Tag: art

Postcards from strange days

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

eskaftun

See both artist brothers’ work in Oslo

Emanuel Vigeland
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” →

Postcards: Travel woes

eskaftun
Image of skeletons making love

Dear mom:
“Get a room” doesn’t begin to cover my roommates on this trip. They made out in churches, during hikes, on busses. They snuck behind statues and museum exhibits, and were constantly taking “bathroom breaks” together. And every night. I was only one bed over, but did that stop them?
We visited a temple that’s supposed to grant wishes. I didn’t believe it, and anyway what I said wasn’t exactly a wish. All I said (channeling your parenting!) was “If you keep doing that you’re going to get stuck that way.”
The doctors say there’s nothing they can do. Their mouths are stuck so they can’t eat (or even scream), but they do look happy, for now.
Love,
Sara
Image of swirly green northern lights over a fjord.
Dear Dani:
They lay in wait for eons. Silent, eerie, beautiful. Science said they were just some ionized something or other, harmless. But ancient people knew better. They knew they weren’t always silent. The noise is unbearable & alien, & though I do not know the language, the malice behind it is clear.
Nordlys observers in the mountains were the first to go. When it touched them they just dissolved. We saw it on their webcams.
It’s getting lower. Soon it will meet the sea and there will be no escape. Already I dare not fly home. You were right. Should have gone on a tropical vacation!
With regrets,
John
Image of an impressionist painting of a nude
Dear mom:
It started innocently: we took some LSD. Don’t pretend you never tried it; I’ve seen pics of you from the 70s. But maybe it was safer back then?
We had a great time! Everything turned surrealist, then impressionist. We finally understood the appeal of lava lamps and blacklight posters and “Revolution 9.”
When I woke and saw Ed he still looked all crazy. We thought we were still high, but the walls and the windows and the world outside were normal. It was only Ed—and my reflection—that remained psychedelic. You’ll see when we get home. Try not to have a flashback!
Your daughter
Image of crazy orange northern lights.
Dear crew:
I appreciate what you’ve done. You used my own vanity against me: I did think I deserved to be the first human to step foot on this new planet. A giant leap for me and who cares about the steps of mankind.
So I got what I wanted. Thanks!
I thought you’d be right behind me. I didn’t hear the hatch slam shut—sound travels differently here. But I saw it. I saw your faces through the portholes. And I saw the ion blast of the engines tear red wounds across the sky as you left.
Good joke. Very funny.
Come back any time now.
Your captain

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Family, and a poisonous corpse

eskaftun

It seems troubled family is on my mind.

Postcard of woman in red dress near a waterfall
Dear Tyler,
We’d hiked all day to get to the waterfall, like the guidebook said. It was supposed to be awesome. But we got there & there was no water. None. Like, the rocks were dry & there were dried-up fish bones in the riverbed. Then this lady in a bright red dress totally appeared out of nowhere. She looked creepy, man, right away. But Sam whistles at her. Her creepy eyes flash red & she spins around pointing at him & says, “Blood for water!” Then the waterfall starts back on like she opened a faucet. We all scrambled out of its path, but I don’t know what happened to Sam. We never found him. I think the witch got your brother.
Sorry, dude.
Robbie
Postcard of tiny plane and huge volcanic ash cloud
Dear Dad,
You’ll be happy to know that Susie is still a virgin—or at least she had this tribe fooled. After your last letter I tracked her halfway around the world, to a beautiful little island. She thought she had it made, because the natives were treating her like a princess (like you). She told me to get lost. But I stuck around long enough to decipher some stone carvings: virgin, volcano, sacrifice. Standard stuff really. I got to her just in time, swooping into the caldera in my little plane to pluck her from mid-air (who’s your favorite child now?). We’re on our way home now.
To recap: The good news: Susie is a virgin.
The bad news: there’s one less island in the ocean.
Love,
Eric
Postcard of Edvard Munch's "At the death bed"
Dear Gramma,
I’m sorry you’re dead and won’t receive this card. But I want to thank you for a couple of things. 1) Your snickerdoodle recipe. Because of it I was in the kitchen pulling cookies out of the oven at your wake when uncle Dwight decided to open your casket. Moron. Which brings me to 2) whatever chemical or bacteria or voodoo curse you had yourself buried with. It actually melted them, the whole aggravating lot of them. I had just time to watch as they dissolved into ghostly wraiths before I ran for it. And now I am free.
I love you, gramma. Rest in peace,
Kelly

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Postcards: two fishy love stories

eskaftun

Because most of the postcards at the Munch Museum were prohibitively expensive:

Postcard of Edvard Munch's Salome

Dear Sis,
I should have known better, but he seemed so nice & charming when I met him at the bar. He drank aquavit, which is disgusting, but he was paying so I had a few. I really am a mess! Now my passport & money are gone, & all I have left is this sketch he made of us. And I’ll have to give that to the police. Oh, I should have known better; his pickup line was, “Anxiety devours the soul.” I just thought he was artistic!
Please send money (& better taste in men!) And don’t tell mom and dad.
Love,
Salome

And, in case you ever wondered what happened after The Magic Fish ended:

Dear wife,
Or ex-wife, I suppose. They say there are many fish in the sea. And there are, but the only woman I want to reel in is you. You were greedy, yes, but it was only the lure of fishy magic that left you restless. I am sorry that I could not provide what you wanted. Please return to me. Our shack feels like a castle when you’re in it with me.
What are the odds of there being two magic fish in the sea? I don’t know. But for you, my love, I’ll fish until I find out.
Love,
Your humble fisherman

Postcard of a fisherman's boat full of fish

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