The Light Ekphrastic 

I had mentioned this at the last meeting, and just in case anyone else would like to participate, here's the link to the article that came out.  This was a really fun process. 

The poet I was paired with is Ann Bracken. 

The first two images are from "Musica Notturna" my series about moonflowers utilizing Italian musical terms to describe each images character. 

Silver Slipstream by Ann Bracken

Just after midnight I startle at the touch of a hand on my shoulder.

Someone whispers in my ear, and I find myself standing in front of an 

open window, holding a bunch of violets. A portal appears, and I step onto 

an unfolding ladder of twinkling lights. I clutch the purple blooms to my chest and 

awake in a sepia-toned room that’s vaguely familiar. I’m sitting on a straight-backed Victorian chair seated next to Sylvia, my grandmother’s friend. 

Welcome, dear, do make yourself comfortable, but you know we don’t have much time. Oh, what am I saying? Sylvia laughs and sips from a cut-glass punch cup. Don’t look so surprised, sweet girl, you summoned me, although this time travel seems to work only in one direction. Come here, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.

The violets are still fresh in my hands, and I notice Sylvia’s hair is a tumble of curls 

loosely piled on top of her head. You’ve admired my dress, haven’t you? It’s the one I was wearing in the photo.  I blush, asking “How did you know about the album?” But she anticipates my question. Others have tried to visit, she smiles, but no one had the foresight to think of the violets.  One violet has already wilted as if it’s a talisman of lost time. 

Maybe she’s read my mind across time’s silver slipstream. Maybe I’m meant to be here. “Sylvia, what’s your secret? I’ve been charmed by you ever since I first saw your photo.”  

She blushes, roses blooming on her cheeks. Let’s get to it, dear. You can only stay until four violets wilt. I’ve some important ideas to share with you. I notice a second violet limp on my lap.

You’re curious about May— your grandmother— I presume? I work as a lace maker in the shop where she purchased her wedding gown. We took a liking to each other immediately. May’s full of fire, and even marriage can’t tame her, though heaven knows John is trying. 

Your grandmother corsets her fears and her anger the way she corsets her waist each morning. Don’t be fooled by her acquiescence to conventions; a steel fierceness propels her through life. One day soon she’ll break free of the stays and the laces, defying everyone’s expectations. May is a free spirit, and you’ll be well-served to let her life-choices guide you.

A solitary violet remains. Sylvia stands, and I know she’s leaving me before I can find all the answers I came for. She puts her finger to my lips, pats my hand and whispers, 

 You must always take risks.   Seek adventure.  Place fresh flowers on your desk. 

Know this:. Your instincts are never wrong. 

My response: Denouement is the final part of a narrative in which the strands of the plot are drawn together and matters are explained or resolved. I was fascinated with the story that Silver Slipstream presented and wanted to create a still life with components of the story that showed what the narrator did after her time travel experience with Sylvia. How would this change her life? I wanted to show the impact that Sylvia’s lesson taught her through the memory of the album and show a life of learning, travel, adventure, natural beauty and always having fresh flowers (and violets) on her desk!

Denouement