#(or you know. art by jewish artists or 'subversives')

[moonybadger]

One thing taking art history in college gave me is an intense distrust of anyone who unironically uses "degenerate" as an insult for weird art of any kind.

[tsyvia48]

Author & Mensch: Reflections on the impact of @neil-gaiman on my life, in essay and doodle

As a woman of a certain age, I am a well-practiced overthinker. Nerd, geek, know-it-all, intellectual, the names have been biting or praise depending on who wielded them. They’re all true, and I embrace them. 

In the early days of adulthood, when I was a wee 20-something overthinking nerd, geek, know-it-all, intellectual (20+ years ago), I became deeply interested in image and text and text-as-image. While friends were watching and arguing over Survivor, I was obsessing over Peter Greenaway’s The Pillowbook and Prospero's Books and Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. (To this day my copies of the Sandman graphic novels and the English translation of The Pillowbook of Sei Shonagon are proudly displayed on the good bookshelves—you know, the ones I want people to peruse.)

Sandman isn't merely good storytelling and good art, it teases at some of the fundamental questions to which my religion-major heart was consistently and reliably drawn. It modeled a way of rendering the questions—and suggested answers—I would never have imagined on my own.

In those days, I created an artist's book: an altered gift edition of Hamlet. I explored Ophelia’s femininity and the inevitability of her break with her mental health, caught as she is between Hamlet and her father. I imagined her story if she’d had true agency. I investigated the way art (fan art?!) had shaped my understanding of the play and my relationship to it. I layered in my story—my resonance and dissonance with hers—and my art, along with images of famous and not-so-famous paintings of Ophelia. I proudly named Greenaway and Gaiman as influences. 

I imagined myself an artist. And, truthfully, I suppose I was one. 

I read Good Omens back then, too, delighting over the religious tropes and subversions, the humor, and the fundamental faith in humanity that shone through. 

In the two decades since then, below the din of “responsible” choices (that have mostly moved me away from imagining myself an artist) there has been a melody quietly bringing me comfort, shifting my perspective, and reminding me who I want to be. When I stop to listen for and name the music, I realize much of it generates from Neil Gaiman. 

The Graveyard Book gave me comfort and hope as a new parent. 

Ocean at the End of the Lane reminded me of the layers and the depths⏤the archetypes and metaphors⏤present in everything around me, if I am willing to seek them.

Neil’s anecdote about meeting Neil Armstrong has been a talisman against imposter syndrome. Or, more precisely, it has been a permission slip for forgiving myself when the imposter syndrome inevitably surfaces.

The episode of Dr Who he wrote (“the Doctor’s Wife”) changed the way I understand the entire Dr Who experience before and since. 

Lucifer (tv), which his work inspired, gave me joy, comfort and distraction through a tough time in my life. 

When, a few years ago, I realized he is Jewish, I had that swelling of pride and resonance that I always get when someone I admire shares that identity with me.

And now there’s the Good Omens tv series. It has opened something in me I didn’t realize was closed. Crowley and Aziraphale are helping me better understand myself, and love, and gender, and storytelling, and, believe it or not, Torah. I am writing again for the first time in ages. I'm drawing more often and with more joy than I’ve known maybe since childhood.

I’ve been getting back into my gratidoodle practice, drawing and writing what I’m grateful for. And when I decided to add Neil Gaiman’s face and some words about my appreciation for his work to my sketchbook, I realized he’s brought me full circle.

Text and image and text-as-image + Neil Gaiman + story is an old constellation for me. And once again, I find my thoughts dancing, shifting, blossoming to the quiet melody of (one of?) the greatest storyteller(s) of this generation. 

And now that I am actively engaging with other Gaiman fans, I see how responsive and kind and encouraging he is to those of us who love his work, and his name is permanently etched on my heart: a benefactor, a teacher, a role model.

How satisfying and fitting that such a powerful and resonant voice, miraculously, thankfully, beautifully, also seems to be a genuine mensch. 

B”H (thanks to God) that I am alive at the same time as such a one.

#I didn't realize I was going to write AND draw when I started this #but I felt I needed both #I wish I had a flatbed scanner #this photo doesn't do it justice #there's greater nuance in the color in person #Stories matter #Art matters #like, really matters #Neil Gaiman is a gift to this world #Good Omens #Crowley and Aziraphale #Ocean at the End of the Lane #The Graveyard Book #Neil Armstrong and imposter syndrome #The Doctor's Wife #So grateful for tumblr

[runawaymarbles]

Ooh, I want to know more about your cherik renaissance au!

oh man ok so i haven’t thought about this seriously for like... four years, so some details have been forgotten, but the general idea was

- Most of the  main cast are artists or artist adjacent around 1600 or so. Erik was going to be kind of a Caravaggio style controversial artist, complicated by the fact that he was Jewish and trying to keep that quiet: Rome was one of the few places in Italy Jewish people were allowed to live in 1600 (I think most were in Tuscany? Somewhere controlled by the Medicis, at any rate, because the Medicis wanted Jewish $$), but if you wanted to do art, the fame was in big church commissions. He was probably sponsored by Shaw at some point before they had a falling out.

- Charles would either have been a rival painter who did more conventional yet sneakily subversive church frescoes, or from a rich family who wanted a live-in artist. Now that I think about it I was leaning towards the second one; it would have tracked more with his canon background.

- Raven would have been an Artemisia Gentileschi type figure, probably learning from Erik but trying to be stealthy about it.

- At the time, in Rome, it was illegal for two men to sleep together. (Fun fact: it wasn’t illegal for men to sleep with young boys, which was the loophole that allowed a lot of artists to get away with it.) I was halfway through a history that dealt with this that I never finished, but if I’d gone for big plot there would have probably been an Inquisiton subplot.

- There was a lot of fighting on the streets at the time between pro Spanish and pro French (I think) factions and just a lot of general feuds so there could have easily been an xmen/brotherhood split

- I toyed with the idea of Erik killing a Cardinal Shaw. This would have ended up being the entire plot. I hadn’t decided if he was going to get away with it. ou

- Hank was definitely the miserable accomplice whenever Charles and Erik wanted to either hook up or go fight each other but he just wanted to play with science things and see what happened

- at some point there would have been a scandal about somebody writing mean poems about somebody else because that actually happened with caravaggio and i think it’s fucking hilarious

[caveartfair]

Long Demonized in Art, Eve Has Become a Pop Culture Icon

Divinely inspired or otherwise, the Old Testament story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden is deeply rooted in the Western psyche. Eve occupies mere pages of the Genesis epic, but women have spent millennia atoning for her original sin. For the last 2,000 years, Eve has been invoked in the monotheistic world to suppress women’s rights and defame their characters. How many misogynistic stereotypes and prejudices stem from the reputation of the much-maligned, archetypal first woman?

The apostle Paul cited Eve’s narrative to justify women’s subservience to men, writing in the apocryphal book of Timothy that women should “keep silent” because “Adam was formed first, then Eve. And Adam was not deceived, but the woman was deceived and became a transgressor.” In the Middle Ages, St. Bernard of Clairvaux sermonized to rapt audiences of men and women that Eve was “the original cause of all evil, whose disgrace has come down to all other women.” More recently, at a legislative dinner in 2015, South Carolina Senator Tom Corbin was confronted for his combative remarks about women’s right to participate in the state’s General Assembly. “Well, you know God created man first,” he quipped. “Then he took the rib out of man to make woman. And you know, a rib is a lesser cut of meat.”

Adam and Eve, 2015. David LaChapelle MARUANI MERCIER GALLERY

From these rigid perspectives, Eve is one-dimensional: inherently wicked and an afterthought to Adam. Yet across popular culture and the history of art, Eve appears as a paradox. She is guileful and naive, earth mother and fatal seductress; she is the problem of man, his downfall, his eternal scapegoat.

Such depictions have structured our ideas of beauty, gender, and morality. The oldest conceptions of Eve play out again and again in all reaches of contemporary culture. A judiciously placed apple in a woman’s hand in art, advertising, or film can immediately invoke Eve’s devious sexuality, and still other references abound. The Handmaid’s Tale (2017–ongoing), adapted by Hulu from Margaret Atwood’s dystopian novel, features a young, religious character named Eden, who is expected to help repopulate the country. By the same token, in Pixar’s animated children’s movie WALL-E (2008), the title robot meets a fellow android who has come to bring new human life to Earth. Her name? EVE.

Forbidden fruit

Lucas Cranach the Elder, Adam and Eve, 1528. Courtesy of the Uffizi Gallery.

Though never explicitly named in the Bible, the apple has become the de facto “forbidden fruit”—powerful nomenclature for that which is fatally desirable, and therefore all the more tempting and worthy of moral rule-breaking. The apple’s shiny red skin and juicy interior make it an apt stand-in for sex, and the seductive way in which Eve is often depicted eating it only reinforces its libidinal connotations. Genesis records that after Eve takes a bite of the fruit, she simply “gave some to her husband and he ate.” St. Jerome, however, used the Latin word seducta to describe Eve’s transgression.

During the Northern Renaissance, German artist Lucas Cranach the Elder perfected the bewitching female nude. In his Adam and Eve diptych from 1528, the couple faces one another beneath the Tree of Knowledge, little red apples bobbing tantalizingly above their heads. A self-possessed Eve holds one perfect fruit out to her husband, who scratches behind his ear in apparent befuddlement. In Cranach’s depiction, it’s not the serpent whispering in Eve’s ear or even the apple that is dangerous, but the perfectly beautiful and alluring woman who will be his pleasure—and his downfall.

Domenichino, The Rebuke of Adam and Eve, 1626. Courtesy of the National Gallery of Art.

Men are often shown as helpless in the face of this female threat. In Domenichino’s 1626 painting, The Rebuke of Adam and Eve, God and his coterie of cherubim float down from heaven to reproach Adam. The first man throws up his hands in what looks like confusion or exasperation, diverting the entirety of the blame to his wife.

The image of Eve as sexual temptress has remained frighteningly constant, even in products and programs that purport to challenge ingrained sexist tropes. In the early aughts, for example, the soapy comedy-drama Desperate Housewives was lauded for casting five middle-aged women in the lead roles. The intended audience for the salacious TV show was presumably women, yet the impossibly fit, botoxed, and high-heeled characters seemed designed to appeal to men.

The apple’s shiny red skin and juicy interior make it an apt stand-in for sex, and the seductive way in which Eve is often depicted eating it only reinforces its libidinal connotations.

Red apples played prominently in promotional materials for the show. In the title sequence, an animated version of Cranach’s Adam is crushed by a giant falling apple as a blasé Eve looks on. In posters ahead of season five, the topless cast smiles coyly from behind a row of apples and the tagline “Even Juicier.”

So should one eat the apple or abstain? Designer Donna Karan exploited this ambiguity for her long-running DKNY scent Red Delicious. In the ads, a pouty model has just bitten into a green apple (how subversive), and the perfume packaging itself is shaped like the fruit. Sin is no longer the province of Eve alone: The “new temptation in fragrance” was marketed to both women and men.

Once in a while, the story of a woman with an apple doesn’t explicitly end with damnation or sex. In Disney’s Aladdin, the apples Princess Jasmine steals for a young, hungry boy lead to her meeting the titular male hero. They go on to have fabulous adventures together, but it’s Aladdin who reveals the world to Jasmine, and not the other way around. Sometimes apples—potent transmitters of dangerous information—are exchanged between women. In the 19th-century fairy tale that would later become a Disney classic, a witch proffers the poison apple that puts Snow White to sleep.

Snake charmer

In the book of Genesis, the tempting creature is explicitly referred to as “he” and is described only as a serpent. Yet Eve’s casting as an evil temptress gave rise to the belief that the duplicitous snake was female, too. In art, it was often depicted with a womanly upper body and a reptilian lower half. If wickedness is associated with femininity even before Eve gives Adam the Forbidden Fruit, which came first, woman or sin?

Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel version of the Fall sees his muscular Adam and Eve joined by an equally hulking snake-woman wrapped around the tree. Her right arm grasps the trunk for support as she stretches out to meet Eve’s upraised hand. Both Eve and the serpent use their left, or “sinister,” hands, further signaling their deviousness.

Michelangelo, The Fall of Man, 1512. Image via Wikimedia Commons.

Michelangelo was merely following a popular convention of his time. During the Renaissance, snake-women appear in Hugo van der Goes’s The Fall of Man and The Lamentation (ca. 1470–75); a terracotta sculpture of Adam and Eve by the workshop of Giovanni della Robbia (ca. 1515), which took inspiration from a famous Albrecht Dürer engraving; and the stone facade of Notre Dame. A blonde-headed serpent woman in Masolino’s Temptation of Adam and Eve (ca. 1425), a fresco in Florence’s Santa Maria del Carmine, is frighteningly funny: She snakes along the Tree of Knowledge with her comically tiny head popping out of the end of her skinny green body.

Left: Hugo van der Goes, The Fall of Man and The Lamentation, 1470–75. Courtesy of the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Right: Masolino da Panicale, Temptation of Adam and Eve, ca. 1425. Courtesy of Cappella Brancacci.

Giovanni della Robbia, Adam and Eve, ca. 1515.

Even before the Bible story, snakes were associated with women in cultures around the globe. The hostility that is created between them in the Bible may have been a way to separate the nascent Jewish community from pagan traditions that had a snake as a powerful female goddess. The Canaanite cult of Baal-Asherah heavily influenced the newly formed Israelite nation. In the predominantly female cult, Baal appeared in the form of a serpent with his wife, Asherah, at his side. When the Israelites entered Canaan, pagan religions were demonized in lieu of monotheism.

In this light, the story of Adam and Eve has political undertones. The biblical narrator may have already witnessed an established association between the serpent and the woman in neighboring tribes. When God punishes them, a wedge is driven between the serpent and the woman, cursing everlasting “enmity” between them and their offspring. The story successfully alienates the woman from her longtime ally.

Left: John Collier, Lilith, 1887. Image via Wikimedia Commons. Right: Pantaleon Szyndler, Eve (Temptation), 1889. Courtesy of the National Museum in Warsaw.

They are indeed powerful together. Who can forget the 2001 MTV Video Music Awards, when Britney Spears walked onstage with an albino python draped across her neck? Dressed as an exotic snake charmer and scantily clad in artfully tattered rags and glitter, Spears fully assumed her onstage persona as an outlet to embrace her newfound sexual freedom. The conflation of the pop star with a sexual goddess transpired before millions of girls and women in the public forum of television. With that scene from Genesis, snakes and women received their eternal reputation of immorality. The snake became an erotic symbol as “the bad girl” gained sex appeal.

The fall of (wo)man

Britney Spears performs at the 2001 MTV Video Music Awards. Photo by Kevin Mazur/WireImage.

Spears’s performance resonates with an artwork made over a century earlier by Pre-Raphaelite painter John Collier. With her perfect, naked body and long blonde hair, the woman in the 1887 painting who nuzzles the head of the giant snake sensually coiled around her looks like Eve. But in fact, it’s her alter ego, the legendary femme fatale, Lilith.

Fed-up women looking for a new matriarchal origin story have taken in Eve beneath their own gaze. They have embraced the qualities—independence, curiosity, sexuality—that once demonized her.

In Jewish literature, the enchantress Lilith is described as Adam’s first wife, before Eve. Lilith was man’s equal but was devilish in her sexuality. According to legend, she felt repressed by Adam’s side, and she eventually leaves him to cohabit with demons in deep waters. In folklore and pop culture, she has come to be known as the mother of demons and vampires, eater of babies, husband of Satan—in short, a dangerous, sexually liberated woman.

Lilith Fair, 1998, Mountain View California. Image by Tim Mosenfelder / ImageDirect via Getty Images.

Finally, in our modern era, fed-up women looking for a new matriarchal origin story have taken in Eve, and her alter ego Lilith, beneath their own gaze. They have embraced the qualities—independence, curiosity, sexuality—that once demonized her.

Kiki Smith’s take on Lilith (1994) is a powerful and disturbing sculpture—a black-bronze horror movie demon, nude and crouched in a spider-like position high up on the wall. The glass grey eyes startle any viewer. An unlikeable woman, who is not sexually available, nor coy, is a forcefully unusual statement.

Madam Satan from The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. Photo by Diyah Pera. Courtesy of Netflix.

Lilith appears in many guises in TV and movies: the progenitor of the vampire race in True Blood (2008–14); Madam Satan on The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (2018–ongoing); the frigid, hated ex-wife of sitcom icon Frasier. The sci-fi movie The Fifth Element (1997) turns the concept of Lilith on its head by having the main character Leeloo—a variation on Lilith—save humanity instead of devouring it. Her name has also been invoked as a statement of feminist independence: The Lilith Fair of the late 1990s adopted the legendary woman’s name for a music festival that showcased only female artists or woman-led bands.

Villanelle from Killing Eve. Courtesy of the BBC.

One recent TV show has gone above and beyond in complicating our understanding of Eve, and women. The BBC series Killing Eve (2018–ongoing), which follows an M15 agent, played by Sandra Oh, as she tracks down a psychopathic female assassin portrayed by Jodie Comer. Guess who is Eve? It’s not the assassin. The delight of the show is seeing the intense connection unfold between the so-called good and bad guys. Who is on which side becomes impossible to understand—both women contain multitudes. The sexual drama lies between the killer, Villanelle, and Eve—not a man. Though the title of the show probably refers literally to Villanelle’s overarching plans, it’s also a fitting metaphor for the destruction of the story of Eve itself—and all the misery, unfair expectations, and misrepresentation that have come along with it.

from Artsy News

[ratherhavetheblues]

INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘FANNY AND ALEXANDER’ “How is it one becomes second rate?”

© 2019 by James Clark

 What we see, right at the beginning of this characteristically amazing film, is a one-of-a-kind head’s up: “Not For Pleasure Alone.” That is to serve as an irony about the standard disclaimer that anything but mainstream diversion (“pleasure alone”) would be coming from opinions not held by the suits. There is, in our film today, Fanny and Alexander (1982), whereby a Jewish magician (in Sweden, at the beginning of the twentieth century) rescues two children from the clutches of savage villainy, by way of wailing and making fists, to an effect of the eponymous figures transporting from a chest on a first floor to a room on the second floor. And, after the display to the suspicious jailor, back they come to the chest and away they go, out the door, supposedly (to the meany) just an empty chest purchased by an antiquarian. Since when did Bergman go in for such deus ex machina naivete? Actually, never. The “spring,” in The Virgin Spring (1960), has been framed as self-delusion, while other eyes are not fooled. Here, however, within a torrent of complex, sensual conflict, that little stunt marks the matter as being peculiarly assailed by pleasure merchants and their devotees. Hollywood/ Disney deliberately polluting any rare, mature effort as to a rich and devastating line of creative crisis.

Our task, then, is to set in relief the thoroughgoing (and “punishing”) vectors which Bergman had, to that point, masterfully deployed in many previous films, in order to glean this, more recent, discovery. We begin, therefore, with the opening mis-en-scene, coming to us as branded by the phrase, “Not for Pleasure Alone.” In close-up, a young boy manipulates a toy theater (with a castle back drop) in the sense of an addition to a composition. The figure, now in question, is a woman in finery, perhaps a queen. The way the boy deposits his toy reminds us of a move on a chess board. His quizzical visage goes on to establish a little hedgerow, or a little forest, like the forest which Jof and Marie (in the film, The Seventh Seal [1957]) negotiated with much stress and courage, with madness and a cataclysm all around. Jof, a travelling minstrel/ dancer/ circus clown in the 12th century, had dedicated to his baby boy the rare essence of  becoming an acrobatic genius and a juggler putting forth an “impossible” trick. The couples’ odyssey would be in stark contrast to the knight, Block, riveted to a chess game, supposedly with Death itself, where the prize of winning would be entering “Pleasure Alone,” in heaven—the reward of the moguls like Block and like those assertive Hollywood types who would settle only for maudlin payoffs, pleasure alone!

The boy in the midst of this whimsy, namely, Alexander, does not amount to much in the context of a fascinating subversiveness. (He joins, therefore, the clueless boy in the firestorm that was The Silence [1963]; and the clueless boy in the firestorm that was Persona [1967].) But he does have a (slightly), one and only, golden moment right after he’s shown us his (incendiary) toys. Rousing himself from the miniatures, Alexander meanders amidst a veritable palace—not simply opulent but savvy, about a reboot of Art Nouveau tableaus, their floral motifs being restrained and calling out appropriate mystery and passion. Seemingly frightened (and definitely not impassioned), he calls out to his sister and his mother; and silence prevails. Reaching the domain of his grandmother, Helena, the matriarch of an extensive and influential family, in a small Swedish city, and finding the area apparently deserted (he had called out the names of a couple of servants), he passes amidst a carefully tended floral indoor garden. (The link to the Nouveau initiative up in the air.) Falling asleep under a table, on waking  he imagines a nude female sculpture to have lifted her arm. Soon after, Helena walks by, having found a couple of books she would be interested in, though throughout, we see no sustained reading on her part. Suddenly, she turns and addresses an Alexander she knew all along to be there. “How are things?” is her less than effusive welcome. Then she continues on her way. But pivoting again, she asks, “Would you like to play cards before dinner?” He sheepishly crawls out of his hiding place, only to hide behind a chair.

That equivocal, “No,” to a game of cards derives its unintentional stature from circumstances within the Bank of Bergman, particularly his Smiles of a Summer Night (1955), where a dowager/ matriarch, without a family to speak of, plays cards—but only Solitaire. The distance between Helena and the far sterner and brighter and more loving dowager will, thereby, become a test for the grandmother and her whole clan here.

Though the jury is out, concerning where the quite ravishing Art Nouveau décor originated, we can avail ourselves of one of those marvelous theatrical discourses of our guide, which manage to take the pulse of a protagonist where it actually impacts upon the cosmos itself. Near the end of this advisedly long, complex and most notable film, Gustov, one of Helena’s sons, describes his and his kins’ rationale for well-being, on the occasion of a relative and her twin babies and two other children—one being Alexander—returning to the fold. We take this rather eccentric step in order to encounter that tangle of a narrative becoming  transparent as part of an effete and generally oblivious massacre. “My dear, dear friends. I am more moved than I can say. My wisdom is simple. There are those who despise it, but I don’t give a damn… Therefore, consequently, we Ekdahls have not come into the world to see through it. Never think of that. We are not equipped for such excursions. We might just as well ignore the big things. We must live in the little world, extend our arms to the children… We will be content with that and cultivate it and make the best of it. Suddenly death strikes, the abyss opens. Suddenly the storm howls, and disaster is upon us. All that, we know. But let us not think of this unpleasantness. We Ekdahls love our subterfuges. Rob a man of his subterfuges and he goes mad, begins lashing out. Damn it all, people must be intelligible. Otherwise we don’t dare to love them or speak ill of them. We must be able to grasp the world and reality, so we can complain of their monotony with a clear conscience. [Rushing to the part of the enormous table where theater artists sit] Don’t be sad, dear splendid artists. Actors and actresses, we need you all the same. It is you who must give us our supernatural shivers, or, better yet, our innermost diversions. The world is a den of thieves and night is falling. Evil breaks its chains and runs through the world like a mad dog. [This latter point having been enunciated by Manda, early on, in The Magician (1958), only to recant its significance by the end of that film.] The poison affects us all. We Ekdahls, and everyone else. No one escapes, not even Helena Viktoria or little Aurora [the names of the returning relative’s babies]. So it shall be. Therefore, let us be happy while we are happy. Let us be kind, generous, affectionate and good. It is necessary and not at all shameful, to take pleasure in the little world. Good food, gentle smiles, fruit trees in bloom, waltzes… My dear friends, I’m only talking… The sentimental rambling of an old man. I don’t care…”

He rounds out his apologia for the “not at all shameful” choice of “the little world,” by sure-fire, ace-in-the-hole, motherhood, in the form of lifting to his arms one of the babies-of-the-hour, and emoting (in Hollywood style), “It’s tangible, yet immeasurable.” There is an antithesis to all this, but it must wait until this edition of Bergman’s putting into play the means and costs of “Pleasure Alone” has been detailed as never before. Truth to tell, this film, largely seen as a fortification of family, modest striving and a veritable Charles Dickens charm-fest, is an anatomy of the murder of love and its lucidity. The first major moment is Christmas , and, to be sure, Dickens and his sense of the larger-than-life rules the roost (in the same way Hollywood moguls ruled, and continue to rule, the roost). The Christmas Eve and Christmas Day obligations allow us to more fully comprehend the opulence of this family (a profit centre tucked away in a rather remote corner of Sweden). Amidst revelations of Helena’s three middle-aged sons and their wives and children, the one that goes through the roof might very well seem to be trivial. In addition to a monumental edifice, comprising all of the above in vast and decorative domains—a full-scale, royal style (bourgeois)  castle—there is an abutment of a lavish theater and repertory company, now in the hands of the oldest son, Oscar (that latter name, one of so many ironies). Every Christmas Eve, there is a performance of the birth of Jesus. And after the show, Oscar would be on the spot to regale the celebrants with a sort of state of the union address. On this night, the Artistic Director (also being a principal actor) sees fit to reflect upon his discipline in a rather demanding way, in view of an audience intent on fun. “My dear friends… For 22 years, in the capacity of the theater manager, I’ve stood here and made a speech, without really having any talent for this sort of thing. Especially if you think of my father, who was brilliant at speeches [close-up of the speaker and his strained and haggard face]. My only talent, if you can call it that, is that I love this little world [a little world very different from Gustov’s little world], inside the thick walls of this playhouse. And I’m fond of the people who work in this little world. Outside is a big world, and sometimes the little world succeeds in reflecting [crucially participating in] the big one, so that we understand it better. Or [diplomatically changing the subject], perhaps we give the people who come here a chance to forget [Gustov’s theme] a while for a few short moments. Our theater is a little room of orderliness, routine, care and love [he’s near to tears]. I don’t know why I feel so comically solemn this evening…” Cutting to the Disney juggler, Isak [a very different Isak from the protagonist of Wild Strawberries (1957)], on the night of Oscar’s last address, we find the former en route to Helena—they being old flames (soulmates, indeed), in supplement to her ardent, now defunct, husband who, like the previous Isak, was regarded, by a fiancé, about to ditch him, inasmuch as he was at “such a terribly high level.” (Those long-term squeezes park there, as supposed paragons of how civilized and modern a romantic triangle can be. “Sounds good to me,” say the viewers, flashing their fealty to Gustov.) Helena, on this night, like many Christmas Eves with the magician, finds herself strangely weighted down by late-comers to her post-Nativity party, and out of sorts in feeling old. But she brightens up in receiving from him the Christmas present of a lovely broach. It is at this juncture that the San Andrea Fault does its thing. “I expect Oscar is making a long, dull speech…”

Just as Helena would have regarded her husband, when running the theater on principles of “brilliance,” to be a bore, she, though once being an actress in his troupe, was prone to maintain that producing babies was her greatest pleasure. (“I loved having a big belly!”) Emilie, Oscar’s wife, soon after his death a few weeks after Christmas, would maintain, to the Lutheran bishop of the town, whom she’s happy to marry, “I’ve never cared for anything seriously [so much for Oscar’s marriage]. I’ve sometime wondered if there wasn’t something very wrong with my feelings [more like it]. I couldn’t understand why nothing really hurt… why I never felt really happy [How hard did she—acrobatic-style—try to snap out of it? Oscar had given it a shot.] I knew now that the crucial moment has come. I know that we’ll hate each other, but I’m not afraid [The hate, her experience with Oscar having come to pass, becoming axiomatic]. I also know that we will make each other happy [Now what in the world could elicit cogent love—acrobatics and juggling—on the basis of hate, ‘like a mad dog’?] And I sometimes weep from fear, because time is so short, the days pass so quickly, and nothing lasts forever [Get fearless. Get fearless in that company?]. Kiss me now, and hold me in your arms as only you can.” The melodramatic tenor, also a staple to unheroic Helena, eclipses what wayward resolve there is to be found in Emilie’s enlistment to the boot camp. She, thinking that rigid, ascetic practices would lead to valid sensibility, would soon reap horror and death, in exchange for turning her back—somewhat like Helena—against what seemed to be ridiculous and dispensable.

Though a plum-pudding of the rich subterfuges of the Ekdahls flames at the Yuletide and subsequently, I think the earthquake of Emilie and her guru should flame out first for us, as an instance of a world-historical juggernaut, to be followed by the intimate and actually more dominant pathology of the “little world.” Alexander, never finding much traction, even when his tightly imaginative father was alive, announced to his teacher, after the death and the hovering of a holy man, that his mother had sold him to a travelling circus which he will join at the end of the semester, when he will begin to train as an acrobat and equestrian, along with a young gypsy named, Tamara. This entirely valid motive for the sake of seriousness is treated by the now doubled, deranged trouble shooters as a major crime. “Go to your mother and ask for her forgiveness.” There ensues a solemn cross-examination by the flinty and physically well-endowed, managerial presence (put to shame by the self-critical matinee idol-preacher in the film, Winter Light [1960])—Emilie, of the exceptional bones, having hopscotched over ordinary Oscar, in addition to her self-improvement binge.) The bishop’s name is Vergerus; another Vergerus, in the film, The Magician, though a medical doctor, mirrors the Inquisition here, in hatred of the “ineffable”—religion (and its “good deeds”) and science, forming an alliance of more or less violence toward fathoming a cosmos not smiling upon classical rational ultimacy. Dragged over the coals for lying, Alexander, defining his crime as, “not wanting to see the truth,” tells the arbiter of truth, “I promise not to do it again.” For his victory lap, the divine trots out, “The matter is resolved, never to come again. Imagination is a splendid thing, a mighty force, a gift from God. It’s held in trust for us by the greatest artists, writers and musicians” [certified to not mess with the ineffable, which Alexander finds to be attractive]. Vergerus convenes a prayer circle, and the liar looks over to an apparition of Oscar. Does it go anywhere?

A roiling rivulet is seen at the remarkably ugly manse. Motion going nowhere. (And yet the wood and stone textures of the grey walls stage a pathetic bid to be loved.) Commensurate to the zero structure and the zero tolerance, Vergerus demands, “I want you to come to my home without possessions. I want you to leave your home, your clothes, your jewelry, your valuables, your friends, habits and thoughts. I want you to leave your former life entirely [acrobatics going nowhere; the “little world” again, but lacking wit and the possibility of change, as with Gustav’s rounding off his address, holding a baby and blurting out, “One day she will prove everything I just said wrong. One day she will not only rule the little world, but everything. Everything.”] Emilie—soon to bear those baby girls with the juggernaut—tries to smile, and asks, “Am I to come naked?” “I��m serious, my dear… As if newly born.”

Emilie’s gambit in orienting within the reality that she’s gone to jail, is to the brave and lost idea that she’ll charm him around to her and her children’s advantage. As to Fanny, and especially, Alexander, rebellion was inevitable. (Her chess move, “Don’t play Hamlet, my son,” measures that she would also count upon winning the kids’ over to actually becoming pious. Oscar succumbs to a deadly stroke while rehearsing the part of Hamlet’s hated step-father.) In her absence, to begin dancing around the ridiculous edict, a servant—scabrous and depressive—fills the children’s head with the titillating gossip that Vergerus’ wife and two daughters perished in that peppy stream outside. In no time, Alexander has upped the ante, in face of the servant being bored to death and a perfect audience, to the effect that the ghost of the dead woman has told him that Vergerus murdered his family. The gossip gossips, and Alexander and his doe- eye presence looks into the high beams of someone more virulent than a pushy bore. “Do you think you can besmirch another person’s honor with impunity?” is the quiet before the storm. “I think the bishop hates Alexander,” is the young, too young, picket soldier’s response across a narrow no-man’s-land. Prefacing the caning and imprisonment to come, the Christian soldier rebuts, “I don’t hate you. I love you, but my love is not blind and sloppy. It is strong and harsh… You’re hardening your heart. I have truth and justice on my side… You have a weakness in your character…” Congratulating the boy, bleeding from his wounds, and on his mattress in an attic with bars over the windows, he tells him, “Now you’ve won a great victory. A victory over yourself…” Emilie does show up, and she sits with him on that mattress.

The sequel to this savagery is more savagery—savagery of rival clans, and savagery of appalling commonness. We opened with dubious heroics, and now we’re amidst the only too real. The children go Disney and the bishop shows his harsh love. Batting pleasantries back and forth after a large sum of money has been paid by Isak, the paragon of truth suddenly runs off the rails in certitude that he’s been cheated. He punches the visitor on his head and, hurling him to the floor, delivers a volley of abuse. His Grace follows with, “You thought you could cheat me. You’ll regret this, you repulsive, hooked-nose bastard! Filthy Jewish swine!” (His sister—who had opened the door to him, with, “To be candid, Mr. Jocobi, I find you unpleasant. I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to speak with you”—pushes pushy Vergerus away and tells him, “Calm down!” (What the peacemaker had meant, with her unwelcome involvement, was a flare-up of holy war upon the entire culture and race of Jews—its material venturesomeness, in contrast to Christianity’s supernatural passivity [the contrast spilling over to décor: compromised Helena’s rich goods vs the bishop’s compromised simplicity]. We might well see here the installment of Block, in The Seventh Seal, disregarding the world [little or big] for the sake of escaping death. Not, however, that Isak also doesn’t have something, pleasurably supernatural, up his sleeve.) Vergerus continues, “That swine is trying to steal my children!”

Vogler and Manda, in The Magician,  hallucinate being special guests of the King of Sweden. Mercifully, that indiscretion, does not last long. In our film today, however, the upshot, of the magic breakaway, entails—somewhat like the grating church service at the outset of Winter Light—a wasteland of flaccid dialogue, the wages of refusing to attend to a very difficult truth, a “big world.” Emilie, having been a part of that fantasy where the children zip back to the second floor to confound the villain, has one foot in realizing her marriage is a bust calling for real reflection, and the other foot resigning to blockbuster heaven. The marrieds are sleepless. And, worse than that, they’re scripted by Nicholas Ray. He: “Aren’t you coming to bed? The clock has struck 4:00. I can’t sleep…” She: “Neither can I. Elsa’s very sick [Elsa being Vergerus’ aunt, also living in the rat-trap—one of the possible punishments for Alexander to consider being left in the rat-infested basement]. We ought to send for the doctor.” He: “He’s coming in the morning… What are you drinking?” She: “Hot broth. It helps against insomnia.” He: “May I?” She: “Be my guest.” He: “Can’t you forgive me?” She: “I’m staying with you, aren’t I?” He: “I don’t understand this sudden yielding.” She: “Drink while it’s hot. You insist the children return?” He: “Yes.” She: “In that case, it’s hopeless.” He: “I don’t care if it’s hopeless. I care only what is right.” She: “Isn’t that Elsa coming?” He: “Stay here. I’ll see to her… Can I help you, aunt?” Aunt: “It’s so dark.” Emilie: “What time is it?” He: “Half-past 4.” She: “It’s been a long night.” He: “Try to get some sleep.” She: “My legs hurt. They’re swollen and aching.” He: “You once said you were always changing masks… until finally you didn’t know who you were. I have only one mask. But it’s branded into my flesh. If I tried to tear it off [he weeps]… I always thought people liked me… saw  myself as wise, broad-minded and fair. I had no idea anyone could hate me.” She: “I don’t hate you.” He: “But your son does…”

Hardly Wimbledon. But Emilie, like her husband earlier, shows her killer instinct to get her blood racing. “Your sister gave me sleeping pills for my insomnia. I had three in the broth. I didn’t mean for you to drink it. When you went to see Elsa, I put in three more. You will sleep soundly. [Her melodramatic strain being the most troubling issue here, in view of her subsequent bid to produce theatre art.] When you wake up, I will be gone. I’m going back to my children, my home and my family.” In the aftermath of the drugs, he ranges from, “I’ll change, and you’ll come back,” to, “I’ll poison your life, I’ll follow you from town to town, I’ll ruin your children’s future…” Aunt Elsa, in her delirium, precipitates a deadly fire which takes her out of her misery and takes the bishop out of the equation.

Equation in action fills every step of this rarely illuminated mainspring. Oscar the Good takes himself out of the running by overacting (for the sake of the “the big world”) the part of the ghost of Hamlet’s father, conveying to his son a travesty. A figure of derision to the end; but with that ace in the hole meting out some kind of satisfactory life. Carl, the second son of Helena, a pedant—unlike the professor, in Wild Strawberries, who knows how to beat it—is close to drowning in depression. Though he and his German wife might be mistaken to be another version of the mutually hating couple in the aforementioned film, here the wife is not a spigot of vitriol (Carl being online to be abusive for two). His question, “How is it one becomes second-rate?” does close in on the other professor’s son whose medical career is mired in pedantry. But whereas the latter nihilism shows room for change (be it tiny), the tailspin of Carl affords no functional antithesis. He goes on to a rather sound diagnosis: “I’m stupid and unkind. And I’m most unkind to the only person who cares for me… [For example, “Have you given up washing, or are you starting to rot?”] Why am I a bloody coward? First, I’m a prince, heir to the kingdom. Suddenly, before I know it, I’m deposed… Death taps me on the shoulder. The room is cold, and we can’t pay for kindling” [his spendthrift ways having been cut by Helena and Isak]. That a nadir of sorts has arrived may be recognized by Carl’s contribution to the Christmas Eve uplift—passing wind to give the children a laugh.

The equations of sanguine Gustav have already made an impact. His prospecting at the yuletide finds him more than equal to the offing. Being (in great contrast to Carl), successful amidst a menu of tempting wealth, and active as a restaurateur, he cuts a dashing figure when, after the pageant, he leads his staff to the after-party, holding high and impressive a flaming salver of brandy. But then, during the polka dance of linked hands through corridors and stairways—a well-known orchestration in this work, for a dance of death, stemming from The Seventh Seal—he generates one of many trysts with Maj, a lame but well-endowed servant in Helena’s employ. Up in her garret, there is much mirth and braggadocio. But after breaking her bed, due to stable-level rutting, a remarkable twist comes to darken the practice of acrobatics and juggling (another side of the dance of death). Gustav, drunk but still full of ideas, moves to enjoy Maj on a more systematic basis, by which she would become the owner of a café and he would have a long-term mistress/ franchisee. (The real thrill of this routine adultery—fully aware and undisturbed by his wife—is the slide from sensuality, however cheap, to prosaic, cock-of the-walk business.) During her and his excitement, Maj—having a Christmas of all Christmases—blurts out, “How silly you are. You’re a real numbskull.” He laughs, and retorts, “I’m not a numbskull!”/ “Yes you are,” she persists, “for imagining I’d want anything from you.”/ “Nothing?” he asks, and suddenly he’s troubled, by the possibility that this giddy romp, and its “pleasant” machinations, could move into the area of her becoming his wife. She pivots, “Don’t you see I was joking…”/ “Joking!” the family-man huffs. “In what way!?”/ “Don’t be angry…” she plunges into a numbskull feeling. Although Gustav has put on paper his promise to financially elevate Maj, there remains a dismissiveness. He, needing to get back to the holiday spirit, insists, “I’m not [angry]. But I don’t like being treated like an idiot… Stop laughing!” he demands. (Her laughing hardly being joyous.) Her limp, “I think you’re so funny…” rounds out a little nightmare and an illustration of pathological well-being. (Those who decry such theater, within Bergman’s films, fail to respect the fact that spoken language can be as revelatory as the wildest optics and sonics.) Gustav proceeds to a “quickie” with his wife, before the midnight feast, she as adept in handling the ways of advantage as he is. The heart and soul of gullible planet Earth.

The penultimate episode, following Isak’s queasy deliverance, can be summarized quickly, inasmuch as it elaborates upon the always dreadful features of Steven Spielberg’s  good times for good profits. (Bergman teeing off upon “Only for Pleasure,” and its incitement to dull what skepticism the fun-seekers might.) Emilie’s cute children land up in Jacobi’s faux antique shop, which now reveals itself as an internationally booming puppet factory—replete with Byzantine “spookiness” and catchy, mid-Western kinkiness. A merit-worthy version of The Magician’s cross-dressing, Manda, caged-up, in being unmentionable, peels off Alexander’s night-shirt and channel’s the bishop’s auto-de-fa, like the thrills of all those exotic desert locales, for general admission. We’re assured, from Aron, the puppetry genius, “There are many strange things that can’t be explained. You realize that when you dabble in magic.” Ah, yes, dabbling.

After the evening when Gustav got to the bottom of the Ekdahls, Emilie pays a visit to Helena in her questionable headquarters, with news that, after erroneously finding pedantry to have failed, she has found, perhaps due to her hard-won realization that carnality is a big and engaging world, that she has become ready to follow in the footsteps of Oscar. The matriarch confirms, “On his deathbed, Oscar asked you to   take charge of the theater.” (That elicits some embarrassment in Emilie for her having underestimated Oscar, while overestimating the bishop.) On to something more bracing, the spiritual renovator, puts to Helena, what surely is way over the latter’s head (and heart), “I’d like you to read a new play by August Strindberg. It’s called, ‘A Dream Play.’ I’d thought we’d both perform in it.” (That would be like asking a Steven Spielberg fan to take a look at a Claire Denis film, which is to say, an Ingmar Bergman film. Helena had done a stint of acting in her husband’s troupe; but, like so many with nice bones who go into show-biz, anything beyond cliché would be beyond the pale.) Her response to that curtain call is, “Not on your life! I haven’t appeared on stage for a long time” [since she stopped being a cute ingenue]. Helena goes on to bring the patented little world to bear, in this specific case. “That nasty misogynist! [Strindberg]” With a big smile, Emilie drops the subject. “I won’t disturb you any longer.”/ Master of the small that Helena is, she replies (with a small smile), “You never disturb me… What are you laughing about?” The new wave replies, “Now we’re the ones in charge [Maj, also, taking off for Stockholm, to bring her café to the big show], aren’t we?” Little Helena hedges, “Do you think so?” After Emilie’s leaving that part of the building, the over-rated boss-lady peruses the obscenity. Alexander, the fearful maverick, unable to bid his father farewell because death was, as always, in the air, comes to Grandma and puts his head on her lap. Helena, as skittish as he, reads a passage with as much reluctance as if a killer had broken in. “Everything can happen. Everything is possible and probable. Time and space do not exist. On a flimsy framework of reality, the imagination spins, weaving new patterns.”

[ghostsonabiketonowhere]

Ghostman: The council calamity retrospective

Well christ, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I know literally nobody follows this blog, but as of this writing, i’m waiting on the steam direct fee i paid to be fully processed (Basically, in a week i’ll be able to publish the game)

I’d like to take a second and stroll down memory lane for a little bit, and why it took so fucking long to make this game, this is basically going to be a list of every time i tried and failed to make a game, so strap in, these aren’t in chronological order either, and i’ve kinda forgotten the proper order.

Bill’s excellent adventure:

There’s incredibly little to say on this one, after reading a 4chan thread on games development i downloaded GM:S, tried making a platformer, saw my art, didn’t see any progress after trying a little bit, and gave up.

Mugman:

Mugman was the first time i tried making an adventure game, other than the main character, i had no ideas for the game and dropped it like a rock.

Radiation Seat:

Radiation Seat, for the more dedicated gamers in the audience, is just a synonym for nuclear throne, i tried messing around with random generation in GM:S, realised i’m not very good at coding and gave up, the game actually kinda works though, so theoretically if i’m a moron/psychopath i could try working on it again.

Asterodis:

First real game i ever made, it’s an asteroids clone, but with a bunch of the stuff i saw in Vlambeer’s game feel talks crammed in, it’s essentially idenitcal to a tutorial on youtube except shooting takes away points and there’s a limit to the number of bullets on screen.

Poltergeist (Aka: Ghostman when he was a person)

I posted a lot about Poltergeist (the version of ghostman with good art and a completely different setting), the secret to this was having a good artist, Robert Thomas helping me out, we never finished it, and Bobby got caught up in school work, but that’s almost over so if he’s willing to pick up the pen again, i’m willing to do the coding and fix the reall weird bugs (randomly the game would massively lag for a reason i never figured out, i assume it had something to do with the way AGS handles characters over non walkable areas)

Grall and Foegart goto whitecastle:

I’d had the idea of wanting to make a high fantasy adventure game after reading a couple of discworld novels, these games didn’t get far, but it did have an interesting character switching mechnic similar to DOTT, this also appeared in a couple of other half finished games i’d made, why i thought it’d be funny to make a game based on it when i’d never seen Harold and Kumar go to whitecastle? Iunno.

H.E.L.L:

H.E.L.L (Hyper Energetive Love Lab) was a shot at making a VN, i’m probably going to still do this, so i don’t know if putting here’s sensible but eh, fuck it, i’d had the idea of a reality show crossed with a death game for ages, and tried writing a short story about it, which went nowhere.

Gender Girl:

Gender Girl was the first video game i ever made, it was a scratch program with the cat repainted to be pink, moving left killed you by a spike, moving right displayed a message that gender girl had liberated herself (Hohoho, very ludonarratively insync, 12 year old me), i uploaded it to the scratch website, and it, containing swear words(such a rebel was i) it was deleted 5 seconds after publication, truly, a light gone from the world, what did it have to do with gender? If i remember literally nothing, or you were supposed to cut your dick off with the spikes.

Yeah.

PAGAN:

Pagan was a pokemon rip off i was making, i didn’t get far beyond changing sprites and types, world design is hard, as of writing it’s still on my site, i ought to take it down buti just don’t have the heart, poor Pagan.

BORB (Ghostman 1)

Borb, as it’s affectionatly called in the files, is ghostman 1, it’s the source of the Alien King sprite, and the Ghostman sprite used in Ghostman: The council calamity, and was distributed amongst my friends for like, 5 seconds, it’s 4 screens and one “Puzzle”, which doesn’t actually work because the last time i did work on it, it’s fun to see how my humour changed, in GM1 we’ve got the classic line “It’s locked up tighter than a jewish bank” and a character named Snil, whose ribbing snarky asshole persona was basically every persona i used to write until i started playing dnd with my friends, and had to make more than 1 character, i don’t really like anything about GM1, but i find it oddly charming, it’s terrible perspective and total lack of story or theme (You’re kidnapped by bandits and the game ends in leaving on a spaceship having never seen a single bandit.) just makes it like lenny from of mice and men, it probably should die, but i can’t help shooting a game that thought the way to add taste was to remove the words “Fuck off” from a wall.

Rebet:

Rebet’s the first time we see the actual character “Rebut” appear, in some weird tron like backround, i remember wanting to make something that looked like tron, and failing, other than that Rebet remains a total mystery, even to me, andi made the fucking thing, looking at the code, i remember a little bit more about the game, the main gimmick was having a variety of ray guns that could effect peoples emotion, the example in the tutorial was a “calming ray” to prevent a drill seargeant from screaming at you, this didn’t go anywhere.

Wing Wang:

This is literally an empty ags game, there’s nothing in it, i don’t know why i haven’t deleted it.

Ye Men of Valour:

Ye Men of Valour was a weird idea, i’d read a book called “The decline and fall of the British Empire” (Based upon the work, the decline and fall of the roman empire) and decided to make a game based upon a variety of British figures from across time entering into a house they must escape, only to be killed by Aliens, the goal of the game was to get players to reload the game with the knowledge that following the puzzles as they were laid out would kill them, and use a different method to escape, Ye Men of Valour really ended up going nowhere because i was in a pretty dark place and wasn’t motivated, like at all, i’m gonna put this in the “Might come back to it” pile.

Ghostman 2:

Ghostman 2, like Grall and Foegart, had a character switching thing, this ended up breaking the game, so i scrapped it, Ghostman 2 was when the idea of Ghostman being a space adventure comes from, following from Ghostman 1, where you leave on a ufo with an alien, it’s what i thought would happen next, if i remember there was literally no story, just the characters, and switching gimmick.

I.A.C.M

I.A.C.M was a project i worked on with Bobby very breifly, the idea was to make an adventure game set inside a mentally disturbed girls mind, this basically didn’t pan out due to AGS engine limitations, the sprites sent in were too big and ended up looking kind of lame squashed down.

You cannot name this file, insect.:

This wasn’t a game, this was shit poetry at a time in my life where i knew my poetry was godawful, there was no story here, just a Shodan like figure who’d insult me, like personally, i’d write insults about myself into a script and then play it.

Robot Initation:

Adventure game, starring “some random guy named mike”, drew the first character sprites, hated them, didn’t want to improve them, gave up.

Assault and Battery/BatteryMan:

This was a go at 3d platformers made in unity, fell apart because the models i’d made in blender weren’t done properly at all, breaking practically everything.

PirateTextAdventure(ActualTitle):

Sounds exactly like what it is, never got a single line down for this.

Shield Slide:

A rip off of free ski based on the idea of riding a shield i think i saw i a lotr movie? Never got to prototype.

AAAH!

AAAH (Aimless aeronautical adveture, huzzah!) was an experiment i wanted to make, an adventure game that was procedudrely generated, every game would involve a one minute timer, which upon reaching zero, would result in the player dying, the story was the player had just survived a plane colliding with another plane in midair, and had to find a way to live without a parachute just using debris, lessons learned: Random generation is hard, i also ripped off the title from AAAAAAAAAAAAh for the awesome.

Sweet Goodnight:

Sweet goodnight was an rpg i planned to make about dying alone in a spaceship, it never got far beyond idle doodles and some game design docs that i’ve since lost, may go back to this in future.

Spaceman and Woodboy:

A mario and luigi superstar saga ripoff, never got to properly playable state, GM:S is hard.

Quest of Halden:

Shit rpg.

Ghostman: CNC :

Ghostman: CNC (Caverns and creatures) was a weird idea, i wanted to make an Rpg based on my dnd campaign, but for some reason i felt the need to justify it with a weird ghostman shell, may go back to this one.

Legend of Negro:

I don’t know why the fuck this is on my computer, i tried pissing around with a legend of zelda game maker thing.

Generic Units:

Supposed to be an xcom like, fell apart.

Airman/Pacifist run:

Something i still want to do, an fps with non violent weapons and stage hazards that you have to use to defeat enemies, got as far as modeling a single gun.

Sepsis man:

A 3d platformer starring a drinks machine, modeled main character, gave up.

Slime Game (actual title, again.)

Slime game (Or Slime Quest) was going to be an incredibly clever subversive take on the Rpg genre by having the grand villain actually be a low level mook, think cave rats and dungeon bosses, that kind of thing, stopped making it because i thought “Woah, that’s dumb, and lame, and i really don’t like making art for ideas that are dumb and lame!”

Zug’s Glorious road trip for the glory of the party and wealth of the nation:

ZGRTFTGOTPAWOTN for short, this was a text adventure based on wormhole shenanigans and Soviet propaganda films, never really got that far, fun little fact, Zug’s the name of the alien in my twitter profile pic.

Ghostman: The council calamity:

I didn’t quit, i made the game.

THANK GOD FOR THAT.

[tinymixtapes]

Ecstatic’s Primitive World releases improvisational album White on White celebrating the life of radical 20th century artist Marlow Moss

This one’s for the De Stijl-heads out there: Ecstatic Recordings co-founder Sam Willis (a.k.a. Primitive World) has announced a new album called White on White, inspired by the 20th century painter Marlow Moss. That’s not all: because everyone knows experimental music fans are notoriously impatient, the record is already OUT! God, I’ve missed you, art! For those of you out of the early-20th century modernist loop, Moss (1889-1958) would best be described as “a radical, gender-bending British Jewish lesbian and innovator of non-figurative art who was a then-contemporary influence on Piet Mondrian.” (Personally, I’ve never really been fond of labels, but at least those are all pretty good ones!) For the album, Willis immersed himself in Moss’s “work, life, and theories” and crafted nine austere, inscrutable, pointed tracks with a PPG Wave synth, whose name is basically synonymous with subversive visual art as far as I’m concerned. But who needs all those adjectives and acronyms when you can get an earful of this thing yourself?! Check out album opener “Fractions of the Absolute” down below, and go ahead and grab White on White over at Boomkat (if I were you, I’d shell out for the limited white vinyl edition with fold-out insert by curator Lucy Howarth) — and get an auditory taste (a.k.a. “a listen”) of all the tracks while you’re there. If you’d rather stare in envy at a list of numbers and words, well, I suppose you can check out the tracklisting down below, too; but it’s really your call. White on White tracklisting: 01. Fractions of the Absolute 02. Machines for Measuring Space 03. Space Movement and Light 04. The Circumstances of Her Neglect 05. Balanced On a Slender Black Stem 06. Matrix of the Visible 07. Double Line 08. Fractions of the Absolute 09. Man Guessed At a Spiritual Meaning http://j.mp/2ERhXe4

[studio183-blog]

MEET THE DESIGNER BLACK ANAAR

Please introduce yourself and your brand!

My name is Frances Stafford and I have been living between Berlin and Bahrain for the last three years. I first came to Berlin via my work with the Bahrain Authority for Culture and Antiquities: my coworkers and I were placed on a project to meet all the big players behind Art Berlin Contemporary and Berlin Art Week in association with the Goethe Institut.

I had been living and working in Bahrain as a curator, producer and cultural programmer since 2010 and designing my own clothes was simply a hobby. I also used to model for Arabic and Indian fashion designers in my free time and worked with many artists, photographers and creatives in general. On the trip to Berlin I met my now fiancé and have been living here permanently in Berlin since December.

Can you please tell us where did your first inspiration come from for your label?

Black Anaar was born from my final large-scale cultural project I produced and directed in Bahrain.

“Little India”, revealed the historical significance of the first non-Arabs who settled in Bahrain and looked at the connectivity between the two cultures. I was responsible for beautifying, highlighting, and developing the Indian sector of the central market, or Souk, in Manama, which included conserving the exteriors of 12 historic houses, creating public spaces where markets and festivals could take place and adding outdoor museum signage to share the rich history of the area.  You can imagine the color, food, songs and dancing that we experienced while mounting the project launched publicly in December of 2016.

While working on the project with the local community, I was plunged into the vibrant world of the over 200 year old traditional marketplace that boasted a mix of Muslim, Hindu, Christian and Jewish traders and craftsmen. I was most impressed with the community of tailors who created garments from the plethora of fabric present in shops and along the sides of streets. It was from these bustling alleyways that I designed and created my first Black Anaar pieces.

I spent hours looking for vintage fabric and special pieces and was pleased that there were many hidden treasures from the 60’s and 70’s. I also worked with local fabric dealers I know to search for special fabric I was keen on using. I created pieces with some beautiful hand dyed linens and vintage Tussah silk while at the same time used special arabesque printed fabric blends to create some loud oriental pieces. I spend a lot of time looking for unique woven shawls and embroidered material as well. Every piece I make is one-of-a-kind and I hope the special nature of the designs will allow their owners to keep them as collector’s pieces.

What is the most important consideration when designing a new collection?

I continue to spend my time between Bahrain and Berlin, and am finding new inspiration in this diverse city, while I continue to draw upon my memories from the Gulf. I am also selling my garments in boutiques and concept stores in Bahrain - mostly to Arab clients who wear abayas- the style of long open coats also present in my collection.

As we have seen Arab women experience a sort of fashion revolution, many women are choosing printed or patterned abayas instead of the traditional black garments the Gulf is known for.  I am taking that one step further and presenting these garments as unisex to completely break the gender stereotypes that are so restrictive in the Gulf.

I also have my studio here in Kreuzberg now and am having fun making these traditional type garments with very unusual types of fabrics. Berlin is also a very relaxing place to create. The freedom here is a nice alternative. It is this permutation between the two worlds that has amalgamated in my label’s cross-cultural form of style.

I characterize Black Anaar as Middle Eastern inspired, urbanized fashion that encompasses a diversity of dress, as I try to balance these two divergent cultural poles I am constantly referencing.

Each individually crafted piece enlivens the history of its design, fabric and story with every articulation of its wear and I love sharing the cultural reference points or history of the pieces with my clients. I think now more than ever, it is important to have a realistic understanding of the vibrancy and life that is present in the region - which is unfortunately darkened by incorrect media coverage.

Can you explain a bit about the mythological concept behind your label?

The concept behind Black Anaar comes from the myth surrounding the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden and the subsequent first dressing of Adam and Eve. The contemporary legend that Sumerians described Bahrain (ancient Dilmun) as this garden “paradise” lives on in local folklore.

Its reference can be found in the Epic of Gilgamesh, although scholars have not supported the local legend. Bahrain was once very lush and had fresh water aquifers throughout the island. It was always an important point of trade with a strong history of settlement throughout the ages and is in close connection with its surrounding area of Saudi, Iran and North Africa in general.

I wanted to use the icon of the original "forbidden fruit" or anaar - meaning pomegranate in Farsi, Urdu, Hindi and other ancient languages - in the name of the brand to call this story of Adam and Eve to memory. By default the story touches on the important inception of “clothing”, unfortunately linked to shame when in actuality clothing had an important protective qualities- shielding humans from the elements, insects and damaging flora.

I find it interesting that in Greek and Roman myth the pomegranate was also symbolically linked to birth, seasons and cycles. When these genesis stories were transmitted to the west there was no reference point for the pomegranate as the fruit did not grow there…and so the symbol was changed to an apple.

I like looking at this example of appropriation, translation and the blurring of facts and truths as a mirror of our current global society. It is this reference to sharing and appropriation between cultures, traditions, global patterns and modes of expression that is explored in the label.

How would you describe your affinity and your interaction with the materials you use in your collection?

For me the anaar is the cultural cacophony of shapes, colors, and textures whereas the black alludes to mystery, the alternative and the subversive, but also to Berlin’s most common palette in fashion.

Can you tell us about any exciting plans for the year ahead? 

This year will be really exciting as I will be working on a fashion film and will be planning a runway show in Bahrain as well as Berlin. I will also be creating a new collection.

website: http://www.blackanaar.com facebook: https://www.facebook.com/blackanaar/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/blackanaar/

[urbanmishmash]

Five important exhibitions to see in Paris: Art, history and politics

“Holocaust and Comic Books” at the Holocaust Memorial – until October 30, 2017

Horst Rosenthal, Mickey Mouse in the Gurs Camp, 1942. Mémorial de la Shoah collection.

Art Spiegelman’s Maus aside, the subject of Holocaust as represented in comic books and graphic novels has remained largely unexamined. Now a heartrendingly beautiful exhibition, “Holocaust and Comic Books” at the Holocaust Memorial (Memorial de la Shoah) in Paris, sheds new light on the often-overlooked representation of this historical tragedy in comics and graphic novels. The exhibition begins with the first eyewitness and victim testimonies of the genocide, including the bittersweet Mickey Mouse in the Gurs Camp, a handbound album by Horse Rosenthal while he was in the French concentration camps. It then goes on to map the gradual political, social and aesthetic changes in the depiction of the Holocaust with an exceptional selection of over 200 rare and original works spanning over a period of 75 years. These include the early anthropomorphisms and gingerly references to the Holocaust in superhero comics to the later use of graphic novels as a means to communicate and educate about the difficult issues of historical tragedies, identity and memories. It is a solemn, well-explained exploration of a subject and a medium quite frequently obscured or forgotten in contemporary sociopolitical and cultural discourse. Details>>

“21 Rue la Boétie” at Musée Maillol – until July 23, 2017

Georges Braque (1882-1963), Fruit on a Tablecloth, 1924. Fondation Collection E.G. Bührle, Zurich. © ADAGP, Paris, 2017, © Fondation Collection E. G. Bührle, Zurich.

Based on the book My Grandfather’s Gallery: A Family Memoir of Art and War (originally published in French as 21 Rue la Boétie) by Anne Sinclair, the Musée Maillol exhibition traces the remarkable story of Sinclair’s grandfather, Paul Rosenberg (1881-1959). One of the most influential art dealers of the first half of the 20th century, Rosenberg was a friend and principal dealer of Picasso and brought many of the modern art masters, including Matisse, Léger, Braque and Marie Laurencin, to wider public attention. The exhibition recreates the history of 21, Rue la Boétie, Rosenberg’s family house and art gallery which once served some of the most prominent modern artists and was ironically occupied in 1941 to house the Institute for the Study of Jewish and Ethno-Racial Questions. On view are over sixty rarely seen works that mark the emergence of modern art and the shift of international art market from Paris to New York, but also a detailed section documenting ‘The Great Exhibition of Modern Art’, held at the same time as the exhibition on what was considered as ‘degenerate art’. Details>>

“Ciao Italia!” at the National Museum of the History of Immigration – until September 10, 2017

L’heure du café. © Alain Fleischer.

With Ciao Italia!, the National Museum of the History of Immigration (Musée national de l’histoire de l’immigration) retraces the path of Italian immigration in France starting from the year 1860. Spanning across a century, the exhibition does not merely emphasise on the Italian integration and contribution to the industry and culture in France – automobiles, cinema, arts, sports, commerce and industry – but also deals with difficult issues of exclusion, discrimination, rejection, xenophobia and violence (such as during the massacre of Aigues-Mortes in 1893) faced by Italian migrants in France. With some 400 exhibits on display – artworks, objects, archival documents, posters and films – the exhibition is a richly documented survey of one of the greatest waves of immigration to France. The museum is situated on the edge of Bois de Vincennes and is housed in the Palais de la Porte Dorée, also home to the Paris’ tropical aquarium. Curiously enough, the building was used for the International Colonial Exposition of 1931, and its imposing facade, created by Alfred Janniot, is a sculpted eulogy to French colonial rule in Africa, Asia, the Antilles and Oceania. Details>>

“Rock the Kasbah!” at Institut des Cultures d’Islam – until July 30, 2017

Angelica Mesiti, Nakh Removed, Video, 2015. © Angelica Mesiti courtesy the artist and Galerie Allen, Paris and Anna Schwartz Gallery Melbourne.

British punk rock band The Clash’s wrote their cult song Rock the Casbah after Ayatollah Khomeini banned rock music in Iran. The song today is the inspiration behind Institut des Cultures d’Islam’s exhibition Rock the Kasbah!, which explores the effect music and sounds have on our bodies and minds. The exhibition brings together some highly engaging musical, art, photographic and film works by artists from Sub-Saharan Africa, South-East Asia, Europe, Middle-East and the United States in an attempt to examine music’s potential as an instrument of protest, its spiritual dimension and its capacity to make our bodies move. It also brings into perspective the Muslim practice of public diffusion of prayer sounds and the manner in which it influences individual and collective behaviour. Some highlights from the exhibition include Angelica Mesiti’s video of four women absorbed in a hypnotising ‘dance of the hair’ and Siaka Soppo Traoré’s photographs of break dancers frozen in mid-air. In a profound but disturbing video – This Lemon Tastes of Apple – shot in the streets of Sulaymaniyah in Iraqi Kurdistan, an unflinching Hiwa K plays harmonica in the face of a brutal attempt to repress a public demonstration. The exhibition is accompanied by several cultural events, concerts – Berber rock, Senegalese hip-hop, Palestinian rap – as well as conferences, shows, musical workshops and film screenings (the programme is available here). While you are there, do try the excellent food served in their cafeteria on Rue Léon and buy the honey from the hives on ICI Goutte d’or’s roof available in their boutiques. Details>>

Michel Journiac at Maison Européenne de la Photographie – until June 18, 2017

Michel Journiac, L’inceste, N°1 : fils-fille-amante / filsgarçon-amant / fils-voyeur, 1975. © Michel Journiac / ADAGP. Collection Maison Européenne de la Photographie, Paris.

Michel Journiac was one of the key founders of the art corporel (body art) movement in France in the 1970s. Using body as the medium, Journiac’s work questioned prevailing notions of sexuality, identity, morality and the sacred. His works, convening gender, body, blood and religion, are by no means easy to look at and this is not an exhibition for those looking for beautiful, comforting art. But that exactly was the point of Journiac’s work produced in a post-1968 France, a period that saw the emergence of various countercultures and subversive art against cultural, religious, political and social ‘systems’. His series 24h de la vie d’une femme 24 hours in the life of an ordinary woman, where he poses as a working married woman is a biting satire on the gender stereotypes promoted by popular French women’s magazines. The best known of his performances, Messe pour un corps (Mass for a body, 1969) held at the Galerie Templon after the 1968 protests, involved Journiac, an ex-seminarian, as the priest reading from the Bible and handing out blood sausage made with his own blood. His Hommage a Freud (Homage to Freud, 1972) and Incest (1974) is a social parody him cross-dressed as himself, his father and his mother. These issues remain as important today as they were when Journiac raised them. This is an exhibition that should be seen but go only if the sight of blood does not make you nauseous. On a separate note, some of the works by Michel Journiac and his contemporaries can be seen at the Maison Rouge’s ‘The French Spirit: Countercultures 1969-1989‘ – an exhibition recommended for those interested in knowing more about the social and cultural developments in the aftermath of the 1968 revolts. Details>>

The post Five important exhibitions to see in Paris: Art, history and politics appeared first on URBAN MISHMASH | Paris.

from URBAN MISHMASH | Paris https://www.urbanmishmash.com/paris/art-culture/exhibitions/must-see-exhibitions-art-history/

[stormdoors78476]

Creative People Are Saints In Artist's Beautiful Homage To Culture

On March 16, President Donald Trump released his budget proposal for the fiscal year of 2018, which included plans to eliminate all funding for the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Humanities. The news, though not quite a surprise, was a devastating blow for the countless Americans who cherish the necessity of creative expression and a vibrant cultural community.

New York-based artist Ventiko had already embarked upon her project “Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” before Trump officially announced his agenda to slash the NEA and NEH. But Trump was certainly on the artist’s mind when she began to photograph beloved members of her creative community and frame them as patron saints. 

“The thing that really inspired me was the election,” Ventiko told The Huffington Post. “This series was the result of wanting and needing to take action. I had to reclaim my power. I’ve been blessed to know so many talented people and this was my chance to actually exalt them.” 

Ventiko enlisted 30 of her friends, collaborators and muses to serve as the subjects of her divine series. “I was brought up Jewish,” she explained, discussing her interest in religious imagery. “When I was younger, there wasn’t a lot of iconography in my moral teachings. I’ve always been drawn to the communication of morality through imagery and have played a lot with the subversion of symbolism.”

For the project, subject and artist collaborated to determine which “patron saint” the model would embody. The unorthodox roster of holy ones includes everything from “Patron Saint of Beauty” to “Patron Saint of Gender Fluidity” and “Patron Saint of Night Night.” The subjects donned full costumes and makeup to wholly personify each holy figure. 

Far from the traditional cast of holy saints, Ventiko’s creative idols are individuals of all ages, genders, races and styles. The fantastical series captures all the different ways people can embrace the holy spirit ― be that spirit of tea time or 5th Avenue. 

Ventiko then attached each image to a votive candle, and arranged the lot of them in Chinatown Soup gallery. Together, the illuminated portraits converge to form a divine altar with one foot in the New York art scene, the other in the sacred beyond. The glittering lights illuminate the ongoing importance of art-making in a time when the future of creative innovation is riddled with uncertainty. 

For the artist, however, the holy homages respond more to Trump’s agenda in general than the proposed elimination of the NEA. “I really wanted to showcase the beauty of difference and individuality,” Ventiko said. “It’s about owning our stories, owning our truths. Not ‘if you come from this place you are a terrorist,’ or separating people out with walls. There is room for all of us us to establish our identities and to be who we are.”

“Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” runs until April 2, 2017 at Chinatown Soup in New York.

Tina Fey, Alec Baldwin, Mahershala Ali, Amy Poehler and a whole host of other stars are teaming up for Stand for Rights: A Benefit for the ACLU. Join us at 7 p.m. Eastern on Friday, March 31, on Facebook Live. 

You can support the ACLU right away. Text POWER to 20222 to give $10 to the ACLU. The ACLU will call you to explain other actions you can take to help. Visit www.hmgf.org/t for terms. #StandForRights2017

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2nDpdSl

[repwincoml4a0a5]

Creative People Are Saints In Artist's Beautiful Homage To Culture

On March 16, President Donald Trump released his budget proposal for the fiscal year of 2018, which included plans to eliminate all funding for the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Humanities. The news, though not quite a surprise, was a devastating blow for the countless Americans who cherish the necessity of creative expression and a vibrant cultural community.

New York-based artist Ventiko had already embarked upon her project “Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” before Trump officially announced his agenda to slash the NEA and NEH. But Trump was certainly on the artist’s mind when she began to photograph beloved members of her creative community and frame them as patron saints. 

“The thing that really inspired me was the election,” Ventiko told The Huffington Post. “This series was the result of wanting and needing to take action. I had to reclaim my power. I’ve been blessed to know so many talented people and this was my chance to actually exalt them.” 

Ventiko enlisted 30 of her friends, collaborators and muses to serve as the subjects of her divine series. “I was brought up Jewish,” she explained, discussing her interest in religious imagery. “When I was younger, there wasn’t a lot of iconography in my moral teachings. I’ve always been drawn to the communication of morality through imagery and have played a lot with the subversion of symbolism.”

For the project, subject and artist collaborated to determine which “patron saint” the model would embody. The unorthodox roster of holy ones includes everything from “Patron Saint of Beauty” to “Patron Saint of Gender Fluidity” and “Patron Saint of Night Night.” The subjects donned full costumes and makeup to wholly personify each holy figure. 

Far from the traditional cast of holy saints, Ventiko’s creative idols are individuals of all ages, genders, races and styles. The fantastical series captures all the different ways people can embrace the holy spirit ― be that spirit of tea time or 5th Avenue. 

Ventiko then attached each image to a votive candle, and arranged the lot of them in Chinatown Soup gallery. Together, the illuminated portraits converge to form a divine altar with one foot in the New York art scene, the other in the sacred beyond. The glittering lights illuminate the ongoing importance of art-making in a time when the future of creative innovation is riddled with uncertainty. 

For the artist, however, the holy homages respond more to Trump’s agenda in general than the proposed elimination of the NEA. “I really wanted to showcase the beauty of difference and individuality,” Ventiko said. “It’s about owning our stories, owning our truths. Not ‘if you come from this place you are a terrorist,’ or separating people out with walls. There is room for all of us us to establish our identities and to be who we are.”

“Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” runs until April 2, 2017 at Chinatown Soup in New York.

Tina Fey, Alec Baldwin, Mahershala Ali, Amy Poehler and a whole host of other stars are teaming up for Stand for Rights: A Benefit for the ACLU. Join us at 7 p.m. Eastern on Friday, March 31, on Facebook Live. 

You can support the ACLU right away. Text POWER to 20222 to give $10 to the ACLU. The ACLU will call you to explain other actions you can take to help. Visit www.hmgf.org/t for terms. #StandForRights2017

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2nDpdSl

[repwinpril9y0a1]

Creative People Are Saints In Artist's Beautiful Homage To Culture

On March 16, President Donald Trump released his budget proposal for the fiscal year of 2018, which included plans to eliminate all funding for the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Humanities. The news, though not quite a surprise, was a devastating blow for the countless Americans who cherish the necessity of creative expression and a vibrant cultural community.

New York-based artist Ventiko had already embarked upon her project “Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” before Trump officially announced his agenda to slash the NEA and NEH. But Trump was certainly on the artist’s mind when she began to photograph beloved members of her creative community and frame them as patron saints. 

“The thing that really inspired me was the election,” Ventiko told The Huffington Post. “This series was the result of wanting and needing to take action. I had to reclaim my power. I’ve been blessed to know so many talented people and this was my chance to actually exalt them.” 

Ventiko enlisted 30 of her friends, collaborators and muses to serve as the subjects of her divine series. “I was brought up Jewish,” she explained, discussing her interest in religious imagery. “When I was younger, there wasn’t a lot of iconography in my moral teachings. I’ve always been drawn to the communication of morality through imagery and have played a lot with the subversion of symbolism.”

For the project, subject and artist collaborated to determine which “patron saint” the model would embody. The unorthodox roster of holy ones includes everything from “Patron Saint of Beauty” to “Patron Saint of Gender Fluidity” and “Patron Saint of Night Night.” The subjects donned full costumes and makeup to wholly personify each holy figure. 

Far from the traditional cast of holy saints, Ventiko’s creative idols are individuals of all ages, genders, races and styles. The fantastical series captures all the different ways people can embrace the holy spirit ― be that spirit of tea time or 5th Avenue. 

Ventiko then attached each image to a votive candle, and arranged the lot of them in Chinatown Soup gallery. Together, the illuminated portraits converge to form a divine altar with one foot in the New York art scene, the other in the sacred beyond. The glittering lights illuminate the ongoing importance of art-making in a time when the future of creative innovation is riddled with uncertainty. 

For the artist, however, the holy homages respond more to Trump’s agenda in general than the proposed elimination of the NEA. “I really wanted to showcase the beauty of difference and individuality,” Ventiko said. “It’s about owning our stories, owning our truths. Not ‘if you come from this place you are a terrorist,’ or separating people out with walls. There is room for all of us us to establish our identities and to be who we are.”

“Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” runs until April 2, 2017 at Chinatown Soup in New York.

Tina Fey, Alec Baldwin, Mahershala Ali, Amy Poehler and a whole host of other stars are teaming up for Stand for Rights: A Benefit for the ACLU. Join us at 7 p.m. Eastern on Friday, March 31, on Facebook Live. 

You can support the ACLU right away. Text POWER to 20222 to give $10 to the ACLU. The ACLU will call you to explain other actions you can take to help. Visit www.hmgf.org/t for terms. #StandForRights2017

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2nDpdSl

[exfrenchdorsl4p0a1]

Creative People Are Saints In Artist's Beautiful Homage To Culture

On March 16, President Donald Trump released his budget proposal for the fiscal year of 2018, which included plans to eliminate all funding for the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Humanities. The news, though not quite a surprise, was a devastating blow for the countless Americans who cherish the necessity of creative expression and a vibrant cultural community.

New York-based artist Ventiko had already embarked upon her project “Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” before Trump officially announced his agenda to slash the NEA and NEH. But Trump was certainly on the artist’s mind when she began to photograph beloved members of her creative community and frame them as patron saints. 

“The thing that really inspired me was the election,” Ventiko told The Huffington Post. “This series was the result of wanting and needing to take action. I had to reclaim my power. I’ve been blessed to know so many talented people and this was my chance to actually exalt them.” 

Ventiko enlisted 30 of her friends, collaborators and muses to serve as the subjects of her divine series. “I was brought up Jewish,” she explained, discussing her interest in religious imagery. “When I was younger, there wasn’t a lot of iconography in my moral teachings. I’ve always been drawn to the communication of morality through imagery and have played a lot with the subversion of symbolism.”

For the project, subject and artist collaborated to determine which “patron saint” the model would embody. The unorthodox roster of holy ones includes everything from “Patron Saint of Beauty” to “Patron Saint of Gender Fluidity” and “Patron Saint of Night Night.” The subjects donned full costumes and makeup to wholly personify each holy figure. 

Far from the traditional cast of holy saints, Ventiko’s creative idols are individuals of all ages, genders, races and styles. The fantastical series captures all the different ways people can embrace the holy spirit ― be that spirit of tea time or 5th Avenue. 

Ventiko then attached each image to a votive candle, and arranged the lot of them in Chinatown Soup gallery. Together, the illuminated portraits converge to form a divine altar with one foot in the New York art scene, the other in the sacred beyond. The glittering lights illuminate the ongoing importance of art-making in a time when the future of creative innovation is riddled with uncertainty. 

For the artist, however, the holy homages respond more to Trump’s agenda in general than the proposed elimination of the NEA. “I really wanted to showcase the beauty of difference and individuality,” Ventiko said. “It’s about owning our stories, owning our truths. Not ‘if you come from this place you are a terrorist,’ or separating people out with walls. There is room for all of us us to establish our identities and to be who we are.”

“Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” runs until April 2, 2017 at Chinatown Soup in New York.

Tina Fey, Alec Baldwin, Mahershala Ali, Amy Poehler and a whole host of other stars are teaming up for Stand for Rights: A Benefit for the ACLU. Join us at 7 p.m. Eastern on Friday, March 31, on Facebook Live. 

You can support the ACLU right away. Text POWER to 20222 to give $10 to the ACLU. The ACLU will call you to explain other actions you can take to help. Visit www.hmgf.org/t for terms. #StandForRights2017

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2nDpdSl

[grgedoors02142]

Creative People Are Saints In Artist's Beautiful Homage To Culture

On March 16, President Donald Trump released his budget proposal for the fiscal year of 2018, which included plans to eliminate all funding for the National Endowment for the Arts and the National Endowment for the Humanities. The news, though not quite a surprise, was a devastating blow for the countless Americans who cherish the necessity of creative expression and a vibrant cultural community.

New York-based artist Ventiko had already embarked upon her project “Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” before Trump officially announced his agenda to slash the NEA and NEH. But Trump was certainly on the artist’s mind when she began to photograph beloved members of her creative community and frame them as patron saints. 

“The thing that really inspired me was the election,” Ventiko told The Huffington Post. “This series was the result of wanting and needing to take action. I had to reclaim my power. I’ve been blessed to know so many talented people and this was my chance to actually exalt them.” 

Ventiko enlisted 30 of her friends, collaborators and muses to serve as the subjects of her divine series. “I was brought up Jewish,” she explained, discussing her interest in religious imagery. “When I was younger, there wasn’t a lot of iconography in my moral teachings. I’ve always been drawn to the communication of morality through imagery and have played a lot with the subversion of symbolism.”

For the project, subject and artist collaborated to determine which “patron saint” the model would embody. The unorthodox roster of holy ones includes everything from “Patron Saint of Beauty” to “Patron Saint of Gender Fluidity” and “Patron Saint of Night Night.” The subjects donned full costumes and makeup to wholly personify each holy figure. 

Far from the traditional cast of holy saints, Ventiko’s creative idols are individuals of all ages, genders, races and styles. The fantastical series captures all the different ways people can embrace the holy spirit ― be that spirit of tea time or 5th Avenue. 

Ventiko then attached each image to a votive candle, and arranged the lot of them in Chinatown Soup gallery. Together, the illuminated portraits converge to form a divine altar with one foot in the New York art scene, the other in the sacred beyond. The glittering lights illuminate the ongoing importance of art-making in a time when the future of creative innovation is riddled with uncertainty. 

For the artist, however, the holy homages respond more to Trump’s agenda in general than the proposed elimination of the NEA. “I really wanted to showcase the beauty of difference and individuality,” Ventiko said. “It’s about owning our stories, owning our truths. Not ‘if you come from this place you are a terrorist,’ or separating people out with walls. There is room for all of us us to establish our identities and to be who we are.”

“Phos Hilaron: From the Masses Rise the Saints” runs until April 2, 2017 at Chinatown Soup in New York.

Tina Fey, Alec Baldwin, Mahershala Ali, Amy Poehler and a whole host of other stars are teaming up for Stand for Rights: A Benefit for the ACLU. Join us at 7 p.m. Eastern on Friday, March 31, on Facebook Live. 

You can support the ACLU right away. Text POWER to 20222 to give $10 to the ACLU. The ACLU will call you to explain other actions you can take to help. Visit www.hmgf.org/t for terms. #StandForRights2017

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