#BUT ITS A PORTRAIT OF MEE

[jellophoid]

FIRST YEAR OF COLLEGE IS FINISBEDD— some of my favourite pieces from my drawing 2 class ^^)) what a fun year

[sayruq]

Trinity College Cambridge, the University of Cambridge's wealthiest constituent college, has decided to divest from all arms companies, Middle East Eye can reveal.This came after MEE revealed in February that Trinity had £61,735 ($78,089) invested in Israel's largest arms company, Elbit Systems, which produces 85 percent of the drones and land-based equipment used by the Israeli army. MEE also reported that the college had millions of dollars invested in other companies arming, supporting and profiting from Israel's war on Gaza. In response to this report, on 28 February the International Centre of Justice for Palestinians (ICJP), a UK-based rights group, issued a legal notice to Trinity College warning that its investments could make it potentially complicit in Israeli war crimes. The ICJP indicated in its legal notice that "officers, directors and shareholders at the college may be individually criminally liable if they maintain their investments in arms companies that are potentially complicit in Israeli war crimes and crimes against humanity". MEE has learnt from three well-informed sources close to Trinity's student union that the college council, responsible for major financial and other decisions, voted to remove Trinity's investments from arms companies in early March. According to these sources, the college decided not to announce that it would divest from arms companies after an activist defaced a 1914 portrait of Lord Arthur Balfour - who authored the infamous Balfour Declaration - inside the college on 8 March.

[melony-snippets]

Was practicing colouring skin didnt really have a plan. Liked how the skin was turning out so I didnt wanna throw away the sketch. Added eyes and hair but it wasn't working so I made do with what I got.

And I really like drawing galaxies and nebulae ajdjdmsmxk

[fuxuannie]

oooooh if u need any ideas id love to read a fic where serval plays matchmaker for reader and gepard and its all mushy and cute

also random idea but maybe gepard draws one of his (lovely!) portraits for reader looll

* pairing : gepard x gender neutral reader

* prompt : servals main job is a performer, but who knew that she also works as cupid? (request ♡)

* authors note : I LOVE GEPARD AND SERVAL LANDAU SOOO MUCH those two are literally my faves.. gepard pls come home, clara appeared on my screen and i love her but baby pls <\3

SERVAL looks at her brother GEPARD as he paints in his room, humming to himself as she leans on the doorframe as she silently watched him decorate the canvas with his creativity and paint. At first, what he was painting was unrecognizable, but once those little details came to life through his art - it wasn't hard to see exactly who he was painting.

"Oh? I didn't know you were such a passionate painter, Geppie." Serval giggled, watching him jolt at the fact someone was watching him the entire time. "Serval? What are you.." He clears his throat, trying to cover the canvas. "..Doing here.."

"It's my workshop, why else would I be here? The real question is, why are you trying to hide an obvious crush from your sister?" She says with a smile, walking past him and having him move away from the canvas. It was just as she suspected, those little details.. the choice of eye color, the smile and how they matched your features.

"Please don't do anything.." Gepard sighs, and Serval lets out a fake offended gasp. "I have never done anything of the sort!"

..But she never agreed.

In the next few days, while Gepard was with his sister outside, he'd find her talking to you. And Serval making some fake excuse about practice and leaves you with her brother. The first few times seemed purely coincidental, but Serval doesn't seem like the type to simply forget one of her greatest passions.

Next was how she was now more often than not talking to you and Gepard about things about each other. "Oh! (name), are you aware Gepard just loves to grow flowers? You should see what he's blooming in our garden!" or "Gepard! Do you know that (name) really likes to eat at this place called.."

But Serval wouldn't do this for just a crush. She appreciated how much joy and smile you brought to her dear brothers face, and it wasn't often that he broke his serious, Silvermane Guards leader routine. But when he talked about you, it was like he was describing the beauty of an Aeon. He truly loved you, respected you and would surrender his loyalty for you.

So she was absolutely overjoyed when you began to open up about your interest in a certain blonde, and now that she knew you both were interested, it was the final step.

"Geppie, meet me at the fountain today! Got something suuuper important to tell you."

"(name), I'd like to give you free tickets to my next concert today! Just meet me at the fountain."

And there at the agreed meeting place, Gepard grumbled to himself, his back turned to the city as he stared at the small letter glued to the fountain. "Hehe, I lied to you lil bro. ♡ Go tell them how you feel, maybe they have something to tell you too."

He was initially confused on what the other half of the letter meant, until the sounds of footsteps and a disappointed sigh came from behind him. "Servaaall.. you lied to mee.." Gepard paused, and immediately crumpled the letter in his hands. "Damn it."

You then notice Gepard standing by the fountain as well, a little confused with how busy he usually is and especially at this hour. "What brings you here?" You asked, seeing him turn around while pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nothing.. My sister.. I assume she set this up."

Ohhhh.

You blinked a few times and giggle. "Sounds like Serval.. You're usually not this available, wanna talk?" You asked, sitting on the basin of the fountain as he instead leaned on it slightly. "Sure.."

There were a few moments of odd but comforting silence, watching those of Belabog pass by. Underworld and Overworld now together as children who thought that clouds were but fairytale dreams now get to see the bright blue sky after pure darkness all their lives.

"Thank you." You said out of nowhere, kicking your feet as Gepard turns to face you while you were still focused on the people passing by. He smiles a little at how gentle and relaxed you looked. "For what?"

"For all you do. The people you protect.. the kindness you give.. everything." You say with a smile, the very same smile of every portrait he ever painted of you, how it radiated a sense of comfort and warmth that made his heart skip a beat.

He knows he's turning red, and you giggle a little at it. Your head shifts to lean on his shoulder, a small gulp coming from his end as his arm slings around your shoulder.

"You're.. you're welcome."

[rockislandadultreads]

Book Recommendations: National Zoo Lovers Day

We Bought a Zoo by Benjamin Mee

In the market for a house and an adventure, Benjamin Mee moved his family to an unlikely new home: a dilapidated zoo in the English countryside. Mee had a dream to refurbish the zoo and run it as a family business. His friends and colleagues thought he was crazy.

But in 2006, Mee and his wife with their two children, his brother, and his 76-year-old mother moved into the Dartmoor Wildlife Park. Their extended family now included: Solomon, an African lion and scourge of the local golf course; Zak, the rickety Alpha wolf, a broadly benevolent dictator clinging to power; Ronnie, a Brazilian tapir, easily capable of killing a man, but hopelessly soppy; and Sovereign, a jaguar and would-be ninja, who has devised a long term escape plan and implemented it.

Nothing was easy, given the family’s lack of experience as zookeepers, and what follows is a magical exploration of the mysteries of the animal kingdom, the power of family, and the triumph of hope over tragedy. We Bought a Zoo is a profoundly moving portrait of an unforgettable family living in the most extraordinary circumstances.

Zoo Story by Thomas French

Welcome to the savage and surprising world of Zoo Story, an unprecedented account of the secret life of a zoo and its inhabitants, both animal and human. Based on six years of research, the book follows a handful of unforgettable characters at Tampa's Lowry Park Zoo: an alpha chimp with a weakness for blondes, a ferocious tiger who revels in Obsession perfume, and a brilliant but tyrannical CEO known as El Diablo Blanco.

Zoo Story crackles with issues of global urgency: the shadow of extinction, humanity's role in the destruction or survival of other species. More than anything else, though, it's a dramatic and moving true story of seduction and betrayal, exile and loss, and the limits of freedom on an overcrowded planet-all framed inside one zoo reinventing itself for the twenty-first century.

The Zookeeper’s Wife by Diane Ackerman

A true story in which the keepers of the Warsaw Zoo saved hundreds of people from Nazi hands. When Germany invaded Poland, Stuka bombers devastated Warsaw―and the city's zoo along with it. With most of their animals dead, zookeepers Jan and Antonina Zabinski began smuggling Jews into empty cages. Another dozen "guests" hid inside the Zabinskis' villa, emerging after dark for dinner, socializing, and, during rare moments of calm, piano concerts. Jan, active in the Polish resistance, kept ammunition buried in the elephant enclosure and stashed explosives in the animal hospital. Meanwhile, Antonina kept her unusual household afloat, caring for both its human and its animal inhabitants―otters, a badger, hyena pups, lynxes.

With her exuberant prose and exquisite sensitivity to the natural world, Diane Ackerman engages us viscerally in the lives of the zoo animals, their keepers, and their hidden visitors. She shows us how Antonina refused to give in to the penetrating fear of discovery, keeping alive an atmosphere of play and innocence even as Europe crumbled around her.

Crochet a Zoo by Megan Kreiner

Go a little wild as you stitch everything from lions and tigers to bears and baboons. Featuring organic materials, these imaginative toys are perfect for children of all ages. You can even create felt bananas, leaves, and other zoo food, plus zany zookeepers all dressed for the part. Choose from more than 16 playful patterns for crochet; stitch one or two animals or construct an entire zoo set for a special gift. Bring your zoo animals to life with clever details and ideas for customizing, such as shaggy manes, felt stripes, and embroidered paws. Complete each beautifully illustrated design in just a few hours using basic crochet skills.

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Pt.04

Officially Family

10/03/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 4,265

Warnings: Language?, a wee bit of angst, sexy blonde kings wearing floofy shirts

A/N: So, this chapter was actually intended to be joined with what will be the next chapter but I think having them separate will do better. There’s a lot to digest in this one, so I hope it reads well even though it’s a little on the shorter side (for me). Let me know what you like/love/had to think about whatever! As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work. xoxo

It feels like a dream, sitting in the carriage as your new life looms closer and closer with every turn of the steel and wooden wheel.

Across from you, his Majesty is staring at you. Sussing out your lack of reaction to what happened last night.

~~~~~~~~~~

Happy has your arm, carefully leading you down further and further into the castle. Deeper than you’ve gone yet, and when he finally stops, you’re sure that you’re in a dungeon somewhere because there are no windows, only diffuse candlelight every few steps.

You can hear the subtle drip of water and the scurrying of tiny feet.

An echoing meow tells you that it’s probably just cats and their kittens inhabiting the deep parts of the castle.

“Why are we down here?” You ask, frightened that maybe his Majesty really is upset with you.

What if Happy lied? What if King Rogers was not happy with you and because you failed to entice him, King Tony is going to have you chained up in a cell?

“His Majesty’s other office is down here. Just at the end of the hall. I’m not supposed to go with you, so...” He hesitates in letting your arm go. “Can you make it there on your own? You’re not going to faint again, are you?”

You look down at your pretty white gown with its pink underlay and the way even down here in the dim it seems to shine like a pearl. The bottom layer is dirty now, both from your fall and from dragging it down along these dirty floors.

“No. I’m fine.” You think.

Happy lets you go. “Just straight ahead. Last door at the end of the hall. Don’t bother knocking. He’s expecting you.”

You watch as he turns away from you and with one final glance back to make sure you’re alright, he disappears up along the gray stone steps to the daylight above.

Fear will get you nowhere. So, you shove it aside and march straight for that door at the end.

You give yourself one moment of hesitation to take a deep breath and prepare yourself for what might be a trap but as the heavy door swings open, you find yourself facing a golden mask, devoid of humanoid features save for the glowing blue eyes of what you’re sure must be magic.

You take a deep breath, a scream working its way into your throat before the golden face shakes its head and then it speaks.

“Wait, wait, wait. Don’t scream.” His Majesty’s voice says. He throws one hand out towards you and you watch the slit of his metallic lips that do not move as he speaks.

Somehow, despite there being no real opening, his voice is amplified. The golden armor, which you now see is to accentuate the massive amounts of red that he’s wearing, extends down to his sternum, shoulders, and arms.

It’s there in his arms that the armor begins to weave with regular leather plate armor, deep red. In his hands shine two large orbs of light like that which comes out of his eyes. At the center of his chest is a glowing blue circle that you suddenly realize is the design you’d first noticed on his servants’ armor. The coachman and the footman.

The rest of his outfit is thick, sturdy red linen and cotton, black leather belts around his waist that match the darker shade of his leather pants. Golden boots rise high up to his knees where golden shin guards with red leather beneath complete the look.

He reaches up behind his head and with a small click, there’s a hiss and he pulls off the heavy metal mask and then pops it underneath his arm as if he were holding nothing more than a child’s ball.

“This probably won’t be the worst thing you’ll catch me doing.” He teases, then moves towards you.

You almost step back, but you remind yourself at whose invitation you’re in the castle and that this man is no longer just your king but your father.

“Please, say something.” He rolls his shoulders nervously, dark brow drawn together.

“You’re the Iron Knight.” You gasp, nearly breathless.

“It’s not really Iron. It’s a new metal. Lighter than iron. Titanium is what they called it where I found it. I added some nickel. Makes it easier to move in. Here, try it on.”

He holds the mask out to you, and you take a step back, this time simply refusing to wear the mask not fearful.

“No thank you.” You frown at him, wondering what he’s playing at offering to let you try it on.

“It won’t bite.” He chuckles but puts it down on a table which finally draws your eyes to the rest of the room.

In essence it is a massive dungeon. It’s tall and wide with a vaulted ceiling supported with thick stone pillars. There are also countless tables along two of the walls, some metal, some wood. So much gear is stacked on each table. Different shin guards and boots, shoulder guards, and wristlets. There are a few chest pieces like the one he’s wearing, works in progress.

He’d been standing right at the center of this collection of tables, a target dummy made of straw and burlap sacks at the far end of the dungeon room, singed at the head.

“I think I’ve finally got the aiming down.” He tells you, and you wander over behind him as he lifts his hand and aims it at the dummy. “Careful.”

His warning makes you step back, but he puts his hand out towards you to make sure you’re safe.

There’s a subtle buzz. A hiss, like fire but not exactly fire. It reminds you of the initial crackle and spark of a fire but it’s chaotic in its power. It buzzes louder and louder until there’s a loud fizzing sound as the blue light explodes from his palm.

It lights up the room but soars across to strike the dummy right in the center of its chest.

“Wow!” You nearly yell, the booming in your ears deafening still.

His Majesty turns towards you with a smirk, a cat’s grin as he peels off the gauntlet he’s wearing and with it the chest piece it’s attached to.

“Is it magic?” You ask him, hearing going back to normal.

“Science.” He counters, piling his armor up on the empty table where he’d placed his mask. “And a little bit of magic, yes.”

“What kind of science?” You wonder, knowing nothing about science, your curiosity is peaked.

“Chemistry. It took me a long time to figure out the right combination but a little copper sulfate, some special water, a few other ingredients and of course, the magic that gives my little light show a nice blue glow.” His Majesty says.

“And the magic?” You ask him, desperate to understand but already completely lost. Copper sulfate?

“It’s a root. Nothing I’ve ever seen before. Grown by one of the witches in the East woods. She taught me how to do it and how to use its properties.” He explains.

“You got instructions from a witch?” You wonder, shocked by this revelation more than knowing that he is the Iron Knight.

“They’re not all bad. Some of them just wanna be left alone. It’s her own creation. The root.” He places the last bit of his armor aside then massages his wrist.

“Does it hurt, your Maje-”

“Ah, ah.” He frowns at you, his bearded lips contorted into a small pout.

“Father.” You correct yourself. “Does it hurt?”

“I’m alright. And it’s Man, by the way.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Iron Man. Not Iron Knight. I don’t want people to think he’s of noble birth.” He explains.

“Oh.” You think. “But you are of noble birth.”

“Yes. But I want people to feel like anyone could be the Iron Man. They should all feel like they can take power back in their own kingdom whether it’s from an oppressive lord or a schoolyard bully. My people should be able to stand up for themselves.” He says passionately, moving to sit on a stool and roll up the white sleeves of his shirt.

“Anyway,” He begins, “Let’s forget about the Iron Man for now. Steve has written back about your portrait.”

Oh, man, there are those nerves again. You can feel the lightheadedness working its way back in.

“And wh-what did he say?” You lick your lips and move to stand closer.

Tony reaches into his vest pocket and unfolds a piece of paper before holding it out for you.

“Read it.” He tells you, and hesitantly you take it.

“I-I don’t know how to read just yet.” You admit, feeling shame once again.

“Sound it out. You know how to say your letters, right?”

Damn. Okay…time to give this a try. “First word is ‘I’.”

Easy enough.

“Good.” Father says.

“I ‘C-A-N’ with a t? Can’t?”

He nods.

“Wooo-wuu-wah-it?” You say the word a few times in your head. “Oh, ‘wait’?”

Another nod.

“I can’t wait…t-o..to. I can’t wait to ‘mee-eet her.’” You beam up at him, then look back down at the painfully short note. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

“Okay. You’re too slow. That was torture. Give it here.” He reaches for it and you hurry to hand it to him then move around behind him to look over his shoulder at the words.

“Tony, I can’t wait to meet her. She has nice eyes. Bring her tomorrow. We can marry the day after. Sincerely, His Royal Majesty…blah blah blah…you get the picture.” Father begins to fold up the letter, but you throw your hand over his shoulder gently, reaching for it.

“Can I keep it?” You smile at him, neck and ears burning.

“Sure, kid. Keep it.” He hands it over then gets up and moves to his tables of scraps and projects.

“Did he really say that I have nice eyes?” You unfold the piece of paper and look for the word eyes. How was that spelt again?

“Yes. He says that about every girl though, so don’t get your hopes up.” He says, dashing your dreams.

“Oh.” You sigh, moving to sit on the stool he’d been on.

“Don’t worry, kid. It just means that he isn’t sure what to think. He’ll have more of an idea when he sees you in person. I saw the picture and it doesn’t do you justice. You’ll knock his socks off.” He promises. “You’re my kid, remember?”

You nearly smile but you’re reminded that in two days’ time, you’ll be married.

“I want to make him happy, father.” You sigh, melancholy.

“You will. Just…don’t rush it. Get to know him.” He looks up at you and stares right back into your own sorrowful gaze.

He puts his tools down and moves to you, placing his hands on your arms.

“Look, I know what I’m asking of you. I didn’t even want to let Morgana do this because I want her to have what I have with her mother.”

“It’s okay.” You smile and give him a shrug.

“But it isn’t.” He frowns. “You deserve to marry for love to, Y/N. And I’m sorry for being selfish enough to ask you to do this for us, but-”

“I think I am.” You admit, sadness overtaking your chest to make it ache. “I’ve never met him. I know that he will not be what I’m expecting but Natasha has told me about him. About the person he was before Queen Margaret died and if I’d had to choose the qualities that I would want in a husband, he has almost all of them.”

“But he’s different now. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Are you trying to talk me out of this?” You ask him, nearly laughing.

“No.” Father says, shaking his head, no laughing for him. “No. What I’m trying to say is don’t give yourself to him completely. Not for a while. Keep your guard up and don’t let him break you.”

“Is he really that altered?” You wonder, no more worried than you were before.

“He’s not the same Steve. If you have to love him, love him in secret. Don’t tell him. Don’t tell anyone. Don’t give him that power over you. Promise me that you’ll think about yourself first.”

You know that he means well but becoming King Rogers’s wife…it means dedicating your life to the crown. To your future people. To your husband. Maybe, just to appease him, you can give him a little lie?

“I promise. I won’t let myself fall in love with him completely.” You smile at him and he relaxes.

“Good. Now, about your dress…”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Father…” You begin, “You’ve been staring at me for half an hour.”

He looks at the Queen beside him, Pepper, mother to you now. She’s smiling at him knowingly. She shakes her head at him and then looks out the window.

“Sorry. I’m just…about what you saw last night-”

“I won’t say anything.” You promise him. “And anyway, nothing happened last night. I didn’t see anything, so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I told you, you have nothing to worry about with this one.” Mother tells him.

“I didn’t think I did.” He replies with a gruff.

“He was up half the night, worried that he’d scared you.” Mother tells you.

“Pepper…” He grumbles.

“I know that this is all for show.” You start, smiling at them as they look away from their silent argument to you. “I know that it all kind of just happened and I was at the right place at the right time, but I appreciate your kindness. It’s been a long time since I’ve had parents and this past week has almost felt like I’ve had them back.

“I know it isn’t real but, you really do feel like my mother and father and I’m grateful. Thank you.”

For a moment, while you thank them, you let your mind think of them as they truly are. Your King and Queen.

They exchange a long look before they both reach out to take one of your hands. His Majesty the right, and the Queen the left.

“From the day that we took you in and until the day that you die, sweetheart, you will be our daughter. We’ve already added your name into our family register. You are now and forever officially a Stark. We can never repay what you have given not only us but your sister as well.

“When we find her, we’ll make sure she knows what you did for her.” Her Majesty says, eyes slightly misted.

“Kind of feels like we’re on the losing end having to lose a daughter we just found.” His Majesty says, and you nod with a smile, knowing exactly what he means.

“Once I learn how to write properly. I will write all the time.” You promise.

Her Majesty gives a small chuckle then the carriage jerks to a stop.

“We’re here, your Majesty.” Peter’s voice chimes in from the front of the carriage.

Time to meet your future husband.

~~~~~~~~~~

Father gives you a new dress. Beautiful silk sky blue fabric with white lace sewn in at the bust and wrists. The top of the sleeves are slightly puffed, and the skirt flows out, more lace along the bottom. It hugs your figure and Natasha ties your corset extra tight today, if only to accentuate your bosom.

“Maybe he’s a breasts man?” She shrugs.

Your neck burns.

She leave your hair down, as instructed by his Majesty, your father, long wavy curls left to flow down along your shoulders.

On your head she places a simple diamond tiara, small sapphires spread throughout the base to accentuate the blue of your dress.

All too soon you’re moving with hastened steps behind Natasha towards a room called the council chamber.

As you walk, you take the opportunity to look the castle over.

You’ve been in such a rush that you hadn’t really allowed yourself a proper look. You know that there are large round towers made of pink granite, the main structures of the castle are white marble. The roofs you can see a you pass yet another window—as they are numerous in this castle—are a dark blue slate. The colors go well together and make an aesthetically pleasing palette.

Inside the colors are darker, with deep chocolate oak wood walls and dark gray floors and ceilings. All the light fixtures however are in shades of silver and gold, bright colors to illuminate the darker tones of the interior.

There are also plenty of colorful carpets, pictures, and vases with flowers. Your future home is very warm in its décor and if it is any indication as to the style of the man you are about meet, you may not have anything to worry about after all.

You find Peter already waiting inside the room with Mother and Father also standing off to the side. Natasha shows you in, straight to the center of the room before a large high-backed chair embellished with golden etchings along the arm rests and back.

As Natasha fusses over your dress and hair, the rest of the room is absolutely silent. The nerves in the quiet are enough to drive you mad.

You wish someone would say something. Anything.

You’re already dying of nervousness. Why can’t they try and alleviate your mood?

Wringing your hands nervously, you turn to look at father who gives you an encouraging smile, mother also looking kindly.

Peter is chewing on his lip and Natasha moves to slap your hands away.

“Stop that.” She gasps.

“I’m nervous.” You admit, grieving silently.

“Me too.” She agrees.

“What?!” You gasp, quietly.

“What?” She shrugs. “I’m nervous for you.”

“I thought you said you knew him?”

“I did. Before his wife died.” She sighs. “He’s changed since then, and I don’t know what he’s really like anymore.”

It feels like you’re about to burst into tears when the large double doors behind the tall chair—which you now realize is a type of throne—open. Instead of the blonde you’ve been itching to finally see in person, your heart relaxes when a familiar long haired and blue-eyed knight enters the room.

He stops beside the throne and looks at father first, hand on his sword while the other is straight at his side.

“Your Majesties.” He bows politely, then turns to you. “Your Highness.”

The smile he gives you is one of encouragement and you appreciate it.

“His Royal Majesty, King Rogers, wonders if he and the Princess might be left to meet alone?” James meets Natasha’s eyes and you can see a quick silent communication between them before she’s reaching down for your hand.

“Listen, don’t speak until you’re spoken to. Smile if you think you should. Don’t mention the old Queen, and definitely don’t slip up about…well, you know. Keep conversation light. No swearing.” She’s rushing through these instructions and fussing with your hair and dress.

Your heart begins to panic.

“You’re leaving me?” You whine.

“Just for a few minutes.” She promises. “I’ll be right outside that door. Okay?”

“Nat…?” You swallow hard, wishing your nerves away. “What if he doesn’t-?”

“He just has to marry you.” She reminds you. “Nothing else matters. Once he’s married you, then you can worry about making him fall in love with you. Alright?”

“What if-?”

“It’s time.” She smiles. “Once step at a time. Good luck, your Highness.”

She pulls her hand out of your own firmly, and follows your mother, father, and Peter out of the room the way you’d first come in.

As the doors close, Natasha sends you one last smile before she’s out of sight.

“Nervous?” The deep familiar voice asks, and you turn to James with your breath held.

You nod. He’s wearing an outfit similar to when you met him two days ago, only today it’s dark blue instead of black.

“Don’t worry, Princess. I was there when he saw your portrait and-”

“Please don’t raise my expectations, Sir James.” You sigh. “I can’t stand it.”

“Bucky, your Highness, if you please. And if that is your wish…I will show his Majesty in now.” He offers, and gestures to the doors he’d marched in through.

You nod and watch as he leaves the room again.

For sixty long seconds you stand alone at the center of this large room where chairs line the walls. You consider making a run for it because anything is better than this waiting and then suddenly, he’s there.

Behind the chair, he walks in, wide steps made by long legs. A narrow waist hidden underneath a form fitting aqua blue vest, silver trimmings embroidered along both sides of his wide chest and collar. Underneath the vest is a plain white blouse cinched at the wrists with a small ruffle around the base of his hand where it then puffs out slightly. He looks cool, as if the fabric were flowing with a relaxing breeze.

His lower body looks powerful, muscled and thick covered in dark gray trousers, but your eyes linger there for only a moment because you’re already searching for the kindly blonde face you’ve been staring at for days in the portrait you have.

What you find instead is long blonde hair, not as long as Bucky’s but long enough to flow in waves along the sides of his face, parted along the middle. The clean-shaven face from the portrait is covered in a thick neatly trimmed beard. It all comes together to make a manly visage. He might tear solid logs in two if he tried, he looks that strong.

He’s older than he’d been in the portrait you have and there’s a sadness in his storm blue eyes that is there instead of the blue sparkle of curiosity you’ve come to expect.

He walks with his hands behind his back and stops a few feet in front of you, staring at you just as you’re staring at him. Appraising you.

He’s just as beautiful as he is in his portrait but still a little different.

Suddenly, you remember yourself and you quickly curtsy, averting your gaze down to his black boots.

Neither of you speaks as you bow and the endless minute that you just endured spreads into a few endless more.

The silence is deafening and when your legs finally begin to ache, you shut your eyes to force yourself to remain in position.

“Stand up, your Highness.” He says, his voice is deep and even. Full of authority and impatience. A little colder than you expected. “I trust your trip went well?”

Slowly you stand up, finally tearing your eyes away from his feet to look back into those storm blue eyes. They’re not sad anymore, rather, they look slightly annoyed. Angry? No. Irritated.

“It was a very good trip, your Majesty. Thank you for asking.” You reply, a little too quiet because you haven’t been breathing.

More silence. He stares at you. Relentless. No smiles. No hint as to what he might be thinking. Only a scowl, thick eyebrows drawn in at the center, eyes brooding and sad. Like he wants to say something but won’t.

Finally…

“Why are you doing this?” He suddenly asks, taking a step towards you.

“Your Majesty?”

“This marriage. This whole thing, why? You could have anyone. You’re a princess.”

“I…” How do you answer that honestly? Natasha did say you’d have to lie on your feet. You hadn’t expected for it to be this soon. “I want to-to make my father happy.”

“Mm.” King Rogers says, understanding this reason but also unsatisfied. “Any other reasons?”

And as you stare at his handsome face, you know that what you’re about to say is most definitely not a lie, so you’ll tell him. At least there are some things you’ll be able to be true about.

“When I saw your portrait…” You begin, wondering if this is giving away too much. No…it’s good for him to know where you stand, right?

“My portrait? What portrait?” He asks, taking a step towards you but not moving forward.

You hurry to grab the compact from your dress pocket and unhook the clasp to show him.

He moves in closer, the heat of his body overtaking you and momentarily dulling your mind.

“When I saw it…I decided that I…I wanted to make you happy.” You admit and look up to find him staring at you, brow furrowed even deeper.

His stern expression makes your hope waver. What does it mean? That intense glower?

“That’ll never happen.” He tells you, his voice hard, defensive.

“Your Majesty?” You ask, slightly confused.

When he speaks, his voice is intimate, quiet, and sure. He says it right beside you, close enough that his whisper is as loud as a shout and it hits you just as hard. The pleasantness of his voice making your skin pimple while the harsh truth in it fills you with dread.

“You will never make me happy. Never.” He promises, then moves away from you back towards the doors behind his throne. “We’ll get married in the morning. Tell Tony I accept his offer.”

As he vanishes from view, taking his beautiful brooding face with him, he leaves behind the tiny shreds of your hope, completely eviscerated by his cool declaration that you—specifically you—will never make him happy. Never.

[ghostlycorgi]

another self portrait sketch doodle thing?

YEAH HEHE ITS MEE

[himachalites]

Dev Roopa Distt. Kullu Himachal India. Photo By - @eakantadventures Please keep Himalayan regions free from all kind of plastic garbage / neat and clean so that our coming generations can also enjoy its beauty. Be a responsible traveller & help in maintaining the sanctity of Mother Nature. #kulluvaasi #travellovers #himachali #instahimachal #himachaltourism #travelrealindia #travel #himachalpradesh #himalayas #camping #incredibleindia #portrait #mountains #love #nature #wonderlust #likeforlikes #followforfollow #mee #tbt #snow #mahadev#storiesofindia #hills #indianphotography #trending #beautiful #followforfollowback #naturelovers #himachali_swagger — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/3fDwydP

[jwillgoose]

Further reading..

I’ve had a few requests via social media / email to recommend some books or documentaries that might help shed a bit more background light on the recent album, so I thought I’d compile here some of the things I most enjoyed reading, watching or listening to, in case you’re interested in following up on any of the materials or subjects the album deals with. This is in random order, too - please don’t ascribe any value judgements to the way my brain remembers things.

(You’ll also have to forgive me for linking to Amazon occasionally - I don’t recommend buying from there, but it does sometimes seem the easiest way to get hold of some of these things.)

It might be wisest to cover the broadest bases first though, and the most accessible way in is probably through film and documentary. At the most populist end of things, the film Pride is fantastic - it could easily have been formulaic and poorly scripted, but it really had a great heart to it and it’s a fantastic story. (As a side note, Hywel Francis, whom I had the fortune to meet and speak to while I was at the South Wales Miners’ Library, told me how interesting it was that the other common link - besides persecution - between the miners and the LGBT community was a high level of Communist Party membership, which was left out of the film for, one presumes, commercial reasons.) And if you’ve already seen Pride, have a look at Dancing In Dulais, the film which helped inspire it.

Although it was set in the north-east and for some people might seem a little hackneyed, I certainly wouldn’t rule out Billy Elliott as an easy way in; similarly, Brassed Off is a great film.

A film with more direct links to the Valleys is Paul Robeson’s Proud Valley. Robeson is - to put it mildly - a fascinating character and his story and part in the Welsh mining community is an extremely moving one and shows, I think, how artists and activists from all eras and backgrounds have been moved by the particular communities and geography that make up the Welsh Valleys.

On the documentary front I also used large portions of the BFI’s fantastic Portrait Of A Miner collection. As ever with BFI releases, it contains a wide range of interesting material and a thorough and detailed booklet helps give context and extra background.

Another important film, which I accessed through the South Wales Miners’ Library, is Smiling And Splendid Women. We used some clips from this for All Out, and it also forms the basis of the live video for They Gave Me A Lamp.

At the more obscure and hard-to-find end is a documentary kindly loaned to me by Glyn at the Ebbw Vale Institute, The Welsh Miner. We were lucky enough to be able to license some clips from this film for use on All Out, Go To The Road, Mother Of The Village and more on the album. Similarly, the British Transport Film Every Valley, clips from which bookend the start and finish of the album, is a fascinating snapshot of Valleys life, although I can’t seem to find an online version (we acquired ours through the BFI).

I also greatly enjoyed Still The Enemy Within - an excellent documentary looking back on the miners’ strike, and featuring Ron Stoate, who I subsequently interviewed and whose voice appears on Mother Of The Village - and while I can’t say I enjoyed it as such, as the subject matter is too harrowing for words, I thought the BBC’s The Green Hollow was an extremely moving and well-made reflection on the tragedy at Aberfan. It doesn’t seem available on the BBC at the moment, though, yet it was when I checked a few days ago. Odd. (As a side note, Michael Sheen’s excellent documentary on Port Talbot’s steel industry appears to have suffered the same fate, but perhaps more resourceful (ahem) searchers may be able to find both films online.)

Anyway, that’s a few of the many films and documentaries I watched - on the written front, I can recommend the following (amongst many others, which I’m sure I’ll forget!):

Hywel Francis’ excellent History On Our Side (which now contains a new chapter, following the film Pride, and which postdates the edition I own) is an excellent, personal history of the times; on a more small-scale publishing level, Deborah Price’s How Black Were Our Valleys is a really illuminating read and Deborah helped put me in touch with some ex-miners and the NUM in South Wales. Ron Stoate again features in her book. The title is obviously a play on How Green Was My Valley, which I had naively assumed to be a bit clichéd and trite just based on various jokes made down the ages, but I found the book to be very moving and apt for the project I was working on (not least because it appears it was written by an Englishman after extensive conversation with local miners, although at least I made that clear!).

Along similar lines but in verse form, Idris Davies’ poetry - and Gwalia Deserta in particular - is incredible. It’s rich, striking and very evocative of Eliot (who nurtured Davies as a protegé). We were kindly allowed permission to use the poem for the basis of our collaboration with James Dean Bradfield, Turn No More. I’ve been struck by a few people mentioning online that the album doesn’t seem to deal with the environmental issues caused by coal - presumably they either skipped that song or failed to listen to the lyrics particularly closely. It is a searing indictment of a landscape and a people exploited by outsiders for their personal gain, and a defiant shout for those who live in the shadows of the ‘ransacked’ hillsides and static pitwheels.

Perhaps the most comprehensive account of the South Wales miners is that put together by Dr Ben Curtis, in his exhaustively researched (and still very readable, despite its academic origins) history, The South Wales Miners: 1964-85. Ben is thanked on the album sleeve for his assistance in the research of the album and, in particular, for introducing me to the team at the South Wales Miners’ Library and their oral history collection (interviews mostly recorded by Hywel Francis - it’s like a big virtuous circle), but I’d like to thank him again for his particularly kind words on the release of the album. Coming from an authority on the subject like him, it’s especially gratifying and humbling.

It was a privilege to be granted permission to use the title of Phyllis Jones’ excellent memoir, They Gave Me A Lamp, as one of our own songs - thanks once again to Patricia Mee for allowing us to do so. The book is a fine read and a reminder that it wasn’t just men working a dangerous and dirty job underground.

I also read more widely, further afield; at one time I’d toyed with the idea of including Gresford, or The Miners’ Hymn, in some form on the album, but I moved away from that idea as I thought it really wasn’t our place to use it, the piece being so closely associated with miners and their ability to face up to, and overcome, tragedy. The Pitmen’s Requiem is an excellent account of the writing of this incredible piece of music - at the very least I urge you to listen to it.

I also read Seumas Milne’s The Enemy Within - Mr Milne is certainly no stranger to controversy, and I don’t share some of his political ideas, but the book was nevertheless an interesting account of the lengths the government went to at the time to use (some might say subvert) the machinery of the state to attempt to crush the miners and their cause.

In terms of artwork, I was drawn to the abstract landscapes of Hannah Benkwitz, whose piece ‘Viaduct’ we used as the album cover. I found her artwork by browsing through a cupboard of books at the South Wales Mining Museum in the Afan Valley - her work was amongst a list of publicly-owned and displayed oil paintings. I love her use of colour and texture. The colours reminded me of some of Sir Kyffin Williams’ work, which I also loved. A more frenzied variation on the same theme is that presented by Peter Prendergast, whose incredible, vivid, often violent landscapes are very striking indeed. I also enjoyed Valerie Ganz’s (less abstract) works and toyed with using something more literal for the album, but I found Hannah Benkwitz’s abstraction really suited the way I’d tried to put the album together.

That’s just a brief list of some of the research and materials that went in to the making of the album - there were many others, some of which may be egregious omissions for which I apologise in advance. Whether or not you want to delve into some of this background reading / watching / other, I hope you’re enjoying the album and the story we tried to tell.

Yours warmly,

J. Willgoose, Esq.

EDIT - Arghgh. I forgot the single most important piece of writing, for me, related to the album: Down the Mine by George Orwell. [NB this version is incorrectly transcribed and riddled with errors - please do read the proper version from The Road To Wigan Pier if you can.] I’m more than aware that putting yourself up alongside Orwell is just asking to be shot down, but it says so many of the things that I was hoping to say with Every Valley - the debt that we all, in our country, owe the miners for the tough and terrifying job which they carried out. That makes what was to come - the false promises, the betrayal, the persecution, the abandonment, the neglect, living in the ruins of previous (relative) prosperity - so much the worse.

[smallpressdistribution]

Feast your eyes and your shelves on May’s SPD Recommends *Backlist*, ten titles that continue to rock our world. Maybe they’ll rock yours too...

1. ANARCH. - Frances Richard

"This collection of poems addresses the fundamental question of our time: what is it to be human? If we are strange to each other and ourselves, then how do we know it? What is strangeness if not a recognition of something we can recognize? We can no longer see the earth (especially from the sky) as unaffected by all our experiments, hurled down, trashed, in pursuit of happiness. Frances Richard goes to the material roots of our search and turns away, and takes off, after another purpose. This book has the spirit of anthropology and philosophy, and also reveals the underlying structures of these two disciplines as a problem for artists to solve. Why? Because if words go down with the rest, and lose their light, we are really finished. Richard is doing what poets are asked to be doing now."—Fanny Howe

2. THOU - Aisha Sasha John

"THOU is a pilgrimage—in which heaven is sought through earth, and relation is material. THOU is a choreography of irresolute bodies, the insistent shifting of their positions. Aisha Sasha John is a poet of centrifugal energy, of reverberant intimacy.”—Michael Nardone

3. UNDER FLAG - Myung Mi Kim

From the publisher: "In UNDER FLAG, Myung Mi Kim writes in a stark, unflinching voice that alternately drives to the core of painful subject matter and backs off to let beauty speak for itself: ‘Save the water from rinsing rice for sleek hair / This is what the young women are told, then they're told / Cut off this hair that cedar combs combed / Empty straw sacks and hide under them / Enemy soldiers are approaching...’.”

4. 2500 Random Things About Me Too - Matias Viegener

"An extraordinary capture of a life and a consciousness in middle age, when mortality and the grid of associations laid by one's personal history cannot be denied. Chained to the task of compiling these 'random' lists, Viegener creates a self-portrait—of the whole world!—that encompasses everything from Descartes to the grooming habits of parrots, with plenty of sex, beauty and boredom. Like Basho's Narrow Road to the Deep North, Viegener's journey leads nowhere except to an emptying out. Compulsively readable, the book is a brilliant achievement. I could not put it down."—Chris Kraus

5. Apart - Catherine Taylor

"Catherine Taylor's Apart offers an intimate and sweeping look at the legacy of apartheid, while performing an altogether rare balance of 'lyric seduction' against 'the ugliness of corpses.' Taylor refreshingly treats white guilt and the self-conscious recognition of privilege as starting points rather than conclusions, as she plumbs the depths of history, from which, as she reminds us, 'no one is excused.' The result is edifying, original, and critically rigorous—a poetic and political vibration between 'ecstasy, shame, ecstasy, shame.'"—Maggie Nelson

6. The Vertical Interrogation of Strangers - Bhanu Kapil

From the publisher: "These short pieces reveal new ways of belonging in the world and possibilities for an art grounded in a localized cosmopolitan culture. And Bhanu Kapil writes:  ‘As if our responsibilities to each other end at the border of our / countries, or at our cities, or half-way across our cities, or at our / back doors, or at our skins. No.’”

7. The Morning News Is Exciting - Don Mee Choi

"Choi translates feminist politics into an experimental poetry that demilitarizes, deconstructs, and decolonizes any master narrative."—Craig Santos Perez

8. The Men - Lisa Robertson

"...only [Robertson's] poetry could turn swooning into a critical gesture." —The Village Voice

9. Earliest Worlds - Eleni Sikelianos

"Earliest Worlds signals poetry's adventurous slide into genres usually left to their proper (read academic) spheres. Sikelianos' practice of mixing discourse and lyric blows up the disciplinary borders as effortlessly as reading a menu of options...behind its self-professed 'gluttony for words,' Earliest Worlds flaunts a sexy insouciance and an uproarious inventiveness."—Chris Tysh

10. The Arab Apocalypse - Etel Adnan

"The Arab Apocalypse is, to date, Adnan's most triumphant battle with the exactness of words." —Douglas Powell

[micaramel]

Artist: Guy Mees

Venue: Mu.ZEE, Ostend

Exhibition Title: The Weather is Quiet, Cool and Soft

Curated By: Lilou Vidal

Note: The publication associated with this exhibition is available here

Date: November 24, 2018 – March 10, 2019

Click here to view slideshow

Full gallery of images, press release and link available after the jump.

Images:

Images courtesy of Mu.ZEE, Ostend

Press Release:

The Weather is Quiet, Cool and Soft presents works from different stages in the career of the Belgium artist Guy Mees (1935-2003) to shed light on his intuitive and conceptual approach. The selected works range from early lace pieces generically entitled Lost Space to the films and the photographs of the series of portraits Difference of Levels, never before shown structuralist works from the 1970s, pastel on paper series from the mid-1970s and paper cut-outs from the 1980s. Together, these allow a study of Mees’s practice and his ideas of mutability, fragility, porosity and the expansion of pictorial space into social space. The title of the exhibition (taken from a note by the artist) is a reference to the atmospheric impermanence in Mees’s work and his relativist poetical approach.

As a member of the Nieuwe Vlaamse School, which was close to many artists affiliated with the international ZERO movement that comprised a network from Europe, Japan and North and South America, and shared common interests, such as light, serial structures, motion and monochrome, Guy Mees gained recognition from the international avant-garde in the early 60’s. However, his non-authoritarian attitude and conceptual approach to deconstruct any form of classification soon led him to take an alternative path where the liberation of systems, structures and media in order to create freedom and openness became both idiosyncratic and tangible.

The series of portraits Difference of Levels, the films and photo series with groups of three people spontaneously placed on different levels of three moveable concrete blocks are reminiscent of works by an amateur. Apart from the six possible positions (123, 132, 213, 231, 312, 321), the series can vary ad infinitum, thus demonstrating the changing nature of a phenomenon and the arbitrary nature of the norm. The subsequent works on paper 1,2,3 use photos from contact prints and place them in a grid, like the notes of a sensitive mathematician.

Apart from the absurdity of the mechanistic endeavours, these films and photos depicting friends and family provide a fascinating portrait of the Belgian avant-garde gravitating around the MTL (Fernand Spillemaeckers) and X-One (Marc Poirier dit Caulier) galleries, in addition to international views such as the 1974 series portraying Nicholas Serota at the Museum of Modern Art in Oxford.

The principle of six positions brought Mees to a new formal exploration of combinations according to a chromatic chart that features lines in six different colours drawn by hand on thin paper (i. e newsprint), which he then organised in columns and grouped in multiples of three. While the overall composition, its automatic nature and repetition of pattern and gesture belong to a mechanical process close to the printing press, the sheets’ character detaches it from these initial references as we move toward a random reading. Slowly the lines begin to reveal a sparse universe of marks of colour on thin paper whose design at times almost mirrors the wall and pierce its interior, thus paving the way for the paper cut-outs Verloren Ruimte (Lost Space).

With regard to the system of exchanges, it is interesting to note that Guy Mees and André Cadere were represented at the same time by Fernand Spillemaeckers, who founded the Belgian conceptual art gallery MTL in 1970. The mistake that was methodically introduced by Cadere in his Round Bar of Wood works and the system of notation in grids that became more and more unpredictable with Mees coincided—did they share a common desire to introduce errors in the thinking of both organized systems of objects and the system of society?

The works from the series Verloren Ruimte (Lost Space) emphasize the notion of a deconstructed frame, because here the space of the image itself is ruptured and reveals the inbetweenness of gaps and remainders. Whether it’s the white faux monochromes made from industrial lace of the early 1960s that mix minimalist forms with sensual if not erotic textures and expose a varied interior space or the more volatile shapes of cut-outs pinned to the wall from the 1980s whose fragmentary colours sculpt the forms and voids of the architecture and transform the space into an image, the Verloren Ruimte represent the beginning and culmination of conceptual and poetic reasoning in Guy Mees’s work. They are “filled with that of which he is its outcome, filled with its loss.”(Dirk Pültau).

This exhibition at Mu.ZEE is an extension of the exhibition from the show at Kunsthalle Wien (31 January – 9 April 2018) and pays special attention to additional archival materials from his estate, and will include a new selection of works from a different period. It will provide further insight into the mind of an artist who, during his entire lifetime, rejected any analytical discourse about his work in favour of its perceptive experience.

The exhibition is accompanied by a publication tracing the artist’s path and following his gaze through a tactile and archival approach to his works. It includes unknown archival material from Guy Mees’s estate, such as early photographs, slides, texts and notes and other documents.

The publication is edited by Lilou Vidal and published by Sternberg Press

Curator: Lilou Vidal

The exhibition and the publication are a co-production between Mu.ZEE, Ostend and Kunsthalle Wien.

Link: Guy Mees at Mu.ZEE Ostend

Contemporary Art Daily is produced by Contemporary Art Group, a not-for-profit organization. We rely on our audience to help fund the publication of exhibitions that show up in this RSS feed. Please consider supporting us by making a donation today.

from Contemporary Art Daily http://bit.ly/2EBEWKK

[funtubeweb]

True North: Ryan Sidhoo Explores Canada’s New Game

When it comes to sport, hockey traditionally occupies a sweet spot in Canada’s national psyche — but spend a few days on the streets of Toronto, now one of the planet’s most diverse cities, and another picture quickly bounces into view.

More and more young Canadians are playing basketball — over 350,000 according to the 2014 Canada Youth Sports Report — and the trend is particularly pronounced in and around Toronto where a wave of second and third generation Canadians are shaping Canada’s new game.

Toronto’s big basketball moment

“Basketball in Toronto is having a moment,” says documentarian Ryan Sidhoo, currently shooting True North, an episodic web-series in production at the BC & Yukon Studio. “We’re really fortunate on this production to spend time with families who’re navigating this landscape at a time when Canada’s youth basketball scene is exploding. They’re letting us into their lives, and giving us a chance to share their stories.”

Inspired by the Toronto Raptors, the only Canadian team in the National Basketball Association, many of the GTA’s aspiring athletes are setting their sights on Division One scholarships to American universities. And basketball kingmakers south of the border have been taking notice. Canada now has over a dozen players in the NBA, more than any other outside country.

American journalist Michael Fletcher, writing recently in The Undefeated, comments on Toronto’s new status in US basketball circles: “Increasingly, major universities and the pros see Canada, particularly the Greater Toronto area, as a basketball recruiting hotbed on par with, or even surpassing, cities such as New York, Chicago or Philadelphia.”

“Basketball has been one of my great teachers”

With True North, Sidhoo is crafting a series of intimate portraits of young Canadian players and their families — charting the development of Toronto’s red-hot youth basketball scene while keeping a sharp eye on the highly competitive terrain that athletes must navigate in order to get a shot at a full-ride scholarship to one of America’s powerhouse basketball colleges. Pictured above: Toronto’s Northern Kings at practice.

“Basketball has been one of my great teachers,” says Sidhoo, a second-generation Canadian, born in Vancouver, who graduated from New York’s New School in 2013 with a master in media studies. “I grew up with the game, and it has introduced me to new cities and cultures, opening my eyes to all kinds of stories and situations that extend beyond sport. I’m using it as a narrative tool here, as a way to shed light on contemporary family life in a rapidly developing city — issues that all kinds of people can relate to. At the same time I get to immerse myself in a world that I care deeply about.”

Hoop Dreams: “a kind of landmark”

Back in 1994 director Steve James scored a major hit with Hoop Dreams, a feature doc that charts the progress of two young men from inner city Chicago in their bid for basketball glory. “That film is a kind of landmark,” says Sidhoo. “You can divide all sports documentaries into those that came before and after Hoop Dreams, but so much has changed since then. Kids are dealing with a whole new set of pressures. The idea of exposure has taken on new meaning in the digital boom. Young athletes can be temped to post highlight reels on YouTube or Instagram, and families can feel pressured to build brands around their kids.”

Producer Shirley Vercruysse, executive producer of BC & Yukon Studio and lead producer on the project, recently accompanied Sidhoo on a shoot in Nevada, where he was following a handful of Canadian players during the Fab 48 Tournament. “Ryan has remarkable access to these young players,” she says. “He genuinely loves the game and that comes through all the time — in the trust he’s established with his subjects, and in the footage itself. He’s exploring the fascinating relationship between sport and society in a completely engaging way, appealing to new audiences.”

“I get to expand on this idea of Canadian identity”

The project serves as a prism though which Sidhoo can investigate shifting notions of Canadian identity. “My dad’s side of the family are from India, and my mom’s side came from Eastern Europe, Ashkenazi Jews from Poland and Russia — and growing up in Vancouver, it’s not like my family had a built-in history of hockey and winter sports. So I’ve never really meshed with that classic idea of Canadian culture — you know, guys playing hockey on frozen ponds. I grew up playing basketball and I always felt at home in gyms. Basketball had more of a multicultural feel, and by focusing on game and the city of Toronto, both incredibly diverse worlds, I get to help expand on this idea of Canadian identity.

“I want the project to sound like Toronto” 

Toronto’s musicians have been showing another side of Canada to global audiences for some time, with artists like Michie Mee, Kardinal, and more recently OVO, enjoying major international success. Sidhoo has enlisted Filipino-Canadian musician Alexander Punzalan (aka Alexander Junior,  pictured above), noted for his work with electronic-soul duo DATU, to create an original score.

“I want the project to sound like Toronto, with all its musical influences — with splashes of rap, hip-hop, soca, dancehall. Alexander is multi-talented, experimenting with all kinds of different sounds, and we’re already using some of his temp music. It’s one of the joys of the whole process, putting music to image.”

Among his cinematic influences Sidhoo mentions Spike Lee’s early films, first enjoyed at his dad’s side, and the 2005 release The Protocol of Zion, a feature doc by New York filmmaker Marc Levin with whom Sidhoo interned during his time at the New School.

“King of the Hill was a revelation” 

Also on the list is the 1974 NFB film King of the Hill, in which NFB filmmakers Donald Brittain and William Canning profile legendary baseball pitcher Ferguson Jenkins. “That one was a revelation,” says Sidhoo. “I watched it on a plane, flying back from one our shoots in LA, and as a result I decided to shoot some sequences on 16 mm film.”

oehttps://www.nfb.ca/film/king_of_the_hill/

Sidhoo’s credits include a number of short web productions for VICE and Welcome to Fairfax, a ten-part docu-series about Los Angeles youth culture that was produced for Participant Media. True North is his first collaboration with the NFB.

“Making an episodic series that’s destined primarily for online distribution is something new for us,” says Vercruysse, “Ryan is a real discovery, a talented and dynamic young director, and he brings all kinds of valuable practical experience to this project.”

Sidhoo is working with Toronto-based cinematographer John Price, a noted independent filmmaker in his own right who’s worked with directors like Bruce Macdonald, Peter Lynch, Liz Marshall, Annette Mangaard and Mike Hoolboom. Price’s credits include Charles Officer’s Mighty Jerome, about track-and-field stay Harry Jerome, and Mina Shum’s Ninth Floor, hailed by TIFF as one of ten best Canadian films of 2015.

Editor Graham Withers, who’s cutting the series in Toronto, has done work on episodic series like Payday and Cold Water Cowboys as well as stand-alone doc projects like Alias, (Michelle Latimer), Les bons, les méchants et la bicyclette! (Lara Fitzgerald) and Highway Gospel (Jarett Beliveau).

Sidhoo and his crew are filming on numerous locations across the GTA and at selected events in the USA with a view to wrapping production in September. True North, conceived as a ten-part web series, is produced by Shirley Vercruysse for the BC & Yukon Studio.

Pictured above: Ryan Sidhoo with basketball dad Rohan Fisher. Check out more of Ryan Sidhoo’s own amazing photography.

The post True North: Ryan Sidhoo Explores Canada’s New Game appeared first on NFB/blog.

True North: Ryan Sidhoo Explores Canada’s New Game posted first on http://ift.tt/2sCUYNt

[ringelgoslinga]

On the Move - verhalen in hedendaagse fotografie en grafische vormgeving. De publicatie is als bijlage bij Metropolis M. verschenen en is verspreid bij Unseen en in de tentoonstelling. Circling Around To Sang - Ringel Goslinga

Circling Around To Sang is Ringel Goslinga’s hommage aan de legendarische fotograaf Lee To Sang en zijn geliefde buurt de Pijp in Amsterdam. Ruim twintig jaar lang huisde To Sangs wereldberoemde fotostudio op de Albert Cuypstraat, tot hij in 2003 zijn deuren sloot. Goslinga nam To Sangs camera – een Mamiya 6 x 4,5 – ter hand om er straatportretten mee te maken. De buurtbewoners poseren voor zijn camera, vaak nog met de boodschappentas in de hand. Goslinga’s klassieke portretten in zwart-wit vormen een nuchter contrast met To Sangs exuberante studiofoto’s, vol plastic attributen en voorzien van exotische achtergronden. Op geheel eigen wijze hebben beide fotografen de diversiteit aan culturele identiteiten in Amsterdam vastgelegd. Naast Goslinga’s portretten zijn in losse snapshots ook de ontmoetingen tussen de twee fotografen vastgelegd. De goedkope kiekjes tonen de huiselijkheid en het leven na de studiofotografie van de gepensioneerde To Sang, die zijn oude dag wijdt aan de schilderkunst.

On the Move - Storytelling in Contemporary Photography and Graphic Design Circling Around To Sang - Ringel Goslinga

Circling Around To Sang is Ringel Goslinga’s affectionate homage to legendary Amsterdam photographer Lee To Sang and his beloved neighborhood, De Pijp. To Sang’s world-famous photo studio operated from premises in the Albert Cuypstraat for more than twenty years before its closure in 2003. Goslinga took over To Sang’s camera – a Mamiya 6 x 4.5 – to make portraits of local people. They posed for him in the street, often still clutching their shopping bags. Goslinga’s classic monochrome portraits form a sober contrast to To Sang’s exuberant studio shots, taken against exotic backgrounds and teeming with plastic props. In their own highly individual ways, both photographers have succeeded in capturing the cultural diversity of Amsterdam. Apart from Goslinga’s portraits, the work also includes casual snapshots recording encounters between the two photographers. The cheap snaps show the domesticity of To Sang’s life since he retired from studio photography and decided to devote himself to painting in his old age.

“Lee To Sang once said that photography is a minor art, painting is a major art.”

[himachalites]

Dev Roopa Distt. Kullu Himachal India. Photo By - @eakantadventures Please keep Himalayan regions free from all kind of plastic garbage / neat and clean so that our coming generations can also enjoy its beauty. Be a responsible traveller & help in maintaining the sanctity of Mother Nature. #kulluvaasi #travellovers #himachali #instahimachal #himachaltourism #travelrealindia #travel #himachalpradesh #himalayas #camping #incredibleindia #portrait #mountains #love #nature #wonderlust #likeforlikes #followforfollow #mee #tbt #snow #mahadev#storiesofindia #hills #indianphotography #trending #beautiful #followforfollowback #naturelovers #himachali_swagger https://www.instagram.com/p/CDjITxeBaRJ/?igshid=1rwge3977b9ay