Early in the 11th century, a young Benedictine monk named Eilmer jumped from the 150-foot tower of his abbey in the small English town of Malmesbury, wearing a pair of crude wings he’d fashioned from willow wood and cloth. Eilmer managed to glide a good 600 feet, passing over the city wall before crash-landing in a small valley near the river Avon. The fall broke both his legs, crippling him. Malmesbury Abbey still boasts a stained-glass window in honor of Brother Eilmer.

This legendary experiment in medieval aviation comes to us via 12th-century historian William of Malmesbury in an account written circa 1125, although William neglected to provide future historians with an exact date for the feat. But William does mention another key episode in Eilmer’s life when the monk was “advanced in years”: Eilmer witnessed Halley’s comet in 1066, commenting, “It is long since I saw you.” Some historians have interpreted this to mean that Eilmer saw Halley’s comet on an earlier fly-by in 989, when he would have been a young boy.

Assuming Eilmer was at least five years would in 989, he would have been born no later than 984. This would make Eilmer in his 80s in 1066, with his attempt at flight—which occurred when he was “in his first youth”—likely falling between 1000 and 1010. However, it’s an estimate that is based on a lot of assumption, according to James Aitcheson of the University of Leicester, who argues in a paper published in the journal Notes and Queries that Eilmer may have seen a different comet altogether in his youth—the comet of 1018. If so, he would have been born much later and the date of his flight would have occurred between the 1020s and 1040s.

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The featured art spans nearly every medium: charcoal sketches, pen-and-ink drawings, oil or acrylic paintings, murals, sculptures, traditional and digital photography, and immersive room-sized multimedia installations, such as a 2021-2022 piece called Gravitational Arena by Chinese artist Xu Bing. “Xu Bing does most of his work about language,” said Gamwell. For Gravitational Arena, “He takes a quote about language from Wittgenstein and translates it into his own script, the English alphabet written to resemble Chinese characters. Then he applies gravity to it and makes a singularity. [The installation] is several stories high and he covered the gallery floor with a mirror. So you walk upstairs and you see it’s like a wormhole, which he turns into an analogy for translation.”

“Anything in the vicinity of a black hole is violently torn apart owing to its extreme gravity—the strongest in the universe,” Gamwell writes about the enduring appeal of black holes as artistic inspiration. “We see this violence in the works of artists like Cai Guo-­ Qiang and Takashi Murakami, who have used black holes to symbolize the brutality unleashed by the atomic bomb. The inescapable pull of a black hole is also a ready metaphor for depression in the work of artists such as Moonassi. Thus, on the one hand, the black hole provides artists with a symbol to express the devastations and anxieties of the modern world. On the other hand, however, a black hole’s extreme gravity is the source of stupendous energy, and artists such as Yambe Tam invite viewers to embrace darkness as a path to transformation, awe, and wonder.”

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