#but my art was in a regional EXHIBITION

[beemintty]

I thought I'd be devastated, but I actually just feel really proud of myself for trying.

[tothechaos]

i get to go to my first conference in october OwO its for museums and museum studies! ill be making a poster and (potentially? hopefully!) giving a presentation!!

[b1rdbr41n]

i love mixing all my assignments with my ocs until i realize ive made like 10x more work for myself in the name of being faithful to my stories

[phenakistoskope]

There is a difference between Bollywood and Bombay cinema?

listen, subcontinental cinema began in bombay; the very first exhibition of the lumieres' cinematographe was held there in 1896, a few months after its debut in paris, 1895. this event predates the discursive existence of bollywood and hollywood. shree pundalik and raja harishchandra, the films that are generally considered the very first subcontinental features were also exhibited there first.

subcontinental cinema under british colonialism was produced in certain metropolitan centers such as lahore, hyderabad, and calcutta; bombay was just one of them. in 1947, when the indian nation state was formally inaugurated, the idea of a "national cinema" began forming, but given the cultural and linguistic heterogeneity of the indian union, this was quite untenable. regional popular cinemas flourished well into the 1950, 60s, 70s, and 80s and various art cinemas began taking shape alongside.

under the economy that i'm going to completely elide as "nehruvian "socialism"" bombay cinema focused on broadly "socialist" themes, think of awara (1951), do beegha zameen (1953), pyaasa (1957), all of which focus on inequality in indian economy and society from different perspectives. these films were peppered in with historical dramas, and adaptations from literature, but the original stories tended towards socialist realism. reformist films centering the family generally waxed poetic on the need to reform the family, but i haven't seen enough of these to really comment on them.

the biggest hit of the 70s, sholay (1975) was about two criminals, posited as heroes fighting gabbar singh who was attacking village folk. deewar (1975) also had two heroes, and the stakes were the two brothers' father's reputation; the father in question was a trade union leader accused of corruption.

"alternative cinema" included mani kaul's uski roti (1969) and Duvidha (1973) both of which were situated away from the city. then there's sayeed mirza and his city films, most of them set in bombay; arvind desai ki ajeeb dastan (1978), albert pinto ko gussa kyun aata hain (1980), saleem langre pe mat ro (1989) which are all extremely socialist films, albert pinto was set in the times of the bombay textiles strike of 1982 and literally quotes marx at one point. my point is that bombay cinema prior to liberalization was varied in its themes and representations, and it wasn't interested in being a "national cinema" very much, it was either interested in maximizing its domestic profits or being high art. note that these are all hindi language films, produced in bombay, or at least using capital from bombay. pyaasa, interestingly enough is set in calcutta, but it was filmed in bombay!

then we come to the 1990s, and i think the ur example of the bollywood film is dilwale dulhania le jayenge (1995) which, in stark contrast to the cinema that preceded it, centered two NRIs, simran and raj, who meet abroad, but epitomize their love in india, and go back to england (america?) as indians with indian culture. this begins a long saga of films originating largely in bombay that target a global audience of both indians and foreigners, in order to export an idea of india to the world. this is crucial for a rapidly neoliberalizing economy, and it coincides with the rise of the hindu right. gradually, urdu recedes from dialogue, the hindi is sankritized and cut with english, the indian family is at the center in a way that's very different for the social reform films of the 50s and 60s. dil chahta hai (2001) happens, where good little indian boys go to indian college, but their careers take them abroad. swadesh (2004) is about shah rukh khan learning that he's needed in india to solve its problems and leaves a job at NASA.

these are incidental, anecdotal illustrations of the differences in narrative for these separate eras of cinema, but let me ground it economically and say that bollywood cinema seeks investments and profits from abroad as well as acclaim and viewership from domestic audiences, in a way that the bombay cinema before it did not, despite the success of shree 420 (1955) in the soviet union; there were outliers, there always have been.

there's also a lot to say about narrative and style in bombay cinema (incredibly diverse) and bollywood cinema (very specific use of hollywood continuity, intercut with musical sequences, also drawn from hollywood). essentially, the histories, political economies, and aesthetics of these cinemas are too differentiated to consider them the same. bombay cinema is further internally differentiated, and that's a different story altogether. look, i could write a monograph on this, but that would take time, so let me add some reading material that will elucidate this without sounding quite as fragmented.

bollywood and globalization: indian popular cinema, nation, and diaspora, rini bhattacharya mehta and rajeshwari v. pandharipande (eds)

ideology of the hindi film: a historical construction, madhav prasad

the 'bollywoodization' of the indian cinema: cultural nationalism in a global arena, ashish rajadhyaksha

the globalization of bollywood: an ethnography of non-elite audiences in india, shakuntala rao

indian film, erik barnouw and s. krishnaswamy (this one's a straight history of subcontinental cinema up to the 60s, nothing to do with bollywood, it's just important because the word bollywood never comes up in it despite the heavy focus on hindi films from bombay, illustrating my point)

[mt-oe]

𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡—modern mizu

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dears!

So sorry for not doing requests much! I'll be deployed into a hospital known for being super busy ;; I'd like to get my ideas out before I become buried with work again.

This one's inspired by my favorite artist. They recently followed me back here and I melted ///// Every time I see their art, I always get so giddy and happy. They honestly make my day <3

I'll link them here: @winnie-illustrator / ig: winnie_illustrator / twt: babydollproject

Specific art that inspired me is linked here: link <3

Also, I feel excited because I want to try incorporating my field into my writing too. It won't be completely accurate to give it a sense of readability and because that would be hell to write www

Hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, reader is older than mizu, autopsy, slight violence, reader thinks mizu is a man (pronouns used will be mostly he/him), implied afab reader

note: I am more than willing to take this down if the artist wants me to, especially if they are not comfy with reader inserts. I respect your decision, which ever it may be. I will still love your art regardless <3

Nothing but the soft sound of metal being placed on metal and the vent fans spinning resonated among the cold tiled walls. An occasional cracking sound from a rib being opened or the soft, slimy 'thud' sounds of organs being placed aside could be heard. The air smelled like decay, formalin, or xylene depending on which area you stood. An eerie atmosphere lingered with an unsettling feeling, enough to be suffocating. Even the lights flickered, making the grayish tiles appear colder. Scalpels, forceps, and saws lined up neatly on the counter, shiny and sterilized as opposed to mess of organs and body fluids you had on your tray.

This place looked gloomy, empty, lonely.

It doesn't matter. That was how a morgue was supposed to be.

You sighed as you removed your dirty gloves, the latex producing a loud crispy snap. It was bloody and probably covered with something else like bile or whatever was left of the decedent's last meal. Stains weren't allowed on your reports anymore. Don't know why. It wasn't like what you were writing was legal anyway. The head's son must have touched a shit stain while handing it to his daddy.

Removing your mask, you placed a cigarette between your red-painted lips before lighting it. The smell of burning tobacco filling up the room as you rolled the cigarette to get an even burn. Your hand picked up the pen and started writing out the autopsy report for the recent corpse, taking hits from your cigarette in between. You hated writing autopsy reports. It was a waste of time considering the lawlessness of this goddamn place.

No one cared if you died. They'd step over and desecrate your corpse.

Name: unknown Age: est. between 30-40 years old Length: 175cm Weight: 73.3kg General appearance: fair skin color, appears of good nutritional status Other findings: Livor: appearance of postmortem lividity most prominent on left side of the frontal region of the head, left hypochondriac region, and the epigastric region; decedent exhibiting tache noir Rigor: whole body exhibiting rigor mortis, rigor still easily resisted. -blood vessel dilation found on upper and lower mucosa of the eyelids -nails and fingertips exhibit cyanosis -irregular-shaped bruising found on the left occipital region measuring 6cm x 3cm -laceration measuring 3cm x 0..2cm located on the right infraorbital region -linear fracture on right parietal bone -depressed fracture on left occipital bone, depression measuring 4.7cm x 2.6cm -several linear abrasions located on the upper palate (palatine raphe) measuring between 1-3cm x 0.2cm -crush laceration resulting in rupture located on the right lobe of the liver -traumatic fracture of left ribs (7-10) and xiphoid process resulting in partial decimation of xiphoid process

'Poor man,' you thought as you drew out the location of the fractures and lacerations on the poorly printed out piece of paper.

No, you weren't taking pity on him. He was a fool that probably had mouths to feed and was tricked by the enemy into thinking that he could handle the life-threatening, high-risk-high-reward job of being a spy for the enemy organization. They must've gotten him so drunk on fantasies of amassing a fortune, getting high on drugs he can't even pronounce, and women hotter than his wife. This fucking idiot probably thought sneaking in and poisoning your subordinates was an easy job.

Now his wife would have to live wondering where her husband went off to.

With a few more words and one click of your pen, you finally finished writing the report. You'd have to culture and assay the samples from his body later for any substance or biological weapons that he might have left. Your back rested on the cushion of your seat, a hand over your eyes as you closed them. "Fuck.. finally," you groaned out before sitting back up again to grab another cigarette and lighting it up, allowing the sound of the vents to take over the room.

...

It was quiet here.

No one ever went to your morgue...laboratory..whatever. Dead bodies lined this place up, a new face everyday. If you're lucky, maybe a new one will roll in every hour. A gut-retching, unnerving feeling never left this place. A feeling that someone or something was always watching you would linger; and somehow, to you, it was the most peaceful feeling. Like a tiny cove hidden amongst the mess where all you had to do was open people up like a treasure box, get a bunch of samples to perform tests on, then sew them shut.

It was your haven. Your little territory. No one wanted to go here.

...

...

...

"Impressive. I take it you're done?"

Well except for this little shit.

It was that blue eyed demon that had somehow made a name for himself allover the scene. An assassin who steps into the scene wielding only a blue katana. The only person who was crazy enough to bring a knife to a gun fight. His eyes striking terror to who anyone who saw them. Even your allies had chills running down their spines whenever they saw him.

Rumors quickly spread about how he took down a whole unit on his own. Stepping straight into enemy territory alone only with pure seething rage behind his sharp eyes, coming out covered in the blood of his own enemies. They say he only joined to kill the don of four particular groups. His presence screamed anger and bloodlust.

An onryo.

That's what they called him.

Despite only having graduated from training, he currently possesses the highest body count in the whole organization—and we're not talking about sex.

And luckily or unluckily, you had the privilege of instructing him when he was still a trainee. You had no intention of teaching anyone, your plate was full as it was. But one faithful day, he appeared in front of your morgue. His presence undetectable until he was right in front of you, sending chills down your spine.

Your eyes met blue, staring at it with a deadeye stare, not even bothering to hide the irritation you held. The blood in your veins was running cold, the tips of your fingers tingling from how nervous you had become. You accidentally left your revolver in your laboratory which was now blocked by this stranger.

'How the hell?' you asked yourself in thought, eyes breaking contact to glance around the hallway.

It was a simple hallway with only two doors on either side, one leading to your office and the other back to the lobby. There were no windows, no cubbies, no anything. Absolutely nowhere to hide. And yet somehow, you couldn't even detect his presence.

Sound always echoed around the gray tiles, capturing any sound no matter how quiet. Even the soft pitter-patter of water dripping from the ceiling echoed like a drum within this hall. However, no sound nor sign of footsteps could be heard. He was like the wind, suddenly appearing before you.

Your eyes went back to him, stare turning into a glare. Every part of your body was silently screaming at you to run, telling you that this person was dangerous. That one wrong move would kill you. "What the hell do you want?" you seethed out, eyes watching for any sign of aggression. Even with your vigilance, you couldn't win this without a gun.

No.

Even with a gun, something in your gut was telling you that you wouldn't win.

His cold emotionless eyes continued to watch over you before his hands reached into his pocket, pulling out a picture taken using a polaroid camera. It was a picture of a recent autopsy you performed, corpse laying on the cold metal table, all stitched up. "How did you obtain this..?"

The decedent was an instructor known for being cruel to trainees. Everyone knew of his behavior but he was too influential within the organization to get rid off. Until one day, his body was rolled into your laboratory, multiple lacerations over the body, a few missing teeth, signs of struggle evident. No one knew who killed him. Too many people held a grudge with him to be traceable. It didn't matter, it wasn't your job to find out anyway.

"This..cut," he started, voice husky as his finger pointed to the picture, clearly referring to the cut you had made on the corpse. "Its clean. Exquisite. Clearly made by someone skilled." He looked up at you, eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. "Its you."

A clear look of confusion painted over your face. This boy sneaked up on you because of a cut?

You took a look at the picture again and rolled your eyes. "A y-shaped cut. Every examiner and coroner in this world knows how to do one. So what?" you groaned. The blue eyed man seems intrigued by your answer, eyes glancing around in thought. As you moved over to the side to head towards your laboratory, the man stepped back and blocked your way again, making you let out an exasperated sigh.

"Teach me," he said, handing you the picture. "Or at least show me how you made that cut."

Another exasperated sigh escaped your lips as you glared at him, hands shoving the picture back to him. "No. Get out," you scowled. No matter how oddly unnerving this man's presence was, there was no way you'd waste your time taking in a trainee. Your hands shoved him away from the door before going to the handle.

Before you could twist the doorknob, his hand immediately gripped your wrist. "I'm not leaving until you agree," he said, pulling your wrist to keep yours hands off of the knob. The look in his eyes told you that he was serious. God, this man was stubborn.

Your eyebrows scrunched together in annoyance as you pulled your wrist away from his grip, crossing your arms. "Then make it worth my time. What do I get for teaching you?" you asked, raising a brow at him inquisitively.

His gaze shifted around the hall in thought before landing on you. "I'll tell you who killed this man," he replied, showing you the picture yet again. Your eyes softened for a moment before glaring at him again. "As if I care. My job is to provide evidence, not convict someone."

No, maybe you did care...or was it because you already knew who.

The man let out an audible huff before looking around again. Now his vision was focused on you. Looking over your features, observing every detail of your clothes and body. Anything to convince you, to force you. "You're missing a gun, aren't you?"

Your eyes widened slightly, the unsettling feeling returning to your throat. "And why would I tell you?" you said cautiously. He chuckled darkly before looking over you once more. "A model 57, am I right?" he asked, slowly approaching you with soundless footsteps.

As he approached you, you took a cautious step back, following his steps. Something was telling you that he was not so keen on negotiating anymore. Soon enough, your back collided with the wall, effectively trapping you between the tiles and his body. There was no use struggling. Both were equally immovable.

Rough calloused hands lifted your chin up, forcing you to stare at his face. His thumb running across your lips, smudging the red lipstick against your chin, staring at it before his gaze went back to your eyes.

He was reading you, observing the fear as it ran through your body. Once again, he took out the polaroid picture and showed it to you, now with a sense of satisfaction as he felt your breath. "You're not an idiot. You probably know who killed him," he said in a low tone. The look in his eyes hungry as if he was a predator hunting and you were the prey.

You gulped and turned your head away the best you could with his hand still holding your chin. Your actions neither confirming nor denying his statement. Numerous large lacerations, clearly made by a sharp object. The cuts were clean too. It wasn't hard to figure it out. At least not to you.

He chuckled at your stubbornness, knowing full well that he had trapped you. "Now," he proceeded, pressing your body further against his as he loomed over you. "Teach me." His hand slowly slid the picture into the breast pocket of your lab coat, fingers tracing the stitches carefully and tenderly. The threat sent chills down your spine. Your body was telling you to run, to scream at least. You were trapped between a wall and a killer.

"Fucking shit...Fine!" Your eyebrows scrunching together at the feeling of being defenseless. The threat of losing your life wasn't what bothered you the most. It was the fact that this cocky trainee waltzed into your spaces, wasting your time and disturbing your peace; and yet, you felt utterly helpless under him.

It was unnerving. It pissed you off.

Finally, he lets you go, face emotionless but his blue eyes told you that he was more than satisfied. Clicking your tongue in annoyance, you opened the door to your morgue before craning your head to glare at him. "Oh and never touch me again."

But this bastard never got lost. In fact, he came back every single day. At first he had the decency to wait for you to get back whenever you went out to submit your reports, standing in front of the door like a good little boy. Now he just waltzes in like he owned the place.

Sometimes he'd just sit around and watch, the blue in his eyes shining particularly whenever you cut up a corpse that died from something peculiar. Sometimes he'd dirty up the place, walking in after a mission, covered in blood and smearing it allover the chairs and tables. Most of the time, he'd walk in just to annoy the shit out of you, moving around the reagents and inspecting them. Like what he was doing right now.

"Didn't I just replace the lock?" you asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a long drag out of your cigarette. His hand reached into his pocket before presenting to you a bent up hairpin. This little shit picked the lock again. "You did," he affirmed, voice sounding a bit smug.

His footsteps echoed around the room as he approached you, sitting down right next to you on the smooth varnished wood of your desk. "You should consider having cameras in this place," he commented, tilting his head to look around as if he hadn't for the past years.

You rolled your eyes at his suggestion, exhaling the smoke through your nostrils in a deep huff. "Oh please, as if you won't find a way to break them and sneak in. You'd carve a hole on the ceiling if you had to."

He hummed in agreement, eyes closing while he nodded. For a moment, silence once again enveloped the place. His eyes looked over to the cigarette you were holding, blue orbs eyeing the red lipstick on the filter, gaze lingering on it in particular. "Did you like the corpse I gave you?" he asked, taking the autopsy report from your desk and reading it.

"You could've gone easier on the man," you replied, tapping your cigarette on the ash tray and snatching the report back from him. "Really. Blunt force trauma? What did you use? The back of a gun?" you chuckled, scanning over the report as well. "Just when they've handed us a new batch of rifles, you just had to use it like a machete."

The shrug he gave you was more than enough to affirm your suspicions. Raising an eyebrow at him, you put your half-finished cigarette out on the ash tray before walking over to the corpse, putting on a new pair of gloves, and zipping up the body bag. "A ruptured liver too," you sighed, bringing the tissue samples you took to another table and placing them in formalin.

"He deserves it," he replied nonchalantly, taking the lighter from your desk and standing up, striding over to where you were. Snaking his arms around your hips, he peered over your shoulder. Your body went rigid as you tensed up from the contact. Suddenly, the feeling of something firm being pressed against his shoulder made him step back a bit. His eyes trailed down to see the barrel of a revolver pointed at his shoulder.

Your eyes narrowed at him, warning him to back off. A clicking sound could be heard as you turned to face him, jaw clenched. "Touch me again and I will shoot," you warned, vexed expression evident. His gaze switched over to your gun then to his shoulder before he took another step towards you. It seems that your threat was ineffective towards him.

"Go ahead," he replied, pressing the barrel of the revolver against his shoulder before placing his hands on both your sides, resting it on the cool metal. "At least aim at a vital organ. A hit on the shoulder is easy to fix." Sharp blue eyes staring at your lips once again. The red on your lips fascinating him. It was like he was hypnotized.

You rolled your eyes at him, eyebrows knitting together as you realized that your threat was not working at all. "Oh and maybe I should remind you that I'm the only doctor here," you snarled sarcastically. He laughed softly, tilting his head down to look at you. "Aren't you a pathologist?"

"Exactly. So back off unless you want to be the next thing I cut open," you threatened but it was no use. The man in front of you stayed unmoving with his eyes fixated on your lips.

The more he stared, the more he pressed his body against you. Yet somehow, you couldn't bring yourself to pull the trigger. Instead, you raised a knee up before swinging it towards his crotch. However, upon impact, your eyes widened in realization. You stared at him dumbfounded, lips parting as you finally spoke...

"You're a woman."

At your statement, her gaze hardened, jaw clenching in sudden aggravation. Suddenly, her hands grasped your wrist, pinning you down on the table as she loomed over you. Your revolver now on the floor with loud clack, a heavy foot over it. Her eyebrows scrunching together in an irked expression. "Speak of this to anyone. I'll kill you," she threatened, face moving closer towards yours.

You couldn't believe it. All this time, the blue eyed demon was a woman all along. He who brought fear into his enemies, leaving them either dead or permanently incapacitated, was not a he. The little shit bothering you and messing around with the stuff in your laboratory was a woman.

The lack of reply irked her even more, her glare now directed towards your lips. Fuck. Maybe if she wasn't so distracted by your lipstick, she would have seen this coming. The longer she stared, the more her body grew hot either from infuriation or from something else.

Suddenly, her hand entangled itself within the locks of hair at the back of your head, pulling on it and smashing her lips against yours. Your lips opened slightly from surprise and she took the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth. Her tongue explored the cavern of your mouth, not caring if you returned the kiss or not.

Your body trembled under hers, breathing becoming shakier as the kiss continued. A small groan escaped your lips at the feeling of her hand pulling on your hair tighter. Eventually, you allowed your tongue to move with her's, dancing together with your groans and soft mewls as the melody.

A thin string of saliva connecting your lips together upon pulling away. Your red lipstick smudged over your cheek and allover her lips. You could see her chest rising and falling as she panted through her nose.

"Fine...I won't," you breathed out, looking away to hide the warmth crawling up to your cheeks. The heat of the atmosphere taking all the snarky remarks out of your mouth. Her gaze softened before she leaned down, placing a trail of kisses from your lips down to your collarbone. She lifted her head up once again and let your wrists go, helping you up.

Before you could speak, she slipped her hand into your breast pocket and took out the carton of cigarettes, taking one out and placing it between your lipstick-smudged lips. Reaching into her pocket, she took the lighter she picked up from your desk out and flipped it open, lighting the cigarette for you.

Her blue eyes scanned over your figure before chuckling, all the anger she had earlier completely gone. "I know you won't" she whispered with a sense of sincerity. "I'll leave."

You watched as she headed towards the door, footsteps quiet and quick. Upon reaching the door way, she turned towards you with a slight smirk.

"Mizu," she said suddenly.

"H-Huh?"

"That's my name, so don't forget." She turned back around and left. The sound of the door closing echoing around the morgue. Your eyes stared at the door, stupefied from the turn of events. Your fingers slowly touched your lips, tracing where she had placed hers.

There was no way you'd forget it.

She'd come back every day to remind you of it.

[kathanglangit]

The First Blade: Balaraw - Winged Dagger

I realize I haven't been explicit about it on here yet (mostly because I'm not the best at keeping all my social media profiles up to date), but I am involved in the development of a Tabletop Roleplaying Game It's called Gubat Banwa- a TTRPG based around tactical grid combat, contemplative war drama, and high-flying martial arts, all of which taking place in an unapologetically Southeast Asian-inspired fantasy setting, developed by @makapatag with art direction by @villain-returns. Initially I developed the script that is used in the gamebook and diegetically in the setting- called Kasuratan- but I'll talk about that elsewhere.

With the Kickstarter launch imminent, I thought I'd do a bunch of Twitter X threads on a bunch of weapons I've drawn for the game counting down the final week before the launch. Then I thought: "Why aren't I posting these on tumblr also, at least I wouldn't lose my mind over character counts over here"- so here we are. These were supposed to be posted as Swordtember drawings, but then the KS launch got moved to October. Most of these blades are of Philippine make, since that is where my knowledge-base is and what I'm comfortable enough to share knowledge about. I thought it'd be nice to share a bit of blade knowledge from some of the cultures that inspired the setting. Without further ado, let us begin with the BALARAW.

Also known as a "winged dagger", it is characterized by its unique shape, consisting of a short leaf-shaped blade driven with the tang out into a hilt with two distinct protrusions, creating three prongs on the back with the tang included.

(Photos from an exhibit at The Met)

They may be held at the hilt like a regular knife, or they may be held in a manner not too dissimilar from how our neighbors in Southeast Asia hold keris. One may imagine it like a "push dagger" for lack of other reference points. It might be likened to the katar as well, in some sense.

(Sketches by the Gubat Banwa Art Director himself) Nowadays, the blade is frequently attributed to the People of the Upstream- the Mandaya group of peoples- though they would have seen much wider use in their day, likely also spanning across what is now the Visayas region of the Philippines.

(Modern rendition by Panday Keiven Tolentino of Itak Mindoro, Photo by Ramon H. Bathan) Something I've noticed from looking at Philippine blades all the time is that symmetrical, double-edged blades like these are rare, here. Blades that lend themselves more to stabbing than anything else aren't very prevalent either, and blades that do not- at first glance- appear to be made with tool use/foliage clearing/farmwork in mind don't make up the majority of specimens. The balaraw is unique in several different respects, and any self-respecting warrior Kadungganan of Gubat Banwa's Sword Isles would do well to mind its bite. The weapon makes an appearance in Gubat Banwa in the hands of the Beast Hunter- one of the many Disciplines ("character classes") whose techniques your character can learn in-game.

The Gubat Banwa Kickstarter launches in 7 days! Check it out here:

We'd appreciate any and all help in getting the word out. Support an independent TTRPG made by a team from the global south, looking to make waves through a fantasy setting where the Southeast Asian inspirations takes center stage!

[annawayne]

Regarding your last anon ask about your career, what job would you like to do if you were able to enter the art industry?

Hello, Meli, and, oh! Thank you a lot for asking! 🖤

For a long time, I wanted to have a career of an artist & writer, as in creating various conceptual arts, design, and as for writing - publishing book. I had some experience working as a graphic designer, and it wasn't that bad - yes, also quite far away from my artistic taste, but it was at least something close to what I admire.

However, as time goes, I understand that "simply" creating is not enough for me. The "scientific", "researcher" and "conceptual" layer of art is something that lives deeply in me. I understand that working as graphic designer or working on conceptiual arts is not enough for me, but what is so appealing to me is creating complex projects, from A to Z, both drawing, writing, and then, exploring the particular topics with reference to all knowledge I have. This is it.

By complex projects I mean something like making the excessive research on particular topic, and then, present it in a form of the written book with illustrations. Basically, this is who I am, to be honest - "scientific"/researcher approach + creativity (work with visual concept and text).

I already have various ideas of something like this - for example, make a huge expedition over Ukraine, my country, and save all the folklore songs and embroidery which is left, and then, creating the huge book with illustrations, text, explaining and presenting the different aspects of particular regions through the urbanistic & cultural & folklore aspects of each region with historical canvas - nothing goes unnoticed, and the history and culture always develop with people and events around them. To make it more engaging - illustration; more spectacular and not boring - writing a story about it, that would lead through centuries and the country. Make it vivid, breathing, alive and modern.

This is, you know, like an example of what I mean by "conceptual project", where the research, my knowledge about art, history, folklore, linguistics and anthropology blend with my creative side in illustrations and literature.

For me, saving, developing and promoting the culture and art, is my passion.

As for Ukraine, it's an essential need to save our culture which is destroyed every day. Some of the things we already lost forever - and that's why it's so important for me to save it. We already lost so much, something and someone. My hometown is occupied for 10 years now, and it's almost nothing left of its history. Even if you Google it, you won't find the photos before 2014. You won't be able to find almost anything about the Ukrainian roots and rich history of this incredible region. And saving all the remnants, it's not only important to me, it's important to declare to the whole world - we existed, exist and will exist, no matter what.

(but of course, I would love to make it not only about Ukraine, it's just great example on explaining why it's important to me)

I still remember how people saved from the fire during the full-scaled invasion of Ukraine the paintings of Maria Prymachenko - one of the most known and vivid folk artists who worked in naïve art style, one of the best in this field, artist, whose works were noticed by Picasso who said, after visiting a Prymachenko exhibition in Paris in 1937, "I bow down before the artistic miracle of this brilliant Ukrainian". The museum after constant attacks was on fire, 25 paintings were lost, but local people just went into the fire and saved what was left with their bare hands under constant attacks - 10 paintings.

Maybe, I'm the same like these people - would enter the fire if it means to save art, and then, showing it to the world.

So... Yeah, this is it!

Thank you a lot for asking, and I apologise for the long-read... I hope I didn't bore you...

Thank you a lot, and wish you all the best🫂

[er1chartmann]

Joseph Goebbels's time line

This is Joseph Goebbels,The Nazi minister for Propaganda, time-line:

1897: He was born in Rheydt

1900: His father bought a house at number 140 Dahlener Street, in Rheydt, today number 156.

1909: His sister, named Maria, was born.

1917: He moved to 18 Post Straße in Bonn to continue his studies

1919: He voted for the German Nationalist Party

1919: He moved to Munich.

1920: He moved to Heidelberg University, where he studied under the aegis of two Jewish professors, Friedrich Gundolf, professor of literary history, and Max von Waldberg, author of numerous books on the history of literature.

1922: He worked briefly as an art critic for a newspaper, but was fired; he later gave a public lecture on Oswald Spengler.

1922: He subsequently found work at the Dresdner bank in Cologne, thanks to the family relationships of his girlfriend, Else Janke, of Jewish origins. He remained there for nine months, only to be fired.

1924: He began writing his diaries.

1924: He organized the first political meetings in his father's house in Rheydt

1924: He published his first article in a weekly political magazine

1925: On January 20, 1925, he was fired from the magazine Völkische Freiheit and subsequently became Gregor Strasser's secretary.

1925: He was at the forefront, alongside Strasser, in supporting the campaign for the expropriation of the assets of the fallen nobles, proposed by the communist and social democratic deputies.

1926: on 29 March 1926 Hitler offered Goebbels the opportunity to speak in public, the following 8 April; Goebbels accepted and, from then on, was completely won over by the Führer.

1926: He officially broke with Strasser and definitively switched to Hitler's side.

1926: Hitler appointed Goebbels Gauleiter (regional section head) of Berlin.

1928: He was elected deputy to the Reichstag

1931: He married Magda, the ex-wife of an industrialist, on the estate of Günther Quandt in Mecklenburg: Hitler was his best man.

1932: His first child, named Helga, was born.

1933: Goebbels was called to the position of Minister of Propaganda.

1933: He organized the so-called ''Book Burnings'' in Berlin.

1934: His second child, named Hildegard, was born.

1935: His third child and only son, Helmut, was born.

1936: He became the lover of the Czechoslovakian actress Lída Baarová.

1937: His fourth child, named Holdine, was born

1937: He opened the exhibition of the so-called ''degenerate art'': no ​​entry fee was required, to ensure that it was visited by as many people as possible.

1938: He helped organize Kristallnacht

1938: His fifth child, named Hedwig, was born.

1939: The Second World War began

1939: He visited Poland and in particular a ghetto.

1940: His sixth child, named Heidrun, was born

1940: He became editor of Das Reich.

1941: He read the declaration of war regarding the invasion of the Soviet Union.

1941: He began to take an active interest in the Jewish question. With Hitler's permission, he created a ''special mark for the Jews''

1943: He made the speech of total war.

1945: He was named plenipotentiary minister for total war mobilization and later general of the Wehrmacht, in charge of the defense of Berlin, this assignment meant a lot to Goebbels, who was unable to join the army during WW1 due to his disability

1945: From 22 to 29 April, He published the last Nazi newspaper in history, the Panzerbär.

1945: Hitler, in his last wishes, named him his successor as Reich Chancellor.

1945: Once Hitler died, Goebbels took over from him as chancellor on 30 April 1945, remaining in office for only almost a day and a half.

1945: He and his wife Magda, after having killed their six children with cyanide, they committed suicide.

Sources:

Wikipedia: Joseph Goebbels

Hitler and his loyalists: Paul Roland

Joseph Goebbels, the agitator: Documentary

If you don't like it go with your life :))

Note: If I get new information from my research I will edit the post :))

I DON'T SUPPORT NAZISM, FASCISM OR ZIONISM IN ANY WAY, THIS IS AN EDUCATIONAL POST

[writingwhimsey]

Hiya dear!

I saw your Smut is In the Air! event and I physically could not restrain myself for this.

“I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips.” with Theo and a moderate spice level! Like, a 3/5 on the spice?

I might actually (not) die on the spot from happiness from this so.

🥰

Thank you so much for the request! I am happy to hear you were excited by this event and I do hope you enjoy it. Turned out a bit fluffy as well as spicy.

Smut Is In The Air Event

Suitor: ikevamp Theodorus

Prompt: "I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips."

NSFW 18+ content below (not super explicit but very spicy)

Work of Art

I sat at the vanity in my room, getting ready for the art exhibition I would be attending with Theo. I sighed as I picked up the various makeup items Comte had purchased for me. I had asked him if he could find me something that was guaranteed to cover up anything. Of course, when I had asked him this I had had a giant hickey on the side of my neck, courtesy of my lover, Theo.

Naturally, Comte assumed that the hickey was why I wanted some kind of concealer..which with how frequently he gave them to me, it wasn’t a bad assumption really. But that wasn’t the only thing. There was the occasional pimple that popped up, but what I really wanted to hide were my freckles.

I had a small smattering of them on my face from being in the sun. Many more along my shoulders and others scattered various other places of my body. Though I knew it was somewhat silly…I couldn’t help but to be a bit self conscious about them. Depending on the beauty trends of the time and region…well they could actually be considered fashionable… or other places and times they were considered a blemish, an imperfection.

I sighed as I slathered on the makeup, careful not to get any on my dress. Thankfully I wasn’t going to be exposing my shoulders so there was no need to worry about those freckles. Just the ones on my face and the few that dotted my chest.

Once I had finished, I inspected my reflection, making sure that I had them all covered. I wanted to look my best at the exhibition tonight. I was going to be by Theo’s side after all and I wanted everyone that supported him to see he had a good partner. That meant presenting myself in the best possible way.

Once I had finished getting ready, I headed down the stairs to meet Theo. “You took a long time, Hondje.” Theo said as I descended the stairs.

I smiled at him. “It just took me a second longer to figure out my new makeup.” I answered.

Theo took my hand. “We better not be late. This is a big night for Broer and the other artists.”

“I know.” I replied.

We exited the mansion and headed out to the carriage. Once we were sitting down inside, Theo looked over at me, his blue eyes taking in my appearance. “Something seems different…” He said.

I shrugged. Though I knew. “Just a higher quality makeup…”

Theo moved in closer, his expert artistic gaze appraising me up close. “Your makeup is too thick, Hondje.”

“It’s not that much.” I replied.

Theo was then reaching into his pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. “I can’t see your cute little freckles.” He said, lifting the handkerchief to my face.

I grabbed his hand to stop him. “That’s the point…and they’re not cute…”

Theo’s eyes went wide. “Hondje…why would you…why do you think that?”

I shrugged. “I just…I’ve never thought…and well, growing up the other kids made fun of me…”

Theo for all his teasing nature, listened to me with the utmost sincerity. “Hondje… not everyone has the artistic eye to appreciate true art.”

I blinked at him, surprised by his words. He could be a terrible tease…but when he was kind he was unbearably so. “Art?”

“Yes.” Theodorus replied. “Now, I need to wipe off this makeup off.”

“Why though?” I asked.

“I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips.” Theo answered. “I can’t do that if they are hidden beneath all of this makeup.”

I didn’t stop Theo’s hand as he brought the handkerchief to wipe the makeup from my face. His movements were so gentle as he did so. As soon as he cleaned off a section, he was leaning in to place kisses on the freckles he exposed. Starting with my cheeks and my nose…the ones across my forehead.

“Better already.” Theo murmured as he continued to pepper kisses over my face. His lis were soon trailing down to the side of my neck. “Can’t forget this one.”

I felt my heart pick up its pace as his breath tickled my skin.

I felt Theo’s fingertip trail to the neckline of my dress, sliding my sleeve wider and began to kiss along my shoulder. “Mustn’t forget these either. They are some of my favorites.”

I let out a gasp at the touch of his lips to my tender flesh. “Hmm….Theo…” I half moaned, half whined.

“Mmm…and I must get these too.” He said, kissing along my collarbone and moving to the other side to kiss the freckles on my other shoulder.

“Mmm…Theo…you’re not playing fair…”

“I never claimed to.” Theo replied. He was then taking my hand and lifting my arm, removing my gloves before kissing the freckles that dotted my arms in places. “I love every single one of these freckles.”

“I just…don’t understand why…” I found myself saying.

“Because they are part of you.” Theo answered. “And I love every part of you.”

I melted right on the spot, completely becoming putty in his capable hands as he held me close, his lips still touching my my freckles. “Theo…”

“I plan to make you love them as much as I do.” Theo said, moving so that he was kneeling down on the floor of the carriage in front of me. He reached for my leg, lifting my skirts and then pulling down my thigh high stockings, revealing my leg to him. “I can’t miss these either.” He leaned in, kissing a freckle that was on my ankle, finding another on my calf, two more on my knee, another on my thigh.

My legs began to tremble as electric thrills of pleasure began to flow through my body from every point Theo’s lips touched.

Theo was then going to my other leg, starting with a freckle that was on the top of my foot, another at my ankle, three on my calf, and four on my thigh. “Hmm, you’re starting to think naughty thoughts, Hondje.”

“H-how can I not?” I asked, looking down to where his head was currently between my thighs, kissing the freckles along the inner thigh. “I mean…look at where you are…” My face was beginning to flush.

Theo grinned at me. “I know that there is another freckle between your breasts that I adore.” He said. “And a few on your tummy.”

“Th-Theo…w-we will…be there soon.” I said.

Theo grinned. “There’s enough time to enjoy some things.” He said, before bringing his lips to my inner thigh once again and a moment later I felt him moving removing my panties before I felt his lips and tongue where I wanted them most.

I brought my hand to my mouth, biting my knuckles to keep my moans from getting too loud and alerting the carriage driver as to what we were doing. I just hoped I could be composed and put back together by the time we reached the exhibition.

Taglist (I remembered on the initial post this time!)

@zulablaise @kisara-16 @otomewonderland5 @tele86

[paganimagevault]

Scythian horse frontlet with serpent woman (Echidna?) from the Tsimbalka kurgan 4th C. BCE. Possibly of Greek manufacture for a Scythian buyer.

"The origin of the Scythians remains enigmatic and since antiquity has been the subject of varied and sometimes contradictory interpretations. Thus, Herodotus gives three different accounts of early Scythian history, which were partly illustrated in so-called "Greco-Scythian' decorative art. First, according to Greek tradition, 'Heracles, driving the cattle of Geryones, came to this land, which was then desert, but is now inhabited by the Scythians'; 'there he found in a cave a creature of double form that was half damsel and half serpent', with whom he had intercourse; 'from Scythes son of Heracles comes the whole line of the kings of Scythia'. Second, the Scythians themselves maintained 'that their nation is the youngest in all the world, and that it came into being in this wise. There appeared in this country, being then desert, a man whose name was Targitaus. His parents, they say - for my part I do not believe this tale, but it is told - were Zeus and a daughter of the river Borysthenes' (the modern Dnieper); 'he had three sons, Lipoxais, Arpoxais, and Colaxais, youngest of the three'; 'Lipoxais, it is said, was the father of the Scythian clan called Auchatae; Arpoxais, the second brother, of those called Katiari and Traspians; the youngest, who was king, of those called Paralatae.' The third story, to which Herodotus in common with modern scholars gives the greatest credence, is that the Scythians moved from Asia into Europe by way of the great steppe corridor. A generally similar account was given in the first century BC by the Greek historian Diodorus Siculus, namely that at first the Scythians lived along the Araxes river but later migrated to the foot of the Caucasus and the northern Black Sea region, and ultimately 'extended their power as far as the Nile in Egypt'."

-Scythians warriors of ancient Siberia - The BP exhibition - The British Museum, pg 23

[ghost-in-the-corner]

I just finished the Magnus Archives for the first time, and I'm just gonna get my thoughts out

When I started the podcast back in June, I was beginning a solo art installation based on botanical studies. When I say beginning, I mean I had just received the funding for it.

I'm a photographer first and foremost, but I also dabble in painting and creative nonfiction. What I did for the exhibition was take photos of plants in a region that had never been studied from a floral perspective before. I also gathered water from local sources to paint the landscapes, and wrote small prose pieces to go along with it.

The areas I went to for this project were very deep within the mountains. So remote, in fact, that the only person I'd see for days on end was the botanist I was working with.

As I write, that exhibition is being taken down. The finished pieces are being placed into storage by my funder after being shown for the past 2 months. I only found out about its ending last night, as I now live in the UK.

I'm writing all this because of the strange coincidence that my exhibition was ended prematurely right as I finish the podcast that got me through it. It's emotional, thinking about how I listened to Angler Fish as I was beginning my preliminary sketches, but I just finished Last Words editing a photo for a completely different project.

The Magnus Archives is, frankly, a lot to chew on. A good bit of food, mind you, but a lot. As someone studying to work in film theory (yes, I do too much, no, I don't sleep, no, I will not stop) it's rare to find any piece of media that is so deeply complex, yet is far more original than most other things today.

I could go on about so many different parts of the podcast. The moral implications of the actions and beliefs of the Archivist. The utilization of experiential creativity to draft a powerful, distinct narrative. The use of the medium to utilize the audience's imagination and force them to project their own experiences onto this concept. The debate over who may have truly had a choice and who had everything determined for them. I'll probably write more about this stuff in the future, and I haven't even begun to think about all the goofy stuff I could say.

The ending of my exhibition itself was rather unsatisfying for a number of reasons. But the ending of the Magnus Archives was anything but. That podcast was a masterfully crafted, uniquely original, and deeply thought-provoking narrative. I, frankly, don't have many words at the moment, and I believe it would be a disservice to my experience of the podcast to try and force anything beyond this out.

So, yeah. The Magnus Archives was phenomenal. This is not the last rant you'll be hearing from me about it.

[room-of-roses]

My Museums Trip (Philippine National Museums)

 I still remember my experience before with my best internet friend, we visited the three museums in a day. The first museum that we looked around was the museum of fine arts. The most iconic art in this room was the Spoliarium painted by Juan Luna. It was so huge that it is impossible that you will not see it if you visit the building. We just walked around up to the top of the museum and gained some knowledge. I was so amazed because there was a gallery for different artists to show their unique arts.

 The next museum that we explored was the national museum of anthropology. Here we saw different kinds of archeological exhibits and cultural art products of different regions in the Philippines. And then we get so tired walking and roaming the national museums, so we ate street foods outside the museum of anthropology and after my friend think of going home early because she lived in Bulacan. But I insisted that why not we just go to the last national museum in Manila which is the museum of natural history. She agreed.

Then we started walking and went to the said museum. This was my favorite museum among the three because of the iconic infrastructure that you can see when you go inside. I can’t help but to look up and admire how they made the design. It was the elevator of the building; it was amazing because the first building was at the top and the last was at the bottom. It was unexpected unlike the two museums. This museum was all about animals and the natural history of our country. Here you can see the body of Lolong, the largest crocodile in our history. Also, the green bone of the big dinosaur was located on the last floor of the museum.

So, if you would asked me if I enjoyed my experience and would go back to those museums, I would say yes. because it is not just, I will learn something about those work of art of those talented artists, it is about the memories I created with someone I can go to museums.

Rose Ann I. Resco

BSBA-MM/ 3rd Year

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Ready To Hope

1200 Words for 1200 Followers #2

A/N: Hi friends! Welcome to the 12-A-Palooza! This event is my way of saying thank you for sticking with me. Your support and kindness toward me and my writing is out of this world and I’m grateful for every last one of you! Rolling right along with the second piece - which is set in the same AU as Every Color Illuminates. This “color soulmates” trope has been really fun to play with, so it might be pretty easy to convince me to write more for them ;) 

Warnings: Talk of past relationships, Teresa makes a tiny cameo 

Requested by: @alraedesigns - Song: Shake It Out - Character Choice: Marcus Pike (Thank you so much for sending this, Alex! I know you love this sweet cinnamon roll man, so I hope you enjoy the continuation of this AU! 💚) 

Summary: When Marcus contacts a renowned Art Gallery in hopes that a Color Ambassador can help him with some details for a case, he’s reminded of the fact that asking for help to see color hasn’t always worked out for him in the past. This time, though, things will be different. 

“This might be a shot in the dark, but-” Marcus clamped his phone between his ear and shoulder so that he had both hands free to pay the coffee vendor. Mouthing a ‘thank you’ to the man, he took his beverage, dropping his change in the tip jar. “You don’t have a Graysight CA who can walk me through the exhibit, do you?”

He held his breath and readjusted the phone, gripping it with his right hand. I hope she says y-

“We do.” Michelle, the director of the National Gallery of Art responded. “Actually, our best Color Ambassador sees in Graysight. And you’re in luck, Agent Pike, because she’s here today.”

Marcus released his held breath in a relieved sigh, lips lifting into a smile. Amazing. “That’s great.”

Admitting that he - the regional head of the FBI’s Art Crimes division - needed a CA always gave Marcus a hint of anxiety. It wasn’t because he was embarrassed that he hadn’t found his match yet. It was because he knew that people made assumptions about him based on his position, and that sometimes when they found out that he couldn’t see in color, their assumptions turned to doubt in his ability to do his job. But here was a fellow professional within the art community telling him that the best person for the task at hand was someone just like him.

Clearing his throat, Marcus tilted his left hand, careful not to spill his coffee, so he could read the time on his wristwatch. It was just after 11. No time like the present, right? “Would it be too much trouble to meet with them this morning? I can be there in half an hour.”

“Of course not, Agent, anything we can do to help. There’s a group tour finishing with that section of the Gallery now, but once they’re done I’ll rope off the wing so that you won’t be disturbed while you’re here.”

She excused herself then, telling him that she needed to go speak with the CA who would be guiding him. Marcus thanked her and hung up the phone, sliding it into his jacket pocket. He let out another sigh, this one heftier and more satisfying as it left his lungs.

Finally, a break in this case that goes my way.

Heading away from the coffee cart and toward where his car was parked, he tried to keep the next thought from materializing. He failed.

It’s not just this case that I haven’t caught a break in. It’s been… everything.

Though it had been nearly eight months since he’d left Texas, the way things ended between him and Teresa still stung when he thought about it. The sting was made worse by the fact that if their roles were swapped, she wouldn’t need a CA to assist on the case, because she had matched and had lived with color for years.

Jane had been the one to let the spectrum into her life. It had given Marcus pause at first, when she told him. But Teresa had insisted that it was simply because they were such good friends - that they connected on a level that was purely platonic. Hers hadn’t been one of those sudden, blinding explosions of color that some people experienced, but a steady glow as she got to know the man. That, along with the fact that Jane had been able to see color before meeting Teresa - his match had been his first wife - had been enough to convince Marcus that a serious relationship with her was possible.

Not everyone matched with their partner. He knew that. It didn’t mean a relationship was doomed.  

There were other signs though. He frowned as he sipped his coffee. Other things I ignored.

Like the time he asked Teresa to describe the colors of a sunset they watched together . “I don’t know, Marcus.” She looked at him as if he’d asked her to solve a complex mathematical equation instead of helping him to understand the world around him. “It’s orange.”

“Yeah,” he’d said, one arm wrapped around her to bring her closer to his side, his lips landing near her temple. “But what does that mean? What does it make you feel?”

She’d only stared at him, shaking her head. “Warm, I guess? I don’t know, I can’t explain it. Hopefully someday you’ll be able to see for yourself.”

That had been the end of that conversation. Marcus never tried to get her to describe colors to him again. He told himself that he didn’t want to put her on the spot. But if he was being honest, it was because he didn’t want to think about what it meant that she wasn’t even willing to try.

But I can’t think about that right now. I need to… Need to think about this case. And I need to let go of what happened in Texas if I want to have any hope of finding something real.

Reaching his car, he got in and entered the address of the Gallery into his GPS. The automated voice and the gray arrow on the screen helped him concentrate, and before long he was pulling into the visitor parking lot.

Alright, Pike. He took a long swig of his coffee to drain it, setting the empty cup - one that he was told was brown with green stripes but only saw as light gray with darker gray lines - into the holder in the center console. Time to focus.

As promised, Michelle had roped off the Rothko exhibit, a security guard leading him there after Marcus showed the man his badge. As he waited in the room, he walked around and looked closely at the various color-blocked paintings on display - squares and lines and rectangles that all appeared to be in grayscale.

I can’t even imagine what it would be like to see these. Really see them.

Before he could get too lost in his fantasy, he heard a pair of footsteps getting closer. Turning, he saw you and began closing the distance.

“Agent Marcus Pike,” he introduced himself, holding his hand out to you with a smile.

You returned the smile and the introduction, fingers wrapping around his hand to bring your palms together. The moment you did, the room erupted in hues he didn’t have names for. The paintings that surrounded him seemed to glow, their colors radiating from the frames to shine directly on you. He sucked in a breath, a rush of emotion coursing through his chest.

I… I can see. It’s her.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. Not even to glance around at the heavily saturated works he was there to study.

“Marcus?” Your voice came out as a whisper, and he saw the wonder in your expression, noticed the way that your breath came quickly and unevenly. He noticed the way that he felt relaxed and calm as blue and green shimmered in the corners of his vision and a soft tingle spread along his spine. “I… I don’t think you need me to-”

“No. I do.” He said your name again, smiling around it, letting it roll off his tongue. “I definitely do.”

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

Tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @alraedesigns @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11 @haylzcyon @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @thescarletfang  @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharinee

[art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament]

SET TWELVE - ROUND TWO - MATCH ONE

"The Apotheosis of War" (1871 - Vasily Vereshchagin) / “Mouth” (2023 - Alin Dobos)

THE APOTHEOSIS OF WAR: Vasily Vereshchagin was a Russian War artist. This painting of his in particular depicts a pile of skulls outside the walls of the city of Samarkand in Central Asia, specifically where would become Russian Turkestan (I think in the modern day its part of Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, someone correct me if I'm wrong). Vereshchagin traveled through Central Asia with the Imperial Russian Army as it conquered and colonized the region.

Two things stand out about this painting to me. The first is its reception. Vereshchagin dedicated this painting "to all great conquerors, past, present and to come." It's almost like this pile of bones was a symbol of the victory and strength of the Russian Army to him. However, upon actually exhibiting this piece, it was widely seen as an anti-war statement that portrayed the Russian Army in a bad light. And why wouldn't it be? That's a GRUESOME ass photo. (full commentary from @di-girls-dem-sugar in previous poll notes)

MOUTH: In the description you said something along the lines of “art that makes you want to do unspeakable things”… well, this one definitely does. I want nothing more than to reach my hand into that mouth and touch the flesh. I want to pull at the teeth and cut my fingers on them and touch the gums. I want it to eat my hand and I want to tear chunks off of the mouth and squeeze them in my fists. The texture in this piece is amazing— the teeth look rough and sharp and the gums look soft and wet. I can easily look at this picture and imagine the textures. And the contrast between the teeth and the void of the mouth make it so enticing to reach in and want to discover what lies beyond.

In sum, it makes me go feral and I just want to crumple it up and rip it apart and eat it (affectionately). (@thegirlsinthecity)

("The Apotheosis of War" is an anti-war themed oil on canvas painting by Russian artist Vasily Vereschchagin. It measures 127 cm × 197 cm (50 in × 78 in) and is located in the Tretyakov Gallery.

"Mouth" is a painting by Alin Dobos, posted to artstation in 2023.)

[frodothefair]

My Ada said shoot.

Guess what headcanon visited me over lunchtime today, inspired by episode 5 of Blue Eye Samurai, which, in my opinion, is one of the most exquisite pieces of cinematic storytelling in existence.

I think my Lothiriel needs to have a badass side. Not too badass, but maybe a little badass.

Now, thinking about Dol Amroth, they are a coastal region, and as such, they are likely to have many tall castles in the mountains by the seaside. The castles would need defense, to which end, their military would need to be skilled in archery.

Now, as in many militaristic societies, Dol Amrothean women were historically trained in using the bow, because if their armies fell, they would be the last line of defense. But over time, what was a practical skill became more an exhibition sport and a pastime among the upper class ladies.

Lothiriel, like many of her noble countrywomen, practices with the bow since her early teens, and becomes fairly proficient in the sport. It is one of the few things she has in common with her brothers as they all grow older. Her brothers also support her in her endeavors, attending her tournaments, but unfortunately they make little effort to hide the fact that they also attend to look at all the beautiful women. Again over time, women's archery tournaments became a sort of "parade of brides," one of the few occasions where women could be on public display. (Otherwise, "nice" noble women were not supposed to be seen by men outside the home, and outside of functions like balls).

Of course, being clever, Lothiriel senses this. And during the War of the Ring, when her brothers leave for battle, she hopes that at last she might be able to do something meaningful. If war came to Dol Amroth, she might be called upon to lead, to make some sort of difference.

As she waits for news from Minas Tirith, she starts to train to shoot her bow under more "real life" conditions: under pouring rain, in poor visibility, running from place to place. She gets better than ever.

But war never comes to Dol Amroth, and her efforts seem to be wasted. She marries Eomer King, and at first he is unaware of her archery prowess. But once they start to connect, she reveals it, and he offers to let her do some shooting.

He becomes even more attracted to her when he sees her use a bow, and there would be some discussion of what kind of bow she would use. Normally, Dol Amrothean women use smaller versions of longbows called "women's longbows," but Rohan obviously doesn't have anything like that, so she'd either use a bow meant for a teenager, or a different type of bow from what she is used to. Eomer is quite impressed regardless (he's more a sword and spear man himself, but he still knows his way around a bow -- bonus points if the bow she uses is one he used as a teen; bonus bonus points if she's a better markswoman than him). He also offers to train her in other martial arts, and this eventually leads to physical closeness and some hot, hot secks. (No, for Blue Eye Samurai fans, he does not think her a monster for being better than him at a marial art, and no, nobody gets killed).

Aaaaanyway -- guess whose wonderful husband heard all of the above, and proceeded to deliver a twenty minute lecture on archery, and came up with about five ideas for the fic? Mine!!

For instance, who knew that Native Americans became very proficient at using longbows on horseback?

At any rate, Mr. Nisilë, who has in fact shot a bow and seems to know a shocking amount about them on account of hunting with his father as a teen, is sure to save me a lot of research. I always say -- it's better to spend five minute talking to someone who has had an experience than to do five hours of reading on the topic.

PS: In addition to Blue Eye Samurai, this aspect of Lothiriel was inspired by May Welland in Age of Innocence, who is the platonic ideal of a proper society lady, and also does archery.

[caribbeanart]

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This blog is meant to be a resource for those of you interested in studying Caribbean art from a cross-cultural lens, originally inspired by El Museo del Barrio's exhibition book Caribbean: Art at the Crossroads of the World. As such, tags can be found mainly in English and Spanish and to a lesser extent in French and Dutch. Posts can also be searched by medium, artist, ethnicity or region. Questions, comments, or submissions are always welcome!

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