What Happens When Folk Art Gets Ekphrastic?
Wooden Box
To find out, I invited several writers to mix it up; to play with this folkloric image. Using their literary talents, they did just that. Jumping right into the challenge, they created inspiring storylines and conversations.
But before I show you the results for this issue, the final one of Season 2, here are brief explanations of what folk art and ekphrastic are.
What is Folk Art?
Folk art, in general - art made by folk - is 'decorative' art applied to functional (everyday) items. Popular examples include weather vanes, furniture, quilts, and hand painted plates.
What is Ekphrastic?
Ekphrastic is a term that describes the practice of using words in poetry and prose to comment on or about a piece of visual art (i.e., painting, photograph, sculpture) and, for many, is often limited to what we call 'fine art' by trained artists. But, in fact, ekphrastic writing about art that embellishes common items has been around since ancient times. For example, in The Iliad Homer provides lengthy discursive accounts of elaborate scenes on Achilles' shield (an every day, functional item).
The word ekphrasis is a combination of two Greek words: ex (out) and phrazein (to point out, explain).
Be sure to check out Season 1 in our flipbook library.
Now, onto the excellent and innovative writers who complete Season 2: Daniel Bueno, Basiliké Pappa, Merril D. Smith, Judith Vaughn!
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The Burial
There was a little couple, two spiders, who—somehow, some way—gained immortality.
Then they knew.
They embraced—each other, time.
They held change.
The other paused. Waited. Tilted its body, listening.
A slap. A door. One gone forever.
The spider watched, still again, as earth covered its beloved.
was alone.
when Mama placed it in my hands,
my name and the year in brilliant red,
the color of dawn, she said,
by a flower-sea of sighs and hope,
the crimson bloom of womanhood, the rising-green
a promise.
wrapped in scraps of wool or linen, a bit
of taffeta, some silken threads enclosing each wish--
adventure, comfort, my first kiss—
so many she’s missed.
For your dreams, Mother said. Her fingers held the earthy smell of paint.
The daughter loved the cambered lid that said her name; the metal clasp, its solid
click.
Smoke-tree leaves, November-kissed.
A morning flight; on the water’s edge, a swan stretched its wings, then took to the
sky. She picked the plume it left behind.
Silver spoons in damask cloth. A pair of silk dance shoes.
A summer afternoon, round and smooth; she kept it as a river stone.
A rose garden inside a cut-glass bottle.
If only, she thought, I had the long veils of night…
To build a life, she said, securing the lid with a click.
A chest for love and possibilities lost. Nothing of interest resides here now.
female insect who left her secretions of life on that unsuspecting tree for harvest.
nature contained on a trunk for containment.
good hearing.
Judith Vaughn lives in Sonoma, CA. She is a member of Poetic License Sonoma
and the CA Writers Club, Redwood Writers Branch. Her poetry has been featured on KSVY radio and is published in several anthologies and in online literary reviews. PoeticLicenseSonoma.com
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