Ekphrastic Folk Art: #1, Season 2

 

 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 begins 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 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, a digital book,  in our flipbook library. 

Now, onto the excellent and innovative poetry and prose of Susan Richardson, Matt Guntrip, Tommi Avicolli Mecca, Jenevieve Carlyn Hughes

Aviary

Mathilda welcomed the morning as she did each day, opening her second-floor bedroom window to gather in the birds perched and waiting on the painted white sill. She couldn’t remember how she came to be in this house, only that she was mostly happy, sharing seeds with her feathered family, nestling beneath wings for afternoon naps. She couldn’t remember a time when she spoke rather than sang, when birdsong wasn’t the only language to ease gently from her throat, notes settling on her tongue like pearls. After breakfast, she stood at the open window, eager for another breath of fresh air, peering out at the gargantuan leaves shading her tiny swaying aviary from the intrusive rays of the sun. Glancing down at the ground far beneath her, she wondered, for a fleeting moment, what it might feel like to open the front door, what it might feel like to fly.

  
Susan Richardson, author of two poetry collections, Things my Mother Left Behind (Baxter House Editions) and Tiger Lily, an Ekphrastic Collaboration with Jane Cornwell is also host of the podcast, A Thousand Shades of Green
https://athousandshadesofgreen.com  Tw/X: @floweringink 
 
 
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birds
 
we live among you
the sky our home
the air
the trees
we share them with
insects
bats
even the flying squirrels
and the monkeys that
acrobat between the 
branches
you share nothing
respect no one
your hunters
your skyscrapers
kill us
you put us in cages
clip our wings
eat us
all we want is to fly
you breathe with lungs
we breathe with wings

 
Tommi Avicolli Mecca is a queer southern Italian/American poet and writer who is currently working on a novel and a collection of short stories.

 
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The Gift
 
The craftswoman who made it
had an eye for what sells
and made the box homely
Her vision of some possibility
she might embrace
if circumstances granted

The business owner,
was mean, a bit surly
a trait his mother had done her best to temper
such are the pressures of commerce on behaviour

The delivery man had a sick daughter
he was worried about bills
when he delivered the package with care

The mother, opened the gift
feigning surprise for the children
having chosen it herself
The son, fixed the bird box to a tree
in the ideal position, 
because he was the practical one

The grandmother, on her knees
tending the herbs, paused to admire
reflecting, what the seasons might bring
before spring encouraged new hope into the box

The beauty, the power, the grace of nature
almost beyond the grasp
of the finest poets, musicians or artists,
perhaps best lived, in pure wonder,
a bit like love itself

 
 
Matt Guntrip, nominated for “Male Solo” for 2024  on the New Music Generator Scene is also part of Matt Guntrip and the Roadsters UK band. His poetry appears in several publications and his poetry/music videos have been included in  several GAS: Poetry, Art, Music video collections.
https://linktr.ee/matt_guntrip_music In: @matt_guntrip_music
 

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Unraveling
 

This is your life: here is where you lived
and where you almost died. The roadblocks,
the knots you tied yourself up in, the tangled
mess you made. Here are your lost loves,
the waylaid plans, the dreams deferred—
you couldn’t untangle them even if you wanted to.
We enter this world ready to be made and unmade
like the beginning of a thread, frayed at the end,
a gathering of past lives. Somehow, we become
a friendship bracelet, braided over the long hours—
reminders of childhood, heirloom embroidery thread,
yarn from a neighbor’s prayer shawl, grandmother’s
knotted rosary, gifts that might one day become
a bluebird’s nest. Ghost light, seaweed, stardust:
We weave our lives each day from the found things.
So take what you’ve gathered, what you’ve learned
along the way. Claim it as your own. If you let it,
life will strip away at your hard exterior like salt
water on a clam’s shell. Let it. You didn’t need
that varnish anyway. Now the new life begins.

 
Jenevieve Carlyn Hughes lives near the rocky coastline of Long Island Sound, where she often writes about the sea as a source of sustenance, livelihood, and mystical inspiration. Her poems have appeared in literary journals, anthologies, and scribbled in sand.
https://jenevievecarlyn.com Tw/X: coastal_poet

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