art – Emily C. Skaftun

Postcards: Lovely Surprises

February 27, 2026February 23, 2026 eskaftun

Print of a painting: a scraggly-hared face with bloodshot eyes peeps above a brick wall topped with a bottle. A hand holds a cigarette. — Dear sis,
I still hear Mom’s voice when I pass by Creepy Pete’s alley. He’d peek his scraggly head over the wall, stinking of booze and cigarettes, and say, “Wanna see something interesting?”

“Nothing interesting about his penis,” Mom would say. “Keep walking.”

But last night, I thought: You know what? I DO want to see something interesting. So I stepped onto a crate and peered over the wall …

What I saw changed me. Below the eyeline, Creepy Pete was a marvelous eldritch creature! Below his sallow false face, another face, model-gorgeous, beckoned. Lower still, tentacles undulated. Iridescent scales shone in colors too vivid to be real.

Mom was wrong. Pete’s penis was very interesting.

Love,
Elly

Image of Mt. Rainier bathed in red light, with misty clouds. — Dear Jeanne,
I woke to rumbling and raced to my balcony to see The Mountain shrouded in red mist. Was it lava? Should I flee? I watched neighbors jump into cars and jam the roads. I made a coffee.
Tahoma’s ominous mist crested a hill, but in its wake was no fire-ravaged hellscape—I saw trees as tall as Redwoods, verdant with new growth. Buildings the mist touched dissolved into mossy hills; bears emerged yawning from hidden caves. Cars exploded into conspiracies of ravens, gaggles of geese, boils of hawks. People morphed into deer and foxes and badgers; roads bloomed with wildflowers.
The eruption will reach me soon. I should be afraid, but TBH I’m excited to start my new life as a marmot.
Love,
Leena

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Postcards from Space

January 30, 2026February 23, 2026 eskaftun

Image of an ornate snow sculpture of a pagoda and giant figures, possibly from a cartoon? One has glowing eyes. — Greetings, Earthlings.

We have been watching you for some time—observing your struggles with each other and your issues caring for this magnificent, water-covered planet. We come, therefore, in a sort of peace.

We come, let’s say, to cool things down around here.

Those of you who survive will come to appreciate our beauty—one of your former leaders called us “living ice sculptures,” a description we love. At any rate, you need never worry about “global warming” again.

With hope for a tranquil future,
Your new leaders

Silhouettes of a cowboy and saguaro cactus against an insanely bright blue field of stars. — Dearest Bess,
It’s powerful lonely out here without you. The supply shuttle only lands once per hectoday, and each time I have to spend decadays rounding up the Jersey Lizards—they’re so dang horny for the plasma engines that they break clean through the ion fence. Meanwhile, the photonic chickens ululate so deafeningly that I swear even the gene-tweaked saguaros try to cover their ears. But it’s worth it, when the shuttle brings me your letters. I only hope I can earn your passage here before the next gigastorm wipes Texas clean into the Gulf o’Merica. You’ll love it here. Through this planet’s blue atmosphere, every star in the sky looks like the blue marble of home.
Missing you!
Beau

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Postcards: Cryptic Wisdom

December 26, 2025February 23, 2026 eskaftun

Image of public art: a girl wearing a blue dress; her head is a shark's head. — I’ve been unfairly judged all my life. I look “scary” and I’m reprimanded anytime I get excited—they call it a “frenzy.” As a pup, I got sent to the principal’s office all the time. Every single time, he asked if I’d bit someone. I never bit anyone. Not as a kid, anyway.

Finally, in my 30s, I got properly diagnosed. I realized I wasn’t bad, just different. I sought out others like me and made real human connections. Friendships, then more. I do a lot of biting now, recreationally, and it’s wonderful.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.
~Shark Girl

Image of giant metal horse heads at night, illuminated in many colors. — Town Clerics,

Our river has seen many deaths. Whether accidental or malicious, we consider them offerings to be accepted with gratitude. These recent women, though… So many women murdered in our river. “Witches,” you called them. But we see them for what they were: a community of loving women who dared to live differently. We do not accept these offerings. Tonight, we rise up in vengeance to claim our choice of tributes. Get your affairs in order.

Sincerely,
The Kelpies

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Postcards: Wishes Do Come True

August 29, 2025August 28, 2025 eskaftunLeave a comment

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Image of a windsurfer against a stark Arctic terrain. — Dear Gabriel,
As one of Earth’s top surfers, you are invited to represent us in the galaxy’s 37th-Millennial Celestial Surf Race. The organizers tell us that the race launches from a sea exactly like the Pacific Ocean (if it were liquid mercury). You’ll soar over mountains just like Mauna Kea (if it were lifeless and dusted in sulfuric snow). The rogue moons, comets, and asteroids racers will harness to are apparently spectacular. This is a tremendous honor—the organizers say no humans have ever made the journey before… Or maybe they said none have survived the journey? Either way, we’re all very excited for you. Go Team Earth! Do us proud!

Sincerely,
Earth Delegate,
Interstellar Millennial Games Committee

Van Gogh-style image of Seattle, with the Space Needle in the foreground and Mt. Rainier in the background. — Dear Allyssa,
I took Sarah on a perfect Seattle tourism day: Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, the art museum, sunset at the Space Needle. “I wish Van Gogh had painted reality,” Sarah mused. Two creepy little voices from near her ankles said “Granted,” and the sky … hardened into bold swoops of animate color. A yellow swirl struck the Needle’s spire and the whole tower rocked. We ran. “Stupid oddity shop socks!” Sarah yelled. “The lady said they were smart!” Not smart like smart wool; smart like malicious elves. At the bottom of the long stairway, we spilled into a city gorgeously menaced—strafed by colorful but dangerous air.
When you visit, we’ll go to the Troll—it’s safe under the bridge.
~Tiffany

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IMage of the Chichen-Itza pyramid against a purple sky. A person climbs its steps. — Dear Kirk,
The UFO descended from a gorgeous sky—so fast!—until the whole pyramid was shadowed by its enormity. A loudspeaker spat crackly syllables belonging to no earth language, overlaid with a robotic, uncanny, emotionless second voice: “Payment on this structure is in arrears. The grace period of one millennium has been exceeded. Repossession will begin in 10… 9…” There must have been a lag, because before “8,” the whole giant pyramid shuddered up into the UFO, with us clinging to it for dear life. The aliens say they’ll only take us home if Earth pays what they owe, so… I’m guessing this is goodbye.
I always said I wanted to travel more!
Love,
May

Image of a statue head broken on the floor, looking gloomy. — Dear aspiring emperor, This lesson can only be learned too late: photos don’t steal souls, but sculpture does, embedding a piece of you in every pair of stone, plaster, or metal eyes. A heady rush at first, to be sure! Once, I looked over countless town squares across my empire. But statues topple even easier than empires. Now my many eyes behold middens, ruins, rioters with pickaxes. Yet I live on, perhaps forever, infamous, with nothing but my memories as I watch my works crumble. Yours in despair, Ozzie

Postcards: Misunderstandings

January 31, 2025December 26, 2024 eskaftun

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Image of a hooded skeleton playing guitar. — My dearest Marilyn,
Meeting you was the highlight of my life. That a humble musician could play his way into the heart of such a beautiful traveler as your! When I played for you it was as if the gods above channeled their divine harmonies through my unworthy fingers.
It breaks my heart that you had to leave so soon. But I was cheered by your promise to come back for me once you prepare your home for our life together. I cannot wait. Yet I shall wait, until the sky crumbles if need be, for love such as yours.
Until you return, I will play my vihuela.
Yours eternally,
Daniel

Image of giant crickets held on a stick between two hunters. — Attn: High Command First Contact isn’t going well. We were prepared for the planet’s sapients to fear us. Since we can’t vocalize their speech or contort our digits into their non-verbal languages, we printed signs: “We come in peace,” etc. But we misjudged our relative sizes—although we’re huge compared to creatures like us on their planet, we’re not big enough to be seen as monsters. They see us as food. They captured all 8 members of the initial landing party and never even saw our (to them) tiny signs. What are your orders? Attempt peaceful contact again, or skip to the contingency plan? Hopper Team Upsilon-Nine

Postcards: Thanks a million!

November 29, 2024November 23, 2024 eskaftunLeave a comment

I have a patreon for these now! That is where you can see every postcard story that I write from now on, starting at $3/mo. One per week! Some postcards will still find their way here, but not all. If you enjoy these, I hope you’ll hop over to patreon and subscribe.

Image of a medieval fish wearing an Elizabethan collar and holding some foliage in the arm just in front of its dorsal fin. — Dear Aldrovandi Veterinary Clinic,
Thank you for operating on my fish. I was at my wit’s end with his soliloquizing; his rhymes were slanted at best and he was shaky on iambic pentameter. He’s quiet now, and the collar you provided keeps him from mouthing at the stitches. But they’ve opened up nonetheless—and an arm sprouted from the incision! Is this an expected side effect? He’s taken to grabbing whatever he can get his hand on and brandishing it like a sword, guarding it like treasure, or proffering it to other fish like a bouquet. He really is quite a strange fish. Any advice would be appreciated!
Best,
Philippa

Image of scale versions of the Kelpie statues in Scotland—large metal horses. A man is touching the snout of one of them. — Dearest Wizard,
It’s almost time. I couldn’t have done it without your spellwork to weld animating incantations into the metal. I’ve been tinkering with the beauties, building variations on a theme. My enemies think the two in the water are the largest. They think those and the “scale models” are the sum total of my “art.” No one knows how many kelpies I’ve raised. Gorgeous metal monsters of all sizes, who shall soon rampage and rid this island of my foes… and any unlucky bystanders. Consider this your warning: leave Scotland immediately.
With love and gratitude,
The Artist

Postcards from strange days

January 31, 2019September 10, 2024 eskaftun

Image of impressionist painting — Dear Laurie,
The fires burned for so long that we prayed for rain. Flooding drowned other countries and states, but here in the west we burned. So despite having lived through the most depressing winter of punishing gray, drizzling and pouring precipitation that stole all color from the world and sapped our will to live, we collectively turned our faces to the heavens to beg for its return.
Did the heavens smile on us? It’s hard to say. The rain is … different from before. At least it’s not gray.
Best,
Lucy

Image of Mette Tronvoll's "Isortoq Unartog nr. 6" — Dear Alma & Stacy:
The locals have myths about spirits that inhabit the swimmin’ holes here, with specific gifts you’re supposed to bring them. Jimmy sought a beautiful sprite who, according to legend, would “make the world seem infinite.”
The sprite didn’t look like we’d imagined, and it regarded Jimmy with disdain. Maybe the candy he brought was the wrong kind. “I’ll grant your wish,” the being said with utter scorn.
Jimmy started shrinking rapidly. His tiny head dipped below the water, and I tried to scoop him out before he drowned, but he shrunk so fast that soon I couldn’t see him. If he’s alive, I’m sure the world seems a lot bigger to him now.
Regards,
Ellen

Image of the inside of a room in Bergen's Bryggen — Dear Claire,
We’ve seen the unimaginably bright flash of ignition, so I only have a few seconds to write you this pointless postcard, which will surely turn to dust even if the time machine’s flux field deflects the nuclear blast around us. So I’ll just say this: they found us. Even the past is not safe from the invaders, and running to it will only further disrupt history. Already I fear we’ve destroyed the Hanseatic League. Stay away from Mohenjo-daro!
Sincerely,
Dr. Brown

King Oscar Sardines label — Dear Darryl,
When I was a kid caught a magic fish. It wasn’t very big; it could only grant small wishes. I wished to be friends with it, and after that I caught it again and again, wishing for things like sandwiches and good weather and luck as a fisherman. As the years passed, technology let us catch millions of tiny fish, but I stopped seeing the magic one. I did, however, once release a magic dolphin from our nets. In return I asked him about my fishy friend. The dolphin said, well… he’s in one of these tins.
Will we know him if we eat him? I’ll keep trying until I find out.
Love,
Eli

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A tale of two Vigelands

January 29, 2018January 1, 2019 eskaftun

See both artist brothers’ work in Oslo

Photo: Kjartan Hauglid / © BONO / Emanuel Vigeland Museum
Emanuel Vigeland’s vision for his museum, built on the property where he lived with his wife, was as a showcase for his paintings and sculptures.

You’ve heard of Gustav Vigeland. One of Norway’s most famous artists, he’s the one behind the intriguing, bizarre sculptures in Oslo’s Frogner Park. The sculpture park is an absolute must-see on any visit to Norway’s capital, no matter how brief or, in my opinion, how many times you’ve been there before.

But you may not be aware of the other artistic Vigeland: Emanuel, Gustav’s younger brother. His mausoleum, tucked away in a residential neighborhood in Oslo’s northwest suburbs, is one of the city’s best-kept secrets. Continue reading “A tale of two Vigelands” →