#i am this close to /attempt/ to repaint it out of spite

[lvsifer]

not to be that guy but amc please pay an actual (oil) painter or someone better in Photoshop to do this.

personal angry art student rant underneath feel free to ignore!

Look I do not begrudge this per se bc illustrators are probably underpaid as fuck, so if the illustrator did this in 30min Photoshop, I get it, BUT on a purely objective point:

Pls look at the fucked up light effect; in the original (Olivier Journu - Jean-Baptiste Perronneau) the light effect is so clear, light comes from the left. In the Lestat one it kinda works on the forehead but not on the face, the value is almost the same between left an right (squint and you see how strong the contrast is in the original in comparison)? And the blunt green background? In the original you have the bg lighter against the shadowed side of the face and darker against the light side. for a reason. to create space. Also the angles of the face just look weird on the Lestat one???? Check the line of the eyes Vs the line of the mouth, it looks crooked. Also the eyes themselves are a crime. Look I’m gonna say it, the contacts looked somewhat cosplay-y in the show but alright, but with paint you can do so much better!!! Also the whites in the eyes being kinda the same colour even though one side is in shadow gives it such a cut-out feeling. It’s bad. Am I excited for this nonetheless bc new content? Yes. But PLS HIRE (AND PAY) BETTER ARTISTS AMC. It was already so bad for Mayfair Witches.

[millennialmishaps]

Honestly

I have loved theatre as long as I can remember, wholeheartedly. I knew that’s what I wanted to do with my life. No matter where I ended up, I wanted to be behind the curtain, on the stage, anywhere I needed to be. I wanted to give people the feeling that theater gave to me. And that feeling never went away, even when depressed and done with life, ready to go, all I found myself doing was trying to take of the people around me.

My freshman year of high school, I got my chance to finally take theatre classes. I did not realize how truly shy and self-conscious I was until I tried to play the improv games and good god I stood there looking like a deer in the headlights with no clue of what I should have been doing. I remember struggling for the entire year, trying to figure out how to break that habit, I watched the plays, I constantly went to my teacher for guidance, I reached out to the students in the production and made friends to do whatever I could. Those friends turned into mentors and some of the most important relationships in my life.

When it came time for my sophomore year of high school, I took a readers theatre course thinking, “Maybe focusing on the top half of my body would let me cancel out the world around me.” I wasn’t entirely wrong. I remember the exact moment that I realized that the only thing that mattered up on a stage was following through. We were performing a version of ‘Chicken Little’ when my teacher stopped us and went through one by one asking all of us to act as our assigned animals. Of course, as Chicken Little, she made me strut my stuff around the little black box squawking and flapping like it was nobody's business. And when the fire alarm went off she made me keep it up until everyone was out of the room but the two of us. I wasn’t one bit embarrassed to do anything after that.

When I wasn’t writing a new script for an assignment or rehearsing, I’d volunteered to clean the theatre head to toe, repaint sets, reorganize a costume closet, put the dressing room back together, mop the floor that was impossible to keep clean, picking up backstage the day after a show. I did anything asked of me, while managing to audition for every show, and maintain my grades (badly), in hopes that maybe it would get me somewhere. Then came the day where the running show needed extra hands to run the spotlights during the shows. Needless to say, I volunteered and was lucky enough to have the support from the friends I’d gone out of my way to make. Like everything else I did for the teacher, I went out of my way to make her job and the crew’s as easy as possible. From there on out, she knew I was willing to help in any way possible, even happily doing the grunt work, if I’d manage to get on her good side.

Then it was junior year, and after two long and difficult years, I’d finally finally gotten into the performance class. At that moment I thought my entire life was changing for the better. I now realize that anything would’ve been better. Because nothing ever really changed. Junior year was, at that point the worst year of my life. I worked so hard, and I was so proud of the work that I only did because no one else wanted to. And it didn’t get me anywhere. I did more and more, and became the bad guy when I tried to get things done but I never got any more responsibility. The roles always went to someone else, assistant director, stage manager, lighting, stage design, no matter how I helped it always went to someone else. And as a high school junior, this bothered me so much. It bothered all of us in different ways, and most of us were very rarely happy. Even when a few of us were enjoying it, the rest were miserable. From all this disappointment, people became mean and cruel and spiteful. There was a large feeling of loathing that grew among us and before long this hate that came from all the hurt spread like a wildfire taking us all out. People who were supposed to be friends became toxic and we constantly lied to each other over the stupidest situations that I look at now and am left perplexed at.

I thought everything would get better with senior year, but by the end of the first semester I was so broken and done, I don’t know how I made it out. I took on about 3x as much that year, trying to balance acting in two theatre productions, while trying to teach a beginning drama class and direct them in a workshop for an adaption, while trying to graduate high school and manage being in student government. Needless to say, I lost my shit. That year, our production class tried to put on a show while running a month behind. We were all running high on stress. Our tempers were, very very reactive. In an attempt to give herself more opportunity to do her work as a teacher, we as the cast were given the responsibility of managing ourselves (mind you were were a group of high school theatre students, who were all on some type of egotistical high horse.) We were all struggling, personally, I was having the worst time of my life because nothing was working for me. I spent weeks trying to find my character and nothing was making the teacher happy and the suggestions I was getting were going in one ear and out the other. I desperately wanted to keep everyone happy, but it just wasn’t happening. I remember every single moment of the day things really started falling apart.

I was sitting on my stool, running through the same two-page scene over and over and over, trying to get it together. Trying to get it right. I kept getting so frustrated and mad at myself, trying not to cry, looking like a drama queen (not to say I’m not one but in that moment it was about me screwing up) and I got up as quick as I could to run to the bathroom and cry. I stayed there for 10 minutes just hyperventilating, not even able to cry. The second I opened the door of the theatre back up, my teacher was already waiting with her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she nodded her head motioning in for me to follow and close the door of her office behind me. She stopped and looked at the floor before she said it, “You can’t act like that, so what’s up?” That was it, I was gone and the tears wouldn’t stop. All the air in my lungs was gone and replaced with sobs. I didn’t know what I could’ve said. I would never want to step back from a show in a million years, but I could tell that I needed to. And so could my teacher, without having to say a word, she just hugged me. After that, things kept just falling. My relationships, my grades, I couldn’t do anything but watch.

My cast was supposed to be my family, and we were all just horrid to each other. I got constant reminders that I’d abandoned them and I’d betrayed them when they couldn’t have cared less while I struggled to actually try to pull it together. The show closes, and weeks go by, while we wait for our next show to be announced. I debated back and forth on reasons to not audition and the choices I should’ve made for the benefit of my own mental health. And everything went out the window in an instant. It became one of those shows that if I didn’t do now, I’d never get another chance to. So I audition and was cast and was still miserable. Because now I was a deserter, but also a kiss ass who didn’t deserve to be where I was. I took it all to heart, people who were supposed to be my friends had flipped a switch. Time went on and I began putting my trust in the wrong people. I chose to keep my head low and continue doing what was asked of me no matter how I was treated or how much I was hurting. I kept turning around and complaining to someone I thought I could trust, someone I called my brother and of course, within time it came back to bite me in the ass. The last thing I wanted was to get our show shut down on opening night, when we’d worked so hard for months on the sets and songs and costumes, I would never have wished for this type of colossal fuckery. Yet there we were, our options either canceling the show or putting in the work to put the hour and a half of script that’d been cut out. We were all heartbroken. And I’m sitting there knowing why this is happening, in shock because I don’t know how. It was all my fault, and I took it to heart. I didn’t keep it to myself for long, I’d hurt my family and I needed them to know I didn’t do it out of spite. I did it because I was hurting. And more alone than I’d ever been. The moment I opened my mouth, it became nothing but mumbling to them, people who were supposed to be my family became cruel monsters who were telling me to hurt myself, telling each other I deserved to be hurt, and my teacher couldn’t even look at me. We made the decision to put in the work and try to finish the show, regardless of the hours of added rehearsals. I was completely frozen out, isolated. Stuck listening to people who knew my deepest darkest secrets plotting against me and actively hating me, with no sympathy for the fact that we all complained to outside theatre. I was just the one unlucky enough to have my confidant use it against me. So I walked away, completely.

I worked my ass off for 3 years to get myself onto that stage. I loved it, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t work for it. From the moment I watched Oysterboy, to the moment I walked away from Into the Woods, I called that theatre my home. Four years and I was left with nothing and no one within the span of a week. No one in this world deserves to feel a thousand stones being cast at them for crying out for help. No one deserves to be driven to try and take their own life.  I’ve spent the last two years of my life with this hole in my heart where the Betty Miller Theatre sat because I walked away from the place I’d called home in the worst way I could’ve.

I still feel the hole growing as the gap being out of the theatre grows. Two years of auditions and callbacks and they never go anywhere. And not one week goes by that I don’t cry thinking of what I could’ve done differently. How I could have changed anything to give a different outcome. I think about my dear friend who probably died thinking I did it to hurt my family because she never heard my side of the story. I think about the people I could’ve had better relationships with. I think about the person I wish I could’ve been.

I wish I had been better, I wish we’d all been better. Not one of the people in that theatre had clean hands but I know that most of us just acted the way we knew how. I wish we’d had the opportunity to grow in an environment that wasn’t cold and callous. We deserved better than that. I am truly sorry for the way I got to that point, but I stand behind the decisions I made.

[janethawdon4262-blog]

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[xadial]

i’m so frustrated i need to vent

okay. so. i am not cis. that’s the most i’ve figured out so far but i’ve known for a while (i get social and physical dysphoria). and i have been dropping hints about this to my mum for months until it finally clicked and she said to me • “i think i know why you’re acting like this and there’s only two, no, one reason i can think of that explains why you haven’t told me, and that’s because you’re afraid to” and then • “you don’t want to be a girl do you?”

no. i’m not a girl so why would i want to be one. bad phrasing. semantics. anyway. the reason i hadn’t told her was because i’m not sure who i am yet and i just wasn’t ready and i had (correctly) predicted her reaction and it was not a good one. i was thinking if i was going to get that reaction it wasn’t worth saying anything because it would change zero (0) things.

backstory time a few weeks ago i was talking with her about nonbinary genders and gayness which is something we don’t. do. in this family. it’s not taboo as such, it’s more like we don’t have any reason to talk about it so we don’t. which lead to me having serious internalised transphobia and homophobia which i am still having to work on. she was saying how the son of a woman she works with is gay. as if trying to make a point. she said, ‘imagine having to live with that.’ i just didn’t get it. like. and? your point is? she said she didn’t know what she’d do if someone she was related to or close to turned out not to be cishet. she said it’s something that happens to other people, not to her. which equates me to a train wreck. pretty accurate actually.

back-backstory due to a clusterfuck of things going wrong with me because my body and brain hate me i had to drop out of school and be 'homeschooled’, in quotation marks because i more or less slept in a kind of depression coma for five months solid. my mum was very lenient and left doing work up to me because she know pushing me would be Bad and not get me anywhere. downside to this is my zero motivation and an attention span shorter than me. the result is barely anything getting done. (i am going back to school this september though because apparently i enjoy masochism. not my point. anyway.) she also let me repaint my room because lavender and pink. it clashed with my monochrome soul. (now it’s grey and it’s got these antique style shelves and it’s awesome.) she let me switch out my wardrobe to masculine stuff. she “'let me get away with a lot of things”’ which is true, though some of them i’d just call it being a decent human to me.

back to the almost-present multiple times previously i had asked her to use my 'name’ less. part of the whole dropping hints thing. of course even when i explicitly told her hearing my 'name’ can be physically and mentally painful for me, she blew me off and blamed me for making her feel bad. when she outed me i asked her to stop using my 'name’ as much. to use it less. i didn’t ask her to switch to my actual name. my 'name’ is irrefutably very feminine and it makes me uncomfortable and dysphoric. i couldn’t tell her this because i couldn’t expect her to understand. so she knew i wasn’t cis. the right thing to do would be to ask for my pronouns and if i had chosen a name yet and ask if she could do anything to help. but she didn’t know this so it was up to me to say something. i asked her say my 'name’ less. that’s all. literally it. not to stop using it. just maybe don’t use it for emphasis on the ends of sentences or something. here’s what she said. prepare the alcohol. •it’s probably just been brought on by what happened in the last eight months, maybe an attempt to disassociate and distance myself from reality •she won’t 'give in’ on using my name less. she’s 'given in’ to me on many things in the past and this weakness on her part Stops Now •it’s hormones (well. yes actually it is. just not in the way she means it. isn’t it convenient all teen opinions and expressions are valid until it’s inconvenient for someone and then it’s just down to hormones or chemical imbalances or mood swings or being a teenager or any other host of reasons. they especially like using this excuse for stuff going on in teen’s heads that only the teen could know was true. don’t like that your kid isn’t cis? want an excuse not to listen to a word they say even though they are the ones living in their head, not you? blame hormones!) •if she keeps using my 'name’ (read: inadvertently triggering dysphoria through her own sheer, obstinate stubbornness) she might 'get her baby girl back (((UwU)))’ •my 'name’ is the only feminine thing about me and it’s all she has left to hold on to of her 'daughter’ •am i like this just to make things difficult for her? have i told anyone else or is this some kind of cruel joke that i’m using solely on her to make her feel bad •'it’s the name i gave you and it’s the name you’ll always have’ (yeah she also gave me frizzy hair big hips and gluten intolerance which i will also always have thanks v much mum) •'your friends call you it so why are you bothered by me calling you it???’ because. i came out to them and they said okay, now can you pass the ketchup. it wasn’t a big deal. it’s not that difficult to accept. they just forget to use my name sometimes and i specifically tell them not to use it around my mum even after she outed me. they are aware it makes me uncomfortable and they apologise. they apologise and we communicate properly and i tell them it’s okay as long as they’re aware it makes me uncomfortable and they aren’t deliberately using my 'name’ just to spite me. my mum deliberately uses my 'name’ just to spite me. since she outed me she’s using it more. the difference is she knows it hurts me and she doesn’t care. •she argued just because i dress masculine it doesn’t make me a boy. she said the clothes i wear TO LESSEN DYSPHORIA look like girls’ clothes. truly, so helpful. •she acted like how i dress should be up to her actually despite having shown no interest in my wardrobe until now •when she asked me if 'wanted to be a boy’ she did it in this reeeeally hushed disgusted tone as if it was disgraceful and she was ashamed to even utter the words •basically this is a hormonal phase i am going through just to make her feel bad and she and her opinions will remain Absolutely Right and i May Not Argue with her because she is an Adult who know my mind better than i do

are you drunk yet? let’s say a shot for each bullet point. maybe have an ambulance on speed dial for alcohol poisoning.

god if i had the words i just want to tell her me asking to change my name isn’t an act of rebellion. by refusing to listen to me she isn’t being clever. it’s not the same as letting me slack off on work. that’s about as rational as saying here’s a hat for that lama so yell at the car to make it start. letting me slack off work is bad and she shouldn’t be lenient. calling me by my name isn’t giving in or leniency. it’s respecting me as a human being. there’s a huge difference but she refuses to see it. and even if i did revert back to my old name shouldn’t she call me by what i’m comfortable with now just to be a nice person?

i know this sounds petty and there is so much worse out there. but this is my life and it’s frustrating and saddening and i think being utterly dismissed is still bad. i feel like i’m trying to scream in space. nothing comes of it. nothing has changed. i wasn’t ready to come out because i knew beyond doubt what her reaction would be and i was right.

i’d say i need a hug if i wasn’t averse to physical contact (send me an air hug and validation?) rant over. thank you so much if you endured all of this 💙