Nighthawks is probably Edward Hopper’s most well-known painting. Just about everyone seems to be familiar with it. It is one of my favorites. His many other works are just as intriguing, however. What is it? What draws us in?
The people depicted in the paintings seem isolated, alone, even when there are others surrounding them. And sometimes there is just the lone figure. The paintings themselves seem almost as though they are no more than photographs. Or is there something in between the two, lingering between photograph and painting, in our imagination, hanging there, suspended, hovering? There seems to be. There is something . . . something that separates his paintings from other paintings. The people are suspended in the paintings, trapped in time and thought. That isn’t too unusual, of course. One could say that all paintings are instances trapped in paint and canvas.
So, what is it that makes Hopper’s paintings so intriguing? Could it be the time period? The silent generation? Our parent’s and grandparent’s time, almost modern, yet not quite—modern to them, of course, contemporaneously, but not to us. It was the world war II generation, or thereabout. It was a time when one didn’t “air one’s laundry in public.” Not sure I have the quote exactly correct, perhaps it is “dirty” laundry that isn’t supposed to be aired. That’s probably it. But we want it, or at least something. Is it the “quiet desperation” of which Thoreau speaks? Is that what lies in the thoughts of the people Hopper paints? Or is it just the people quietly going through their daily lives, perhaps only thinking of grocery lists, compiling the lists in their heads while we watch and wait? And we wait, for what? We wait, knowing there is something there, something more. The people at the diner bar in Nighthawks have to have expressed themselves in conversation of some sort. We want in. We want to know what was said. We want to know the story. There is a noirish quality to the paintings, but that brings us back to the time period. And it isn’t just the people; even when there is simply a building in a Hopper painting there seems to be something. The paint seems to drip with a sense of something to tell. If these walls could talk . . . And we want it. We want the story. It doesn’t matter whether it is only the artist’s creation, or the writer’s imagination, there seems to be something there, something we want to touch, something we perceive as real. We want it to be real. It’s like an itch that requires scratching.
Take the painting, Summer Evening, for example, in which the figures seem less quietly-desperate than most. There is a couple conversing . . . what are they talking about? Something serious?
Jill D. Block handles this painting in her short story, “The Story of Caroline.” She writes the story, looking back from the future, and barely touching the painting at all. What triggered Jill D. Block to make the imaginary leap that she did to create her story is known to her and her alone (unless she has shared it with someone). The story is very good, and can be found in the book, In Sunlight or in Shadow: Stories Inspired by the Paintings of Edward Hopper.
There are many good stories in this book, by many of today’s best-known writers: Stephen King, Joyce Carol Oates, Lee Child, Jeffery Deaver, Lawrence Block . . . But obviously you can read the names on the cover photo.
While I was excited to find this book, and interested in reading the stories, I was also a little hesitant. My trepidation stemmed from the fear that after reading each story, I would be trapped into thinking of the story every time I looked at the painting that had inspired it. In some cases, this turned out to be true, and in other cases not so much. Due to this fear, I had a very difficult time when it came to reading the story relating to the painting, Nighthawks. The story, by Michael Connelly, takes the name of the painting, but relates less to the painting than I would have expected. Perhaps I was just less inclined to take this story in, not wanting to plant it in my mind and associate it. The story was okay. I like the fact that it sort of steered clear of the painting’s details. I didn’t want to look at the painting at some point in the future and always have the story come to mind. The story is vaguely there, but won’t be overpowering. It won’t take over my sense of the painting in my mind’s eye. Not sure if this makes exact sense, but it is my personal take or observation. My favorite story from the book is “The Projectionist,” by Joe R. Lansdale. This painting is the cover photo for the book. And there are, as I mentioned, many other good stories . . . “Office at Night” is one that comes to mind.
And so, it has been done. Writers have tried to bring us the stories, at least as they perceive them, the stories inspired by the paintings of Hopper.
And imagine my recent joy at finding another book, a novel, inspired by the Nighthawks painting, which was written and published a lot earlier than this book of stories. Apparently, Georges Simenon’s book, Three Bedrooms in Manhattan is very noir, and is centered on, by some accounts, an emotionally desperate man and woman meeting in the diner.
I’m looking forward to reading it. I’m already a big Simenon fan. I enjoy reading the Maigret detective series.
Also, I would encourage everyone to read the Wikipedia entry for Nighthawks, where it is suggested that Hopper’s painting was inspired by a Hemingway story, either “The Killers,” or “A Clean, Well-lighted, Place.” So, in this case we would have a painting inspired by a story which then goes on to inspire more stories. And there are probably movies also that have been inspired by the painting.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nighthawks_(painting)
As for myself, a couple years back, I explored the possibility of recreating the Nighthawks scene in Unreal Engine, which is a game creation software platform. I thought it would be really cool to one day create a VR simulation that a person could step into. The person could sit at the diner and interact with the people from the painting. It could be fun. My skills on this front are lacking, however, so I settled on just writing a story of my own that was inspired by the painting. I didn’t even intend to write such a story at the time. I was in the midst of writing a story for my latest Sci-fi book of stories. The inspiration to insert the idea of the painting into the story just sprang up spontaneously as I was writing. Perhaps one day soon I’ll share . . .
Glancing back up at the photo of Summer Evening I have an image of movement, a scene tugging at the edges of my mind. It’s the girl’s right leg. She’s wobbling her foot back and forth as she listens to the young man. It isn’t a nervous gesture, more a contemplative or absent-minded one. She raises her foot up a couple of inches and back down. She slips her foot partially out of her shoe and back into it. After a few minutes, she suggests a glass of iced tea. She starts for the door and trips slightly, the shoe that she has been working on isn’t completely on her foot. Her hand is on the doorknob, the outer door opened part way. She uses the knob for support as she fixes her shoe more securely onto her foot. She glances back over her shoulder at the boy. A slightly embarrassed smile twitches across her lips. The boy grins.
And perhaps there is more conversation, a lighter touch in the summer atmosphere. A couple of lightning bugs light up sequentially, just beyond the railing of the porch, tiny sparks in the darkness beyond the porch.
I have the feeling that the scene is taking place up north. Perhaps Rhode Island, or Maine. Or maybe the scene is taking place somewhere in the Midwest–Michigan? Or even further west, maybe Northern California? In any case, it’s small town America, circa 1940s.
What’s in the house? Are her parents home? Does she invite him in?
Perhaps a cat moves smoothly up the front steps, up onto the porch, close to the opposite rail. Or maybe he strolls into the scene from the left along the top of the rail, which I guess is technically a wall of sorts.
This short story was great!!!!!