As a Mellon/ACLS Scholar and Society Fellow in residence this year at the NCMA, I have enjoyed leading ekphrasis workshops at the Museum. The Oxford English Dictionary defines ekphrasis as “a literary device in which a painting, sculpture, or other work of visual art is described in detail.” These workshops explain the genre and invite participants to spend a full hour looking, thinking, and writing, followed by reading from their work. I have been impressed by the level of engagement demonstrated by these writers, and I hope you will enjoy these revised pieces, a small sample of what’s been inspired by the NCMA collection, reproduced with permission of the authors below.

Alice Pettyjohn on Portrait of a Gentleman
Yes, I am watching you.
I am not merely a man
of some importance. I intuit
much about you. My eyes
follow you even as you dismiss me.
Some of you might consider me pompous,
others evil. And others
just another wealthy patriarch from a bygone era. But I
am observing you
and sensing your life in a very
personal way. You would be amazed
at my ability to discern your passions. Oh,
what a pleasure it is
to watch you glance
my way and then, quickly,
move on. Is it my eyes
that make you so uneasy?
Or do you intuit that I see
what you would rather keep hidden? Linger
and let me feel your desires.
How else am I to amuse myself
hanging here
day after day? If you look deeply
into my eyes I will enter
your dreams. Your inner life
feeds me
in a way I can’t explain.

Ruth D’Adamio on Lines That Link Humanity
“Metal Reading Water”
Contemplate the swells
as colors of muted clouds form
in pools of tranquil sea.
Where shadows surface in quiet pose
splashes scatter movement
in breaks of pattern play.
Where currents wake in textured flow
graceful bends meander
in knots of measured pace.
Where waves resound in folded ease
stirring drifts emerge
in tides of casting aim.

James Hatfield on The Eruption of Mt. Vesuvius
“torrents of lahar, No. 36”
in Naples unaware of
the rare privilege of hearing
a mountain split no one believed
what they heard until they saw
a patient avalanche of
rolling molasses spit candlelit
rose and sunflower petals
blanket roads like riverbeds
without encouragement
fire spreads
with tragedy one assumes
displacement would relocate
oneself a continent or
two away but if refuge
is no farther than a river’s
width a metamorphosis
in the refugee happens it
converts them into nearly-
damned onlookers who wish
they would be transformed into
pillars of salt after turning
apathetic moons anchor ships
their lazy port beam audience
observes classical ruins
being made visible by
a devastating orchestra
of sound performed in the
sacred key of apocalypse.

Denise Boster on Spiral Woman
“About a Spiral Woman”
Dairy Queen bouffant or creamy pile of shit?
Mottled belly of old age or expecting a boy?
Arms instructive or pointless?
Feet purposeful or pathless?
Heavy or weightless?
Habitat or hole?
Friend or foe?
Yes or no?
Intuition’s
ken.

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Samurai off the Battlefield
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Were There Women Samurai?
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