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Posts Tagged ‘folklore’

Photo: Ivan Honchar Museum.
Witchy arts are part of Ukrainian folklore. The girls in the painting above (Divination by Mykola Pymonenko, 1888) are trying to predict the future.

Somehow, even in wartime, artists’ imaginations keep creating. Today’s story is about a new Ukrainian play that has captured the country’s attention.

Ashley Westerman at National Public Radio [NPR] tells us that “even though the plot takes place centuries ago, the play’s takeaways and parallels to today resonate with Ukrainians.”

Here are excerpts from the NPR transcript.

Westerman: In the early days of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, a video surfaced online – a woman shouting at a Russian soldier sitting atop a tank. …

‘Do you even know where you are? You’re in Konotop,’ shouted the woman off-screen. ‘Every second woman here is a witch.’ …

“The video went viral in Ukraine, not just because of the woman’s defiance, but also because Konotop, a city in the country’s far northeast, is a place associated with witches. ‘Witches are a part of Ukrainian culture and Ukrainian tradition,’ says Khrystyna Fedorak, so you can rely on something having to do with witches going viral. This is one of the reasons the play Fedorak is currently starring in at the Ivan Franko Theater in the capital, Kyiv, has become a summer blockbuster. Fedorak plays the witch in the dark musical comedy The Witch Of Konotop.

“Based on the 1833 satirical fiction by Ukrainian writer Hryhorii Kvitka-Osnovianenko, this story leans hard on the stereotype that Ukrainian literature is full of sadness and tragedy. Taking place in the 1600s, the audience follows the main character, Zabryokha, a Cossack military leader in Konotop, pursuing the lovely Olena, but she rejects his proposal. She loves someone else. In this scene, Pistryak, Zabryokha’s cunning assistant, tries to confuse Olena’s love interest by accusing him of crimes he didn’t commit. …

“Then, in a twist of events that sounds a lot like today, Zabryokha receives an order to join a military campaign to help the Cossacks fend off an overreaching Tsarist Russia.

” ‘They order us,’ Pistryak says, ‘to take our Cossacks in Konotop to join the main army. There may be drills, or there may be war.’

“But Zabryokha refuses to go, saying he needs to stay in Konotop to root out the witch problem — the root, he says, of everyone’s problems. What ensues is a string of ridiculous, funny and very human moments. Spells are cast, couples are wed and, of course, there’s a witch hunt, meaning a swim test. If you’re not a witch, you drown. If you are a witch, you don’t.

“All with a larger threat looming over everything — Russia. But while that might be the most obvious takeaway from The Witch Of Konotop, the cast has some of their own ideas.

Kateryna Artemenko: Don’t kill women (laughter). Don’t mess with women. …

Westerman: Artemenko plays one of the townswomen mistaken for a witch. …

Artemenko: The main message is about people who — they’re trying to fool their destiny, but destiny will find them.

Westerman: Nazar Zadniprovskiy, who plays the ill-fated Cossack commander, views this play as a lesson in avoiding responsibility. … Zadniprovskyi says many people see a parallel with Ukrainian men dodging conscription today. …

“As the play ends and the theater’s mustard-yellow felt curtain drops to a thunderous applause, producer Polina Lytvynova and I ask a few audience members what parallels they drew. Olha Vasylevska is from Kharkiv, the northeastern Ukrainian city currently fending off an intense Russian offensive. She thinks the play is about love.

Olha Vasylevska: (Through interpreter.) If the love is true, it doesn’t need any outside assistance … but if the love is not true, nobody and nothing can help it, even the witch.

“Westerman: Markian Halabala, from Kyiv, says the message he took away is that you shouldn’t interfere in God’s will.

“Markian Halabala: (Through interpreter.) This is like Putin. He interfered in natural Ukraine’s way of independence. And Russians, they try to stop and prevent, like, [the] natural way of Ukrainian history with this war.

“Westerman: Critics say the many takeaways The Witch Of Konotop offers its audiences is one reason it’s been so popular. … But another reason is the overall push to celebrate Ukrainian culture and literature. Putin has repeatedly said victory, to him, means nothing short of Ukraine losing not just their sovereignty, but also their identity.”

Finally, Westerman spoke to Mykhailo Kukuyuk, who plays Pistryak. He speaks of the value of his country’s arts: “What are we fighting for? it’s the details, the sparks, that make us alive.” He adds that, while it’s sometimes difficult to block out the events happening outside of this theater, it’s an honor to perform for his country.

More at NPR, here.

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Photo: Mizuki Production/via Kyodo
An amabie drawn by the late manga artist Shigeru Mizuki. The amabie, says National Public Radio, is a “sea monster from 19th century Japanese folklore that has become an Internet meme and pop culture mascot in the fight against COVID-19.”

Isn’t it interesting how we turn to ancient wisdom and mythology to find meaning in crisis? It’s not so much that we believe in fantasies, but we begin to realize that metaphor may have something to tell us that can’t be captured in headlines or scientific reports.

Consider the little amabie, a friendly, protective monster that has risen up from Japanese folklore to address coronavirus.

From the Japan Times: “Social media users have been getting creative recently with images of a legendary Japanese [monster] said to have emerged from the sea and prophesied an epidemic. …

“The story of the half-human, half-fish amabie monster was first featured in a 19th century woodblock-printed news sheet from the Edo Period (1603-1868). The creature was depicted with long hair and a beak, and a body covered in scales.

“An amabie is said to have [told a Kumamoto] official, ‘There will be a bountiful harvest for six years, but disease will also spread. Quickly draw a picture of me and show it to the people.’ …

“On March 6, Kyoto University Library posted on its Twitter account a picture of the original news sheet, dated April 1846, with an illustration of an amabie and a description beside it. …  Since then, social media users have posted amabie images in myriad forms — including clay figurines, embroidery, paper cutouts and manga — alongside phrases wishing for an early end to the current pandemic. …

“A drawing of the monster by late manga artist Shigeru Mizuki (1922-2015) [was] published on the Mizuki Production Twitter account on March 17. …

” ‘Japan has traditionally had a custom of trying to drive off epidemics by such means as drawing oni ogres on pieces of paper and displaying them,’ said Yuji Yamada, a professor at Mie University who is well versed in the history of faith practices in Japan.

“ When many people are suffering and dying, our wish for an end (of the pandemic) is the same in all ages,’ he said.” More at the Japan Times, here.

National Public Radio (NPR) points out that even the Japanese health ministry has pressed the amabie into service:

” ‘Stop the infection from spreading!’ The words appear to come straight from the beak of a creature with a bird’s head, human hair and a fish’s scaly body, in a recent public service announcement from Japan’s health ministry.’ ” More at NPR, here.

P.S. Since most of us continue to be fascinated by humanoids sporting fish tails, I have to point you to Asakiyume’s post about a real-life maker of mermaid and merman tails, here.

Art: Kaori Hamura Long
At NPR, another illustration of an Amabie.

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Photo: Narek Harutyunyan
Armenian shadow puppetry uses light and shadow to bring folklore to life. Going back to the 1300s, the art is being revived in a more child-oriented form today.

Throughout the centuries, people have used puppets to express ideas that would be hard to express directly. The oldest version of shadow puppetry in Armenia addressed religious and reproductive topics. In its revived form, shadow puppetry passes Armenian folklore to a new generation.

Allison Keyes reports at Smithsonian, “Behind a screen, puppets mounted on long, slim sticks dance and sway, twirling, backlit so that only their dark shadows appear, while puppeteers called Karagyoz players sing, provide sound effects and create voices for the characters. An interpreter translates, telling in English the Armenian stories like a libretto for an opera, so the audience will understand.

“The Armenian Shadow Puppet Theater, known as Karagyoz, was especially popular in the 18th century. But it has roots dating back to the 14th century, with shared sources in South Asia, the Middle East and North Africa.

“ ‘They are oldest in Egypt and the countries of Maghrib, Greece and the Ottoman Empire,’ explains Levon Abrahamian, an anthropologist and a curator of the 2018 Armenia program at the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. ‘Armenians were doing this in the Ottoman Empire because part of Armenia, Western Armenia, is now in Turkey.’

“Now, a new version of the Armenian Shadow Puppet Theater, called Ayrogi, is touring Armenia, staging modern performances reviving the traditions of the past. Ayrogi performed at this year’s Folklife Festival. … Some of the players travel by horseback, stopping to perform horse shows, songs, folk dances and shadow puppet shows.

“[Director Armen Kirakosyan says], ‘In Armenian theater, the puppets were colored in black, so it is a principle of shadow. The light comes from behind them in such a way that you have only shadows.’ Black and white, he says, has a far greater impact on the imagination, and the characters develop a much more menacing or hilarious presence in the minds of the viewers. …

“The stories Ayrogi tells now are for a general audience, and many are adapted for children. Modern shadow puppetry, Abrahamian says, is based on traditional folktales such as ”The Cat of Martiros.’ Martiros is a popular Armenian name meaning ‘martyr,’ and the theater company performs a series of tales about him.

“One story begins with a man who is content and free of troubles, says Kirakosyan in Armenian as Abrahamian translates. He laughs because the man’s life is about to get complicated.

“ ‘The man is complaining about this mouse, saying it is eating his shoes. . . People came and said, “We will help you,” giving him a cat. The cat solved the problem but created other problems, meowing, and the man says he can’t sleep. So the people say, “it is hungry, thirsty—give him milk!” But where would he get the milk? So they give him a cow to solve the problem. He had to have a field to have something for the cow to eat some grass. Lots of problems come, so they give him a wife! Now he has a lot of children, and when he is dying, he calls his eldest son, and tells him, “You can do anything you want, but never let a cat come to your house!” ‘ ”

More here.

Photo: Narek Harutyunyan
Armen Kirakosyan, director of the Ayrudzi horseback riding club and Ayrogi puppet theater, poses with shadow puppets.

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Doubtless you know about fairy circles, also called fairy rings. According to Wikipedia, they’re a “naturally occurring ring or arc of mushrooms. The rings may grow to over 10 metres (33 ft) in diameter, and they become stable over time as the fungus grows and seeks food underground.

“They are found mainly in forested areas, but also appear in grasslands or rangelands. Fairy rings are detectable by sporocarps in rings or arcs, as well as by a necrotic zone (dead grass), or a ring of dark green grass. If these manifestations are visible a fairy fungus mycelium is likely to be present in the ring or arc underneath.

“Fairy rings also occupy a prominent place in European folklore as the location of gateways into elfin kingdoms.”

But in Africa, there is a different kind of fairy circle that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with mushrooms.

Did you catch the article by Sindya Bhanoo in the NY Times?

“The grasslands of Namibia — and to a lesser extent its neighbors Angola and South Africa — are speckled with millions of mysterious bare spots called ‘fairy circles,’ their origins unknown.

“Now, a study based on several years of satellite images describes the circles’ life span as they appear, transform over decades, and then eventually disappear.

“Writing in the journal PLoS One, Walter R. Tschinkel, the study’s author and a biologist at Florida State University, reports that the circles can last 24 to 75 years.

“The circles, which range from about 6 to 30 feet in diameter, begin as bare spots on an otherwise continuous grass carpet; after a few years, taller grass starts to grow around the circle’s perimeter.”

The reader is left with the question, Are these circles gateways to elfin kingdoms? What kind of elves are in Namibia?

I don’t understand why scientists don’t investigate matters like that.

Update July 13, 2012: Asakiyume has been tracking down stories about African fairy circles. Read this.

Update March 30, 2013: NY Times has fingered a particular species of sand termites, Psammotermes alloceru. Read this.

Photograph: Walter R. Tschinkel

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