#the Hodgkins

[bex-inxo]

3/3 (+ bonus with Fredrikson ↓)

( 1/3 and 2/3 )

[psychic-winged-turtle]

Every time Divine tries to make an unredeemable villain character I find a way to redeem them.

Simon, Sylvia, Silas, Olivia, Beatrice, Leo…

Watch out. I’ll find the humanity of any character and I’ll bring it to the surface.

Do they still have to go through some righteous curb stomping and hard realizations? Of course. But they make it out. And they grow.

[jimmybiscuit64]

this was kind of rushed but yeah!

[suncklet]

ok so i went a little overboard with this

[grundoonmgnx]

Eliot Hodgkin, Peeled Lemons, 1958

[cupofmeat]

"Two Standing Pears", Eliot Hodgkin, 1964. Oil on board.

[sakuranightsart]

Moomintroll IS a good boy!!

ムーミントロールはいい子ですよ！！

Bonus (sorry for my bad handwriting LOL):

おまけ（私の漢字はだめです笑）：

[terminusantequem]

Howard Hodgkin (British, 1932-2017), Moss, 2011-12. Oil on wood, 60.5 x 71.5 cm

[thunderstruck9]

Eliot Hodgkin (British, 1905-1987), Turnips, 24 May 1973. Tempera on board, 8½ x 6¾ in.

[arthuntblog]

Howard Hodgkin (1932–2017) [UK] - ‘Portrait of the Artist’, 1984-87. Oil on wood (78.7 x 90.1 cm).

[ideeperscrittori]

HO UN LINFOMA E FARÒ DEL MIO PEGGIO

Fra un mese compio 51 anni e pochi giorni fa ho scoperto di avere un Linfoma Non Hodgkin. È una patologia abbastanza aggressiva ma è stata presa in tempo. Ed è ben curabile, perché la scienza sta facendo passi da gigante nella cura dei linfomi.

Vivo a pochi passi di distanza da un ospedale all'avanguardia che mi ha preso in carico. Sotto molti aspetti, sono davvero fortunato e privilegiato rispetto a molte persone.

Quale sarà il mio atteggiamento di fronte alla malattia? Mi conosco bene e posso prevederlo, perché c'è una parola che lo definisce con precisione. È una parola significativa, addirittura emblematica, che riguarda il mio tasso di maschitudine alfa. Come potete intuire, non mi riferisco a "guerriero", quindi le metafore belliche possiamo tranquillamente metterle da parte.

La parola misteriosa è "mammoletta". Sì, sarò una mammoletta. Questo vuol dire che non vi darò lezioni filosofiche. Non diventerò un maestro di vita pronto a snocciolare grandi verità come "quello che non ci uccide ci rende più forti", "le sofferenze fanno parte dell'esistenza", "l'importante è apprezzare le piccole cose".

Sarò una mammoletta perché lo sono sempre stato, per esempio quando ho scoperto di avere una massa all'inguine. Era un rigonfiamento, duro come un sasso, grande come una pallina oblunga. La mia reazione? Due settimane senza far nulla. Mi sono detto: "Magari passa. Vuoi vedere che fra qualche giorno non ci sarà più? Non ho voglia di affrontare visite ed esami per un falso allarme. Odio gli ospedali".

Questo mio atteggiamento nasce anche da un'idea completamente sbagliata e irrazionale: la paura che gli esami possano creare malattie dal nulla. In pratica una zona oscura del mio cervello ragiona (si fa per dire) più o meno così: sei perfettamente sano, fai l'esame e ti trovano qualcosa. Lo so, non c'è niente di logico in questa convinzione, ma la mia mente non è mai stata fatta di pura logica.

Per quasi due settimane ho cercato di non pensarci anche perché ero in preda all'imbarazzo. Tra tutti i posti, proprio all'inguine doveva capitarmi? Ma la massa non ha dato cenni di sparizione e alla fine mi sono attivato.

Ho riscritto cinquanta volte il messaggio su WhatsApp prima di inviarlo alla mia dottoressa per fissare una visita, perché ogni volta il testo mi sembrava una molestia sessuale: "Buona sera, dottoressa, ho questa massa dura all'inguine e vorrei chiederle un appuntamento per mostrargliela". "Buona sera, dottoressa, ho un rigonfiamento...". Dopo un numero incalcolabile di tentativi, ho trovato le parole giuste e ho scritto un messaggio asettico, inequivocabilmente sanitario, con un perfetto stile burocratico ospedaliero.

Sono stato una mammoletta nei tre mesi e mezzo necessari per giungere alla diagnosi.

Sono stato una mammoletta nel giorno della TAC con mezzo di contrasto. Quella mattina sono giunto all'ospedale in autobus, dopo una notte insonne. Alla fermata ho controllato la cartella che conteneva i documenti. C'erano referti di ecografie, pareri medici e soprattutto l'impegnativa da presentare per svolgere l'esame. Ho controllato perché sono una persona molto precisa, di quelle che tornano indietro mille volte per verificare di aver chiuso il gas. "Non manca nulla", mi sono detto. Ho rimesso i documenti nella borsa. Ho raccolto le forze, mi sono alzato dalla panchina e ho raggiunto l'accettazione dell'ospedale. Senza la borsa. Vi lascio immaginare questa sequenza di eventi: imprecazione, insulti molto pesanti rivolti contro me stesso, corsa a perdifiato verso la fermata. La borsa era ancora lì. Nessuno me l'aveva fregata.

Per fortuna scelgo solo borse brutte.

Sono stato una mammoletta in occasione della PET, che ha rispettato un copione simile a quello della TAC. Venivo da una notte insonne e non ero in grado di comprendere istruzioni elementari, perché la mia intelligenza svanisce quando affronto esami medici. Mi chiedevano di porgere il braccio sinistro e porgevo il destro. Mi chiedevano il nome e recitavo il codice fiscale.

Sono stato una mammoletta quando mi hanno comunicato il risultato della biopsia. Per un considerevole lasso di tempo non ci ho capito nulla. La mia coscienza era come una trasmittente che passava una musica di pianoforte triste sentita mille volte in TV: quella che certi telegiornali usano per le notizie strappalacrime.

Ora guardo al futuro e la mia ambizione non ha limiti: raggiungerò nuove vette nel campo del mammolettismo. So di essere fortunato per molti motivi: l'ematologo, un tipo simpatico, mi ha rassicurato. Le terapie esistono e sono molto efficaci.

Ma mi lamenterò tantissimo, perché non voglio correre il rischio di essere considerato una persona ammirevole da qualcuno. Non lo ero, non lo sono e non lo sarò mai. Rivendico il diritto di essere fragile e fifone. Lasciatemi libero di essere una mammoletta. Per citare un motto di Anarchik, il mio piano è questo: farò del mio peggio.

[L'Ideota]

[bex-inxo]

I can’t stop thinking about them

Hodgkins is Black-chested Buzzard-Eagle

[psychic-winged-turtle]

The Butterfly Effect

When David stopped wanting to hang out, Leo will admit to being offended, but he moved on quickly. This wasn’t the first time someone he liked decided to move on out of the blue, and it won’t be the last. Leo doesn’t really care. Yeah, it stings a bit in the moment, but that’s just how his life is. People come into it, they have a good time for a bit, and then he drops them. Leo will admit that this is the first time in a while that someone has dropped him. But, again, it doesn’t really matter. He would have gotten bored of David eventually anyways.

Leo only really noticed his absence for the first few parties he went to. After that, it was right back into drinking, smoking, and fucking whoever looked like they would be a good time. When he was actually sober enough to have thoughts, his college classes and homework tended to keep him pretty distracted. His focus at college definitely wasn’t college itself, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be put on probation. Leo had spent a long time keeping himself afloat and just functional enough to not raise any eyebrows, while ensuring he had the time to do whatever he wanted on the side. It was fun. It is fun.

Leo likes his life.

Leo doesn’t see David again until almost a month later. They stopped talking mid-march and now it was early April. David didn’t see him, or at Leo’s pretty sure that he didn’t. David was walking with a pretty blonde girl that must have been the sister that he talked about. Leo doesn’t know why the sight stopped him in his tracks for a moment. For a moment Leo had a sour thought remembering the conversation he had with David. David didn’t want to be dragged out to parties anymore, he wanted to sober up a bit and get his life back into order because his sister… well it had something to do with her. Honestly, Leo was kind of high during the conversation and mainly just pissed off that David didn’t want to go out that night. He doesn’t remember much else of the conversation other than David saying that maybe they shouldn’t hang out anymore.

Leo shakes his head and is about to look away and move on when he sees the smile on David’s face. It’s not a big smile, or even a particularly happy one, but it is more genuine that Leo has ever seen David look. He doesn’t know why this bothers him. Instead of trying to reflect on it, Leo shakes his head again and walks away. God… he needs a drink.

Leo thinks about the smile again that night. He’s washing his face, keeping his eyes closed to avoid getting soap in them, but when he rinses he takes a moment to peek and make sure he’s gotten all the suds. When he looks into the mirror, though, all he sees is Leonard. His brother, the reason he goes by this name, stares back at him for a moment and Leo has to look away. He grabs the towel and roughly dries his face and turns to leave the bathroom without looking back, but he can’t help but to glance. And he sees…

Not Leonard.

Not anyone that he knows.

Leonard never had such a… defeated look in his eyes. Leonard would get angry or sad or any other number of emotions in the moments that he got to the end of his rope with their situation, but he never looked so hopeless. This look… this is all Leo. Or… no. It’s all Jeremiah.

While he looks in the mirror, Jeremiah wonders where his brother went. When did he stop looking like him? He thinks about Leonards face, about the soft smile that would grace it on a good day. It hurts to think about. To think about Leonard smiling that small, genuine smile. It hurts to think about smiling himself.

Instead, he pushes the thought away and goes about his business. He goes to bed and gets up in the morning. He goes to class. He distracts himself with the same parties, and drinks, and drugs, and sex, and all the things that make him feel better and in control and… it isn’t working. He can’t stop thinking about Leonard’s smile and the fact that its gone forever. It always used to hurt to see Leonard in his own face, but now that he can’t… It hurts much worse. He almost feels like he lost him again. Like he lost the last connection he had to him.

It sits heavy in his chest and chokes him in his sleep. He stops going out with his friends. He stops going to parties. He stops going to class. He stops sleeping. He can’t think. He never thought he would feel this way again. He feels as raw as the day that Leonard died, but this time it isn’t because of grief, it's because of guilt.

Leonard died and Jeremiah lived, and what has he done with that? He wears his name like a party hat and ruins it. He does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, with whoever he wants, without any regard to how his actions affect himself or others. He’s thrown away every good thing that has come to him because he got bored or scared or angry. He ran from the one person who he could say actually cares about him and ignored every bit of morality that his family tried to iron into him.

He hadn’t attended class for about two weeks when it happened. He took something, some downer that he had left, it doesn't really matter what, and then he found himself lying in the back of his van and realizing he couldn’t lift his head. He’d been drinking and the combination of the drugs and alcohol were making it hard to think, but he had a moment where he had to wonder how much he had taken. He had a moment to realize it was far too much, especially in combination with the alcohol. He had a moment to think that maybe he didn’t really care if he died tonight.

But then he thinks of Leonard’s smile and he breaks. He’s afraid, and maybe he’s crying, but the only thing he knows is that he isn’t ready to die. He doesn’t know if he believes in an afterlife, but all he knows is that he can’t see Leonard like this. He can’t let Darrius get the call that he overdosed in the back of his van. He can’t die. He can’t die. He can’t die.

He begs to Leonard, to his Grandmother who passed, to God himself if he would take a moment to listen. He swears on everything he has left that if he wakes up tomorrow he will change. He will be the person his brother and his grandmother and his cousin all believed he could be. He swears.

When he wakes up the idea of change seems a lot scarier. He looks at his van, at the vomit on the carpet, at the empty bottles and cans, and then he makes the most terrifying call of his life. He almost hopes that he won’t pick up. He left on such a bad note and had basically ignored any attempt his cousin made at reaching out. But of course he picks up.

“Leo? Is everything all right?” Darrius' voice rings clearly from the phone.

It takes Leo a moment to respond. He has to wait for his mouth to feel a little less like a desert. “Yeah, everything is-” Leo, no, Jeremiah, cuts off the lie. “No… It’s not-” a sob cuts him off. For a moment he can’t even believe he’s crying, but then it all comes out. “I-it’s not alr-right. I can’t, I can’t do th-this anymore.”

“Whoa, Leo! Take a breath,” Darrius says, taking an exaggerated breath of his own as an example, “It’s gonna be okay, just tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I don’t even know,” another sob cuts him off, “know where to start. I just w-want to come home!” It feels like such a childish statement, but it’s true. Jeremiah hasn’t felt this small, this helpless, in a very long time, and he has no idea how to fix it.

“Of course you can come home, Leo.” Darrius says. “You can come home any time.”

Those words only break him down more. He doesn’t feel like he should be accepted back by Darrius, not after how he left, but he’s so glad that he is. He’s so glad that Darrius stays on the phone with him until he stops crying. He’s so glad that Darrius made sure to say that he's expecting him soon. If he hadn’t said that, Leo might have backed out, but he didn’t. He is going to go home. He is going to keep his promise.

It’s about time Jeremiah did something good with Leo’s name.

[jimmybiscuit64]

oshun oxtra!!!

[granstromjulius]

Howard Hodgkin

[topcat77]

Howard Hodgkin

Autumn Sky