#contexture

[sarahvansloten]

Slapdash beanbag (2023), found and painted fabric, cotton thread, dried beans

[strathshepard]

‘Contextures’ was originally published in 1978 as a companion to an exhibition of the same name at legendary New York gallery, Just Above Midtown (JAM). Conceived by JAM founder Linda Goode Bryant and Mary S. Philips, this publication served as an extensive catalog of Black artists working in abstraction from 1945 to 1978 while also articulating a newly-emerging movement of Black Conceptual Art in the 1970s. Functioning more like a textbook than a traditional catalog, the book realizes a vital mission of placing Black artists within the still-prevalent, white-dominated canon of post-war abstract art. Despite its historical importance and visionary scholarship, Contextures was originally produced in a limited run of just a few hundred copies by the gallery and remains rare and largely unknown.

via Pacific

[laboratory-equipment-supplier]

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[garadinervi]

Carrie Crawford (Mineral Workshop), Cloud Work, (indigo, acorn, oak gall, logwood, iron, cotton, and linen), 2023 [Uprise Art, New York, NY. © Carrie Crawford]

Exhibition: Contexture. Laura Berman, Carrie Crawford & Gail Tarantino, Uprise Art, New York, NY, January 15 – March 15, 2024

[blue-eli]

Ink October day twenty-five: Contexture

The act of weaving or assembling parts into a whole.

An arrangement of interconnected parts; a structure.

The arrangement and union of the constituent parts of a thing; a weaving together of parts; structural character of a thing; system; constitution; texture.

[qvrcll]

half of my heart (nsfw headcanons)

summary: a collection of ellie and her motivations.

warnings: extreme nsfw, slight degradation mentioned, female reader

a/n: hi hi hi :))))))))))) i desperately need this woman, it’s no longer a joke. genuinely was chewing on cardboard when thinking about her today and then i realised i had to get this out in word format. and it ended up with this mess LOL enjoy :-)

⇀ ellie who’s the type to eat it like she means it. who licks against you like how she fights. no second guesses or hesitation, no timid look around’s to check for any stable contexture. she’s nosediving into your soaked cunt, point blank, nodding against the sensitive pearl as her tongue works you open like a clam. she grabs your hips with a heave and a moan, curls an arm around the flesh of your thigh and stretches them to the point of unsightly access to your cunt. even if you’re resisting, embarrassed to be twisted open like this, she’s not taking a pit stop. often times, she’ll get breathless just slathering your cunt in streaks of slaver, the lubricant being a definite must (given the fact it only amps up her speed, her pushes and her eagerness). she’ll even get excited to the point of thrusting in her fingers in the mix, guiding hasty, spoilt touches to your overly sensitive clit in an effort to spill you over the edge, (sometimes, her fingers alternate between glossing your sex and literally being prest into your soppy hole, already leaking prior to her tongue foraging you with no defeat) cramming every nerve with a fistful of sensory overload, enjoying the way you hitch and whine and slobber in her hold — “wanted me to take care of you, no? then stop crying and take it, baby.”

⇀ ellie who finds overstimulating you part of various of her hobbies. it’s a game to her; sick and so deliciously repetitive. it’ll start on a vague note — maybe she’ll finger you to the point of an impending orgasm. or maybe she’ll lick open your folds after a tough day. and then the mood slicks, brightens (on her end), as she doesn’t relent on her ministrations. keeps going, pushes past your plush walls, that cry with a sticky clench. she will plunge her fingers cyclically into your hot, wet sex, loving the overflow of juices that gather in her partly extended palm, but your noises provoke her, test her, tempt her. you’re groaning, gasping, curling against the sheets in an attempt to bar her hand from scratching that spongy spot again. but the way she sees it, it’s lighter fuel. purely crafted motivation. she’ll continue even when your flesh squeezes away from her touch. she’ll lick at you like a bitch in heat even after you’re closing your thighs around her head, wailing at her to stop because you’re so sensitive and you can’t take it anymore. count your words, maybe keep your tone under check, because it only worsens your plea.

⇀ ellie who loves to taunt you with toys. even after you’ve reassured her that she’s the only one to ever make you experience an all time high, pure delirium upon the sheets, she has own way around these toys. maybe she’ll clamp a vibrator against you, opt for the highest setting on that little thing. she’ll sit back, watching as you (bound, unfortunately) struggle helplessly, periodically twitching from the mechanical whirr against your cunt. maybe she’ll do it to a point of exhaustion, alternate between speeds to have you guessing if she’ll grant you an orgasm or not. she’ll experiment further with clamps, plugs and what not, coursing with a slight sense of sadism upon seeing you wracked with sobs and heavy exhalations as you’re denied a properly fleshed out orgasm for the umpteenth time. but she’ll play the nice guy way too late, throwing the vibrator to the furthest corner of the room and kissing away your tears, sure to give you what you want with her fingers — “see? told you they wouldn’t do it like i do, bun.”

⇀ ellie who loves thigh riding. it gets her all hot and messy, envisioning you writhing against her thigh to chase a high. ofttimes, she’ll even rub herself to the idea, prisoner to the thought of such desperation. she’ll have you needy against her, stripped to a t and straddling her hips. she’ll laugh when you lightly grab her collar, imploring for any form of release. her mouth, her fingers, anything — “use me, then.” she’ll flex her thigh, clothed in her regular fit of jeans, enjoying your desperate drift and twitch against the solid muscle, moving back and forth to gain friction from it. she’ll sigh, nipping at your neck and grabbing you in assorted places, whispering how you’re “so, so desperate right now, dirtying my jeans like this.” there will be a wet patch forming on her thighs, and she’ll pretend to be disappointed. but she secretly loves it, loves the way your cunt clenches just a little bit quicker against her thigh when she goads you, knowing that however many times she pricks at you, you’d never really cease using her like this.

⇀ ellie who makes love to you like it’s the last time. despite her eagerness, there will be times where she wants to savour the taste, the feel of you, more than anything. she’ll kiss every stitch of skin till it’s buzzing with warmth, splay her hand against your chest to memorise the feel of it. as she’s slowly, meticulously pumping her fingers in and out of you like she’s known this forever, she’ll nip at your neck, fondle your chest, work your clit in soft, manifold circles, giggling when you whine a little too loud or moan against her skin to try to muffle it (and fail miserably). she’ll work you open, from the inside out, her fingers pruning from your slick-spat heat till dawn, her mouth doused with your juices against the corners of her mouth. she’ll feel you like it’s the last time, press against you like it’s a goodbye, pump out everything out of you like she’ll never witness this again. and it comes like a relief to her when you stare at her, giddy and soft eyed, when you roll on your back after a long night, fingers already finding hers before she could even think of it, holding her like she was made of glass.

© 2023 qvrcll ! do not repost any of my works on any platform.

[nobrashfestivity]

AUSTIN OSMAN SPARE

(CONTEXTURE OF BEING) SELF PORTRAIT WITH DEMON MORALES (1954)

PASTEL AND CHALK ON PAPER 50.8 X 43.1 CM 20 X 17 IN

[simplysedusa]

Okay but in all honesty, in a real, honest AU where Professor Utonium creates the Rowdyruff Boys while the Powerpuff Girls are created by Mojo, and then resurrected by HIM...

The Rowdyruff Boys are SCREWED.

While we don't know enough about the Rowdyruff Boys, which causes the fandom to make contexture off of what crumbs we have, we know more than enough about the girls. And the Powerpunk Girls got nothing on them.

Blossom's brains with Mojo's and HIM's cunning? OP! Buttercup, as a super hero, went around knocking people's teeth out of their mouth for money. And we all know what Bubbles is like when she's underestimated and ANGRY. These three girls committed quite a few crimes as superheroes for purely selfish reasons. As villains? With no moral center? All cards are off the table and Townsville is DOOMED.

[sarahvansloten]

That root shape that keeps cropping up in my mind (2023), cotton thread, found and bleached fabric

[imaginedreamwrite]

Taste Of Honey: Part 12

A/N: Brief mentions of death

The smoke was thick and black, it was heady as it rose from the pit that had been dug. Ari had stood on the edge with his jaw clenched, his irrefutable ire and anger coursing through his veins as if it was as natural as blood and oxygen.

He had stared down at the burning mess, the stench should have turned his stomach or soured his contexture but instead, it had brought him a warring feeling of sombreness and relief.

“Not everyone is as lucky as you,” the damned fae had called from the edge of the thicket, unable or unwilling to step closer to Ari while he was dealing with the dead werebear, getting rid of the body before he dared to try and find you, “not every beast-“

“It could have just as easily been me,” Ari called over his shoulder, cutting off the fae that was part of the problem in itself, and the charm he had laid upon Ari’s land that had not been as strong as promised.

“I did everything I could to save her from the feral bear but there was another one. There were two-“

“Ari I’m sorry. This never happened before.” The fae had covered his nose, his eyes watering from the stench of burning fur and the black smoke that came in thickets. “I thought the charm was good-“

“You were distracted. Your mate, Dahlia as you’d said, was on your mind.” Ari hadn’t forgiven the face, but as he stepped away from the burning body and the pit it was in, he couldn’t help but hold some kind of pity for the creature who was dealing with his mate’s vehement anger.

You were pissed off at Ari, you had your share of anger that had been unleashed upon Ari but the bond between you and disappointment in your personal life had eased you into the idea of being somewhere so peaceful.

You were given the opportunity to escape the city life and the constant cycle of life in the rush of things, to the peaceful and normally quiet life of nature. You could remain undisturbed, you could work from home without having to be in an office with people you couldn’t stand. You could leave your front door and be surrounded by the beauty and sounds of nature.

You and Ari shared that.

The fae and his mate shared animosity and the dirty details that had brought them together in a more complicated way.

“She hates me, she wants me dead.” The normally confident and somewhat cocky fae had looked disturbed, he had looked unkempt and lost in his mind.

Ari knew the way they had met each other was not ideal, it was a transaction made by his mate’s ex that had seen her bound to him and she held onto resentment for the boyishly spirited fae.

“I want you dead too.” Ari had spoken with a gruff and animalistic growl, the edge of his bear drawing closer to the fine line that separated the man and the beast. “You made a stupid mistake-“

“She’s fine, Ari. She’s unharmed.” The fae had tried to smooth things over, he had followed Ari around the property line to further seal the charm and prevent it from allowing anything in, again.

And then he tried to smooth things over knowing that even with all the fae had, if Ari had become the beast he was internally, nothing would save him from Ari’s rage. Not when Ari thought he was protecting and seeking some form of revenge for his mate.

“She damn well better be.” Ari had huffed, tucking his chin into his chest as he let lose the warning, the contemptuous growl that had radiated across the forest floor and made the other creature shudder. “You better hope she’s fine.”

Ari bristled past him, the wound that had stretched from the top of his chest to his rib cage had healed, and nothing more than a scar that would fade in a few days had been left behind.

He was healed, he was back to his full strength and he had dealt with one of the problems while the other had run off the property. Everything was ready for you to come home, everything was prepared for you to return to Ari and the safety of your home, as long as the fae had done his job correctly this time.

The other feral beast had been run off with injuries of his own, and Ari had felt a streak of pity for the werebear who had gone so long without a mate, without a single hope of a mate. The werebear who had survived had been young, he what likely only gone through a handful of ruts and would have likely been under the influence of a temporary feral state of mind that would soon fade bringing him back to his normal sense.

Ari knew the second bear could be saved but the first was infected, his mind was beyond saving. The feral state that the werebear was in, the one who attacked you, was irreparable. There was no hope for the creature when he was that far gone, and what Ari had done was merciful.

“I promise, it’ll be good now. I swear,” the fae was nervous and agitated, he was put on edge by Ari’s state of being, so desperate to get back to his mate that he could slip back into that beastly state of mind, “I didn’t fuck it up. Ari, I’m sorry-“

“You have a lot to learn about being a mate,” Ari cut him off with a low rumble that had been rooted deep in his chest, “for the sake of your human, you need to get your head out of your ass. Something could have just as easily happened to her, you should be lucky it didn’t.”

“They can’t lie, they have an inability to lie which is problematic because the truth is painful.” Dahlia had taken a place next to you, relaying her fae-given name instead of the one she was born with.

“I can ask him anything I like and he can’t lie, and at first I had pushed for the difficult questions because I wanted to keep as much distance between us as I could.”

“He took me from my campsite. I was on my way to the west coast to take a job I didn’t want, it was a means to escape a relationship I hated.” You had admitted your truth, speaking plainly as a means to keep your mind occupied while you waited for Ari to come find you.

It seems like months or even years since you had been at the campsite, wondering why so many people warned you about the woods. It had felt as if a lifetime had passed between the moment you were taken and now, the shifting emotional path a complete 180 from where you started.

“I love him,” you mumbled, drawing your legs into your chest before you rest your chin against your hands, “I love Ari, I love him. I came to love him on my own, and it’s screwed up how he took me, but this…I’ve never been happier.”

“Are you happy?” She questioned, not intending to be condescending but rather she was genuinely curious.

“I am happy. I’ve never been happier, being out in the middle of nowhere with no outside pressures to keep up appearances or try to hold myself together…” you sighed and lifted your hand to your cheeks, wiping tears instinctively as you whimpered.

“I hated working under pressure, I hated my job and I hated my boss. I felt like I was stuck in this endless cycle of doing the same shit every day. But now-“

“It feels good? Giving in?” Dahlia’s voice was quiet, her hands clutching the teacup in her hand.

“I love Ari, I love what he’s done for me, what he’s given me. Being out here and having endless space to roam and explore, being able to embrace the world without all that extra noise or societal pressures, it just…I feel like I can breathe, really breathe, without having to have someone looking over my shoulder.”

You didn’t even know if you were making sense, you didn’t know if you were communicating yourself in a way that she would understand.

Truly, while Ari had kidnapped you and stolen you from the life you were stuck in, it was the best thing to have ever happened to you. When he had taken you and claimed you as his mate, as his bear’s life partner, you had no idea how fulfilling your life was going to become.

You could still work, you could still have a career only you didn’t need to leave the peaceful home you’d come to love. You could still do what you wanted to do, you could do whatever you wanted to, and you had the peaceful serenity of nature. You had Ari and Ari had you, but you also had the opportunity to live a good life off the land Ari had.

“I understand enough.” Dahlia’s silence had ended, her stalemated sombreness had come to an end as she shifted and got off the couch with a sigh.

“I’m happy for you and Ari, I wish…I’m so pissed off at him. I’m so pissed off at him, and I feel like I could throttle him.”

“That fae and his empty head, he doesn’t know what he’s doing-“ A chime had echoed in the house, radiating off the walls creating a void between what Dahlia was saying and what she wanted to say.

The chime had come twice more and as it ended Dahlia had moved toward the front door of the house and braced her hand against the doorknob.

“It’s a security feature. Fae’s are suspicious of other people, someone’s approaching-“

You rose to your feet, the blanket that had been discarded when you pulled your legs to your chest had almost caused you to trip as you scurried to the door. You stood a few inches from Dahlia, waiting for her to open the door and then you pushed past her to make it out onto the covered veranda.

Your bare feet bristled in the cold, but your eyes and your heart had synonymously become transfixed upon the sight of your big bear shifter coming up the trail.

“Ari!” you squeaked his name and darted for the door of the covered veranda, slamming it open to get closer to him.

Your feet hadn’t touched snow, you didn’t have the chance to take a step. Ari had met you at the enclosure and lifted you from the wooden steps, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you tightly against him.

The entire world around you had faded, everything was ash and dust, nothing felt as important or as real as having Ari lifting you from the aged wood while whispering in your ear. Your arms had been securely wrapped around him in the same tight fixed grasp while you hid your face in the crook of his neck, the cracks in your composure becoming gaps that had let every thrashing emotion through the barrier.

You hadn’t recognized the sound of your voice as you cried into his neck, apologizing in bumbles as he brushed his hand down the back of your head. He was comfort and strength wrapped in a towering and broad package, he was your perfect other half that you had never anticipated finding.

“It’s not your fault, none of this is your fault.” Ari had set you back down on the wooden steps, his hands brushing away your tears as his eyes swept across your face, studying you. “This is not your fault, none of this is your fault. I’m fine, I’m okay.”

Ari cupped your cheek and tilted your head back, his eyes sweeping across your face. He had stepped closer, the two of you standing flush chest to chest. He swept his free hand along the side of your waist to settle upon your back while your hands had come to rest against his chest, nothing was said between the two of you and nothing had to be said at the moment.

The corner of his lips twitched as he leaned in resting his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed. Ari had inhaled slowly, filling his lungs with your scent while his chest rumbled with a silky purr, the sound of pure contentment falling graciously from his lips.

“This is not your fault, you didn’t do anything to cause this.” He whispered to you, his voice softly radiating and dripping with warmth and honey.

“I wanna go home.” You pressed yourself against him, hiding your face into his broad and firm chest, almost as if you were trying to crawl inside his coat like a joey for comfort and warmth. “I wanna go home and sleep for days.”

“We’re going home.” Ari pressed his lips against your forehead, he softly murmured against you as he promised a return to your safe place.

“I have a few of her things.” Dahlia had spoken behind you, a dull and muffled groan from her fae giving you the impression that she had struck him.

“Thank you,” you called to her without pulling away from Ari, without separating yourself from his warmth, “for helping me.”

“Wish we’d met under better circumstances.” Dahlia had set your boots down first and then draped the torn coat down on the steps, the evidence of the feral beasts’ sharp claws prevalent in the ripped material of the back.

“Put your boots on,” Ari had only let you go when it was necessary and as you had been busying yourself with slipping the dried boots back on your feet, he had slipped his coat off and draped it around your shoulders, “we’re going home, it’s safe.”

Ari had only looked past you once, his steady gaze settling on the fae. Ari had given him an acknowledging nod before he slipped one arm around your back and the other under your knees, lifting you from the wooden steps.

He rest you against his chest and carried you away from their home, humming and huffing pleasantly, set on the track to take you back. His feet crunched in the snow as he stepped away from the fae’s home, only stopping once you were past the tree line and out of sight.

Ari had stopped and leaned down to nuzzle his nose against your own to scent you, and then he cooed softly. “I love you, Honeybee. More than anything or anyone, you are the great love of my life.”

“I love you too, Ari.” You gazed at him through your lashes, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

*I know the gif is Frank Adler but the emotion fits*

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[llanekee]

Look at me A hanging art piece to see Imprisoned for your admiration

Ripe for ingesting As tainted as narcotics The silver lining of every spectrum Reflected in the shine of your tapetum

Uncanny, unnatural, brutal benediction Such a fine line of fiction Between the art and the artful

Have a taste, take a bite, dear Weave the sands of our ashes In the stadiums for documentation

Dystopia, decadent, culled contexture Look at you looking at me An endless paradox to repeat Shackled to our consumption

Human nature debasing As sunkissed as the moonlight Shining down in silver on our minds Reflected in my reflection of you

-by Lane Key :]

[poligraf]

Constantly regard the universe as one living being, having one substance and one soul; and observe how all things have reference to one perception, the perception of this one living being; and how all things act with one movement; and how all things are the cooperating causes of all things which exist; observe too the continuous spinning of the thread and the contexture of the web.

— Marcus Aurelius

[andromerot]

Ana Nuño en el prólogo de Alejandra Pizarnik: Prosa completa (Lumen 2001)

(...) In the case of Pizarnik, the mythification of her death has ended up producing a sort of "tale of passion" that covers her with the veil of a feminine Christ. That tale always reiterates the topic of the mal de vivre of the argentinian, transposing it in key of suicide. The consequences of the pathology of "joining" in this way life and work are severe. The melancholy, the loneliness, and the isolation, when manifested in the writings of a woman, are traits that admit being interpreted as proof of a psychic imbalance of such nature that it can lead the author to suicide or madness. If instead the author is male, and his life or work or both manifest a similar contexture –the list is long, from Hölderlin and Rimbaud to Kafka and Beckett– this is usually received as a confirmation of the visionary spirit of the maker. Needless to say, the deviations or simply habits of a writer are brochure topics, not reading criteria of a literary work. The death of Pizarnik, committed suicide or not, is as relevant to the understanding of her work as the gas and the oven in a freezing London apartment to Sylvia Plath's.

[garadinervi]

Gail Tarantino, Oh, Hello, (acrylic on linen), 2022 [Uprise Art, New York, NY. © Gail Tarantino]

Exhibition: Contexture. Laura Berman, Carrie Crawford & Gail Tarantino, Uprise Art, New York, NY, January 15 – March 15, 2024

[error404vnotfound]

Constantly regard the universe as one living being, having one substance and one soul; and observe how all things have reference to one perception, the perception of this one living being; and how all things act with one movement; and how all things are the cooperating causes of all things which exist; observe too the continuous spinning of the thread and the contexture of the web.

Thou art a little soul bearing about a corpse, as Epictetus used to say.

[...]

Time is like a river made up of the events which happen, and a violent stream; for as soon as a thing has been seen, it is carried away, and another comes in its place, and this will be carried away too.

Everything which happens is as familiar and well known as the rose in spring and the fruit in summer; for such is disease, and death, and calumny, and treachery, and whatever else delights fools or vexes them.

[appleflavoredkitkats]

you got any criminal case pacific bay headcannons?

bestie i love you thank you for sending me this ask . i haven't though of pacific bay for so long but i DO have some hc's about russell, amy, and hannah

it's long so i will keep it all under a cut:

so hannah and russell are the definition of Enemies But Not, because hannah likes to rile russell up a lot. russell often goes off into confusing, somewhat egotistical monologues and hannah is usually the first to cut him off. she would do it in the most asshole way, find an easy plot hole and cut him off, and it EMBARRASSES him in the bullpen and he would often walk out in frustration

i do hc that both hannah and russell, despite that, get along secretly because they are the only two trans characters in my eyes? i hc hannah as nb with she/they pronouns, while i hc russell as trans masc with any pronouns. they often have gender/sexuality discussions out when hannah has her smoke breaks. usually russell's snobbish façade dies here, and hannah becomes more serious with him. although, russell DOESN'T smoke. he tried once and was. very bad at it. he does try occassionally though, when worst comes to worst.

in terms of amy and russell, i have a hc that amy always delivers russell food if he overtimes (which is, a lot). russell doesn't really have family to get home to, and his office is cozy, so he tends to work late a ton. well, sometimes it's work, sometimes it's overcomplicating his stay with evidence he finds fascinating.

the only time she stays is after the last case in ivywood, because amy would know that russell is. extremely tired and, well, Bothered by the utopians. if you find out a cult you escaped opted to brainwash a ton of people, of COURSE you'd be fuckin stressed.

they have some lovely small talk, both of them talking about family and how they feel betrayed by them. russell, though, is more inclined of wanting jupiter to get out of the cult. maybe wants to help other escapees find psychological resources to help them recover. amy's still fighting all the wounds from white peaks, and is trying to escape miriam's home since she's EXTREMELY overbearing.

russell offers her his place, and amy says she'll think about it.

i still think amy and russell's romantic progression was underdeveloped and needed more hints/points of contexture. like, i do think they like each other and have got it hinted for a long time, but we never really understand Why. i like to believe that russell and amy see a more vulnerable side to each other that we can't really See outside of russell's office. because the main shift i see w their relationship, specifically with russell, is with how damn vulnerable that man gets. and russell isn't usually like that. but with amy he asks if she's okay, and hugs her, and saves her life— and yeah whatever this has now become an analysis of them both but do know i think they are super Neat!

also forgot to mention, i hc them both as bisexuals. in their talks in russell's office, amy rambles on about women and russell with men. that's very Them