#watermill foundation

[writinginsunlitcorners]

Lewis and the Christmas Giant

ONE

I invite you, dear reader, to join me in a most peculiar tale. This story cannot be certainly discredited, though one would be hard pressed to confirm its authenticity. Some, upon hearing this tale laugh and shake their head. “Too Ridiculous,” they might say “Too ridiculous to be true.”

Other readers may furrow their brows and say, “Well, perhaps too ridiculous to be entirely true, but I dare not say it is all false.” There is another kind of reader, though, who will embrace this tale for all that it is worth. That is the kind of reader who waits patiently for Santa, who avoids fairy circles, who delight in seeing other worlds in their bedroom mirror. To that reader may every blessing befall. To all readers who humor this story, may you walk away refreshed, with new Christmas joy in your hearts.

Now, for our story.

Imagine a tiny island in the middle of a vast ocean which does not belong to our world. On this tiny island lived a boy. He was only nine years old, but the dark brooding in his eyes and the heavy, serious mood of his eyebrows seem to belong to a man of fifty-nine, one who had seen altogether too much of life.  The boy’s name was Lewis. He laughed seldom and short. His shoulders hunched as if they bore a great weight. He rarely looked up. I will now relate to you the story of how his eyes became young, his laugh jolly, and his shoulders straight.

Lewis lived in a in a hill of debris a few stone throws from the Dwarf Mine of Tisland. What did the dwarves mine? No one knew. He thought it must be Petathiaic, the most precious medal on the whole island.  Every day they would come up with wheelbarrels, wagons, and lifts simply overflowing with debris and in one swift motion dumb it upon this hill.  What kind of debris? Oh, all kinds! There was Clay, dust, crude rust, screws and nails, copper rings, bags of sand, bags of soft moss long since dried and hairy. The bulk of the hill was wholly artificially now, though its foundation was natural. Years of debris mixed with clay, mud and solid rain had made it sturdy enough to house a small boy in reasonable safety. Here Lewis heard all day the clanging of the Mine Bell, of the singing of the Dwarves, and the infernal din of hammers on stone. This noise came from deep below the ground, several fathoms down. It sounded like the very earth was mumbling, grumbling, crying and fretting.

Late at night, so late it was nearly morning; Lewis’ Dwarf Jin-Haung would come in from the Mine. He was hunched, hungry, and hurried. A short dwarf, he came only to Lewis shoulder. All the same he drove the boy before him like a chained dog. The dwarf was not, one might say ‘cruel.’ He was only very selfish, self-concerned, and self-important. All dwarves are this way. Their heart was created after their heads, their egos before their ethics. Every Night (or early morning) he would bark and snap at his boy. “Go here, Lewis!” “Take That Lewis!” “Bring my such-and-such a thing Lewis.”

Lewis obliged readily. For one thing the Dwarf, though not cruel, had quick and heavy hands and would strike the boy without warning if a task was not done as quickly or as well as Jin-Haung thought it should be done. He had a temper as short as his stature so Lewis was dreadfully careful not to set him off.

During the day Lewis had chores like the rest of the Dwarf boys. He honed and sharpened the big Dwarves’ tools from the day before. He emptied debris onto some of the smaller mounds around the Mine. He worked the watermill to lower ropes down into the darkness. He brought mugs of hot coffee and food down to the Dwarf men when they forgot to come up for it.  The coffee and food were made by the Dwarf wives and daughters who were just as sharp, hard and feisty as their husbands and fathers. Well, perhaps not just alike. There was in their attitude a calm serenity their husbands lacked; Other than that, nearly exactly alike.            Lewis did his chores silently. The dwarf children did not speak to him. Many would bully or harass him if he spoke. His language was labored, his accent thick, his words scrambled or incorrectly pronounced. Many times he could not understand the other dwarves either. They spoke too fast. Often their words were too complicated and erratic for Lewis to decipher.  He thought he must be very slow and stupid and so, in shame, he kept very silent indeed.            Every night he trudged home in the evening, hat in hand, and would walk to the very edge of the island to look out on the waves until the stars peaked out. Other times, when he had not avoided the bullies, he walked the whole shoreline until he no longer felt like crying.

This tiny island was always cold, even in the midst of summer. Some dwarves said the whole vast sea around them was glacier and their island happened to be in the only warm pocket for many thousands of miles.  In the winter bit horrid winds came from the north accompanied by terrible frost and ice-rain, ice-rain that turned to rock-hard snow when it hit the ground. Sometimes in the dead of night it would freeze the very ocean waves mid-crest. During the winter there were terrible blizzards which would build ice walls across hills, trees and holes alike. Several times a year this weather would trap the Dwarves in the Mines for days at a time. The Dwarves did not mind at all. They liked the cold and dark, and there were many air ways so they would not suffocate. Lewis, though, hated the wind and the cold and the ice and would curl into his trundle of a bed and block his ears against the dreadful winter.            Then, of course, there was The Monster.

The Monster came a couple times a year. What a dreadful monster he was! Taller than the volcanic mountain. His great body would blob out hundreds of stars, his long legs could step across a mountainside as easy as we can step across the street. His eyes were flames of flashing, burning coal. His terrible fingers came down like so many pointed teeth, longer the wisps of smoke trailing from the clouds.

           When it walked the whole island shook. The waves crashed. The Island’s trees crumbled beneath his trembles. The sun was blocked out and all things turned to darkness like a great eclipse.

The Dwarves hated the monster. They would drive him away with sharp knives, arrows and swords hurled at him. They would light fires in his path. They would use their magic to bring up thick fogs and blind him. Always they drove him back into the ocean, where he would sink beneath the waves. Lewis knew this did not kill him though. He could always see the Monster far away, climbing back out of the sea and disappearing into the horizon.

           Once the Dwarves’ set The Monster on fire. Its’ scream was terrible to hear and for days after a peculiar smoke lingered in the air. Lewis would never forget the way it fled the island that foggy morning, flames licking up Its leg, running like a tree on set aflame.

***********

It was the dead of winter. The Dwarves had been iced into their mines for nearly a fortnight – one of the longest entrapments Lewis had ever known. Worse still, a blizzard had blown great ice walls all over the island. Lewis knew he was cut off from the other homes. No one would brave this bitter weather to help him if he need it - Especially not him, the malformed and unnatural dwarf child.  He made the best of his loneliness and tried to ignore the howling gale and the ice and the cold. Then, Lewis heard something which chilled him more than the wind outside.

THUMP.

THUMP.

THUMP.

The Monster. It was coming.

Lewis dove beneath the only bit of furniture in the house. The low-resting table he and Jin-Haung sat at for meals. Not now. Not when he was alone and help so impossible to ask for. Not now, please not now! THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Closer, so close! It was already on the island, and the men were stuck in the Mine. He knew the Mine would not cave in – it never had and never would for Dwarf magic is too strong – but oh how he wished Jin-Haung was above ground!

THUMP.

THUMP.

Lewis squeezed his eye closed. Go away, he prayed silently. Go away, go away, go away!

But the Thumping went on, and now it was so close Lewis imagined the Monster must be only a few miles away. Oh, where was it? Where was it going? The Thumping grew so loud and terrible Lewis realized the Monster was on his side of the ice-walls. He could hear it breathing. He could hear it’s heart-beat. It was nearly on top of him. He wanted to scream, and his prayer became a shrill whisper. “Make it go away, Make it go away, please make it go away. Don’t let It see me.”

           The Thumping stopped. A great heavy hand thumped against the hill. Another drew back the stone in front of the doorway. A face leaned into view. Lewis screamed and bolted to the farthest corner of the hovel. “Go away!” he screamed. “Go away!”

           For a moment nothing happened. The wind howled. The ice-walls grew. And the Monster stared at Lewis without blinking. Then he sat down, cross-legged, in front of the door and folded his hands across his lap. He spoke.

“If you really wish me to leave, I will. I do not stay where I am not wanted.”

           The voice was not dreadful. Nor was the fact that this Monster could speak. Lewis raised his head a little. “I didn’t know you could talk.”

           “Some don’t. Some never learn.”

“Are you going to kill me now?”

“No.”

“But…. Do you kill things?”

“No.”

His answers seemed so final that Lewis did not dare continue down this path at that time. Instead he said, “Well then. What do you want from me?”

“I need nothing from you. But I do wish to give you something.”

“What?”

“Hope.”

Lewis had stood up without realizing it. Now he took a step forward. “Monster?”

“Child.”

“I can’t see you well. Mightn’t I come closer?”

“Come as close as you dare. I will not harm you.”

Lewis did. He was still afraid but not so badly afraid as before. The Monster did not seem so terrible when he sat and spoke like this. His voice was not vicious, and he had not tried to kill Lewis yet. Surely he would have tried already. All the same, he stopped half-way to the door.

“Are you frozen, Child?’

“No, Monster. I am only afraid… afraid I can’t go farther.”

“Why are you afraid?”

“You are big and terrible and I am small and week. You are a Monster and I am not.”

“Supposing I wasn’t a Monster?”

Lewis thought. “Perhaps I’d dare come closer.”

“Dare then. For as surely as you are not a Dwarf, I am not a Monster.”

This remark surprised Lewis so much that he did dare. He walked out the door and stood at the Monster’s knee. All the time he looked at his feet and did not raise his head to the frightening face.

“I am here,” he whispered.

“You are here. “ The Monster shifted. “Tell me your name.”

“I’m Lewis.” He hesitated. Then, “And what is yours, Monster?”

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand it yet. You may call me The Good Giant.”

“Good Giant.” Lewis was not sure what to say next. “What do you want to show me?”

“The world, and it’s Maker.”

The Good Giant held out his hand. “You may come with me. Or you may stay here in safety. I will not force you to come.”

Lewis climbed into the hand. He had almost forgotten how big the Good Giant was. Speaking to him at had seemed they were the same size. Even now he seemed smaller than he had before when Lewis had seen him streaking across the hills. He plucked up his courage and faced his travel companion.

The face was not hideous, but it was peculiar. Long and narrow, as dark as coal and as rough as leather, with a great beard that dropped down to the Giant’s chest, and a great mane of hair down his back. There was also a many-spiked silver crown on his head, but it was so small and so thin that Lewis almost didn’t notice it. His eyes were as bright fire against all the darkness of his skin. Lewis shivered.

“You are cold.” The Good Giant reached up with his other great hand and pulled a huge scarf from around his neck, many miles long. Lewis was about to protest – to thank the Good Giant but to regretfully reject the offer – when the scarf came around his body as long and as warm as if it were tailor-made to fit him. The Good Giant wrapped it and knotted it so that the ends came down to his toes where they pooled, and the back fell to his ankles. In the front was a fine, wide loop which fell to his knees

“Warm enough now?” Lewis nodded. “Get comfortable than, young child.” The Good Giant stood slowly, boy in hand. Lewis, sitting on his knees with his back against the giants fingers, closed his eyes and tried not to look down.

“Lewis.”

“Giant?”

“Open your eyes.”

So Lewis did. He saw the whole Island spread out beneath him. He saw the mine, buried in ice, twinkling like a studded tower in the moonlight. He saw the  shoreline, the waves breaking throw ice, freezing and breaking, freezing and forming, freezing and crashing. He saw hills of stone and walls of ice cutting along them, thin, fragile, and deadly. He saw the snow blowing wildly and he heard the wind. He smelt sea salt. He heard bear trees creaking and groaning in the night. He wondered that he could see everything so clearly. He wondered that he could see anything when it was so dark.

“Hold on tightly, Lewis.” The Giant began to walk.

TWO The whole Island spread out beneath Lewis like a warm, moving map. Each step the Good Giant took was so long and steady it was more like flying than walking.  The wind blew wildly past his ears but Lewis was safe and warm in the Good Giant’s palm. He did have a shock when wild spray of water struck him in the face, cold and real and perfect. The next wave that came drenched him all over. They were walking on water! No, they were walking through water. It pooled at the Good Giant’s legs. It splashed and roared, foamed and crashed. Lewis could see ever wave crest, ever icicle forming and fracturing, ever jeweled droplet as it rose in a fury around them. But just as soon as he saw it, there was the whole event in full quick enough to miss and all he saw was wild, untamed water. All he smelt was wild salt. All he felt was free. He laughed aloud. The Good Giant laughed with him.

The water came to an abrupt halt. All around Lewis and the Good Giant were faced with icey jaws of ocean water which might never thaw again. Lewis could not tell if the Giant simply stepped over these obstacles or scaled them in a few massive leaps, but in seconds he was on top.  Just as fast the ice fell behind them. They were on a frozen shoreline; thousands of shells mixed with gold sand streaked by them. They were climbing a cliff of stone. They were at the top, overlooking the whole landscape. Looking out, Lewis realized they had just cleared an entire glacier in one leap.  He felt strangely sad. He would have liked to see the glacier.  As if reading his mind, the Good Giant spoke. “Don’t be sad, young Lewis. We will journey back across the ice when we end our journey. It is too cold now – too cold even with your special sweater. You could not bear it yet.  But hearken! – see the island where you live.”

Lewis did see it; A small pebble of green surrounded by a thin strip of moving water, encircled by foaming, spiking ice which stretched for miles upon miles. It was like a stormy whirlpool had frozen in the throes of its motion, but the center had been curiously spared the frost. Stranger still, the center ceased to spin but had begun instead to lap on the Island shore steadily, as sure and as certain as if the rest of the whirlpool had never existed.

“Are you warm enough?”

“Yes,” said Lewis, and it was true. He was perfectly content. In fact, he wasn’t even wet from their watery adventure, though he’d been soaked through more than once. I supposed we’re moving too fast for me to stay wet long, he thought.

“Are you ready to move on?”

“Yes, but –” Lewis faltered. “I don’t really belong to that Island do I, Giant? I mean, I live there but I shouldn’t should I?”

“No you shouldn’t.”

“You said I wasn’t a Dwarf.”

“No, you couldn’t be less of one.” The Giant spoke with a smile on his tone. Lewis chewed his lips. “What am I then?”

“You are a human boy. You belong to a race of creatures that live far, far from here. All across the worlds. Very far.”

“Are we going there?”

“We are going many places this night. Your world will be the last place we visit, the last but one.”

He began to walk again. He didn’t move quite so fast now, (though ‘not so fast’ was still fast) and sometimes he’d pause as if unsure of his direction. The Cliffs by the sea were slick with snow, ice, and frozen mud. The sky was overcast now, no stars but Lewis never lost his vision. He wondered where the light came from by which he could see so well. He fancied it came right from the Giant. How peculiar!

Once when the Giant paused Lewis raised a question.

“Good Giant?”

“Yes, Lewis?”

“Every time you came to the Island, were you coming for me?”

“I came for everyone but I had a special interest in you. I could hear your loneliness. I could feel your isolation” The Good Giant crouched down to begin his decent from the Cliffs. Then Lewis got quite a fright – the Good Giant stepped right off the cliff edge into the sky!

He stepped out of the world as easily as words step off a page. All at once every natural, living noise disappeared. Every sensory movement disappeared. All was still. All was silent. Lewis was sure if he moved from the Giant’s hand he’d be neither warm nor cold. Blackness stretched out in front of the travelers, out and all around them. For a moment the darkness was all Lewis saw. Then distantly, he realized there were stars – stars lived out here! He saw great whirling spirals of violet, green, crimson, orange, and silver; spirals the size of galaxies, spirals that were galaxies. He knew they were all very far away. There was a great deal of blackness to walk through before getting to them. But even here not all was black. He saw streaks of brilliant color as if an artist hand use this dark canvas as a to practice shading and shaping. He saw planets gleaming like jewels.  He saw tiny lights streaking past him like fireflies. Some golden. Some silver. Some in colors he couldn’t name.

“It’s starlight on its way to the world’s below.”

The Giant’s voice gave Lewis quite shock.  He didn’t think anything could speak out here. He didn’t think anything could exist out here. Already he’d half-forgotten where he was and whom he was with.

The Giant said nothing else. He passed across the sky like an iridescent shadow against the vastness of space. They travelled quickly, and Lewis got the idea that the Giant must have grown. Otherwise they could not move so fast, nor take steps so long, and anyway he could feel they must be bigger, much bigger. Well, it had to be both of them or else Lewis would have been quite lost in The Good Giant’s hand. It would have been another whole world.

Then, the Good Giant and Lewis found a living path of silvery mineral, frost and sparkling gases. It bent across the sky like a waterfall from some great, hidden lake. It curved and pooled, rushed and spun, whispered and roared. The Good Giant sat down on his knees and scooted into the mysterious path.

Lewis had never been sledding. He’d never been swimming, or paddling. He’d never sailed in a sailboat or gone down a steep hill on a bike. Even if he had nothing would compare to this. Lewis and The Good Giant were floating down a silvery space-river made up of a thousand lights, matters, meteors and goodness knows what other magical things that can only exist far from human interaction. He heard a whistling, sighing sound of all these odd things mixing together, clinking in harmony. It moved like water and wind and fire. It smelt like snow. It made Lewis cold all over. He curled into a small ball in the Giant’s hand.

He must have fallen asleep because the next time he opened his eyes the Good Giant was stepping into a silver city.

***************

It wasn’t a city really, but for the glory of it, it could have been. Really it was more like a great, floating realm made up entirely of soft silver, forged iron, hanging bells, and glass towers. At first Lewis thought it was raining but no, those jeweled droplets floating gently down were beams of light forever falling, falling. They fell slowly, sparkling and bright amid the glass and silver and this wondrous kingdom. Some light beams danced on their descent, and some fell slower than other so you barely noticed them moving. Some left streaks of dust behind them, pure ethereal dust.  

The whole of that realm shimmered and moved like it were made of water, melting into the depths and spreading out like fog or smoke does over a lake.  When Lewis reached out to touch one of the towers his hand shimmered against it and a shock went up his spine It was like touching moving water, like touching a canopy of soft leaves.

“Good Giant,” Lewis gasp, “what is this place?”

“This is where the Stars come to rest and recollect. This is where wishes are granted, dreams are kept, and prayers are passed gently to their destination. Count yourself lucky, Lewis. You’re in the Star’s kingdom in the dead of winter, it’s most illustrious season.”

“Stars! Are stars people, Good Giant?”  

“Not people, but spirits. They have some physical form but it is not as solid or as restrictive as your human form is. They spirit is not trapped by physical limits. Whatever they can think, they can do.”

“Where are the Stars?” Though the city was bright and beautiful Lewis saw no one in it. It was silent, silent as falling snow.

‘Come,” the Good Giant turned toward the highest Glass tower. “You shall see for yourself.” The Good Giant opened his hand at the topmost window and Lewis climbed into the room beyond. It was all warm and bright, hung with garlands of diamond and precious stone, each glistening like flames. “Go to the southern window and look out,” said the Good Giant. So Lewis did.

Outside the window the Star Realm stretches a few more miles and then dropped off like water over a cliff-side.  He saw a Million Stars dancing in the sky. Each one was alight with an inner glow. He could see long graceful bodies and shining, gleaming garments of white. But he could not make out shapes or faces. He wondered if Stars looked human or if humans looked like Stars. They weren’t quite human he could see, but whimsical like trees, and translucent, like angels.  Yet they had hands. He could see each star busily weaving something in their hands. They were weaving beams of light from stardust and space-frost, and when a beam was done they’d send it down through the lightyears to the worlds below, like birds being sent to land.

  There was a great deal of laughter in the stars. They were speaking in a strange and beautiful tongue, and Lewis thought he would die to hear this sort of conversation again. ‘Stars are nothing like Dwarves’, he thought. ‘Stars are warm and bright and free. Dwarves are harsh and dark and bury themselves in caves. There is no room for laughter on my Island.’ He now noticed that while all the stars were making small beams of light, they also all seemed to be making one very large beam. It was as glorious as the sun and probably twice as large. It was all silvery and blue, but as he watched there came great threads of blood-red into the spirals of this light. He fancied the red almost more than any other color until he saw the threads of gold, and the gold brought tears to his eyes and joy to his heart and made him want to simply sit in that golden glory for alltime.

The Stars began to sing then, and some voices were high and warm and some were low and quacking. The Good Giant’s hummed along with them as if he knew the tune well but did not want to spoil it. They were joined by another Voice which Lewis could not place but he loved it at once. It was so big, so grand, so happy! He was sure even Dwarves would sing if they heard this voice. Behind him the Good Giant knelt on one knee and pulled out a bell and rang it thrice. Lewis was too enamored to do anything but stare, for now something better was happening!

It seemed the universe walls open up and a ray of sun from beyond broke through and shone on the beam of light the stars were weaving. And the ray of sunlight carried the Voice in it. And it set every color on fire and tempered them like steal and smoothed them like water, and the stars sang happier than ever and all together they blew upon their new, shining balls and it rolled down on its journey to the center of the universe.

The Stars all turned them and saluted the Voice and for a moment Lewis saw something like a man with infinite depth reach out his hands and receive a thread of light from their midst. And he laughed a jolly, untamed laughed and he sang, and the song was blessing and thanking and giving. And all the Stars answered his Voice in their own voices, accepting his proposal. Then the Voice went quiet, but not completely quiet. Lewis noticed that he could still sense it’s presence in the turning of the galaxies, the spinning of the planets, and the strange existence of space frost along the silver rivers.

“Ho, Ho!’ Cried the Good Giant. He had stood up from his bow. When he waved one of Stars over. “Lend me your light, young Star. We’re chasing the bells to the next world.”

The Star pulled a long string of silver from her fingertips, passing it to the Good Giant. “Travel fast, Giant. Godspeed.”

THREE

“What are they celebrating?” Lewis asked this question rather breathlessly.

Lewis and The Giant stepped into a sunny, frosted glade.  “See, Lewis,” Said the Good Giant, “what few humans have ever seen. The Realm of Faerie.” Lewis looked out from over the Giant’s fingers and this is what he saw.

They were in a wide open glade The grass was so tall it came up to the Giant’s knees. It was golden and red and fiery orange. It was all covered in a thin layer of the finest winter frost you can imagine, purer than sugar, finer than crystal. Lower down on the grass’ blade it became speckled so bits of the grass’ original color poked through in warm happiness. There were large trees with thick trunks and low-growing branches. Their leaves came down so long and thick they touched the earth, making caves and tunnels. These trees were an array of orange, green, red and white, each with a sheet of frost so thin the colors bled through and the trees became like hills of stained glass. The sky above was clear blue – they type of blue you dream about but never see. The wind whistled through the glade and all the growing things swayed and chimed in the wind. The entire scene was surrounded by boulders and cliffs, smooth and colorful as river pebbles. On all sides silver falls of water came pouring down into clear-glass pools with fine golden waterbeds. The falls came right down into the glade and there were many pools amongst the great trees and tall grass.  Because of the bitter cold the water froze here and there, creating sheets of ice mixed with moving cold water of the finest, richest kind.

Then Lewis saw the Faerie’s. There were about a hundred of them dancing in the grass between the two greatest, brightest trees in the Glade. They were dancing around one of the golden pools, the largest of three which fountained down the stair-like grass in joyful music. He jumped from the Giant’s hand into the Bright world below and rushed to meet these new creatures. Many of them were twice his size but some were shorter than him, shorter even than Dwarves. Some had wide beautiful wings, not like bird wings, these were more like dragonflies or butterflies. They laughed and chanted and sang.  Some carried drums of fifes. They came two by two, three by three, making rounds in some kind of peculiar, difficult ballet. Lewis noticed that whenever they got to the end of a song (or perhaps it was just a verse, for every bit of music seemed to continue that last piece) they’d all stop, lift their hands to the sky, clap three times and cry out in jubilation. The two nearest to the front each bore a fine silver pitcher, which they would dip into the largest pool. They would take a long drink, each drinking from the other’s pitcher, start a new chant, and pass the pitcher down. Every Faerie got a draft of that fragrant water. There was always a pitcher being passed up, and always a pitcher being passed back, and sometimes the pitchers travelled clockwise, and sometimes counter-clockwise.

“What are they celebrating?” Lewis asked the question with something like awe.

“The one Great Story of All time; the story of hope. The story of new beginnings and happy endings. We chased the light of a star here, but it will not stop at the world. The light of the stars go to all worlds - yours will be illuminated next.”

“You mean, the Dwarf world?” “No Lewis. The world you were born in.”

A few moments passed, and gradually Lewis walked toward the Faerie. He got close enough to brush one of their wings. But he dared not join them. He wouldn’t know how to. He watched the dance grow faster and merrier. He saw some of Faeries take flight, their wings gleaming in the early crispness of the morning. He heard one of the Faerie call out high and happy. “The Dawn, the Dawn is coming!” Now all Faerie rose to the sky. Far away on the North side of the glade, the sky turned the faintest pink. The Faerie began a dance in the air. They sang and brought water up to throw into the sky – water which froze in mid-air and hung like silver wind chimes, suspended by the morning wind.  

***** END PART ONE *******

**** This is as far as I have in chronological order. I will post the rest of the book in the days the week to come. The ending is really what gives it it’s “Christmas” vibe, but I hope the beginning gives you a warm “Christmas time” feeling. Pardon any misspellings. I’ve not yet edited anything. WHICH IS A BIG DEAL FOR ME. I’m an editing monster. :-P

Merry Christmas everyone! And a VERY Happy Epiphany. 

(thank you @inklings-challenge for hosting this.)

[ericmicael]

“There was a version of the story where Arendelle Castle was washed away in a flood, and then rebuilt as a combination of the Northuldra and Arendellian styles. The castle’s foundations became a series of islands linked with aerial bridges to various parts of the castle. Another version had the flow of water being reversed, which is why we designed the watermill. —David Womersley, art director, environments“

[thewatchau]

Life in the Cuartalan Wetlands: Part 2

Part 2: Water Defenses and Reclamation

“[Settlements in the Cuartalan Wetlands feature] architecture/town layout that's not actually defined by its buildings, but its water management structures. 

Sea walls and embankments, drainage ditches and channels; life in the wetlands revolves around these structures. Their size and intensity determining the economic foundation of your entire community, and maintaining them is a constant race against the currents that seek to wash everything away. 

Some communities work tirelessly to maintain intense waterworks that reclaim the soil for arable farming. Others allow the wetlands to simply remain as they are, only building enough embankments and drainage paths to ensure their homes are not flooded with the spring rains or winter storms.”

There are three different types of inhabited wetlands: Unaltered, Modified, and Reclaimed. 

Unaltered Wetlands are left largely untouched, with only a few structures and ditches built to prevent destructive flooding. This sort of ecosystem is bad for agriculture, but provides a treasure trove of wildlife that can be gathered for food, fuel sources, crafting materials, and more. In addition to gathering from the local flora, other industries include fishing, snaring wildfowl, harvesting salt, and running watermills powered by the tides. 

Modified Wetlands use walls and ditches to drain some of the water from the land. While this does not provide enough dry soil for agriculture, the newly exposed grassy environment is perfect for grazing herds of animals. However, the reduced water levels will remove the fish population, seafowl, and many of the plants found in an unaltered wetland. 

Reclaimed Wetlands use an intensive drainage techniques to transform the land into arable, farmable terrain. The newly exposed soil is extremely fertile, perfect for agriculture and livestock, and can be very lucrative. However, this process almost completely removes the natural raw resources found in an unaltered wetland. Moreover, maintaining such an array of water defenses carries a high labor and resource cost, and if those defenses fail, the region will revert to a modified or unaltered state, undoing all efforts to “reclaim” it. 

As you can see, the level of wetland reclamation a community chooses will determine a significant amount of their economic structure. 

Regardless of these factors, however, every community has to build some sort of water defenses to protect against flooding and erosion from the storms and tides. 

Small floods are considered “normal,” and don’t do a lot of damage if the community is keeping up with its maintenance responsibilities. However, a larger flood could destroy infrastructure faster than it can be repaired, leaving the community vulnerable to smaller, “normal” floods. 

Communities have to find a balance between preserving their desired level of reclamation and constructing water defenses that can protect them, without building more infrastructure than can be sustainably maintained. It’s a constant game of risk assessment and preparing for the worst case scenario, all centered around these walls and drainage systems.

[music-addiction-disorder]

Moon Far Away - A Folkloristic Marriage of East and West

Since their foundation in 1994, Moon Far Away, hailing from Arkhangelsk, Russia, have developed a unique style out of the established neo-folk tropes of the western world and the musical heritage of their home turf - the Russian North; a hotbed within the country for literature, visual arts, architecture and, of course, music. With influences as diverse as their background, they engaged in neoclassical dark wave and world music on earlier releases, and have remained a relatively unknown gemstone until this day. In the meantime, the group has honed its colorful blend to quasi-perfection, which is more than evident on its fifth record and Auerbach Tonträger/Prophecy Productions debut, "Athanor Eurasia".

While deftly weaving together acoustic guitars and wind instruments, as well as both female and male voices, this new album is a neo-folk release of outstanding quality with the traditional song format always in focus. In part, the result harks back to the likes of Death In June, Forseti or Sol Invictus (whose Tony Wakeford appears as a guest on 'Celebrate!') whereas other tracks are adaptions of passed-down Northern Russian folk tunes the band collected on expeditions to the Arkhangelsk Oblast - the musicians' subarctic home region. Within this dense tapestry all threads, regardless of their geographical or cultural origin, make up a unified whole that defies categorization.

Band: Aleksey Sheptunov / Anastasia Kuznetsova / Anea / Heleg / Tatyana Stepchenko

MOON FAR AWAY - Polia Vy, Polia Athanor Eurasia (2019) Prophecy Productions Arkhangelsk / Russia

Tracklist: 1. The Song Of The Five Lakes Watermill 2. The Blank Flag Of The Europe 3. Napadi, Rosa 04:58 4. Polia Vy, Polia 05:20 5. Lubila Menja Mat, Obozhala 6. Dva Lazyrja 7. The Blueberry song 8. Intersymbolism 9. Ostavaisja Bely, Knjaz 10. Celebrate!

- necro69mancer -

[nyfacurrent]

Introducing | 2018 Murray Reich Distinguished Artist Award Recipients

Sarah Draney, Rick Klauber, Reeva Potoff, and Kay WalkingStick will each receive an unrestricted cash award of $12,000.

The New York Foundation for the Arts (NYFA) is proud to announce the 2018 recipients of the Murray Reich Distinguished Artist Award, which was established in 2015 to recognize artistic excellence and provide resources to mature visual artists with a long history of creative practice. This year’s winners—Sarah Draney, Rick Klauber, Reeva Potoff, and Kay WalkingStick—will each receive an unrestricted cash award of $12,000. 

With the support of an anonymous donor, NYFA created this annual award to enable artists with a long history of creative practice to pursue deeper investigations or new explorations that can inform and enrich their work. It has been developed in memory of the artist Murray Reich, a New York-based painter who also had a highly regarded career as a professor of art at Bard College.

Michael L. Royce, NYFA's Executive Director, said: "Artists over 50 represent a vital part of our artist community, and we're thrilled to recognize Sarah Draney, Rick Klauber, Reeva Potoff, and Kay WalkingStick with unrestricted cash grants that can help them open up new possibilities in their work. Thank you to our generous donor for providing support to these artists and continuing to honor the distinguished legacy of Murray Reich through this award."

Recipient Bios

Sarah Draney had her first exhibition in 1962 at Bard College. Since then, her work has been shown widely at venues including 55 Mercer Street Gallery; A.I.R. Gallery; Byrdcliffe, Woodstock, NY; Ceres Gallery; Contemporary Arts Center and Taft Museum, Cincinnati, OH; Davis and Hall Gallery and Time and Space Gallery, Hudson, NY; Gallery 128; Greenwich House; Grey Art Gallery; Nancy Hoffman Gallery; Indianapolis Museum of Art; Irish Arts Center; Lunds Konstall, Lund, Sweden; Orlando Museum of Art; Project Space 209, Stone Ridge, NY; Thomas Segal Gallery, Boston, MA; Vassar College; and Wired Gallery, High Falls, NY; among many others. She has been awarded residencies at the MacDowell Colony and Yaddo, and has taught at Pratt Institute and the Feminist Art Institute in New York.

Rick Klauber was born in New York, NY in 1950. He studied with Murray Reich and Jim Sullivan at Bard College, Annandale-on-Hudson, NY. During that time, he worked for and apprenticed with both Helen Frankenthaler and Robert Motherwell. Since 1975, when Robert Motherwell sponsored his one-person exhibition at Artists Space in New York, Klauber has had numerous one-person shows including: Howard Scott Gallery, New York, NY; Amelie A. Wallace Gallery, Old Westbury, NY; Galerie Huber Winter, Vienna, Austria; Brenda Taylor Gallery, New York, NY; Galerie Wolfram Cornelissen, Gerogeborn, Germany; Universal Fine Objects and Long Point Gallery, Provincetown, MA; and Oscarsson-Hood Gallery, New York, NY. He has participated in numerous group shows including: Albert Merola Gallery, Provincetown, MA; White Columns, New York, NY; Threadwaxing Space, New York, NY; Watermill Center Benefit Exhibition, Watermill, NY; the "International Biennial" at Janos Xantus Museum, Gyor, Hungary; and Universal Fine Arts, Provincetown, MA. His work is included in many private and corporate collections and can be found in The Provincetown Art Association and Museum; The Witherspoon Art Museum, Greensboro, NC; Reading Public Museum, Reading, PA; and The Arkansas Art Center, Little Rock, AK. For the past 21 years, Klauber has taught at Kingsborough Community College, CUNY, Brooklyn, NY. He has previously taught at Pratt Institute and at Parsons School of Design at The New School in New York. He lives with his wife, Ryn Maartens, in New York.

Reeva Potoff moved to the SoHo neighborhood of New York when it was still illegal to live there, after receiving an MFA degree from Yale University. Potoff would often look out the window in the dead of night and see women working until dawn at their sewing machines. Potoff and many fellow artists joined the Artworkers Coalition or helped out in the South Bronx, and joined feminist consciousness-raising groups. The artist's studio was on Mercer Street in a building that bundled and sold scrap paper; Potoff made all of her early sculptures out of the cardboard that she retrieved. The pieces were based on gathering visual documentation (photos, drawings, and models) from the cliffs that she found along highways and coastal areas. Potoff's first solo exhibition was at The Meisel Gallery in New York; she later exhibited at The Museum of Modern Art and received fellowships from the American Academy in Rome and the National Endowment for the Arts. Potoff has taught at Bennington College and Columbia University, and now teaches at Pratt Institute. Potoff continues to have an interest in nature and grows and photographs mold and the visual material it generates, which provides the basis for large-scale inkjet prints. The prints are scaled for the wall that they are installed on, and the insects that populate the prints are prints as well. Potoff lives and works in the same loft she first settled in, and is still a feminist.

Kay WalkingStick has had over 30 solo shows in the United States and Europe. Her work is in the permanent collections of the Metropolitan Museum, New York; the Museum of Canada, Ottawa; the Israel Museum, Jerusalem; The Newark Museum, Newark; the Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; and many other museums across the United States. June Kelly Gallery represents her work in New York. WalkingStick taught painting and drawing to graduate and undergraduate students at Cornell University for 17 years, where she is an Emerita Professor. WalkingStick was given an honorary doctorate by Pratt Institute and by Arcadia University. She is a fellow of the National Academy of Design. In 2015, her retrospective of 75 paintings and drawings covering the years from 1970 to 2015 opened at the Smithsonian, National Museum of the American Indian in Washington, D.C. Since closing in September of 2016, the exhibition has traveled to various venues across the country including the Gilcrease Museum, Tulsa; the Montclair Museum in Montclair, NJ; The Art Institute in Dayton, Ohio; the Kalamazoo Art Museum, Kalamazoo, MI; and the Heard Museum, Phoenix, AZ. The show was listed by Hyperallergic as one of the best 15 exhibitions to open nationwide in 2016. WalkingStick and her husband, the artist Dirk Bach, live in Easton, PA.

About Murray Reich

Born and raised in Coney Island and the south Bronx, Murray Reich (1932-2012) attended City College and received his M.F.A. degree in Painting from Boston University. Following his first solo show in New York at Max Hutchinson Gallery, Reich was awarded a Solomon R. Guggenheim Fellowship. Reich received other fellowships, including one from the National Endowment for the Arts. His work was exhibited in two Whitney Annuals and at the American Academy of Arts and Letters as well as in solo shows and group exhibitions. Reich was Professor Emeritus of Painting at Bard College in Annandale-on-Hudson, New York, where he taught for 25 years. He served on the faculty of the Graduate Program in Art at Hunter College, also in New York. He was the inaugural director of Tanglewood’s Summer Program in Art in Massachusetts, and also taught at Boston University. He lived and worked in New York City, Provincetown, and Mt. Tremper in upstate New York. For images of his work and a longer profile, please visit www.murrayreich.com.

The Murray Reich Distinguished Artist Award was created to provide resources to established visual artists above 50 who are chosen for artistic excellence. With the support of an anonymous donor, NYFA has created this award to enable artists with a long history of creative practice to pursue deeper investigations or new explorations that can inform and enrich their work. Learn more on NYFA.org.

Images from top: Kay WalkingStick (Murray Reich Distinguished Artist ’18), “Eastern Slope,” 2017, oil on wood panel, and Rick Klauber (Murray Reich Distinguished Artist ’18), “Wall Flower,” 2015, acrylic on wood shims.

[tigerstrikesasteroidnetwork]

NY / Katya Grokhovsky: Phone Home

Katya Grokhovsky, Phone Home, 2021, digital drawings on photo

Tiger Strikes Asteroid STAR Residency program presents: Katya Grokhovsky Dec 10th, 2021 – Jan 3rd, 2022 Performance/Closing: January 2nd, 2022, 6pm EST (additional information TBA)

Brooklyn, NY – Tiger Strikes Asteroid New York is pleased to announce Katya Grokhovsky as our 2021-2022 STAR resident. The STAR residency program will be held in the TSA NY gallery space, from December 10, 2021 to January 3, 2022. During her time as a resident artist, Grokhovsky will use the gallery for the production, rehearsal and studio development of a new piece entitled Phone Home. The residency will culminate in a livestreamed performance on January 2nd. More details to come as the residency progresses.

Exploring loneliness, dissociation, anxiety, tedium, longing and alienation, Phone Home presents an accumulative exhibition-installation-performance-studio, which evolves and morphs through art-time marking into a dysfunctional uncanny domestic valley-landscape. Situated inside a soft-sculptural fiber installation environment, accompanied by drawings and archival collages, an alien visitor protagonist performs routine Sisyphean gestures-tasks, such as sewing, ironing, cutting, writing, erasing, eating, stomping and dancing. The space proposes a peripheral mirage of otherworldly terrain, reflecting on the pandemic living and its effect on our psyche, body, and home. There will be a performance & closing reception with more details to follow.

Born in Ukraine and raised in Australia, Katya Grokhovsky is a New York-based artist, curator, and Founding Director of The Immigrant Artist Biennial. Her work has been exhibited nationally and internationally. Grokhovsky has received support through numerous residencies including The Elizabeth Foundation for the Arts (EFA) Studio Program, School of Visual Arts MFA Art Practice Artist in Residence, Kickstarter Creator in Residence, Pratt Fine Arts Department Artist in Residence, Art and Law Fellowship, MAD-The Museum of Arts and Design Studio Program, BRICworkspace Residency, Ox-BOW School of Art Residency, Wassaic Artist Residency, Atlantic Center for the Arts, Studios at MASS MoCA, NARS Residency, Santa Fe Art Institute Residency, Watermill Center, and more. She has been awarded the Brooklyn Arts Council Grants, NYFA Fiscal Sponsorship, ArtSlant 2017 Prize, Asylum Arts Grant, Australian Council for the Arts Grant, and Freedman Traveling Scholarship for Emerging Artists, among others. Grokhovsky earned an MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, a BFA from Victorian College of the Arts, Melbourne University, Australia and a BA in Fashion from Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology, Australia.

To schedule an appointment to visit the artist during her residency, contact Katya Grokhovsky, katyagrokhovsky@gmail.com

Katya Grokhovsky, Phone Home, parachute, print on fabric, performance, 2021

TSY NY STAR Residency program presents: PHONE HOME by Katya Grokhovsky

January 2nd, 2022, 6.30pm EST

Livestreamed on Instagram: @tsa_ny

Tune into Instagram Live by clicking the link above or following TSA_NY on Instagram on January 2nd, 2022 @ 6:30PM EST for PHONE HOME: Closing Performance by STAR Resident Katya Grokhovsky. This performance will be livestreamed from the TSA NY gallery space via our Instagram account. PHONE HOME explores dissociation, anxiety and loneliness through an alien visitor protagonist, who performs a Sisyphean gesture-ritual, whilst verbally reflecting on the pandemic living and its effect on our psyche, body, and notion of home.

[whileiamdying]

Van Gogh’s trusty pipe: how the artist believed that smoking helped his art

Vincent lay in bed, puffing away and dreamily composing his pictures

Vincent van Gogh’s Self-portrait with Pipe and Straw Hat (1887) Courtesy of the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (Vincent van Gogh Foundation)

Adventures with Van Gogh

Adventures with Van Gogh is a weekly blog by Martin Bailey, our long-standing correspondent and expert on the artist. Published every Friday, his stories will range from newsy items about this most intriguing artist to scholarly pieces based on his own meticulous investigations and discoveries.

“The most beautiful paintings are those one dreams of while smoking a pipe in one’s bed,” Vincent van Gogh wrote from the Yellow House in Arles. In the letter to his friend Emile Bernard in June 1888, he added that it was impossible to create pictures which were quite so beautiful as the perfections of “nature’s glorious splendours”—but nevertheless one should try.

A few months later Vincent wrote again to Bernard: "In order to do good work you have to eat well, be well housed, have a screw from time to time, smoke your pipe and drink your coffee in peace.“

Although most aspects of Van Gogh’s life have been endlessly explored since his death, the role of his pipe has received relatively scant attention. But smoking, for Vincent, was vital, since he regarded it as a source of consolation when tackling the endless challenges he faced (for health reasons we obviously do not suggest that readers emulate his example).

In one of Vincent’s earliest preserved letters, when he was 19, he wrote to his younger brother: “Theo, I must again recommend that you start smoking a pipe. It does you a lot of good when you’re out of spirits.” Two years later, in 1875, he described his pipe as “an old, trusty friend, and I imagine we’ll never part again”.

In a little-known reminiscence, a retired tailor from the Van Gogh family’s village of Helvoirt once remembered cleaning Vincent’s clothes during a Christmas visit. “The suit stank of smoke and was completely unpresentable”, 70-year-old Frederick van de Plas told a Dutch writer in the 1920s.

While working as a teacher in Isleworth, west London, aged 23, his landlady Annie Slade-Jones complained about the smell of his smoking. He therefore gave her scented violets: “I bought some for Mrs Jones to make up for the pipe I smoke here now and then, mostly late in the evening in the playground. The tobacco here is rather strong.”

Van Gogh was by then addicted to smoking. Although failing to sell his work, on one occasion in 1884 he apparently gave a painting to the Eindhoven tobacconist Jansje van den Broek to settle a bill. This picture, Watermill at Gennep, was bought by Baroness Carmen Thyssen-Bornemisza at Sotheby’s in 1996—for £552,000.

Vincent van Gogh’s watercolour of Still Life with Vase, Honesty, Pipe and Tobacco (1885) Courtesy of the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (Vincent van Gogh Foundation)

After Vincent’s father Theodorus died of a stroke in 1885 he painted a memorial still life which included the deceased’s pipe and tobacco pouch. Van Gogh later reused the canvas, to save money, but a watercolour sketch survives.

A few months later, in Antwerp, Van Gogh painted Head of a Skeleton with burning Cigarette (1886). Then briefly studying at the art academy, the picture was presumably something of a studio prank. Nowadays we can hardly look at this painting without seeing a warning about cancer. But for Van Gogh, it was just the opposite: for him a lighted cigarette would have represented life, not death.

Vincent van Gogh’s Head of a Skeleton with burning Cigarette (1886) Courtesy of the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (Vincent van Gogh Foundation)

Tobacco always represented a drain on Van Gogh’s precarious finances. When Paul Gauguin joined Van Gogh in the Yellow House he was shocked to see how money was being frittered away. Gauguin therefore divided their funds: “So much for nocturnal excursions of a hygienic sort [fortnightly visits to the brothel], so much for tobacco…“

Vincent van Gogh’s Self-portrait with bandaged Ear and Pipe (1889) Credit: private collection

Just before Christmas in 1888 came the mutilation of the ear, the incident which led to Gauguin fleeing back to Paris. Fortunately Van Gogh’s wound quickly healed. In the spring he wrote, slightly lightheartedly, to his sister Wil: “Every day I take the remedy that the incomparable Dickens prescribes against suicide. It consists of a glass of wine, a piece of bread and cheese and a pipe of tobacco.”

Although Dickens did not actually refer to suicide, in Nicholas Nickleby he suggested that melancholy could be cured: “Smoke a large pipe and drink a full bottle”. A month after mutilating his ear Van Gogh portrayed both objects in a very personal still life, alongside a medical manual by François Raspail and a letter from Theo (although the bottle has been opened and may not be full).

Vincent van Gogh’s Still Life (1889) Courtesy of Kröller-Müller Museum, Otterlo

Right up to the end of Van Gogh’s life he felt that his pipe had a calming effect, but it failed to save him from his ultimate fate. After wounding himself from a revolver shot on 27 July 1890, he staggered back to his garret bedroom in the small inn. When Dr Paul Gachet arrived, Van Gogh asked for his pipe, which was in still in his waistcoat pocket. Vincent began to smoke in silence. A day later he was dead.

Just over a year earlier Van Gogh had painted what can now be seen as his own memorial, a picture of his empty chair, now at the National Gallery in London. On the straw seat, recalling an absent sitter, lies his trusty pipe and packet of tobacco. This vignette represents a highly personal still life in a painting which is itself a symbolic self-portrait.

Vincent van Gogh’s Van Gogh’s Chair (1888-89) Courtesy of the National Gallery, London

Martin Bailey is a leading Van Gogh specialist and investigative reporter for The Art Newspaper. Bailey has curated Van Gogh exhibitions at the Barbican Art Gallery and Compton Verney/National Gallery of Scotland. He was a co-curator of Tate Britain’s The EY Exhibition: Van Gogh and Britain (27 March-11 August 2019). He has written a number of bestselling books, including The Sunflowers Are Mine: The Story of Van Gogh's Masterpiece (Frances Lincoln 2013, available in the UK and US), Studio of the South: Van Gogh in Provence (Frances Lincoln 2016, available in the UK and US) and Starry Night: Van Gogh at the Asylum (White Lion Publishing 2018, available in the UK and US). His latest book is Living with Vincent van Gogh: The Homes & Landscapes that Shaped the Artist (White Lion Publishing 2019, available in the UKand US).

• To contact Martin Bailey, please email: vangogh@theartnewspaper.com

Read more from Martin's Adventures with Van Gogh blog here.

[myhouseidea]

The Mill House designed by OB Architecture is a Grade II listed property located in Shalford village Conservation Area. The house is set within a generous 6-acre plot with stunning views adjacent to ‘Shalford Mill’, an 18th Century watermill with Grade II * listing. Photography by Martin Gardner.

The Client’s brief was to extend and remodel the house at ground floor to provide a light filled kitchen dining area that would open out to maximize the potential of the beautiful garden.

The design concept is based on a sketch of the house circa 1836 that shows a cluster of pitched roof forms which have been removed over time. The footprint of the extension is located on the original foundations of these previous structures and reinstates the historic courtyard.

The roof is constructed from an oak glulam frame and clad in a bronze standing seam that has a beautiful weathered texture that compliments the earthy hues of the red brick and stone on the main façade. The roof design features two triangular rooflights which bring light deep into the plan.

The dining and living spaces are defined by the structural layout and vaulted roofs of the two bays formed by the six oak columns. The kitchen is located at the rear under the original roof structure which has also been vaulted and in so doing reveals the existing chimney breast which was repaired and restored.

The living space is orientated to a large brick chimney and stone hearth, designed as a modern interpretation of the chimney to the main house. The living and dining spaces are fronted by full height bi-folding doors in a dark bronze finish that match the proportions of the leaded windows on the main façade.At the four corners of the extension frameless glass-to-glass corners are employed to create a seamless transition from inside to outside.

On the external elevation of the new chimney the house motif that can be seen on the main staircase and Dutch gable façade is reappropriated as a large scale CNC stone cut pattern and exemplifies our contextual approach to the design of this project.

The Mill House by OB Architecture The Mill House designed by OB Architecture is a Grade II listed property located in Shalford village Conservation Area.

[terratina]

Naishou: Session Three

A fight in the darkness of night with an old acquaintance (shall we say) reignites the trail. But is it a little too convenient? Are the cultists leading those “foolish samurai” into a trap? Will Naishou Province fall under a reign of blood? Read on to find out.

Warning: Long Post Ahead!

A Bloody Mess

The fight with Shiba Toshio was indeed a struggle. Thanks to a few helpful Jade Strikes from Isawa Suzuha, the party realised what exactly they were fighting - the undead! Shiba Toshio’s corpses had been animated, the bodyguard swiping at the allies of his charge. Realising the animated corpse could only be felled by beheading, the party was victorious. Their keen eyes also spotted a rather heavy set of footprints going in the direction of Koujou Village.

They followed the tracks further to the village’s watermill and encountered one of the village’s samurai, Miya Kobouti on watch. After a barrage of questions from the young samurai, they took up his offer of patrolling a section of the village in exchange for not being reported. He also warned them not to take anything his father and brother said about him too seriously. While the rest patrolled, Ide Nobune slowly crept in, finding only rats, flour and grain.

However, after a bit of poking around, they found that the grain still inside the mill’s mechanisms was in fact bonemeal and a loose floorboard reveal a den covered in blood and gore in the foundations. But, there was no Bloodspeaker cultists in the den. So, Ide Nobune reported her findings and the party agreed to scout the village some more during the day, and try to alert Miya Kuboti to the nerfarious activities happening inside his village.

Of course, they didn’t account for Miya-san’s stonewalling. He insisted on waiting until the evening to check out the mill as he had… other activities to attend to. The ever persistant Akodo Miyamoto insisted on following Miya-san around, leading to Miyamoto finding out about that Miya Kuboti was having an affair with a peasant girl in a flowery kimono, Yuri. With the threat of blackmail, Miya-san finally agreed to check out the mill with the party in the evening.

With time to kill, one half of the party talked with Miya Kinshin, the father of Kuboti and soon found that he was senile. They were quickly forming the same opinion of Chio, the old lady who ran the mill. The other went to Boubi Village to try and get some help in the form of sword-wielding ronin. Maeda, their leader, agreed in exchange for a writ guaranteeing an audience with the province’s governor, Miya Ansho. With the riding expertise of Utaku Ayumi (and the speed of her warhorse), a writ was produced by a very angry Ansho-san.

Evening approached and with almost a platoon available, Akodo Miyamoto drew up battle plans. Sure enough, they surrounded the watermill and a bloody battle ensued as samurai, ronin and blood cultists unleashed their full might against each other. Spells both maho and normal flew through the air at their targets but unfortunately, Isawa Suzuha was rendered unconcious by the kami’s blacklash at her demands. Things looked dire as a vortex of blood appeared in the centre of the mill, however once the hooded leader of the cultists fell it was clear that the samurai and ronin had won the day. However, Yuri was nowhere to be seen.

Amongst the wreckage, the party found a black, obsidian amulet with the Yogo mon on one side, and the Hantei mon on the other. Taking it for further study, the party headed back to Naishou City to report their success and watch the meeting between the governor and the ronin. During the meeting the party found out that Maeda used to be part of the Crane and the amount of prejudice ronin face. Akodo Miyamoto was particularly upset at Maeda’s offer of service being snubbed but could only get him the leadership of Boubi Village - Maeda would have to win his honour back another day.

Ide Nobune visited Kuzuhime once more for some work, and got a job simply putting some jade in a chest of drawers in the smugglers’ cove near the city. She found some strange markings in that chest of drawers including that of a mountain. Akodo Miyamoto chatted with Isawa Suzuha about the ownership of the obsidian amulet, concluding that the Phoenix would look after it as she knew more about magic. Utaku Ayami furthered her plans to dispose of Ikoma Shikei once more, by planting the fan she had won from the Topaz Championship on his person and yelling to the guards about it. Shikei-san objected to the accusation and challenged the Unicorn to a duel. After a grueling exchange of blades, Utaku Ayumi emerged the victor.

The Takeaway

Well, a lot happened, that’s for sure and I overestimated the power of the blood cultists - hurting themselves for a minor hit with no advantage aspects created is a bad idea in FATE Core. As always, I have to not be afraid to hurt the player characters badly and compel as often as I can.

[gkoultoura]

Ευριπίδη «Ίων»

 Δευτέρα 8 Ιανουαρίου 2018 στις 21:00

Δευτέρα 15 Ιανουαρίου 2018 στις 21:00

Δευτέρα 22 Ιανουαρίου 2018 στις 21:00

Δευτέρα 29 Ιανουαρίου 2018 στις 21:00

Η μεγάλη επιτυχία του 60ου Φεστιβάλ Φιλίππων, ο «Ίων» του Ευριπίδη σε νέα μετάφραση και σκηνοθεσία της Ιόλης Ανδρεάδη, που έκανε πρεμιέρα στο Αρχαίο Θέατρο των Φιλίππων με το φυσικό φως του ήλιου το καλοκαίρι του 2017, έρχεται για 4 μόνο παραστάσεις στο Θέατρο Άλφα – Ιδέα, από 8 Ιανουαρίου 2018 και κάθε Δευτέρα στις 21.00 μέχρι τη Δευτέρα 29 Ιανουαρίου. Επί σκηνής ο φετινός νικητής του Βραβείου «Δημήτρης Χορν», Κωνσταντίνος Μπιμπής, ερμηνεύοντας τον Ίωνα και 7 ακόμα ρόλους. Στον ρόλο της Κρέουσας η Δήμητρα Χατούπη. Μαζί τους, δημιουργώντας ένα ζωντανό ηχοτοπίο, ο μουσικός Νίκος Τουλιάτος.

Ο νεαρός Ίωνας - ο μετέπειτα γενάρχης των Ιώνων, των Αθηναίων - καταφτάνει στο μέσο της σκηνής, ενώ η Κρέουσα, η μητέρα του, στέκεται στις θέσεις των θεατών και παραμονεύει. Ο ήρωας γοητεύεται από την παράξενη αυτή γυναίκα, νιώθοντας μαζί της μια απόκοσμη οικειότητα. Και για να κατακτήσει την αγάπη της, αποφασίζει να της εξιστορήσει όλα του τα πάθη.

 Ο Ίων του Ευριπίδη γράφτηκε γύρω στα 412 π.Χ. και αποτελείται από 1622 στίχους. Ο μύθος θέλει την Κρέουσα, κόρη του Βασιλιά της Αθήνας Ερεχθέα, να μένει έγκυος χωρίς τη θέλησή της από το Θεό Απόλλωνα και ύστερα από εννέα μήνες να φέρνει στον κόσμο ένα αγόρι, το οποίο γεννά μόνη και αβοήθητη, κρυφά από την οικογένειά της. Με φόβο προς τον πατέρα της και με σεβασμό προς τη βασιλική της γενιά, αποφασίζει, παρότι πονάει για αυτό, να εγκαταλείψει το παιδί με τα σπάργανά του μέσα στην ίδια τη σπηλιά που συνευρέθηκε με τον Φοίβο, ελπίζοντας στον θάνατο του βρέφους ή στην εξαφάνισή του. Με απόφαση του ίδιου του Απόλλωνα, ωστόσο, ο Ερμής μεταφέρει το νεογέννητο στους Δελφούς, στον ομφαλό της γης, για να το αναθρέψει η Πυθία μέσα στο μαντείο και να σωθεί. Ο μικρός μεγαλώνει τρεφόμενος από τις σπονδές και τα πρόσφορα των πιστών και ως έφηβος ορίζεται φύλακας του Μαντείου. Χρόνια μετά, η μητέρα του η Κρέουσα, θα επισκεφτεί το Μαντείο με τον σύζυγό της τον Ξούθο, με σκοπό να πάρει χρησμό, γιατί ο γάμος της παραμένει άκαρπος. Τη στιγμή που το ζεύγος καταφτάνει, από το ιερό βγαίνει ο Ίωνας.

 Είναι η τραγωδία αυτή κωμική; Είναι η τραγωδία αυτή μια προπαγάνδα; Μια προσπάθεια του ποιητή να επινοήσει τη θεϊκή προέλευση της ιωνικής φυλής και άρα των Αθηναίων, με σκοπό να δικαιολογηθεί η διεκδίκηση τους για την κυριαρχία του Αιγαίου; Στον Ίωνα αυτά που φαίνονται δεν είναι αυτά που είναι. Το πραγματικό δεν το βλέπεις, σου αποκαλύπτεται. H ορατοποίηση του αόρατου, η εμφάνιση των κρυμμένων, των απόκρυφων στοιχείων μέσα από το κείμενο (νυν οράς α χρη σε οράν, μοτίβο κοινό σε Οιδίποδα και Ίωνα) και τελικά η σύνθεση μιας σκηνικής ιστορίας η οποία φέρνει στο φως αυτά τα οποία υπονοούνται, αποσιωπώνται και αποκρύπτονται, είναι το κεντρικό ζητούμενο αυτής της νέας εκδοχής για δυο πρόσωπα.

 ΣΥΝΤΕΛΕΣΤΕΣ:

Μετάφραση - Σκηνοθεσία - Κίνηση: Ιόλη Ανδρεάδη

Προσαρμογή για δύο πρόσωπα: Ιόλη Ανδρεάδη & Άρης Ασπρούλης

Σκηνογραφία - Κοστούμια: Δήμητρα Λιάκουρα

Ηχοτοπίο: Νίκος Τουλιάτος

Κατασκευές: Περικλής Πραβήτας

Βοηθός Σκηνοθέτη: Αθηνά Μιτζάλη

Video trailer: Μιχαήλ Μαυρομούστακος

Φωτογραφίες: Πάνος Μιχαήλ & Ηλίας Κοτσιρέας

Παραγωγή: Θέατρο Άλφα - Ιδέα

 Ίων, Ερμής, Δύο γυναίκες του Χορού, Ξούθος, Παιδαγωγός, Υπηρέτης, Πυθία: Κωνσταντίνος Μπιμπής

 Στον ρόλο της Κρέουσας η Δήμητρα Χατούπη

 Στην παράσταση συμμετέχει ζωντανά ο μουσικός Νίκος Τουλιάτος

 Η νέα μετάφραση του Ίωνα του Ευριπίδη από την Ιόλη Ανδρεάδη κυκλοφορεί στα βιβλιοπωλεία από την Κάπα Εκδοτική.

 Ημέρες και ώρες παραστάσεων

Δευτέρα 8 Ιανουαρίου 2018 στις 21:00

Δευτέρα 15 Ιανουαρίου 2018 στις 21:00

Δευτέρα 22 Ιανουαρίου 2018 στις 21:00

Δευτέρα 29 Ιανουαρίου 2018 στις 21:00

 Τιμές εισιτηρίων:

Γενική είσοδος: 15 ευρώ

Μειωμένο: 12 ευρώ (ισχύει φοιτητικό, ΑΜΕΑ)

Προπώληση: 10 ευρώ

 Λίγα λόγια για την Ιόλη Ανδρεάδη

Η Ιόλη Ανδρεάδη γεννήθηκε στην Κυψέλη και σπούδασε σκηνοθεσία στη RADA και στο King’s College London, στο οποίο ολοκλήρωσε το 2014 τη διδακτορική της διατριβή γύρω από το Θέατρο και την Τελετουργία, ως υπότροφος του Ιδρύματος Ωνάση. Έζησε 7 χρόνια στο Λονδίνο και τη Νέα Υόρκη, σπουδάζοντας και δουλεύοντας πάνω στο θέατρο ως υπότροφος των ιδρυμάτων FULBRIGHT FOUNDATION GREECE​, Ίδρυμα Ωνάση / Onassis Foundation​, Stavros Niarchos Foundation​ και J. F. COSTOPOULOS FOUNDATION. Είναι απόφοιτος του Θεάτρο Τέχνης, του Τμήματος Θεατρικών Σπουδών του Πανεπιστημίου Αθηνών και κάτοχος μεταπτυχιακού τίτλου σπουδών στην Πολιτιστική Πολιτική στο Πάντειο Πανεπιστήμιο. Έχει σκηνοθετήσει περισσότερες από 25 παραγωγές σε Αθήνα, Λονδίνο, Εδιμβούργο, Βερολίνο, Ρώμη και Νέα Υόρκη. Έχει υπάρξει ιδρυτικό μέλος της διεθνούς πλατφόρμας σκηνοθετών «World Wide Lab», η οποία δημιουργήθηκε στο Watermill Center του Bob Wilson το 2011 και της οποίας διετέλεσε Καλλιτεχνική Διευθύντρια το 2013 και το 2015. Έκτοτε, η Ιόλη εργάζεται εντατικά στην Ελλάδα. Στη χώρα μας, τα τελευταία δύο χρόνια, έχει παρουσιάσει τις παραστάσεις: «Αρτώ – Βαν Γκογκ / avec un pistolet» στο Θέατρο Σημείο το 2015, «Οικογένεια Τσέντσι» στο Ίδρυμα Μιχάλης Κακογιάννης τη σεζόν 2015-2016, «Διακόσιες δέκα χιλιάδες οκάδες βαμβακιού – μια παράσταση στο Αρχείο» στο Πολιτιστικό Ίδρυμα του Ομίλου Πειραιώς το 2016, «Young Lear» στο Φεστιβάλ Αθηνών το 2016, «Φονικό στην Εκκλησιά» στο Φεστιβάλ Φιλίππων το 2016, «Το βασίλειο της γης» στο Olvio τη σεζόν 2016 – 2017, «Όλα αυτά τα υπέροχα πράγματα» στο Θέατρο του Νέου Κόσμου και στο Bob Festival (Φεστιβάλ Αθηνών) και «Ίων» στο Φεστιβάλ Φιλίππων το 2017 και «Ένας άνθρωπος επιστρέφει στην πατρίδα του πιστεύοντας ότι θα τον σκοτώσουν και τον σκοτώνουν» στο Θέατρο Τέχνης τη σεζόν 2017 - 2018. Το ίδιο διάστημα δίδαξε Αρχαίο Δράμα και Devised Theater στο Κέντρο Πολιτισμού του Ιδρύματος Σταύρος Νιάρχος, όπου πραγματοποίησε και σεμινάρια θεάτρου για άτομα σε απεξάρτηση. Παράλληλα συμμετείχε στο «Caravan Project» μέσω του οποίου ταξίδεψε σε ακριτικές περιοχές της Ελλάδας για να διδάξει δημιουργική γραφή. Από το 2017 εργάζεται ως Yoga Teacher διδάσκοντας Acting Yoga σε ηθοποιούς στην Ανωτέρα Σχολή Δραματικής Τέχνης «Δήλος» και πραγματοποιώντας Σεμινάριο στο Θέατρο της Οδού Κυκλάδων - Λευτέρης Βογιατζής. Την άνοιξη του 2018 θα παρουσιάσει τον Μισάνθρωπο του Μολιέρου στο Σύγχρονο Θέατρο, σε παραγωγή της Constantly Productions.

[automaticvr]

Andrey Bartenev | Triadic Ball | Boisbuchet 2019 . Between 1912 and 1922, Oskar Schlemmer, master of form at the Bauhaus, developed 18 costumes for 3 dancers for the so-called "Triadic Ballet”. At the time perceived immediately as a revolutionary form of modern ballet, the piece has become iconic for the whole Bauhaus’ interdisciplinary aesthetics. Schlemmer’s ballet was striving for dematerialisation – have we today reached that goal in virtual reality? Which are the forms, colours and movements that characterize humans and their relations with space today?Russian artist Andrey Bartenev conducted this costume-, stage-, choreography, and make-up-workshop culminating in a performance amid Boisbuchet’s grand scenery. . ANDREY BARTENEV | Andrey Bartenev – Russian artist, performance artist, sculptor, painter, scenographer and artist of the costumes for theater. Autor of the exhibitions in Royal Festival hall in London, Exhibition in the Hall of Treasures in The Royal Library Copenhagen, Worked with William de Kooning foundation, Artist in residence at Robert Wilson Watermill center, New York. Performances at Van Gogh museum, Participant at Venice Biennale 2007 Russian Pavilion, Best show at Burning man 2017, Teacher at Norway Theater academy. . Film by Holo Wang . Participants: Charlotte Lardinois, Rebecca Ford, Anna Pacosz, Bernardo Sandoval, Michael Smith, Yu Dong, Alex Sassine . Boisbuchet Technical Team: Carlos Guisasola Suarez, Vicent Orts, Dean Toepfer, Felix Panis-Jones . Tutor: Andrey Bartenev July 18th to July 27th Boisbuchet 2019

[untitledspaceny]

💥 We are pleased to suppprt the @watermillcenter as a gallery partner for their 26th annual summer benefit & auction TABULA RASA 💥💥💥 Artists including @jeanettehayes @missmeatface @indiracesarine and @taralewisstudio will help raise funds for the Watermill Foundation ➡️ head over to @artsy to view and bid on artworks that will be featured at the event of the summer on July 27th that unites the worlds of art, performance, music, theatre, design, architecture and fashion. 💥All funds raised support The Center’s year-round Artist Residency and Education Programs that provide a unique environment for young and emerging artists to explore and develop new work. ➡️ more info: https://www.watermillcenter.org/tabularasa/ ➡️ Auction: https://www.artsy.net/auction/the-watermill-center-benefit-auction-2019 #watermillcenter #robertwilson #benefitauction #artauction #performanceart #ContemporaryArt #untitledspace #indiracesarine #jeanettehayes #missmeatface #taralewis (at The Watermill Center) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bzvwr_UBpYV/?igshid=g8q9d3ikhjnr

[nyfacurrent]

Recap | 2019 East End Studio Tour

Attendees received a behind-the-scenes look at three artist studios in The Hamptons.

New York Foundation for the Arts (NYFA) Leadership Council Members Carol Ross and Marjorie Silverman and Board Member J. Whitney Stevens hosted an intimate tour of three artist studios on Long Island’s East End on August 2, 2019. Led by Corinne Erni, Senior Curator of ArtsReach and Special Projects at Parrish Art Museum, the group visited the studios of artists Eric Freeman, Steve Miller (Fellow in Painting ’04), and John Torreano (Fellow in Painting ’91). The ticketed tour concluded with a seated lunch with the artists at a private residence in Bridgehampton, where guests dined on heirloom tomato, peach, and mozzarella salad; grilled cedar plank miso cod; and raspberry pie.

“It was an exciting mix of artists who each had a different approach to their visual art,” said NYFA Board Chair Marc Jason. “Two of the artists were former Fellowship recipients, and I enjoyed seeing them and their work in this later stage of their careers,” added Jason.

Tour attendees were given an insider’s look into each artist’s approach, philosophy, and methods. Said NYFA Board Member J. Wesley McDade: “We were able to see Eric Freeman actually working on a piece in his studio, Steve Miller walked us through the silkscreen process with his studio press, and John Torreano showed us one of his column pieces in a fairly raw state. It provided a lot of insight into both the intellectual and physical underpinnings of each artists’ work.”

The annual East End Studio Tour benefits NYFA’s programs for artists throughout Long Island and New York State. Past tours have included artists Alice Aycock, Ross Bleckner, Quentin Curry, April Gornik, Hiroyuki Hamada, Mary Heilmann, Brian Hunt, Donald Lipski, Toni Ross, Joan Semmel, Arlene Slavin, Elizabeth Strong-Cuevas, and Joe Zucker.

Eric Freeman is an American artist whose monumental, monochromatic oil paintings are rendered in an abstract vocabulary that evokes optical illusions of landscapes. His paintings reference the legacy of Color Field Painting, an art movement hailing—like himself—from New York. Experimentation with color is an integral part of Freeman’s practice; the special glow of his canvases is achieved with bold and unusual color combinations. He has held numerous solo exhibitions throughout the United States and Europe, and his work is included in the collections of Parrish Art Museum in Watermill, NY; Saatchi Collection, London; Frederick R. Weisman Art Foundation, Los Angeles; and the Kiasma Museum of Contemporary Art, Helsinki.

Steve Miller is a multimedia artist who investigates the ways in which art, design, and scientific technology intersect in contemporary culture. His work spans the disciplines of painting, photography, and sculpture, and has played a critical role in pioneering the Sci-Art movement. With more than 50 solo exhibitions at major institutions across the globe—including the National Academy of Sciences, Jack Shainman Gallery, and Hong Kong Arts Center—his work has been reviewed in Le Monde, ARTnews, The New York Times, Artforum, and Art in America, among others. In addition to serving as an editorial advisor and contributor to the photography journal, Musée, Miller is the author of Radiographic(Glitterati, 2017) and the recently-released Surf/Skate: Art and Board Life (Glitterati, 2019). He divides his time between homes in New York City and the Hamptons.

John Torreano discovered the lure of the East End after moving to New York City in 1968. In 1969 he was invited to the Edward F. Albee Foundation in Montauk, and since then he has maintained a connection to the East End. Torreano is known for using gems and other unusual materials to make “cosmologies” that challenge such modernist dogma as Essentialism, with theory and imagery related to astronomy. He has exhibited in galleries and museums including Parrish Art Museum in Watermill, NY; The Museum of Modern Art, New York; The Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; Corcoran Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.; and the Indianapolis Museum of Art, Indianapolis. Torreano has received the Nancy Graves Foundation Grant for Visual Artists, a John Simon Guggenheim Memorial Foundation Fellowship, and individual grants from the National Endowment for the Arts and the New York State Council on the Arts. His work is represented by The Drawing Room in East Hampton, NY and Lesley Heller Gallery, New York.

Sign up for NYFA’s bi-weekly newsletter, NYFA News, to receive announcements about future NYFA events and programs.

Images from Top: Attendees gather at a private residence in Bridgehampton following the East End Studio Tour; Eric Freeman, Steve Miller, and John Torreano in their respective studio spaces; and Corinne Erni leading the tour at John Torreano’s studio. All images credit Thomas Kochie for NYFA.

[master-riku]

[Bungou Stray Dogs ] 55 Minutes Part 2

Disclaimer:  [ Thank you all for being patient, I’ve been dealing with tons of things, so working on this project has been pretty difficult, anyway, thanks for continuing to follow me.  If there’s anyone else who would like to help with this project feel free to send me a message! ]

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Before entering the island, a rigid identity check was done in the high speed boat.

In addition to checking fingerprints and retina, there was also a thorough examination of belongings beginning with inspections of explosives, chemical substances, and drugs.

The strict examination was similar to entering a military facility or entering an airport in a country in the middle of war. Kunikida said that this ship was the only way to enter the island and its thorough identity checks prevent dangerous activities and crimes from entering the island at the border.

Without fail, Atsushi and the others passed the inspection. They then proceeded to get off the fast ferry at the island's entrance and finally stepped onto the island itself.

Looking at the island's scenery, Atsushi admired it.

The entire island felt like a foreign country.

Covering the sidewalk there is a pavement with various shaped stones in navy blue. They are lined up on both sides of the sidewalk. All the buildings are made of bricks the color of vintage wine. Every house also has windows decorated in lime-paint, and there are porcelain porches between columns. Nearby, there is a watermill hut rotating water.

Before Atsushi and the others, there was a horse-drawn carriage pulled by an actual horse  with ashen-colored hair causing a rattling noise as it went through traffic. Beyond the streets there was a clock tower with outer walls made out of honey stone, and they found the huge needle clock pointing at 11:12.

"This is the British territory," Kunikida said while looking around. "The layout of the area simulates the streets of London in the 19th century, but nevertheless, it is packed with state-of-the-art technology in its foundation and interior. There's no reason to fuss over nothing, so relax." (Here, he literally says: 生水で腹を壊すことはない which means "No need to break your belly with unboiled water." So, I figured it was best to write "No reason to fuss..." instead.)

"It's confusing to the eyes..." Atsushi sighed.

"First of all, this is for everyone." Kunikida said, and took out several silver coins from his bosom.

"What is this? A reward?" (Lit. said: 'Reward/Tip/Rent?")

"Is there even a reason for a reward?  ...This is an identification badge for the island I got from the client." Kunikida hands out the coins one by one to the employees and started to walk. "Ordinary tourists have copper coins, but with ours, you can put the identification signal emitted from the copper coin on doors, and you can enter a classified area where no normal tourists can enter." Atsushi looks at and turns around his received coin. On the surface, there is a figure of a god who seems to be, in particular, a God of the Sea who is holding onto a trident. Somewhere else there is a king's face engraved on the surface as well.

"If you are stopped by security guards and you do not have this coin, you will be expelled outside of the island and identified as a suspicious person."　Kunikida looked at all the detectives. "Do not lose this, and do not accidentally spend this in a shop!"

Around that time, a horse carriage was heard rattling, and arrived in front of Atsushi and the others.

"Haaaa....Is this the Armed Detective Agency party?"

Atsushi looks back to the voice that had given out such a grand sigh. A young man wearing blue working clothes comes down from the carriage, and he gives off the impression of a badly aged 30-year old. Atsushi thought that he looked like a tired person.

"I am the captain of Standard Island....Haaa.... I am Captain Walston. I arranged for all of you to come. Haa... I am the client. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"You're the captain?" Kunikida stepped forward. "It's a pleasure to meet you, thank you. You look quite exhausted, though, is everything okay?"

"Haa...... I'm worried, I'm afraid, but... This is my usual behavior, so don't mind me."

"Haa...."

He gave a hopeless sigh similar to Atsushi's.

A tired face in blue working clothes. Atsushi thought he looked more like a repairman working in the ship's engine room than a captain. Nevertheless, despite his gloomy behavior, he is the most important person on the ship. "Captain Walston, I'd like to ask about the details for this request immediately." 

Suddenly, an electronic tune played causing distraction.

It was the sound of a chalmera ringing from a ramen stall. (Chalmera is a flute that is well known throughout Japan. It usually is played for ramen stalls.)

"Haa... Sorry. It's the phone." The captain took out his mobile phone from his bosom. "Hello?"

Atsushi saw the tired expression on the captain's face. He definitely chose a unique ringtone. He wonders if he likes ramen.

"Yes,  it's done! I'm terribly sorry! I'll definitely find it......Yes, but by all means don't bother anyone!"

After apologizing for something for a while, the captain hung up.

"He also seems to be in a constant position of worry." Kunikida said in a strange tone of sympathy.

"I sense six empty stomachs just now," The captain murmured under his breath.

"Well then, haa.... I'm terribly sorry for being so impolite. There is an inn for you just around the corner. Let me explain the request while I guide the way."

"Haa.....That's it."

Captain Walston said as they were passing through the exotic streets. "The request is that I want to get rid of the thieves who are trying to steal rare and valuable items. It's that kind of request."

"Thieves.... What kind of people are they?" Atsushi asked.

"Originally, this island strictly checked the identity of the person entering. Furthermore, there is also sufficient security the wealthy resort to. Therefore, there are many people who keep some kind of valuable things on this island."

"And the thieves are targeting them." Kunikida nodded. "So, what is the valuable item?" Walston shook his head slowly at Kunikida.

"It's food."

"Food?"

"Europe's white truffle, which is regarded as the world's most expensive food ingredient, is a visionary ingredient that is traded at a price that is four times as much as gold of the same weight. Right now, we are keeping the highest record ever of the food by the name of a Truffle called "Jewel." It's said that it's value is priced at 1 million."

"I see. Because food is perishable, paintings and jewels in comparison are easier to buy through the black market, which means foodstuffs are more valuable than collectibles. From a thief's standpoint, it's a golden opportunity." Kunikida said while entering the contents in his notebook. "It is our duty to protect that valuable."

"Yes, and I received information from Scotland Yard that three thieves are aiming to steal that item, so I implore you."

When Atsushi heard that, a feeling of uneasiness settled in his chest.

"Uhm...I'm sorry," Atsushi asked timidly. "I know this is a thief extermination, but...is there a reason why you requested for a lot of people?"

For this request, all seven members of the detective agency were dispatched. As a general rule for the detectives, they usually worked in pairs, so it was unusual.

"Certainly there's a reason to Atsushi's question." Kunikida tilted his head. "So what about it, Captain? Is there a secret?"

"S-s-s-secret? There's no such thing!" Captain Walston suddenly jumped. "The reason you were all called here was to make sure everything would be safe, that's all!" 

Atsushi and Kunikida stared at each other.

"Uhm....well......Oh! We've already arrived to our accommodation! Here we are!" If one looked at the direction the captain pointed to, one could certainly see a four story structure. The accommodation's appearance was more that of a fantasy than modern. 

"Come now, please come in. The island's hotel is so popular that it has a waiting list. Please go ahead and rest from the exhausting trip....and, truly nothing will happen that you all should be concerned about, so...!"

After that, the captain sighed as quietly as he could. "............Haa."

In one hotel room, Atsushi opened his traveling bag.

The hotel was also built in a time reminiscing old London. A lamp imitating a gas light, illuminates the room. The beds are carved with fine ivy and flower decorations. There are black and white photographs of the world's oldest steam locomotive decorated on the wall.

"Kunikida-san, aren't you a little bit bothered by the captain's request?" As Atsushi asked, Kunikida, who had just confirmed the number of items in the washbasin looked back.

"There's nothing to be bothered by" Kunikida said without changing his expression.

"But a request is still a request, and we know that the client is not a saint without secrets. We just do the job the president ordered for us to do."

"What is worrisome is the reason why the President took up this request this time around. He decided to dispatch this number of investigators, and also decided not to let Ranpo-san come to the island. I think--"

"You think?"

"I think that someone persuaded the President." Kunikida asserted. "As soon as the President had a meeting with someone outside the company, he gave orders to all of the employees. Someone persuaded him. But, it's useless to think about it. By the way, Atsushi."

Kunikida suddenly called out, and Atsushi raised his head.

"I thought you were carrying an excessively large traveling bag. What's it for?" Following Kunikida's gaze, Atsushi looked at his bag.

"What is it for? It's luggage. Since our work is staying on an island over night.... I never traveled abroad before, so I thought I should prepare thoroughly."

Atsushi started to arrange the things inside of his luggage one by one on the bedding.

"A lunch box, portable umbrella, water bottle, towel, bandage plaster, plastic wrap, oranges, cocoa powder, then...."

Kunikida stood up and watched Atsushi with his eyes fixed.

"......I should have said that it's "not an excursion."

Atsushi hurriedly waved both hands.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry! It's the first time I've stayed at a lodging, so I can't help it! But... I haven't forgotten that I came to the island to work! I prepared all of this in case of emergency."

"Then, for example...these hanafuda, sugoroku, playing cards, and throw pillows..." ( Hanafuda is literally: Flower Cards used for many games, Sugoroku is a board game in Japan, I included links to Wiki if you want to read more about them.)

"IS THIS A SCHOOL EXCURSION?!" Kunikida shouted.

"Even though you think about the work, you only think about having a good time to hang out and have fun at night!"

"S-sorry!"

Atsushi apologized, frightened.

"...T...That's, well, it's because I've never stayed at such a wonderful accommodation before, since during my time in the orphanage, I was mostly on a dirty floor like the outdoors.... I didn't have any friends, so, that's why....... I'm sorry."

Kunikida stared at Atsushi, and then slowly breathed in, and said. 

"The lights will go out at 2."

[juliansiegel]

DATES 2018/2019

FEBRUARY 2018

Friday 2nd February  HAMBURG, NDR BIG BAND FEATURING JULIAN SIEGEL,  NDR Studio Eins

Saturday 3rd February HANNOVER, NDR BIG BAND FEATURING JULIAN SIEGEL, NDR Landesfunkhaus, Kleiner Sendesaal

JULIAN SIEGEL QUARTET ‘VISTA’ (Whirlwind Recordings) 

ALBUM LAUNCH TOUR Supported by ARTS COUNCIL ENGLAND

MARCH 2018

Friday March 2nd BRIGHTON, THE VERDICT  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Saturday March 3rd LEICESTER JAZZ HOUSE   Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Wednesday March 14th LONDON, VORTEX JAZZ BAR - ALBUM LAUNCH  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Thursday March 15th LONDON, VORTEX JAZZ BAR - ALBUM LAUNCH  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Friday March 16th STOKE BY NAYLAND, FLEECE JAZZ CLUB  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Saturday March 17th LUTON, THE BEAR CLUB  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Wednesday March 21st  NOTTINGHAM JAZZ HOUSE, BONINGTON THEATRE   Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Wednesday March 28th STRATFORD UPON AVON, STRATFORD ARTS HOUSE  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

APRIL 2018

Thursday April 12th CAMBRIDGE MODERN JAZZ CLUB   Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Saturday April 14th SHREWSBURY JAZZ NETWORK, THE HIVE  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Sunday April 15th BRISTOL, JAZZ AT THE ALBERT  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘ VISTA’

Thursday April 26th BIRMINGHAM, EASTSIDE JAZZ CLUB ROYAL BIRMINGHAM CONSERVATOIRE  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

MAY 2018

Thursday May 3rd LONDON, GUILDHALL SCHOOL OF MUSIC AND DRAMA, MILTON COURT  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Sunday May 20th INNtöne Jazzfestival, AUSTRIA  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA

Tuesday June 26th JAZZ STANDARD, NYC Julian Siegel Quartet 7.30 and 9.30 shows

Wednesday 27th JUNE  MADE IN THE UK, XEROX ROCHESTER INTERNATIONAL JAZZ FESTIVAL Julian Siegel Quartet

For the Showcase at XRIJF Rochester Julian Siegel Quartet is supported by PRS Foundation’s International Showcase Fund, which is run by PRS Foundation in partnership with Department of International Trade (DIT), British Underground, Arts Council England, The Musicians’ Union (MU), PPL, Creative Scotland, Wales Arts International and Arts Council Wales in association with PledgeMusic

JULY 2018

Sunday July 15th SWANAGE JAZZ FESTIVAL  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Friday July 20th LUGLIO IN JAZZ Marcianise, Naples, Italy  DIANE SCHUUR QUARTET

Friday July 27th - Saturday 28th SLIGO JAZZ FESTIVAL  Alan Niblock + Julian Siegel + Mark Sanders

Sunday 29th THE CRESCENT - BELFAST  Alan Niblock + Julian Siegel + Mark Sanders 

AUGUST  2018

3rd to 17th August INTERNATIONAL FRENCH JAZZ SUMMER SCHOOL, LANGUEDOC, FRANCE  with tutors Liane Carroll, Simon Purcell, Julian Siegel and Omar Puente

SEPTEMBER 2018

Friday 21st JAZZ LIVE at THE CRYPT, CAMBERWELL Partisans

Saturday 22nd THE VERDICT Brighton Partisans

Tuesday 25th and Wednesday 26th VORTEX JAZZ BAR, DALSTON Partisans - Live Album Recording

Friday 28th LIMERICK JAZZ FESTIVAL  JULIAN SIEGEL QUARTET ‘VISTA’

OCTOBER 2018

Monday October 8th RONNIE SCOTTS, LONDON Bansangu Orchestra with Claire Martin and Oli Rockberger

Friday October 12th CHELTENHAM JAZZ CLUB  JULIAN SIEGEL QUARTET ‘VISTA’

NOVEMBER 2018

Thursday 8th Santa Cruz De Tenerife, Spain DIANE SCHUUR QUARTET

EFG LONDON JAZZ FESTIVAL

Friday 16th VORTEX JAZZ CLUB, Dalston Nikki Iles Jazz Orchestra

Sunday 18th SPICE OF LIFE , SOHO. Gareth Lockrane Big Band

Monday 19th BARBICAN CENTRE, LONDON Archie Shepp - Art Songs and Spirituals + Red Circle

Sunday 24th THE OTHER PALACE, VICTORIA, London Gareth Lockrane Big Band

Tuesday 26th WATERMILL JAZZ, Stan Sulzmann Neon Orchestra 70th Birthday Tour 

DATES 2019 

JULIAN SIEGEL QUARTET ‘VISTA’ SPRING 2019 TOUR DATES 

Supported by ARTS COUNCIL ENGLAND

VISTA out now on Whirlwind Recordings   

JAZZWISE MAGAZINE TOP 20 ALBUMS OF 2018

JANUARY 2019

Friday 11th SAFFRON HALL, SAFFRON WALDEN  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Friday 25th WAKEFIELD JAZZ CLUB  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

FEBRUARY 2019

Friday 1st   VORTEX JAZZ CLUB, DALSTON, LONDON  Simon Purcell’s Red Circle

Thursday 7th RONNIE SCOTTS JAZZ CLUB, LONDON Jim Mullen’s Volunteers

Sunday 17th SOCHI, WINTER INTERNATIONAL ARTS FESTIVAL Diane Schuur Quartet

Monday 18th MOSCOW Diane Schuur Quartet

Tuesday 19th ST IVES JAZZ CLUB,  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Wednesday 20th BROOMHILL ART HOTEL  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Thursday 21st SOUNDCELLAR, POOLE  Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

MARCH 2019 

Saturday 23rd BRISTOL JAZZ AND BLUES FESTIVAL Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Sunday 24th ASHBURTON JAZZ, DEVON Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

Monday 25th PIZZA EXPRESS JAZZ CLUB, SOHO, LONDON Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

MAY 2019

23rd MANCHESTER JAZZ FESTIVAL, NQ JAZZ, THE WHISKEY JAR Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

24th BIRMINGHAM JAZZ 1000 Trades Julian Siegel Quartet ‘VISTA’

[svaartpractice]

Practice Lecture Series: Katya Grokhovsky

Grab your morning coffee, afternoon tea or an evening beverage, depending upon where in the world you are, and join us for an online lecture that will give us a deeper look into Katya Grokhovsky's practice. 

Katya Grokhovsky was born in Ukraine, raised in Australia and is based in New York City. She is an artist, independent curator, educator and a founding director of The Immigrant Artist Biennial (TIAB) and Feminist Urgent (FU). Grokhovsky holds an MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, a BFA from Victorian College of the Arts, Melbourne University, Australia, and a BA (Honors) in Fashion from Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology, Australia. Grokhovsky has received support through numerous residencies and fellowships including The Elizabeth Foundation for the Arts (EFA) Studio Program, NYC, SVA MFA Art Practice Artist in Residence, Kickstarter Creator in Residence, Pratt Fine Arts Department Artist in Residence, Wythe Hotel Residency, Art and Law Fellowship, The Museum of Arts and Design (MAD) Studios Program, BRICworkspace Residency, Ox-BOW School of Art Residency, Wassaic Artist Residency, Atlantic Center for the Arts Associate Artist in Residence, Studios at MASS MoCA, VOX Populi Curatorial Fellowship, BRIC Media Arts Fellowship, Saltonstall Foundation for the Arts, NARS Residency, Santa Fe Art Institute Residency, Watermill Center Residency and more. She has been awarded the Brooklyn Arts Council Grant, NYFA Fiscal Sponsorship, ArtSlant 2017 Prize, Asylum Arts Grant, Chashama space to create grant, Australia Council for the Arts ArtStart Grant, NYFA Mentoring Program for Immigrant Artists, Freedman Traveling Scholarship for Emerging Artists and others. Her work has been exhibited extensively and has been reviewed in The New York Times, Hyperallergic, The Brooklyn Rail, LA Weekly, Huffington Post, Observer, Artnet, ArtNews, AUTRE, Contemporary Art Review LA, FRONTRUNNER magazine, Performance Is Alive, ArtBorne magazine, Expose magazine, Bad at Sports, BUST magazine, Arte Fuse, L magazine, Bedford + Bowery, and others. 

The lecture will take place via Zoom on June 23rd at 9:15AM EST, and is free and open to the public.