girl-adrift

[girl-adrift]

uhmmmm yes you probably followed me 2 weeks ago if you're still here and see the thing is ive been packing and moving and im still not done but my final day to move is the 30th :smirk:. so basically excuses but this muse is not abandoned i shall return fully when i finish moving not that anyone cares but im gonna pin this just in case.

[girl-adrift]

do   the   sun's   rays   seep   through   the   transparency   of   the   window   just   beside   them   ?   or   does   the   illumination   derived   from   the   other's   pleasure   at   the   piece's   description   pierce   athalia   so   ?   she   is   not   sure   which   is   the   explanation,   but   the   brilliance   that   shines   punctures   her   indifference   so   flagrantly   that   she   is   suddenly   unsure   of   herself.   or   rather,   she   has   always   been   unsure   but   has   made   a   commitment   to   rolling   with   the   unguided   and   unfaithful   punches   that   are   associated   with   personhood   on   this   planet.   interestingly,   it   was   not   art   that   she   expected   to   breathe   life   back   into   her   veering   sentiments   regarding   morals   and   values.   what   of   human   decency   ?   she   had   taken   great   care   to   make   the   guidelines   inconspicuous   for   the   sake   of   living   somewhat   peacefully   and   yet   —   warm   brown   eyes   to   gaze   back   at   the   ever   so   faded   painting   portrayed   digitally   before   them.   they   do   not   travel   immediately   upwards   to   meet   her   counterpart's,   but   rather   view   the   barely   bubbling   and   neutral   color   of   the   liquid   in   her   not-fragile-enough   teacup.   a   thoughtful   distraction   from   the   conundrum   at   hand.   at   last   their   eyes   meet   again,   a   fragile   line   between   athalia's   personal   apprehension   and   politeness   being   held   within   the   gaze.   ❝   no   need   to   apologize.   ❞   she   says   simply,   and   honestly   indeed.   ❝   i'm   elated   to   hear   that   you're   willing   to   work   with   us,   if   anything.   ❞

athalia   found   it   only   befitting   to   remove   the   veil   of   apathy   in   the   wake   of   the   other   woman's   obvious   ardor   towards   this   work.   it   was   not   something   that   she   often   engaged   in,   a   strict   and   calculated   approach   to   her   occupation,   as   required.   no   matter   interest,   nor   intrigue.   alas,   she   finds   herself   observing   the   image   once   more.   how   could   one   remain   blind   to   its   beauty   ?   a   powerful   and   decorated   warrior   scrutinizes   his   sapphire   sea;   it   is   his   because   stance   and   gaze   imply   as   such   —   the   ownership   of   a   warrior.   and   as   the   remnants   of   the   carefully   raging   waves   fade,   it   leads   way   to   what   seems   to   be   cerulean   horizon   —   barely   touched   by   a   tinge   of   gray.   and   perhaps   most   interesting:   how   the   still   visible   shades   of   his   surroundings   seem   to   be   reflected   in   the   pattern   of   his   attire.   if   such   detail   could   be   observed   by   an   untrained   eye   as   athalia's   on   a   piece   in   need   of   renewal,   the   perfected   version   must   be   a   sight   to   behold.   lia   nearly   sighs   —   both   wearily   and   dreamily   —   at   the   thought.   some   luck.   she   wonders   briefly   who   theo   had   been   in   conversation   with   to   gain   knowledge   on   such   a   painting.   

❝   i   suppose   we   might   call   him   lucky.   ❞   most   notably,   he   is   luckily   rich,   and   luckily   in   touch   with   and   at   other   times   inside   of   people   who   are   both   more   talented   and   more   cultured   than   he   would   likely   ever   be.   ignoring   the   thought,   athalia   smiles   at   the   young   woman,   sweeter   than   even   she   is   aware   of   (   which   would   likely   be   to   her   own   dismay   ).   ❝   this   uhm,   moritsuna,   was   it   ?   ❞   observation   of   the   figure's   side   countenance   in   the   photo   once   more,   ❝   do   historians   know   much   about   his   character   ?   accomplishments   are   respectively   enough,   of   course   but   …   ❞   but   she   is   aware   that   art   pieces   and   the   personalities   stroked   within   them   have   stories   that   stretch   beyond   ancient   titles.   and   perhaps   she   might   do   this   advert   a   minuscule   amount   of   artistic   justice   if   she   were   culturally   aware,   knew   where   to   look   —   where   to   research.   things   that   the   chairman   wouldn't   busy   himself   with.   most   usually,   she   would   not   either   but   there   was   always   a   hovering   and   bumbling   intern   in   the   shadows   with   the   willingness,   and   athalia   is   strict   with   checking   the   work   of   subordinates.   her   own   climb   to   success   was   not   as   simple   as   it   may   seem.   ❝      i   mean   hearing   that   this   is   such   a   significant   piece   and   all,   if   there's   anything   we   should   be   aware   of,   i   would   like   to   know.   ❞   and   perhaps,   she   might   see   to   it   that   it   went   a   place   that   was   not   the   boring   contemporary   walls   of   her   boss.   staring   at   her   cooled   tea,   she   wonders   fleetingly   who   she   is   making   these   adjustments   for.   

the   morning   sun's   greeting   ,��  shining   through   the   panels   of   the   high   -   ceiling   building   ,   spill   across   the   polished   table's   surface   .    an   unexpected   guest   to   join    !    and   certainly   ,   was   she   about   to   find   out   with   what   joy   the   rays   continued   dancing   around   them    --    as   if   to   celebrate   ,   take   part   in   a   rather   fateful   joining   of   seemingly   average   kind   .    there   is   a   settling   dust    ---    a   concealed   whisper   ,   a   fleeting   trace   of   a   rather   peculiar   request   ,   being   introduced   to   her   .    briefly   spoken   had   she   ,   to   the   representative   sat   across   ;    and   yet    .   .   .    not   prepared   for   the   stroke   of   fate    ---    thickly   applied   ink   upon   the   paper   ,   staring   back   at   her   .    the   fan   ,   neatly   tucked   behind   her   obi   ,   starts   to   poke   her   .    she   doesn't   like   the   taste   of   this   foreign   language   on   her   tongue    ---    the   way   words   leave   a   gap   .    but   her   face    ---    powdered   by   spring's   arrival   ,   wears   colours   of   crushed   peony   and   velvet    ---    faint   pleasantry   ,   a   given   nod    ---    her   hands   folded   on   top   of   each   other   within   her   lap   .

    the   brief   silence   is   easily   filled   by   a   light   -   struck   hum    ---    the   ringing   of   bells   ,   the   melodious   invitation   into   what   her   words   may   paint    ---    tinted   by   her   own   anticipation   .    there   is   surprise   ,   astonishment    --   albeit   clearly   controlled   as   both   hands   will   lift   in   front   of   her   ,   risen   to   her   chest   before   her   left   will   gently   tug   the   black   sleeve   of own garment preventing   it   from   brushing   against   the   surface   between   them    ---    before   the   lightest   touch   ,   illuminates   the   screen   anew   .       "    this   is   a   portrait    ---    done   by   one   of   the   most   famous   artists   of   his   time   .    kuniyoshi   .    he   is   known   for   his   series   of   depicting   famous   warriors   of   their   time   .    "    ,    her   gaze   falls   onto   the   artwork    ---    as   if   reuniting   with   an   old   ,   lost   companion   of   the   heart   .    the   fondness   sticks   to   her   tone   ,   waltzes   before   beginning   anew   ,    "    moritsuna   sasaki    ---    who   has   lived   hundreds   of   years   before   kuniyoshi   .    who   served   the   great   minamoto   no   yoritomo   !    a   military   ruler   of   japan   during   old   times   .   .       "    ,    the   nostalgia   blooms   like   moss   on   a   riverbed    ---    the   warmth   of   the   morning   sun   finally   climbs   up   to   her   face    ---       she   hasn't   wiped   the   smile   off   her   countenance   ,   oh   no   .   .    the   joy   sings   peacefully   ,   still   !       "    my   apologies   for   the   great   explanation    !    but   i   am   so   surprised   ,   seeing   this   invaluable   piece   .    so   far   away   from   home   ,   too   !    "    ,    glance   will   remain   on   the   young   woman   ,   sat   across   .    the   vanity   of   the   fleeting   world    ---    barely   to   be   registered   .    a   lotus   flower   ,   sprouting   on   the   moon    ---    dancing   across   the   river   .       "    the   chairman   is   very   lucky   ,    "    ,    a   nod   as   if   to   affirm   anew   ,   stretched   lips   from   her   newly   found   ,   small   bliss   .   .    hues   to   lose   themselves   momentarily   on   the   digital   screen   in   front   ,       "    to   hold   this   piece   in   his   hands   .    "       ---    and   it   is   her   duty   ,   that   calls   .    that   has   greeted   her   ,   reborn   ,   disguised   by   the   gentle   greeting   of   a   morning's   arrival   .    an   ancient   print   .   .    and   yet   ,   connected    ---    breathing   ,   living   through   her   .       how   much   more   irony   needed   for   her   to    ---        "    it   would   be   a   great   honour   ,   to   bring   this   artwork   back   to   it's   deserving   glory   .    please   ,   let   me   be   of   help   to   you   .    "    ,    gaze   low   .   .    crown   tilting   with   the   slow   bow   .

she   does   not    —    illustrate   the   distant   strings   ,   the   red   thread   ,   connecting   her   to   this   woodblock   print   of   a   time   long   gone   .    and   neither   ,   the   cautious   wariness   against   the   request   .   the   vivid   blue    —    shattered   indigo   against   crimson   red   .   .   all   she   sees   .    all   she   wishes   to   reunite   with   .    it   breathes   .   .    through   her   ,   sighs   with   her   .   .    truly   ,   heavenly   .   .

[girl-adrift]

what if i just started messaging y'all. ( ๑‾̀◡‾́)σ"

[girl-adrift]

[girl-adrift]

♰ starter for @kagamiita .

athalia   typically   left   all   abstraction   to   the   worlds   created   by   poetry.   it   was   with   a   deliberate   fervor   that   she   attempted   to   maintain   a   concrete   nature   to   her   visual   eye.   such   is   life,   this   was   not   realistic   on   any   level   of   living.   it   was   not   an   easy   challenge,   for   life   was   full   of   abstractions   that   she   was   made   —   or   rather,   forced   —   to   accept.   it   wasn't   for   lack   of   understanding   or   lack   of   appreciation.   surely,   she   could   appreciate   the   beauty   in   art's   abstraction   (   although   not   all   proved   to   be   abstract   in   the   first   place   ).   what   she   could   not   do   was   submit   to   the   restless   emotion   that   crept   from   beneath   her   skin   as   she   basked   in   it.   what   she   did   for   work   was   simple:   quick,   easy,   cheap.   it   was   straight   forward   enough   for   the   average   consumer.   and   art,   true   art,   well   it   seemed   to   delve   into   a   spiritual   realm   that   she   often   preferred   to   lock   herself   out   of.   befitting   to   this   rule,   her   gaze   clouds   over   with   a   forced   indifference   towards   beautiful   and   culturally   rich   surroundings.   she   ought   to   be   ashamed   !   

she   thinks   of   theo,   those   paintings   on   his   pent   house   walls.   though   an   owner   of   art,   he   was   certainly   not   a   lover   of   it.   purchasing   for   bragging   rights.   he   always   was   extreme   and   extravagant.   and   now   he   had   tasked   her   with   this   ridiculously   disrespectful   quest   of   tracking   down   a   culturally   significant   piece's restoration   for   the   sake   of   an   advertisement.   athy   loves   advertising,   but   she   is   still   human.   was   it   awkward   ?   to   meet   over   tea   in   a   nearby   museum   café   with   someone   who   actually   cared   ?   yes.   yes,   it   was.   but   her   occupation   called   for   it.   ❝   you   see,   my   boss   got   a   hold   of   this   piece   some   time   back   on   account   of   using   it   as   background   in   a   commercial.   but   he   says   it'll   be   better   in   its   best   condition.   ❞   a   fucking   beer   commercial   she   leaves   out,   taking   a   sip   of   her   putrid   tea,   suddenly   forlorn   towards   the   sweetened   southern   hospitality   of   georgia's, a bitterness for a home she'd never preferred   ❝   that's   why   i   contacted   you.   ❞   the   backlight   of   the   tablet   she'd   been   presenting   the   photographs   on   went   out,   and   somehow   she   felt   too   embarrassed   to   turn   it   back   on.      ❝   do   you   do   this   kind   of   thing   ?   ❞

[girl-adrift]

Belladonna of Sadness (1973) dir. Eiichi Yamamoto

[girl-adrift]

♰ starter for @luvticon

♰ based on this post.

friendship   was   a   fleeting   thing   to   athalia   previously;   she   was   thankful   for   this   fact   considering   her   intentional   lack   of   permanence.   she   liked   things   vague.   for   one,   she   had   already   learned   that   trust   was   something   opaque   :   it   was   a   crystal   clear   fishbowl,   human   nature   swimming   on   the   glass'   other   side.   and   secondly,   her   affinity   for   remaining   destitute   of   connection   was   tied   to   her   ability   to   observe   and   utilize   the   smaller   details   in   the   lives   of   others   for   her   work.   guilt   would   not   prod   at   her   as   she   dramatized   the   insecurities   and   hopes   of   people   she   was   never   attached   to   for   the   sake   of   a   dollar.   quite   a   few   dollars,   actually.   yet   did   the   wind   of   the   new   city   deftly   draft   her   a   new   companion   in   this   here   friend.   lasting   longer   than   lia   had   intended,   just   like   her   stay   in   this   very   place.   

only   a   slight   sound   of   discomfort   arises   from   her   chest   —   not   to   fall   from   her   lips   currently   enclosed   around   a   cigarette.   that   damned   nail   bending   on   the   switch   of   the   lighter   again.   but   sooner   or   later   she   gets   it,   a   burnt   orange   flicker   of   a   flame   painting   her   features   in   a   warm   glow   in   the   dark.   1,   2,   3   seconds   pass   as   she   lights   the   stick.   the   glow   disappears.   ❝   i'm   never   sure   why   you   sit   out   here   with   me,   ❞   athy   states   and   inquires   simultaneously,   first   drag   taken   immediately   afterwards,   ❝   i   understand   waiting   inside.   ❞   smoking   wasn't   for   everyone,   but   it   was   for   her;   it's   a   memory   of   her   mother   back   then.   so   too   is   the   garden   out   back,   the   scenery   they   sit   before   on   the   patio   she   decorated   nicely   on   the   back   porch.   so   much   permanence.   she   could   laugh   despite   herself.   ❝   well,   i   guess   what   i'm   trying   to   say   is   thank   you   for   staying.   ❞   she   hates   the   way   that   sounds.   

[girl-adrift]

[girl-adrift]

PAM GRIER Sheba, Baby (1975) | dir. William Girdler

[girl-adrift]

tag, it's definitely 2 AM where i'm at but i just finished lia's bio and i want to give it a shot of reaching people from all time zones. so, if you're interested : ｡◕ ‿ ◕｡ new woc muse inspired by an amalgamation of my own thoughts, experiences and things i've been reading as of late. do not fear following / approaching and definitely do not fear the dash in my url ! i needed it. ask & ims open. or like for a starter.

carrd. pinterest.

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[girl-adrift]

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The Swan, No. 1 by Hilma af Klint is one of her most well known works.

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ATHALIA GRACE PRICE, the girl adrift . . .

an independent, semi-selective single muse created by JENNIFER : SHE / HER / TWENTY-FOUR IN THE EST. TIME ZONE. ༉‧₊˚.♰ ࿐ ˊˎ

# GIRL - ADRIFT is an analysis on playing hide & seek with one's faith; exploring the complexities of reality, heaven, hell and all that is in between. a characterized examination of the themes of self-hood, identity, spirituality and the definition of one's purpose - an understanding ( or lack thereof ) of the metaphysical. please heed warnings.

carrd. pinterest. musings. #TRACKING : girldrifting .

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MARIAH THE SCIENTIST via BILLBOARD MAGAZINE.

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she really said PROFESSIONAL HATER

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tag dump.