#Yankelevich's house

[alexxx-malev]

Russia. Rostov Oblast. Taganrog. Petrovskaya Street. Yankelevich's house Ростовская область. Таганрог. Петровская улица. Дом Янкелевича

[sheltiechicago]

The one basking in the living room

"Basking in the living room" - Zashiki-warashi, bakemono, and, simply put, the Japanese version of the house spirit. Bakemono is a common name for ghosts or spirits in Japanese folklore. Literally this term means "that which changes."

Photographer: Natasha Yankelevich

INTERNATIONAL PHOTOGRAPHY AWARDS™

[sad-house-of-mortality]

Natalia Yankelevich - Body Memory

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 11/18

not my gif. Gellert

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang’s staff at Dumbledore’s request. Her mission? Find a   Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc/mc

Masterlist

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

--

Learning the theory behind a spell was always a tedious work, she’d been a student and knew the feeling. However, it was a lesson that needed to be taught despite everyone’s protests.

She realised that she had created an escape refugee with her classes, allowing the children to do and say things they weren’t allowed with other professors. Durmstrang itself was a strict school, and she noticed how the students’ rigid discipline relaxed a bit in her classroom. Sometimes it could get out of control.

When she finished drawing the movement of the fire-making spell, she turned around to find several children leaning on their elbows. One boy next to the window was sleeping and a group in the back was sending each other flying pieces of paper.

She looked at the Flitterbloom on the desk, and an idea started to form in her head. She moved her wand slightly, and the plant started to grow uncontrollably; the roots broke the vase and its vines squirmed their way down the desk, growing with every second.

“Professor Williams!” At a girl’s desperate scream, other students started to get nervous as well, but when they saw that Kate had her arms crossed and didn’t intend to help, panic settled among them.

Some students got up and ran to the door, but Kate closed it from where she stood.

“There’s a situation that requires everyone’s attention! Imagine this happened in your house. Would you run out the door and leave? Let it destroy your home and your belongings? Imagine it’s a Devil’s Snare.”

The bush kept growing, now moving to the windows. 

“Are you going to let it escape to the castle?”

One of the girls that sat on the first row got up and quickly closed the window, avoiding a gigantic root behind her. Somebody shouted ‘Colloportus!’ And the windows of the other side of the room closed hermetically as well.

“Well done, you saved the school, now you need to save yourselves! And I told you how!” Kate jumped over a vine. The students started climbing on their desks.

She saw how Micael Angelov ended up with his back pressed against a wall, she saw him looking at her and then the blackboard and proceeded to shout ‘Incendio!’.

Part of the plant burst into flames, consuming the vine and part of the root, giving hope to some students were near him.

In a moment, all of them attempted to cast the spell, some of them succeeding quite masterfully.

Kate approached a girl and tilted her wrist to the left, making a flame shoot out of her wand with such a force that she stumbled. “Perfect!”

They continued to do so until Kate decided to stop to correct some errors after returning the plant to its original state.

She let her students finish copying what was written on the board and started handing out a roll of parchment to each one.

“These are copies of an article I found in a gardening magazine in the library. I want you to read it and write down any mistakes you find. In the greenhouse we will follow the instructions the article proposes to transplant Flitterbottoms and see why it is wrong”.

When the class ended Kate began to hang up the drawings of the different plants and flowers that she had asked them to make while the children collected their belongings. She could not help but overhear a conversation taking place near the door.

“First years never take part…” said a girl. Kate looked at her and took the piece of spellotape out of her mouth.

“And why is that? Everybody can participate.” The girl just shrugged.

“My brother says that with the knowledge of the other students, first years don’t have a chance of winning.”

“The question is: would you like to take part?” There was silence for a moment, but soft murmurs started to fill the place. Kate could hear some ‘It would be fun’ or ‘nice’ among some ‘no’ and puffs.

“Don’t underestimate plants. Look around you, I bet we can find something that could fit the theme of the contest. If you want to write your name on a piece of parchment and I will inscribe you.”

Micael Angelov said goodbye with a shy smile and disappeared out the door.

Kate had not seen any marks or bruises on Micael’s face since that day in the quidditch pitch, so she was partially relieved, and he seemed more comfortable as the weeks went by. They were getting better, and so was she.

As she finished hanging up the drawings, and with all the students already out of class, sounds of commotion were heard outside the room.

She looked out the window and saw Astrid Rhode’s worried face as she tried to disperse the crowd that had gathered outside.

Rhode turned and their gazes met; she motioned to Kate to come closer, and she obeyed.

“Now what has happened?” she sighed.

Astrid pointed to the column of Grindelwald’s mark, which now looked very different from when she first saw it: a crack ran halfway down the length of the pillar and was blackened at the bottom. She touched the broken stone with her middle finger and she perceived a buzzing sensation 

“It was done with magic...”

Rhode was too busy trying to get the students to disperse to respond, but Kate didn’t need confirmation. Something inside her was telling her that it wasn’t a student prank or an accident.

 --

She kept her diary inside her cape and took Dumbledore’s map with her to inspect on her way to the library. Each step was a disappointment after another as nothing happened.

When she arrived, she kept it next to her little notebook. She went to ring the bell but stopped before doing so. She had bothered Corentin enough.

She went upstairs floor by floor, read all the posters in the different sections, but could not find what she was looking for.

A hunch had led her to think that perhaps she should give the Grindelwald affair a chance and, she hoped, she could find documents that would give her a clue. For the moment, her efforts were not fruitful. She was inspecting the third floor when a black cloud appeared beside her and evaporated, showing Corentin.

Kate gave a start and took her hand to her heart.

“Don’t do that!” The librarian just smiled.

“Why haven’t you called me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Nonsense. Look at you, you’re like a headless chicken all over the place, messing up my library.”

Kate huffed a laugh.

“Did you hear what happened?”

“On the mark? Yes.”

“I need access to the Durmstrang history. Do you have...files or something?”

“What are you getting at?” Kate shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

Corentin suggested that she accompany him and together they went up the last set of stairs.. At the top, more books covered the walls.

He approached the end of the room and after airing his wand in an intricate manner, the block of shelves fell away from the wall, revealing scrolls of parchment and folders.

“Here you will find archives from 1894 to 1899. As well as all the editions of the DD.” Seeing Kate’s face, he corrected, “the Daily Durmstrang, the newspaper. Karkarov removed it from the curriculum. But I believe that Rhode wants to implement it again. If you want to find something about Deathly Hallows, this is not the place.”

“No. I want to know more about him. I think... I don’t know... maybe it’s stupid. I don’t even know what I want to find.”

“Then get comfortable. You’ll be here for a while.”

And Corentin was not wrong.

For weeks she went to the library to review those documents. She didn’t go every afternoon, just as her schedule allowed. Planning classes, preparing activities for the greenhouse, correcting homework and reading the syllabus she was going to teach took up most of his time.

But the afternoons she had free time she used to go up to the top floor of the library and sit at the small table in the corner to examine all the scrolls she could find.

She read entries from the Daily Durmstrang newspaper, a very interesting activity that she would have liked to see implemented at Hogwarts, about changes in teachers, subjects, quidditch events and about AEDA. At the moment, Grindelwald did not appear. She also found employment contracts, building renovation orders, and dance brochures.

On one of her trips to the library, she thought she saw Mer Yankelevich and Libor Marek talking alone in a corridor. This reminded her of the day Flavia Hodges left Durmstrang.

Three guards escorted her to the carriage. Kate watched the scene from the bridge with her arms crossed as Rhode said goodbye.

The rest of the teachers were also there, and although the students were not allowed to come near, Kate knew that their faces were glued to the windows.

Rhode gestured to her and Kate crossed the bridge to get closer.

“I think I’ve forgotten the potions you gave me.” said Flavia with a small mouth. Kate nodded and promised to come back as soon as possible with the bottles.

The castle was empty and very quiet, which allowed her to run to the hospital wing. On the way back, she heard footsteps coming from the hall and the main door closing.

When she identified Libor Marek’s voice, she stopped short before turning the corner.

“You haven’t left me alone since Karkarov left. Don’t try to drag me into your affairs, they don’t interest me.”

“But...”

Impatient to find out who he was talking to, she kept walking, looking at the ground and pressing Flavia’s potions to her chest, pretending not to hear anything. Yankelevich and Marek were shocked to see her pass by. She looked up and asked innocently,

“The carriage hasn’t left yet, has it?”

The charms teacher hid her concern with a smile.

“No, I think they’re waiting for you.”

“Ah, perfect.” She sighed in supposed relief and without bothering to look for her wand, he quickly aired a hand to open the door and leave the castle.

Distracted by the memory, she didn’t hear Corentin approaching from behind until she saw his shadow on the table.

She jumped up as she turned and saw his slim figure in a black suit.

“Will you stop that?”

Corentin ignored her and read the documents on the table over her shoulder.

“Have you found anything of interest?”

“Maybe now I’ll start doing it. These folders are from his last year here.”

“If you need anything, you know where I am.” Just as she thanked him, he transformed himself into his bat form and flew to the chandelier.

Kate put her head in one hand and with the other she squeezed one side of her belly, where it hurt. Forgetting to take the potion on the first day of her period was a serious mistake.

Tired of searching, she momentarily forgot the purpose of all the trips to the library and was reading an article in the Daily Durmstrang about the creatures that lived in the lakes. She turned the page lazily, wanting to finish the seemingly endless article.

As she laid eyes on the next page, she jumped up.

Gellert Grindelwald: king of the AEDA, by J.M. Nilsen. June 1899

Grindelwald, a sixth-grade student, turned up hopefully at Europe’s most famous dark arts competition, not knowing what its outcome would be.

The first of his class, hardworking and tenacious, are some of the many qualities that have led him to this glorious victory. The question is, which project did he do that will undoubtedly win the competition?

This year’s theme for the AEDA was challenging and confusing to many: Bottled Death.

After much thought, this student decided to take the meaning of this challenge literally. And that is that he has managed, for the first time in history, to catch a real obscurus in a glass container.

No one knows exactly where he has found such a creature, and it has been a project that has been very frowned upon.

However, despite the complaints and unanswered questions from the jury, they have been forced to give him first place, for the most spectacular feat seen in Durmstrang’s history.

Wizards and witches from all over the world have been impressed with the young Grindelwald mentioning that not only is he destined to do incredible things but that Durmstrang’s reputation will remain high for centuries.

It is rumoured that Grindelwald has been offered several deals from different magic ministries, but the truth of these facts is not known at this time.

In any case, Gellert still has a promising year at school ahead of him. What other wonders will he be able to achieve?

Kate’s eyes were wide open. At the end of the article there was a photo with a smiling Grindelwald in the trophy room, holding his cup tightly and looking proudly at his creation, displayed in a glass case. The light from various flashes moved in the photograph.

She blinked several times and looked out the small window on her right, hoping that the piece of sky in sight would give her the ability to connect points in her mind.

She stood up and frantically searched the archives from the previous year, where she thought she remembered seeing a particularly striking document. Triumphant, she found the scroll she was looking for and unrolled it.

Erik Aaberg missing.

The poster also had a photo attached.

She shook her head and returned to the 1899 documentation and continued to turn the pages of the newspaper.

Accident in the trophy room

A new subject!

Uniforms: practicality or oppression?

A student appears at the lake: a near-death experience.

Grindelwald expelled.

“Oh, Merlin...” she murmured. She collapsed on the chair and looked at the papers scattered on the table. She ran her hand over her mouth and stroked her lip with a finger, deep in thought.

She was reading the last of the articles when Corentin appeared again.

“You look worried.”

“Corentin...” she extended the text about the obscurus to him. “Do you remember this?”

Corentin flashed his eyes across the paper, reading the article, and made an “o” shape with his mouth and then frowned.

“I can’t believe I’ve forgotten this... Erik Aaberg I think...” Kate passed him the missing person sign and Corentin nodded.

“Corentin... he almost killed him...”

“I know.”

“It’s hard to think a child could do something like that... because he was really a child. He did more things like this, didn’t he?”

“He sure did...” Kate leaned back in her chair and looked at Corentin as he read.

A twitch of the eyes. A lick across her lips. A raise of the brow.

“Where?”

“Where what?” Asked a confused Corentin.

“Well, he had to do all the experiments somewhere, didn’t he? In his bedroom?”

The librarian left the paper in his hand on the table before shaking his head.

“I don’t think so, no. But...” Without another word, he turned around and Kate saw him heading across the room, opened a shelf and searched with her index finger until she found what she was looking for. He returned with a very heavy book.

“They used to keep a record of classroom loans, they stopped doing that in 1940, don’t ask me why.”

He put the book on the table and before Kate could protest that she wouldn’t spend another week rummaging through the archives, Corentin opened it and waved his wand.

“Grindelwald.” He said to the book.

The cover opened, and the pages were flipped frantically until it was closed again. Corentin tried “Gellert” but the book did the same.

“He didn’t use any class.”

“How can we be sure of this? He tried to kill a boy, I think he would also be capable of not signing up for a record book.” Corentin sighed and looked at her not knowing what to say.

“I have... I have the feeling that it is important to know where he was doing it.”

“Why should it be?”

“I don’t know. It’s a very strange feeling... I’m sure that’s the way it is, but I can’t make sense of it.”

He looked at her carefully for a moment. 

“The times I’ve ignored my instincts, I didn’t get the play right.” He said at last. “But answer me this...”

“Sure.”

“What’s the use of tracking Gellert?”

Kate looked at both sides but, although they were alone on that floor, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

She took out her diary and opened it at the end, tore out the last page and put it back. With a quill from the desk, she wrote, "

There is a Death Eater in Durmstrang

Corentin read it, and after raising his eyebrows, he shook his wand again and the paper broke into a thousand pieces in the air.

“That’s why you’re here.” It wasn’t a question, but Kate nodded anyway.

“I can’t tell you anything else.”

“I don’t need to know.” After a pause, she added, “Do you think it has anything to do with Gellert?”

A shadow crossed her expression. Voldemort would return, it wasn’t unreasonable to think the other most powerful dark wizard in history might be involved. That he was in prison would not be an obstacle.

“It could be, yes.”

“There are tunnels in the castle.” He said out of the blue. “It’s an extensive network that Nerida Vulcanova built in case it was necessary to protect the children. It’s possible... there may also be secret rooms.”

Kate jumped up.

“There are maps? Plans of the castle?”

“Yes, there’s only one problem: only Nerida Vulcanova knows how to read them.”

After tidying up and thanking Corentin for all his help, she left the library with a twinkle in her eye.

The search for Voldemort’s follower was proving frustrating and with no results. With this new goal in mind, she exchanged one dark wizard for another, but deep inside she knew that there was a connection that, for the moment, she was unable to see.

As she walked through the lonely corridors of the castle, she reached into her inner pocket to pull out her wand and give a little more light to her path.

In the attempt, all the papers she had there, flew away and were left scattered on the floor.

“Merlin...” She bent down to pick them up and panicked when she couldn’t find Dumbledore’s supposed map. She sighed with relief when she saw it a little further down on the ground.

Something caught her attention.

Kate picked up the map and saw that it had a small black line drawn on it and she could put her hand in the fire swearing that it wasn’t there before.

When she turned to go to her bedroom, the line disappeared as if someone was erasing it from the paper. She stopped short and stared at the scroll, then around her and back at the map again.

She took a step back, and when a dot appeared on the paper, her heart began to race. She turned around again and moved forward a bit more, watching with enormous eyes as a black line drew itself with each step. When she stopped, so did the line.

However, something curious happened next; as she continued walking, the line did not move.  She changed course and turned into a corridor. The line twisted with her.

Kate continued along the ground floor of the castle for a while, trying every turn and every hallway until she reached the main gate. She looked at the map again, at some point the line of the path she had left behind had erased. Trying, unsuccessfully, not to make a sound when she opened the door, she slipped outside.

The night was quiet; the wind whistled through the trees and Kate’s footsteps echoed as she walked.

She turned left towards the greenhouse, but nothing happened; she took the path on the right, which led to the back of the castle, but the map remained empty.

As she walked towards the bridge, the line appeared and as she stared at the path that went into the darkness of the forest; she remembered the other paper that Dumbledore had sent her,

Trust him in the woods.

--

[Part 12]

Tag List:  @eldritchscreech​ @meteora-fc​ @cazreadsstuff​ @the-navistar-carol​

[uglyducklingpresse]

From the Archives — 6x6

In 2003 the editors of 6x6 sent the following text to Guy Bennett & Beatrice Mousli in answer to their survey for an in article on little magazines in La Revue des Revues. At that time UDP and 6x6 were headquartered in a little house on Pioneer Street in Red Hook, Brooklyn, just before the move to UDP’s first studio space in DUMBO; the editors in 2003 were Greg Ford, Anna Moschovakis, and Matvei Yankelevich;  and 6x6 #7 was the newest issue. As the 36th issue of 6x6 is being assembled in anticipation of the Final Launch (Sept 8, 7pm, Knockdown Center), we thought it would be nice to share this piece about 6x6′s beginnings from deep in the archives. NOTE: Thanks to G.L. Ford, one of the founding editors of 6x6, for digging this up. The original survey questions are in bold italic; we’ve also highlighted (in bold) some parts of special interest and added some hyperlinks where relevant.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

When was your magazine founded and why? 6x6 came about as a response to the poetry magazines we saw around. In the spring of 2000 Julien Poirier brought the idea of doing a magazine to his friends and fellow poets Filip Marinovic, Gregory Ford and Matvei Yankelevich. Through a process of much dialogue and conversation, the magazine slowly took shape with something of a turn-of-the-century idealism powering its inception.

It was our common conviction that most poetry magazines were too thick and heavy, with so many contributors it was difficult to get through the whole thing and still remember any specific works or voices. The space allowed each poet was often too small for the reader to really get an idea of what the poet was up to. In addition, most of these magazines seemed to be the vehicle for a single editor's taste or ego, and in fact, displayed the name of the editor most prominently in their first pages. Furthermore, the author bios most magazines included suggested the career motives of both the poets and the publishers, as well as a concern with cliques and schools which were to us alienating and elitist. We decided therefore not to publicize the names of the editors in its pages, and to make editorial choices collaboratively — a challenge, as the four editors, all poets in different veins, more often than not disagreed on submissions. We decided also to write more personal rejection letters to poets than any of us had ever received, with concrete criticisms and suggestions. In order to get away from the idea of the magazine as part of a market culture for this most marginalized of markets, we eschewed author bios. And no ads, of course. Most importantly, we decided to make each issue small and readable, and much, much cheaper than most of the magazines we saw on the bookshelves. We thought that each issue should be a kind of ephemeral book-object, perhaps somewhat mysterious and hard to pin down. In the beginning, many people indeed referred to 6x6 as a book, rather than a magazine. To add to the confusion of book/magazine, we would give each issue a title which was taken from the first line of the first poet in the respective issue. After some discussion, we came up with a design modeled after the shape of the first Russian Futurist magazine, Tango with Cows (by Vasily Kamensky and the Burliuk Brothers, 1914). 6x6's cut corner and the rubber band binding (a zine-world invention) and the nearly obsolete technique of letterpress in opposition to pervading glossiness were supposed to make it apparent that we were "cutting corners" to save on expenses and putting our own hands into the work to stave off the anonymity, perfection and aloofness of clean mechanical reproduction. The number of poets in each issue was chosen somewhat arbitrarily to be six, and the number of pages allotted to each poet was to be six as well. This had something to do with Julien Poirier's use of dice as a determining chance factor in his cut-up—influenced poetry of that time. Once, during the preliminary discussion of the magazine, we were playing dice against the walls of St Marks Church in New York City, outside of a reading at the Poetry Project. Thus 6x6 came to be the name of the magazine, and our goal was to get six authors to create poetry for six pages apiece. 6x6 number 1, subtitled “The hotel is in a bad part of town,” came out around July 4th, 2000. Alex, owner of Orlando Printing, a neighborhood offset printer, happened to have a Heidelberg letterpress machine sitting in the back of his tiny shop, which he was eager to use again after its long neglect. He printed the cover and the guts. Number 1 was hand-collated, folded, cut, trimmed, bound, and hand-stamped in the summer heat of our apartment HQ, just in time for the release party and reading. Both the assembly and the nightlong launch happened in Julien's and Greg's apartment (a few blocks away from Orlando Printing) on Duke Ellington Boulevard (W 106th Street) in Manhattan. That apartment burned down in the spring of 2002, and with it went many of the back issues and submissions and a sufficient chunk of then recently released #5. But we've recovered and are still going, mostly due to the great responses we've gotten from poetry readers near and far. This summer, the operation will move to the new (though temporary) offices of Ugly Duckling Presse, just under the Manhattan Bridge in Brooklyn. Whom/What type of writing do you publish? The type of writing we publish varies from issue to issue, and in fact within each issue. We have published some conceptual poetry (Lev Rubinstein's index card poem, "Time Goes On"), a six-page chunk of Arkadii Dragomoshchenko's prose-poem novel, "Chinese Sun", some sound poetry (like that of John M. Bennett), some New York poets (Eddie Berrigan, Jackie Waters, Lewis Warsh, Johanna Furhman, Steve Dalachinsky), some urban sequentialism (Michael Ford), some poets that might be grouped in under the heading of new metaphysical (Kathrine Sowerby, Samantha Visdaate, Keith Waldrop), a few translations from foreign poets, a bit of the West Coast and the East Coast, a bit of the South and the Mid-West. Some of it has been more formal, some quite avant-garde and eclectic. It has really always depended on what the editors thought was most interesting at the time. How would you describe your magazine to somebody who does not know it? 6x6 is a compact, hand-bound poetry periodical that presents six pages each from six poets writing in a variety of traditions, from American avant-garde to lyrical and political, with an emphasis on works especially composed for the magazine's format. What past or present magazines are important to you as an editor? As mentioned before, the Russian Futurist magazines and a lot of the bookmaking aesthetic of the Russian avant-garde has played its role in our conception of 6x6. Can We Have Our Ball Back, though an on-line magazine, earns our respect with its simplicity and inclusiveness. San Jose Manual of Style is inspiring in its daring hands-on approach and content. Technical information: Editor(s): Current Editors: Gregory Ford, Anna Moschovakis, Matvei Yankelevich.  Editors Emeritus: Julien Poirier and Filip Marinovic. Publisher: Ugly Duckling Presse (a non-profit arts/publishing collective) Number of issues published to date: 7 issues as of spring 2003, Issue 8 due out in summer of 2003.  Number of pages in a typical issue: 52 How to get a copy: at various bookstores, or directly through Ugly Duckling Presse, 112 Pioneer Street, Brooklyn, NY 11231. Price: $3 single copy. Subscription Donation: $15 for one year (three issues). Poets' price: $10.

[6x6 EDITORS, 2003]

[6x6 #7 was the most recent issue when these survey questions were answered in 2003. #7 included poems by David Cameron, Steve Dalachinsky, Joanna Fuhrman, Jason Lynn, Tomaz Salamun (translated from the Slovenian by Joshua Beckman), and Jacqueline Waters.]

[atomsphotography]

Natalia Yankelevich

I live in Moscow, Russia. I’m web-designer and a person who loves photography.

For me the main thing in a photography is to get a real emotion, that can be understandable for everyone. All of my subjects are about sensuality in each of us. It is the little stories about thoughts, senses and invisible miracles, on way to yourself.

5 things that fascinate me: 1. I love strange strange faces and people characters 2. I like traveling — this is the way to get new knowledge and stay always fresh and curious. 3. My dacha (country house) near the Moscow. It is very cozy and natural. 4. All types of stories and fairytales — books, cinema, theatre, photography also 5. Conversations with my husband.

Website

Behance

Facebook

Instagram

Flickr

[erectiledysfunc]

which abbreviation indicates impotence in the male

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[greencheekconure27]

“Песня Мери” (Пир во время чумы) – “Маленькие трагедии”

“Mary’s Song” (”A Feast in Times of Plague _Little Tragedies)

Another bit of  Alfred Schnittke- It’s quite possibly the eeriest song I know, but It’s also how I discovered that particular composer- I heard it when I was 11 or so (yes, I know) and I really, really liked it for some reason.The lyrics, the music, the actress-it just comes together so perfectly.

Sing, Mary, sing long laments of broken hearts

So we may turn to merriment more madly,

As one who has been torn away by visions

Returns with passion to his worldly matters.

MARY (singing)

Once upon a time our village

Was so peaceful to behold:

Every Sunday early morning

Church was filled with young and old;

Our children’s happy voices

From the noisy school sang sweet,

Busy scythe and gleaming sickle

Flickered over fields of wheat.

Now the church is still and empty;

And the schoolhouse stands forlorn;

Darkness falls upon the forest;

And in vain stands ripe the corn;

House and home are burned and blackened,

Village ruined on the hill.

All is quiet, but the graveyard,

seldom empty, never still.

Every minute corpses carried;

And the groans of those who live

Call on God their sins to pardon

And eternal rest to give.

Every minute numbers growing,

Shovels work around the clock,

And the graves, they crowd together,

Lined up like a frightened flock.

If my youthful spring is fated,

Destined to an early grave,

You whom I have loved so dearly,

You, to whom my life I gave 

Stay away, I pray, from Jenny,

To her corpse do not come near,

You must never touch her dead lips,

For your own life, pra Loupy, have fear.

And then after I am buried,

Go, forget this ghostly town!

There’s a place, you’ll find another

Who will wear the wedding gown.

When, at last, the plague is over,

Visit my poor dust, I pray;

And in heaven faithful Jenny

Will besides her Edmund stay!

(Translated by M.E. Yankelevich, c.1999.)

[pokistuff]

Summer in tea house by gsvoow Photographer: Natasha Yankelevich Model: Diana Muah: Yulia Nemkova Follow me on other socials: Instagram | 35photo | My website http://ift.tt/2fWC5Dp

[alexxx-malev]

Russia. Rostov Oblast. Taganrog. Petrovskaya Street. Yankelevich's house Ростовская область. Таганрог. Петровская улица. Дом Янкелевича

[missreadberlin]

MISS READ 2016 video documentation Video commissioned by MISS READ and produced by PRESSURE.

MISS READ: The Berlin Art Book Fair 2016 took place on June 10 to 12 at Akademie der Künste Berlin and brought together a wide selection of some 200 publishers, art periodicals and artists/authors. Founded in 2009, MISS READ is Europe's Art Book Festival, dedicated to community-building and creating a public meeting place for discourse around artists´ books, conceptual publications and publishing as practice. Admission is free.

Featuring 200+ international participants with 2016´s special focus on Spanish-speaking countries, MISS READ was accompanied by series of lectures, discussions, book launches and workshops, exploring the boundaries of contemporary publishing and the possibilities of the book.

On Friday, June 10, MISS READ STAGE focused on Publishing as Artistic Practice with panels, book presentations and lectures by Annette Gilbert, Eleanor Vonne Brown, Eva Weinmayr, Hannes Bajohr, Paul Soullelis and the Mexican collective Rrréplica meeting/encounter/clash of rebellious/disobedient/unruly publishers/editors/printers and duplicators.

Friday's public programmes schedule is available here.

On Saturday, June 11, the fourth Conceptual Poetics Day explored the imaginary border between visual art and literature. It featured readings, talks, performances and books by Eugen Gomringer, James Sherry, Matvei Yankelevich, Cordula Daus, Paul Soulellis, Franz Thalmair, Lois Bartel, Stefan Riebel, Ignacio Uriarte, Hank Schmidt in der Beek, Annette Gilbert, Thomas Thiel, Arno Auer, Cia Rinne, and many more.

The detailed program of the Conceptual Poetics Day 2016 is available here.

On Sunday, June 12, MISS READ STAGE presented lectures, booklaunches and a symposion on How to Collect Artists Books, organised in collaboration with Zentrum für Künstlerpublikationen Weserburg and featuring presentations by Anne Thurmann-Jajes, Tony White, Eva Linhart and Beatrice Hernad, among others.

Sunday´s public programmes schedule is available here.

To sustain our activities, we occasionally publish fundraising editions. More information about our editions with John Stezaker, Cia Rinne, Haris Epaminonda and Eugen Gomringer is available here.

Participants:

88books (Vancouver) / A BALZAC A RODN (Paris) / ABC [Artists’ Books Cooperative] (New York and elsewhere) / adocs (Hamburg) / Afterall (London) / Akademie der Künste (Berlin) / AKV (Berlin) / Alt Går Bra (Bergen, Norway) / Anagram Books (London/Berlin) / AND Publishing (London) / Animal Press (Brussels) / Apparent Extent (Cologne) / Archive Books (Berlin) / Archive Artist Publications (Munich) / Åse Eg Jørgensen (Copenhagen) / ATLAS Projectos (Lisbon/Berlin) / August Verlag (Berlin) / Bartleby & Co. (Brussels) / Baeckerei (Berlin) / BLEK (Leipzig, Germany) / Boabooks (Geneva) / BOM DIA BOA TARDE BOA NOITE (Berlin) / BOMB Magazine (New York) / Book Works (London) / Brad Downey (Berlin)/ Brinkmann & Bose (Berlin) / Broken Dimanche Press (Berlin) / Bücher & Hefte (Berlin) / Bücherbogen (Berlin) / bywater bros (Port Colborne, Canada) / Camera Austria (Graz, Austria) / Cabinet Magazine (Brooklyn) / Cia Rinne (Berlin) / Colour Code (Toronto) / Dennis McGrath (Los Angeles) / Dirty Flower Press (Berlin) / Doppell (Berlin) / drittel books (Berlin) / Edit e.V. (Leipzig) / Edition Fink (Zurich) / edition.nord (Niigata, Japan) / Éditions Incertain Sens / Cabinet du livre d'artiste (Rennes, France) / Edizione Multicolore (Leipzig) / ENDLESS EDITIONS (New York) / Eugen Gomringer (Rehau, Germany) / Fantôme Verlag (Berlin) / FH Dortmund (Dortmund, Germany) / Flaneur Magazine (Berlin) / Folkwang UdK (Essen, Germany) / Fotograf (Prague) / Frans Masereel Centrum (Kasterlee, Belgium) / FUKT (Berlin) / g*press (Amsterdam) / GAGARIN(Antwerp) / Galavant Magazine (Singapore) / Galerie Neu (Berlin) / Girls Like Us (Amsterdam) / Gloria Glitzer (Berlin) / Grafter's Quarterly (Bergen, Norway) / Grazer Kunstverein (Graz, Austria) / GRRRR (Zurich) / Hamburger Eyes (Los Angeles) / Hank Schmidt in der Beek (Berlin) / Hard Mag (London) / Haris Epaminonda (Berlin) / Impractical Labor (Bridgeport, USA) / indekeuken (Brussels) / JB. Institute (Berlin) / Journal of Aesthetics & Protest (Los Angeles) / Kerber Verlag (Bielefeld) / KHB Weißensee (Berlin) / Knuckles & Notch (Singapore) / Knust/Extrapool (Nijmegen, the Netherlands) / Kontaktcenter (Hamburg) / KudlaWerkstatt (Prague) / Kultur & Gespenster (Hamburg) / Künstlerhaus Bethanien (Berlin) / Kunstverein Milano (Milan) / Kunstverein Publishing (Amsterdam) / kuš! (Riga, Latvia) / KUTA HOUSE* (Warsaw) / Library of the Printed Web (New York) / Look Back and Laugh Books (Ljubljana, Slovenia) / lorem ipsum (Rennes, France) / Lubok Verlag (Leipzig) / MATERIA (Rome) / MER Paper Kunsthalle (Ghent, Belgium) / MGLC International Center of Graphic Arts (Ljubljana, Slovenia) / Miami books (Geneva) / Michael Baers (Berlin) / Michalis Pichler (Berlin) / MIT Press (Cambridge, USA) / Montez Press (Hamburg) / mzin (Leipzig) / nbk (Berlin) / NoRoutineBooks (Vilnius, Lithuania) / Nos:books (Taipei) / Occulto (Berlin) / Onomatopee (Eindhoven, the Netherlands) / ottoGraphic (Marshfield, UK) / Palefroi (Berlin) / par(ent)esis (Florianopolis, Brazil) / Paul Soulellis (New York) / Pegacorn Press (New York) / Peleja (Florianopolis, Brazil) / PogoBooks (Berlin) / possible books (Berlin) / Poster Tribune (Carouge, Switzerland) / PrintRoom (Rotterdam) / Ptohograhpies (Berlin) / Publication Studio (Rotterdam) / Ethan Rafal (San Francisco) / Raum der Publikation (Kiel) / Re:Surgo! (Berlin) / Red Sphinx (Berlin/London) / Red76 (Portland, USA) / Roma Publications (Amsterdam) / Rondade (Tokyo) / Salon du Salon (Marseille) / Salon für Kunstbuch (Vienna) / Sarah and Schooling (Singapore) / Schlebrügge.Editor/Fama & Fortune Bulletin (Vienna) / Scriptings/Achim Lengerer (Berlin) / Sergej Vutuc (Heilbronn, Germany) / shashasha collective (Tokyo/Paris/Leipzig) / SKULPI (Berlin) / slow editons (Yokohama, Japan) / Small Tune Press (Hong Kong) / Space Poetry (Copenhagen) / Spector Books (Leipzig) / springerin (Vienna) / Städelschule (Frankfurt) / Starship (Berlin) / Sternberg Press (Berlin) / Zentrum für Künstlerpublikationen Weseburg (Bremen, Germany) / supersupersupersuper (Amsterdam) / Susanne Bürner (Berlin) / TBooks (Cologne) / textem (Hamburg) / TFGC Publishing (Düsseldorf) / TLTRPreß (Berlin) / the blue notebook (Bristol, UK) / the everyday press (Paris) / The Newww (Venice) / The Name Books (Chur, Switzerland) / Elgarafi .The Postershop (Berlin) / Tiny Masters (Leipzig) / Tiny Splendor (Berkeley/Los Angeles) / Toupée (Berlin) / Triangle Books (Brussels) / Ugly Duckling Presse (Brooklyn) / Unity Press (Oakland) / Verlag der Buchhandlung Walther Koenig (Cologne) / Verlag Silke Schreiber (Munich) / Verlak (Weimar, Germany) / Verlag für moderne Kunst (Vienna) / von100 (Berlin) / Werkplaats Typografie (Arnhem, the Netherlands) / Westphalie (Vienna) / White Fungus (Taiwan) / wicker industries GmbH & Co. KG (Berlin) / X Marks the Bökship (London) / zero sharp (Berlin) / zirkumflex (Berlin) / ztscrpt (Berlin/Vienna) and many more...

The detailed  exhibitor list is available here Hispanic Focus: Adolfo Press (Barcelona) / Autoedita con Alegría (Madrid) / Back Bone Books (Berlin/Mexico City) / Bandiz Studio (Madrid) / Calipso Press (Cali, Columbia) / Casa del Hijo del Ahuizote (Mexico City) / Clandestine (Barcelona/Mexico City) / Do the Print (Barcelona) / Ediciones Anómalas (Barcelona) / FIBRA Casa Editora (Buenos Aires) / Gato Negro (Mexico City) / Las Otras (Santiago de Chile) / Libros Mutantes (Madrid) / Humobooks (Buenos Aires) / KINK EDICIONES (Barcelona) / Kitschic (Barcelona/Bogotá) / Morena Publications (Barcelona) / RAUM Editions (Salamanca, Spain) / Pupa Press (Santiago de Chile) / Sta Rosa Editora (Buenos Aires) / Ricochet.cc (Leipzig/Buenos Aires) / Rrréplica meeting/encounter/clash of rebellious/disobedient/unruly publishers/editors/printers and duplicators (Mexico City) / Taller de Ediciones Económicas (Mexico City) / TDPapeles (Barcelona)

The poster for MISS READ: The Berlin Art Book Fair 2016 was created by Cia Rinne. The poster for the Conceptual Poetics Day 2016 was created by Haris Epaminonda.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Video production Camera: Federico Gomitolo / Director: Carlito Schilirò

[sad-house-of-mortality]

Photographer: Alina Osennaya

Model: Natalia Yankelevich

Personal Edit

[katherinewilliams221b]

For A Greater Good 2/18

Gif not mine just the text

Summary: Kate Williams, young healer and member of the Order, joins Durmstrang's staff at Dumbledore's request. Her mission? Find a Death Eater and survive long enough to tell the story. Set in 1996.

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x ofc

Masterlist

[Part 1]

--

Dear Charlie,                            7 Jan ‘96

I arrived yesterday in one piece. I wanted to write just as soon as I got here, but you can’t owl anytime you want. They have a strict and very controlled system, and they are very protective of their owls. You can use the owlery as many times as you want during Sundays.

The headmistress considered giving me a little more freedom in that regard, but I don’t want to tempt luck and make people ask why I have privileges.

I will stick to their rules and only send letters on Sundays, and with their owls. Please do NOT send Whiskey here, and warn your family not to use Errol either, I don’t think they could survive the weather here and Durmstrang won’t like my using foreign owls.

She assured me that the letters arrive within the day, so that’s good. They have a training program for the owls, but I saw them, and they are bigger than usual. Maybe a cross-species with a magical creature?

I am trying to convince the headmaster to let me use her fireplace from time to time to talk to you. I was told that this school uses spells to keep the place warm and protected from the snow, and they don’t use the fireplaces. Ever. I will have to be very careful, and I’m still trying to figure out how to be discreet.

They obliviate you when you arrive. They say it’s because they don’t want the school to be found, so I expect to be obliviated after my return.

They gave me a language potion! I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that I will be able to talk to anyone. Can you imagine that? The possibilities? I would investigate how that magic works right now if I had time. Can you do me a favour? In the tower next to our house, where I work, I have a small blackboard with some notes. Can you write something in the lines of “translator charms” or similar? Just so I remember.

Tomorrow I will start as a healer. You wouldn’t believe how big is the hospital wing! The headmistress, professor Rhode, told me it is common that students experiment by themselves and they have this room fully equipped for patients. Not even St Mungo’s have this quality. I wish I wasn’t in these circumstances, so I could explore the place with more detail.

I know what I have to do if you know what I mean, but I still have to put everything in order and figure out how exactly I’m going to face the task. I have no idea where to start, and I will be anchored in the hospital wing, so I won’t have much freedom.

Oh! I have a bedroom to myself on the top floor of the castle, and the views are breath-taking. You would love this place: the grounds, the mountains, the forest, and the lakes! I can see a ship from here, the one you told me they used to get to the Three Wizard Tournament last year, I believe.

Things are going to be calm for now, classes start again in less than a week so there’s not going to be not much to tell the next days.

I’m going to have lunch now and then get a map of the castle to be able to move around here.

Love,

K

 With a kiss to the envelope, she handed the letter to the owl that hopped in circles in front of her. He chirped with excitement at his new quest and accepted the message before lifting into the air.

Kate leaned on the rail at the top of the owlery and admired the mountains. Her uniform was suited to the cold weather and let her enjoy the views.

The owl flapped its wings and disappeared through the low clouds that painted the horizon. She remembered Hogwarts and its owlery; how she used to spend many afternoons watching the sunset while the owls were still asleep. Even the not so pleasant smell of it had become something so familiar that she missed it when it wasn’t there. Kate’s smile vanished at the thought. There were too many things she wished that were there, but weren’t.

The whistling of an eagle caught her attention. She tried to focus on the bird, but it was flying in circles above the forest. She turned around and looked for an owl that wasn’t sleeping; she didn’t want to scare the poor thing.

She chose a horned owl that seemed curious about her movements and placed her hand in front of its beak to let it recognise her.

“Thank you, Professor McGonagall,” She drew her wand out and murmured “Strigiforma.”

A pair of opera glasses appeared in the owl’s place and she hurried to catch them before returning to the rail.

It wasn’t an eagle; it was a hawk. Kate didn’t know much about birds or their behaviour, but flying in circles above a certain spot didn’t seem very usual. Perhaps there was a prey in the forest, for it seemed riveted by the trees.

On its way back towards the owlery, the hawk seemed to advert Kate’s presence in the tower.

Faster than her eyes could register, the bird flew straight into Kate’s direction, only to change its course in the last second, passing over the roof.

Still confused with the events, Kate set the glasses on a nest nearby and turned them into its original form.

The owl scoffed indignantly and turned around to avoid her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” She rounded the nest and offered her hand as a peace offer. The owl looked at it and then away, keeping its head as high as possible.

“I will bring you some treats as compensation, I promise.”

--

Durmstrang Castle looked no smaller than Hogwarts from the inside. Kate managed to get to the library with great difficulty and had to suffer the taunts of some students when she asked for directions.

The library was a circular room, one of the towers, and was probably four stories high. Long tables occupied the centre of the room and each floor, visible from below, had small study areas.

Elegant chandeliers illuminated the place, but judging by the size of the windows, it would not receive much natural light throughout the day. This did not seem to bother the few people who were there. Perhaps they were used to the shadows, Kate thought.

Her attention was drawn to the golden, well-kept staircase upholstered with a red carpet that went up to the different floors with it. Just behind it, partially hidden behind black curtains, an empty table held the weight of more books than it should. It looks like my desk; she thought with a half a smile.

As she approached, she read the plaque propped up on one tower of books.

“If that book is not your thing, try to give the bell a ring.”

She scanned the place until she found a tiny bell hanging from the edge of the desk. With her index finger and thumb, she caught the string and hit it against the metal. Not hearing any noise, she tried again.

From the top of the tower, a bat hanging from one of the giant chandeliers broke loose from its resting place and plummeted to where Kate was standing. Flapping a couple more times, it flew over her head, causing her to jump. As it reached the desk, the bat changed shape, and a man dressed in an elegant black robe appeared.

“I heard you the first time.” He said with smiling eyes. “You don’t look like a student.”

“I am a new healer. Maybe you can help me, I’m looking for a map of the castle.” Kate looked at his face and could not help but feel a little envious; his skin seemed to glow, he had not a single wrinkle and his features were refined, almost translucent, as if made of glass. At first glance, it seemed that he was much older than Kate, but on closer examination of his features, it might have not been the case.

“Of course, I can help you. It’s my job.” A cloud of black dust appeared before her, and again the bat shot up. Kate followed its path up the first floor until it was out of sight.

After a minute, in which Kate shifted in her place several times, the sound of chains alerted her. She turned to the desk to find the librarian looking at her again. Her surprise must have been palpable, because the man snorted with amusement.

“Castles are particularly good at hiding secrets. Here, that’s for you.”

With a bow, he extended his arm and offered her a scroll. Kate went to accept it but held back before doing so.

“Am I allowed to borrow material?”

“I trust you will return it.” Kate nodded and accepted the scroll.

“I will. And thank you...”

“Corentin. At your service.” He said in a French accent before he turned into a bat one last time and flew to the lamp.

--

Kate went around every corner, every corridor and every room she could. She was able to recognise many of the places Astrid Rhode had shown her, and she discovered many more.

After a while, she entered what appeared to be a trophy room. Multiple shelves of medals and cups adorned the walls. Quidditch, duelling, and arts. It was clear that Durmstrang had taught many powerful and skilled wizards and witches.

At the end of the hall, a gigantic painting that occupied practically the entire wall showed a portrait of a woman. It stood still, unlike many of the paintings that decorated the corridors. Still, Kate felt as if her eyes followed every movement.

“Nerida Vulchanova.” She read on the plaque “Architect and founder of the Durmstrang Institute.”

“Remarkable woman, Vulchanova,” said a voice behind her back.

A woman with a complexion as dark as her robes and a shaved head observed her from an armchair in the shadows. When she stood up, Kate recognised her from the documents Astrid Rhode had given her.

“Mer Yankelevich. You may call me Mer.” She reached out her hand and Kate accepted it, trying her best to pretend she didn’t know her. “I teach charms. Haven’t seen you around here before...”

“Kate. I’m a new healer.”

She didn’t seem to care what Kate could say to her. She immediately turned her gaze to Nerida’s painting.

“Did you know that this castle could not stand without magic?” She made a dramatic pause that Kate found extremely unnecessary. She focused on the teacher’s mind and found arrogance and a strong feeling of superiority. She was gloating over her knowledge.

“The castle was built in the 13th century, and you can tell by its style and the size of its walls However, it has a peculiarity that no other building has. It can be seen right here in this room. Can you guess what it is?”

Kate watched as the long earrings Yankelevich was wearing seemed to wriggle with the question and a strange feeling invaded her body. She turned around, inspecting the room more closely.

Before she could make any comment, the teacher decided to speed up the conversation.

“Sometimes the things we are looking for are right in front of our eyes.” She went to the large windows behind Kate and leaned against the sill.

“When a wall is thick and low, it’s harder to knock down than a tall, thin one. Durmstrang Castle is only four stories high, and the walls are extremely thick, as you may have noticed. Their task is to support the castle.”

She touched the glass a couple of times with her razor-sharp long nails and smirked at Kate’s expression at the sound.

“It looks like it’s made of water.”

“That’s because none of the castle windows are made of glass. Nerida Vulchanova knew perfectly well that you can’t put windows in walls that support the entire weight of the vaults.”

Kate’s stomach jumped at the words. While she knew that her brother’s memories will always accompany her until the day she died, sometimes a word or a person could trigger the darkest parts of her mind. She had learnt to control it, and slowly but surely those memories hurt less than the day before.

Yankelevich reached for the handle and opened the window, letting in the cold wind of January.

“If these windows were made of glass and not magic, all the walls and ceilings would fall down. Fascinating, isn’t it? They are also soundproof.”

“Incredible, yes. Are you interested in architecture?”

“More than teaching, perhaps. I’m passionate about finding hidden places.”

“I’m sure Durmstrang is full of them.”

“What are you doing here, anyway?” The teacher walked to Kate again, her back to the portrait. “I mean, here, in the trophy room.”

Kate raised the map and was about to explain how she explored the castle afternoon, when sounds of a fight alerted them. They looked at each other and hurried to the door.

“Say that again! Say that again!” a boy, probably in his third or fourth year, shouted while he pushed another student backwards.

“Your Dad deserved it! You are just a bunch of blood traitors! You and your stupid family!”

Everything happened so fast, it looked like someone had pressed a switch and from one second to another, both students were on the floor trying to punch and kick each other.

Kate’s eyes widened at the sentence. She was left frozen in place, unable to react fast enough to the situation.

She saw how they managed to get up, but they were still fighting. Some other students came to enjoy the show and the corridor rapidly filled itself with deafening screams of encouragement.

Kate stumbled as she was being pushed further away from the wrestling.

The map slipped from her hand in the commotion and she struggled to get on her knees to find it. From the corner of her eye, she saw how something fled from somewhere among the crowd. A book?

“What the...” Kate murmured when huge black clouds covered the ceiling of the hallway.

Sounds of a storm right above their heads made everyone stay motionless in their spots.

“What, in Vulchanov’s name, is happening here?” Headmaster Rhode’s voice sounded as if she was holding a megaphone. However, her hands were raised, controlling the rumble and lightning of the storm.

With a wave, the clouds dissipated as well as the students that opened a path for her to walk.

Kate noticed the blood in one of the boys’ nose and tried to reach them, pushing aside the curious souls that didn’t want to miss Astrid Rhode’s fury.

“What do you think you are doing? Fighting like a pair of water demons instead of duelling like civilised young wizards. I’ll throw you myself in the lake if that’s what you want?”

A pair of ‘No, professor.’ bounced against the walls and echoed in the tense stillness of the place.

“Let me see the nose,” Kate ordered. After a quick examination, she drew her wand out before saying “Episkey”

The cracking noise made more than one student hiss.

“Now everyone out of here. I don’t want to see you. Prepare everything for the new term that’s starting in a few days. Go.”

The corridor cleared, and Kate noticed the book that rested on the floor. Before she could grab it, Mer Yankelevich bent down and took hold of it.

“Advanced guide for curse-breaking.” she read “Someone’s been inquisitive these holidays. I’m going to return this to Corentin, now.” she added, laughing.

Astrid nodded first at the teacher and then at Kate, adding a hidden meaning unknown for Yankelevich.

She couldn’t identify what Rhode was trying to tell her until the headmaster’s gaze shifted almost imperceptibly towards Mer Yankelevich’s back. Kate inhaled and crouched, pretending to tie more securely the shoelaces of her boots.

When the charms teacher rounded the corner, Kate darted after her, trying to jog, avoiding touching the heel to the ground.

She pressed her back against the wall, turned her head slightly to spy to the other side and observed how Yankelevich opened a door to another corridor instead of heading to the library’s direction.

Kate spent the rest of the afternoon considering Mer Yankelevich a procrastinator or a liar, inclining herself for the latter.

[Part 3]