What Happens When Folk Art Gets Ekphrastic?
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, which concludes Season 1, 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 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).
Check out all 4 issues: Folk Art 1 Folk Art 2 Folk Art 3 Folk Art 4
Now, onto the excellent and innovative poetry and prose of
Dan Brady, Julian Day, Robin Gabbert, Patricia M. Osborne
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Well, it was my car and
All she needed was a set of tires
And brake pads -- and a few other parts, some bodywork and clean...
She is my cherished ride and I was splurging on her, for once
Anything to keep my Little Lady purring along ...
And, late in that day, I trudged on over, worrying all the way
And I got to say I freaked when I did not see her on the lot
However, as it turned out, she was in plain sight, sort of ...
To this day no one knows who gave her this wonderfully blue paint job
With the silvery abstract floral design covering it, sensational, I must say
We talked, I checked her over and could tell all the work had been done
But no one knew anything about the paint job,
I did like the color, a close match to her original, and it was a top job
As was the silvery design -- but everyone was at a loss
You See, they had no record of the car being picked up,
No paper work for anything but what they'd done, and,
To the best of their knowledge, she'd been brought back
Before the shop opened that very next morning
One of them had seen the car picked up and thought I'd had it done
I'm glad she's back, but she's no longer mine, mine alone, that is
When inspiration comes, Dan Brady takes dictation and so poems may take minutes or years to finish. He curates Sacred Grounds, the longest running poetry open mic in San Francisco.
creativeideasforyou.com/writingmain.html
Sacred Grounds Facebook.com/groups/203539673028715
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Parchment on Wheels for Ava
cerulean blue, another Californian
promise, against the lick
of it's golden marginalia.
Ashbury's chic, we eloped
through the ventricular journey
of Big Sur. Survived golden
brown crosshatchings. Fever
dream and Infinite chill blue.
Found a home, stenciled
without borders
in the browning margins and tie dye knots
of our hands. Found the sweet spot
between living within and without
the piercing red folds of composite hearts.
Julian Day is currently based in Surrey, England. His poetry has appeared in numerous publications, including several Black Bough Poetry anthologies. He has also been a featured Black Bough Poet and has appeared on Eat the Storms podcast. He has been nominated for Best of the Net by Black Bough Poetry.
Twitter/X: @julianD86666247
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Forget-Me-Not
At first, just a plain blue car but what a shade of blue!
The Dutch would say "sprekend" -- a color that "speaks."
My boyfriend liked your snazzy wheels, especially the hue
(I'd failed to see, apparently, when I first bought you).
The next day when I woke, silver vines entwined your hood
but no sign of dripping paint, no break-in had occurred.
Soon after that you blossomed -- banner of silver seeds,
a sun, wildflower profusion, an opulence of bling!
That night, I dreamed I danced and danced in darkest Africa.
I swirled and twirled and curtsied beneath a blood blue moon.
My partner was a regal crane, his silver-crown askew. We waltzed
through golden grasses, music swelled, and then I knew
what I would find that morning
upon your sky-true breast -- my silver-crowned
and feathered beau, his eye upon hibiscus flowers
there amidst the blue.
Robin Gabbert, a Northern California poet has work in California Writers Club Literary Review, Haiku Crush, Blue Light Press anthologies and more. Her chapbooks: Diary of a Mad Poet & The Clandestine Life of Paintings and Poetry.
www.robingabbert.com Facebook:robin.gabbert1
I can't believe what my twin, Hannah, has done. She's always loved art but this is going one step too far. Poor dad will be somersaulting in his grave. His precious black Porsche metamorphosed to a bright cobalt blue brushed with golden blossoms.
==
Woodstock
I can't believe what my twin, Hannah, has done. She's always loved art but this is going one step too far. Poor dad will be somersaulting in his grave. His precious black Porsche metamorphosed to a bright cobalt blue brushed with golden blossoms.
My sister drives as I transform myself back to the early seventies in a crimson maxi skirt with a white peasant blouse and position a psychedelic headband on my long blonde hair.
She turns right at the sign, Music Festival, pulls into a field and parks the Porsche next to other painted vehicles. Dad's favorite song Woodstock blares from giant speakers. That's when I know.
On his deathbed he promised to find a way of helping his precious girls fulfill their dream of a round-the-world cruise; the price for the best flower power car and costume.
Patricia M. Osborne is a novelist, poet, and short story writer whose work has appeared in various literary magazines and anthologies. Her debut poetry pamphlet, Taxus Baccata, was nominated for the Michael Marks Pamphlet Award. Her fiction includes the trilogy, House of Grace, a Family Saga.
www.whitewingbooks.com Twitter/X: @PMOsborneWriter
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