for “They raised violins” started to take shape with “bones,” “string,” “petals”— each node in the spiral
set to a unique texture. And Ciara Shuttleworth’s “Sestina” was the perfect compact shape: just six one-syllable words whose meanings shift as the spiral unravels, lines that fray as the sestina thins to stark, still music.