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thecampjuicebox · 1 year

Note

If I might make a request: Give us the Gale epilogue that we never got. Gale cooking dinner for Tav and Tara. Given the fact that Tara hisses at Tav on their first meeting, I feel like she'd really interrogate them, and Gale would be oblivious to the tension.

Oh my GODS I adore this idea. Okay okay. Here we go, I hope you enjoy!!

Third Degree

Pairing: Tav (f) x Gale (m) x Tara (f tressym)

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

POV: 2nd person (Reader is Tav)

Warnings: Tara being an overall nuisance, angst, FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF, game spoilers

You clasp your hands for a moment, squeezing the trembling appendages together to attempt to soothe your anxiety. A bottle of perfectly aged wine nestled between your forearm and breasts. Questioning your sudden bout of anxiety, you shake your head. It was just Gale, after all. You've shared many a meal with the wizard, shoulders touching next to the camp fire. You've shared many a night with him as well. Tangled in the weave. Your mouth waters at the memory, a familiar tingling in your core. No, what worries you now is Tara. Gale's tressym and most trusted friend. Gale spoke about her regularly. You'd met her once in Baldur's Gate, the encounter going less than well. You still remember the way she hissed at you, fangs bared in a hostile fashion. Gale didn't even seem to notice, his excitement purely on seeing the tressym so far from Waterdeep. Shaking your head, you ascend the stairs to the front door of his tower. Waterdeep is comfortably warm this time of year, a gentle breeze sweeping the soft fabric of your skirts. You scoff at yourself, peering down at the outfit you spent entirely too long at Figaro's trying to pick out. You settled on a emerald green velvet dress, adorned with gold filigree that sparkles in even the faintest of candlelight. It hugs your supple curves in all of the right ways, accentuating the roundness of your hips. Figaro gushed about how it perfectly complimented your complexion, the rest of the shop's clientele dropping what they were doing to gawk at you like you were a fine piece of art in a grand foyer.

Your pale white hair is plaited neatly, 2 thick braids hanging over your tired shoulders, a few loose strands hanging about your flushed cheeks. Gale has always loved the white shade of your hair, often comparing it to starlight. He reveled at your ancient elven roots on a regular basis, often finding comfort and pure joy in listening to your story telling, bouncing tales back and forth with Halsin at camp. You miss the comradery that traveling had to offer. Always someone to talk to. To confide in. Now, you spend your days simply reminiscing on what once was. Baldur's Gate, while bustling with life now after the city has begun to rebuild, still feels so.. desolate. Lonely. You're startled by the sudden swinging open of the front door, the brown haired Wizard leaning against the door frame, blue robes covered by a some-what messy apron. He grins in your direction, eyes scanning your frame before settling on the bottle of wine. You notice his stare, eyes narrowing and you grasp the bottle by the neck to hand it over to his eager hands.

"An Athkatlan Clarry? Impressive. Come come come, dinner is almost ready. And my gods, you look stunning."

You blush and nod once, lifting the end of your dress to move onto the final step, crossing the threshold. Taking a moment to gather your bearings, you scan the room. Books and scrolls are scattered on every open table top, not messily, but definitely in no form of organization. A few pillar candles are lit to create ambiance, the scent of whatever Gale was cooking filling the room with a delicious cloud and you tilt your head up to better inhale. You mumble a soft "mmm.." to yourself. A gentle hand rests against the small of your back and Gale gazes down at you, thumb rubbing back and forth against the velvet of your dress. You sink into his frame and drink in his familiar warmth. Gods, you've missed him. His scent. His strong chest and toned arms. His embrace. He sets the bottle of wine down on the nearest table and wraps both arms around your short body, snaking underneath your arms so you're forced to place them on his shoulders. He places the softest kiss between your eyes, making your lashes flutter at the sudden skin to skin contact, earning a comfortable sigh from you.

"I've missed you, my little piece of starlight."

You giggle quietly, tilting your head up slightly to bump your nose against his. He wiggles his nose back against yours, head turning side to side to make the tips brush ever so slightly past each other.

"Ahem."

Gale's head turns quickly towards the sound and his eyes meet with Tara's, her small wings fluttering in annoyance. He smiles up at her as she descends the spiral staircase, whiskers twitching at the new smells. You take a step away from Gale. He looks at you with confusion before Tara stops in front of you, small pink nose wiggling from side to side, assessing you. Her green eyes pierce a whole right into your skull, seemingly picking your entire being apart with a single stare. You smile nervously, raising a hand to gesture a simple wave at her. Her eyes flick to Gale and she turns around, tail swishing behind her as she walks towards the doorway of the kitchen, looking back over her shoulder to assure that Gale is going to follow her. He does. The wizard intertwines his fingers with yours and gently pulls you along with him, scooping the bottle of wine from the table he originally sat it down on.

The kitchen is swirling with the most delectable scents you've ever experienced, a mixture of herbs you can't quite pinpoint. Your palette was so used to the random assortment of foods you could find while traveling, so this was truly gourmet in your eyes. Hells, a simple lamb shank would sent your salivary glands into overdrive, had you the opportunity to obtain one. Gale saunters over to a grand brick fireplace, carefully lifting the lid of the cauldron hanging above the crackling fire and giving its contents a look. He wafts the smell up into his nose, steam swirling in translucent white tendrils into the air, his eyes nearly rolling all the way back into his skull. He places the lid back on the cauldron and mumbles an incantation, extinguishing the once roaring fire beneath the cast iron. Tara rests comfortably on a stool at the large oak table on the far side of the room, her eyes fixed on you. You tuck a piece of hair behind your pointed ear and make your way to Gale, who is now fetching plates and cutlery from the cupboard, hands carefully gripping the silver as to not smudge its shiny surface.

"Need some help, my sweet?"

Your voice trickles out like honey, making the wizard's hairs stand on end and he smiles at you, eyes twinkling.

"Gods, no. Make yourself comfortable in any seat you'd prefer. I'm sure Tara would love to get to know you better. She does love stories."

He nods his head to the side, pointing in Tara's direction and you huff quietly. With calculated steps, you find a stool across the table from Tara, eyes watching her just as she watches you. Gale turns his back to the two of you and continues on his mission to fetch the nicest dishes he can find, pulling a silver chalice from the top shelf of the cupboard and giving it a gentle shine with the corner of his apron. He hums quietly to himself. Your hands fall to your lap and you lower your gaze, picking at your fingernails.

"So.."

"Hm. So?"

Tara's tone of voice is stern, but also hushed as to not alert Gale of her intentions to absolutely interrogate you. You're not stranger to interrogations, having persuaded your way in and out of some of the most dangerous situations. This, however. This felt more difficult than any of that. Tara raises a paw to her lips, her eyes still not leaving you and she licks long, gentle strokes along the back of her paw, claws extended slightly as a warning. You clear your throat and rub your fingers over your knuckles, fidgeting with the thin gold ring Gale had given to you after the fight with the Nether Brain. You smile down at the piece of jewelry, eyes flicking to the side to watch gale from your peripherals. He continues his preparations, now filling the plates with the food he's perfected, steam clouding his little area of the kitchen now. Carefully, Gale walks to the table, setting a plate filled with assorted vegetables and a large piece of what looks to be goose down in front of you. Your nostrils perk up at the smell, saliva pooling in the back of your throat. You swallow harshly and smile up at him, ready to absolutely tear into the food, and potentially Gale for dessert. You giggle at the thought, covering your mouth with the back of your index finger to stifle the noise.

"Thank you, my love. It looks delicious."

Gale beams at your compliment. You love the way his eyes light up when anyone compliments him, for literally anything. Back at camp, you relished telling him how nice his hair looked, or how neatly he had trimmed his beard, or how his ideas were good ones, even then they absolutely weren't. You'd do just about anything to see that man smile. Tara tuts and waits patiently for her plate to be set down in front of her, sparing the niceties before leaning down to take a bite of the perfectly crispy goose flesh. She purrs happily. Gale leaves the table momentarily and you sit, hands in your lap, waiting for him to return before even considering taking a bite of your food. It was a habit your mother instilled in you at a very young age. Returning with a chalice full of the wine you brought, he gently presses a kiss atop your head, making your cheeks flush at the simple gesture of love. He sits on the stool beside you and claps his hands once in excitement, rubbing them together quickly before lifting his fork and digging in. You do the same, lifting the silver utensil carefully, stabbing the prongs of the fork into the impossibly tender piece of goose breast. You earn a small piece and quickly lift it to your mouth, the flavor setting your taste buds ablaze. You close your eyes and chew slowly, a quiet "mm.." rumbling in your chest and you swallow.

"Gale this is.. incredible. Truly."

His cheeks flush and he nods, working through chewing the too-large bite of potato he shoved into his mouth. Tara silently laps at the remnants of goose on her plate, already finished since she didn't have the decency to wait for Gale to join the table. Gale points his fork in Tara's direction, mouth still full of food and he speaks in jumbled words.

"So, I assume the two of you have gotten acquainted, yes?"

Tara and you exchange glances, you breaking eye contact first to set your fork down beside your plate, lifting the chalice to quickly take a nervous swig of whine, the alcohol deliciously burning the back of your throat once you swallow.

"Hm, I suppose so, yes. Tav seems.. Lovely."

Her last word stings a bit and you know full well she doesn't mean it. Gale nods happily, shoving a baby carrot into his cheek. You set your chalice down and reach a hand under the table, placing it on Gale's happily bouncing thigh. The bouncing stops abruptly, his facial expression not changing, but he's painfully aware of your hand, leaning in to your touch. You rub soothing circles over top of his trousers, humming quietly to yourself.

"So, hm, Tav. Gale has gone on and on and on about the two of you being engaged. You must be so excited. Will you be staying in Baldur's Gate after the wedding, since out tower is just.. Oh so cramped already. I'm sure you plan to spend so much gold on this wedding, hm? Gale is nothing short of extravagant. You should hold the ceremony in Mystra's temple."

Gale shoots Tara a perplexed look, chuckling to himself after he swallows his thoroughly chewed bite of food. Tara blinks innocently, flashing a single fang at you and she places a paw on the table, claws extended. You grit your teeth at the mention of Mystra, blinking down at your lap.

"Tara, my dear. Tav will be living with us. She will be my wife, after all. There's plenty of room in my bed, just for her. And we will speak about wedding plans when Tav is ready. Lots of preparations are to be made."

He reaches down to the hand resting on his thigh, giving it a loving squeeze. You grin and tilt your head sideways, resting it against his bicep for a moment before pulling your hand away to resume eating. You take small bites of food, chewing each one with ease before swallowing, little happy groans following at the taste. You chase the final bite of food with more wine. Tara straightens up, wings fluttering against her back at the new position and her tail swishes a few times before settling beside her on the stool.

"And.. Children? I assume you'll be having children? How many, do you think? It's obvious you can't keep your hands off of each other anyways, it's only a matter of time. Gods, I do wonder what they'll be like. Hopefully they all look like Gale, him having the superior genes and all."

You cough, covering your mouth carefully with your hand. Gale's eyes widen and he raises his hands quickly.

"Now now, let's not be hasty. Children will come in due time, yes. Much.. Much further down the road. Entirely too much to do and experience now."

Tara smirks at you, clearly sensing how uncomfortable you are. You squirm in your seat and reach for the chalice to finish off your wine, a warm buzz traveling up your spine and into the back of your neck, your chest turning a light crimson. The tressym hops down from her stool, a small yawn followed by a "mew" leaving her mouth. She rubs her side against your leg, covering you in her scent and some of her fur. She takes a seat on the floor beside Gale and purrs quietly, waiting for him to reach down and pet her head. He obliges, scratching behind her small ears. With a flick of her tail, Tara turns and leaves the room. You sigh in relief, placing your elbows on the table and your face in your hands. Gale lifts his chalice and takes a sip, savoring the sweet taste of the wine before smiling at you, absolutely clueless of what just unfolding directly in front of him at dinner.

"She seems to be really fond of you!"

#gale dekarios #gale fluff #gale fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #tara the tressym

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lbibliophile-sw · 1 year

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Need to Know Basis

Also on AO3 [600 words] @whumptober - day 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”, day 30: "not much longer…" @clonefandomevents - Coruscant Guard Bingo: masquerade

The Coruscant Guard works on a need-to-know basis, and all too often, Commander Fox needs to not-know. or Five times Commander Fox carefully doesn’t see, and one time he reports what he sees.

There’s something suspicious going on in the Guard. No there isn’t, there can’t be.

Troopers are whispering in corners, officers are meeting behind closed doors, both groups falling silent as soon as he approaches. If he needs to know, they’d tell him. He knows why they don’t. But he’s a Marshal Commander, he doesn’t have time to keep up with whatever petty shenanigans his Guards are scheming. As long as it doesn’t affect their performance outside the barracks he’ll leave it to his deputies to manage the fallout, that’s what they’re for. Keeping track of the Senators is bad enough.

He really wonders about the state of Kamino these days. The shinies are coming to them younger and younger, even the older ones needing more extra work to keep them from making a fatal mistake.

It’s hard to keep track of who’s who under the matching paint, with tics and habits spreading rapidly among the lower ranks. Like that shiny there, the way they tap rhythmic patterns against their thigh when distracted, Clarry would do that. But Cla- CT-9845 was decommissioned three weeks ago; Thorn signed off on it. He said he would ‘handle it’, and Fox trusts his Commanders.

His Commanders have been pestering him lately. The usual about his eating and sleeping schedule – as though any of them ever have time for enough of either – but also about his workload, his off-hours, his meetings with the Chancellor. He answers as best he can what does he do in those hours he can’t remember? because it’s the quickest way to end their mother-henning.

And if they are so curious about his flimsiwork, well they can take some of it; clearly they don’t have enough of their own. He doesn’t think about just which tasks he hands over, or why.

He doesn’t often spend time in the barracks common areas, too busy working in his office or rushing to the next meeting or crisis, but he still sees troopers without their full kit periodically. And he starts to notice troopers with new scars, surgically-precise, or bandages taped to their temples. He carefully doesn’t notice that all the scars match. It pains him to see his Guards’ injuries, but the medics make the right call in saving their limited bacta for more important wounds.

They have more than their requisition records suggest, but he’s long practiced not asking about that either.

There has been a flurry of comms and meetings between the Guard and the GAR and even Jedi lately. It’s nice that tensions between the groups seem to be easing, that his troops are able to catch up with their brothers again. What they’re doing during those catch-ups is none of his business.

Even his own batchmates are sending him messages on their personal chats again. He leaves them unread; it’s not like he has time for mere social calls. He ‘forgets’ his pad unlocked on Thire’s bunk, hoping the other Commander will make them understand. Eventually they stop calling.

One of the most important rules in the Coruscant Guard is that only Fox, as Marshall Commander, reports directly to the Chancellor. Especially now. Dangerdanger, he’s something more, must protect his brothers, can’t let him know.

When the Chancellor gives him orders Good Soldiers Follow Orders, he obeys without questioning. When the Chancellor asks him a question, he answers without prevarication. The Chancellor knows when he tries to lie, as though he can see the truth in his mind.

So when the Chancellor tells him to report anything suspicious about the Guard lately, Fox replies honestly:

He hasn’t seen anything.

#CGbingo #whumptober 2023 #no.18 #no.30 #“I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”#“not much longer...”#star wars #sw:tcw #ficlet #fanfic #drabble sequence #5+1 things #self-gaslighting #mind reading #order 66 averted #commander fox #sheev palpatine #bingo fill

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idontknowreallywhy · 26 days

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It was the fic nobody asked for… but then literally 3 people showed a flicker of interest so… *flings wip at internet*

🚀💥🚀💥🚀💥🚀💥🚀💥🚀💥🚀💥🚀💥

Extract of Discord Chat between rocket45boy and Anarchy_Queen_Est43

***

So - big news!

***

You beat the Undead Overlord???

WITHOUT ME??

***

No, you daft idiot we have a hot date with that guy tonight.

***

Oh! Yeah! Cool.

Looking forward to it!

Usual caveat for if I’m not there it’s not personal just my part time job thing is a bit random with times and all.

***

Yeah yeah Mr Mysterious.

Anyway…

***

Sorry! What news, my Queen?

***

I’m not going to college!

***

Wait, what?

Don’t tell me they turned down your scholarship?!! Those ignorant bastards!

***

Calm down mate, no I did get that, but am not gonna need it.

***

Has someone said something? Don’t let the losers get in your head.

Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean you have so much potential??

You’d smash college!

***

Slow doooown, RB!

I’m not just bumming out.

I have a job!

***

Oh!

Uh, ok what kind of job?

***

Not 100% clear yet but it’s in experimental digital tech field and a shedload of training on the job and best bit is…

Drumroll please…

***

What? What?!!

***

ACCOMMODATION INCLUDED!

Oh! You get out of the CL hellscape!!

***

YESSSSSS!!!!!

***

Oh Anar that is so cool!

Wow.

That must be a relief.

***

Yeah. Oh you have no idea.

I mean maybe you do have a bit of an idea - I’ve gone on about it enough, right!!

Like, I wish them well and all but… my ‘neighbours’ are just constant drama. The only one I’ll miss is Clarry. Might see if I can put a good word in for him when I get settled.

***

Well, congrats! When do you start?

***

Tomorrow!

***

Oh!

Wow that’s fast!

***

Yeah the guy is keen to start on whatever this new project is so - tomorrow I get on a private jet to somewhere awesome!

***

Ok. Wow. You weren’t wrong that’s huge news

I’m really pleased for you

***

Chin up rocketboy, it’s a tech job, gaming has gotta be part of the job description! We’ll still hang out ;)

***

:) Good to know!

I really am pleased for you

Ok I gotta run but, see you later for overlord-crushing?

***

See you later alligator!

***

In a while crocodile…

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #alan Tracy #havoc (thunderbirds)#idontknowreallywhy fanfic #if I ever wrestle the skin into submission this should look really cool on ao3 #WIP: Red fic #WIP whenever

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pedros-immaculate-vibes · 11 months

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A Peaceful Elf

Part III

Halsin/Tav fanfic (slow burn, fluff, angst)

Zzar, Daggerford Clarry, ale. Well, that’s certainly something. You looked in your bag at the bottles you and your band of merry adventurers had stolen from the goblins who would no longer be needing them. “Hey, soldier, think we have enough libations in your bag, or can we fit more?”

The swarthy tiefling gave you a shameless grin. “I’ll have you know I’m carrying my weight in dandy drinks and a lady never says her weight, but trust me, it’s a FUCK of a lot!” She threw her head back and her hair whipped around as wildly as the flames in her chest. “We won’t remember tonight if it bit us in the arse! No offense, fangs!” She elbowed Astarion.

“Mmm, none taken,” he mumbled, although he clearly didn’t appreciate being touched. “Any chance there’s a bottle in there that isn’t absolute swill? I do have standards, you know.”

“Ale’s ale, mate. You can have a go at it when we get back to camp, but I’m sure you’ll find something worthwhile,” Karlach winked down at him, flirting the way only a gregarious soul could with Astarion. You weren’t sure, but you could have sworn you saw the vampire blush the slightest bit as he changed the subject and looked away into the woods. Did Vampires blush?

“Any idea who’s going to this, ugh, debaucherous debacle tonight? I like to know who’s on the list for things like this.”

“Only the who’s-who of the grove, which is to say, probably everyone you’ve talked to,” chimed Gale, who seemed in very high spirits himself. He had found a few scrolls and a tome in a hidden chest beneath some rubble. It was like watching a cat who caught a canary saunter through the woods.

“I’m sure tonight will meet your expectations, Astarion, in the best possible way,” Wyll smiled back at him, a satchel brimming with food on his back. “Will this be the first time you’ll be getting a hero’s welcome? I can promise you, that feeling stays in your heart forever; like a candle on a cold evening,” he beamed. The smile turned a shade wry as the moment passed.

“I’m sure you’ve had many such welcomes, Wyll, and countless more to come,” you put a hand on his shoulder, determined to make him forget his recent misfortune. His sacrifice had gained them Karlach, after all. He deserved every spot of happiness you could afford. Wyll nodded gratefully to you and looked back at the trail, smiling a bit easier.

“Oh! So I’m assuming that druid elf will be there, what was his name? Has-been? I wonder what kind of standards he has… in regards to libations, of course,” schemed Astarion as he glanced sideways at you.

You sighed.

A few miles ahead, when you and he were at the back of the group, Astarion tripped over a few conveniently placed vines.

***

The druids had already stopped the ritual a few days before you were able to save Halsin; after you revealed the correspondence between Kagha and the Shadow Druids found in a disconcertingly serene wetland, the interim Arch Druid came to her senses and helped you purge the grove of their influence. With that, tension eased and the tieflings breathed easier. Now that Halsin had returned, everything was about as idyllic as possible, given the circumstances.

Your pride warmed you as a breeze flitted over the lake near the camp. Staring out over it for a brief moment more, you turned to Wyll, handed him the best of the food and drink you could find, and nodded to him, understanding his wish for quieter surroundings. “Always looking out for us. Thank you, my friend,” he smiled back wanly, and returned to his reverie.

The idea of sprinkling drow poison on his food had flitted through your mind and nauseated you as quickly as you forced it to flit right back out. What kind of thought was that, toward Wyll of all people? Something to figure out later, I suppose. Not tonight. You turned a corner and the whole camp came into view; the far end of the camp, near the river, became keenly clear as a pair of hazel eyes swept across the soirée, to yours.

Not tonight. Please.

—

He inhaled deeply and supped on the vibrance of the smiles, laughter and music around him. Halsin wasn’t the only one who was free, now; the tieflings would be on their way, the umbra of the Shadow Druids had dissipated over the grove, and the danger of the Absolute camp had been vanquished.

His chest swelled with a wholesome delight.

All thanks to this band of, well, vagabonds. Idiots seemed too harsh, although after speaking at length to a few of them, he realized that there was more will than wisdom in more than one. Nonetheless, he couldn’t have been more grateful.

Friendly back slaps and arm shakes came from the group, especially Zevlor who had imbibed at least two glasses of something strong. The night was going well and he was glad to see a few druids in the fray, dancing in a circle with a tiefling or two. The bard tiefling strummed something lively while more joined the circle around the camp fire. Halsin gladly stepped back from the dancing, not nearly drunk enough to partake in anything rhythmic around so many he would have to face again at some point. Actually, not drunk at all. He saved that for more intimate company.

He stood back, at the edge of the camp, and took inventory of his saviors: the feisty tiefling in leather danced in the circle; the pale one (who’s name he had learned was Astarion) endeavored to make Lakrissa swoon over a bottle of wine near his tent; Gale spoke animatedly with Rolan at his tent table, books and complicated hand gestures between them; the githyanki gnawed on a roasted leg of something while peering over the crowd, apparently looking for someone; Wyll was nowhere to be seen; and the brooding one named Shadowheart stood near a tent by the fire, admiring the brawny tiefling woman.

That’s everyone, he thought, except—

His eyes fell on Tav, from across the camp. His chin dropped every so minutely to his chest as he held her eyes and smiled, lightening his gaze by cocking his head to the side and nodding gingerly at her. She did the same. Then, quickly looked away. The light on the lake danced behind her, making her already invigorating presence even more dynamic. Something in his gut tightened and his ears twitched as he realized the tips of them were burning. Blinking at the unexpected sensation, he raised an eyebrow looking down at his boots and pursed his lips. I’ll need to keep that in check, it seems. And she appears to be occupied. I’ve garnered enough of their attention. I can speak to them, to her, tomorrow. He cleared his throat and came back to reality when another tiefling and druid came to congratulate him and hear his harrowing tale of capture and liberation at the hands of the travelers.

He looked once more at Tav’s face, her eyes alight at the sight of all the merriment, and felt a smile spread wide across his face.

“They are, quite remarkable, to be sure.”

He looked back at his audience and began to retell the tale, only to miss Tav look at him and think the same.

—

After hearing all of the stories of this arch druid of the grove and see him cater to yet another growing group of adoring faces, some with more than mere appreciation in their stances and glances, after all he’d been through, she could think of only one thing:

Quite remarkable.

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gothhabiba · 1 year

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[ID: A sparsely furnished room with white walls and a bare, stark rectangular doorframe with no door. To the left, a wire bedframe with one pillow and no mattress: to the right, a small footstool and a hanging coat rack, from which hangs a world map that's been cut into thin strips so that it falls into the shape of a plastic bag. End ID]

Interior/Exterior Landscape 2010 is a room-sized installation. It contains, among other things, a hair-embroidered pillow which depicts flight routes between the cities most visited by Hatoum, a bag constructed from a cut-out print of a world map hanging from a metal coat rack, and a birdcage housing a single hair ball. Each element offers subtle references to Hatoum’s biography and to the history of surrealism, which Hatoum was introduced to as a child through her study of monographs on the artist René Magritte (1898–1967) and her reading of psychoanalytic writing by Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud, among others. The installation also contains a bare steel-framed bed without a mattress to lie down on, with long strands of hair hanging to the floor below like cobwebs, and a stool. In the corner of the room a chair next to the wall is conjoined with a small wooden desk so that the top of its curved back extends above the surface in a way which echoes Magritte’s illustration for the 1938 publication Dictionnaire abrégé du Surréalisme (Abridged Dictionary of Surrealism). Hatoum also references Marcel Duchamp’s (1887–1968) work Why Not Sneeze, Rose Sélavy? 1921, a birdcage filled with marble ‘sugar’ cubes which reflected Duchamp’s interest in the deception of perception. In Hatoum’s small cage, a hairball replaces the cubes. For Hatoum the use of hair is symbolically rich and has strong connections with memory – the Victorian locket, for example, containing a curl of hair from a loved one being a well-known form of keepsake. Although slightly disturbing, the overall effect of the hairballs is not one of revulsion but rather an uncanny evocation that is both delicate and unsettling.

— Clarrie Wallis, "Mona Hatoum: Interior/Exterior Landscape." The Tate.

[ID: The same room. The foot of the bed appears at the right in the foreground. Further away to the left, a desk and chair. The chair is facing towards the back of the desk but appears to have been pushed forward or upwards through the desk, until its back emerges from the middle of the desk's surface. End ID]

The Tate Modern’s retrospective of Mona Hatoum presents the melancholy autobiography of an exile, and it is not a pretty picture. Filled with sharp edges, electrified fences, and cages, it is overall a portrait of discomfort, and of the ever-present disappointment of a life circumscribed by the perceived denial of a real origin. Born in Lebanon to Palestinian parents, Hatoum found herself shut out of her birth nation when war broke out in 1972 and took up residence in London. In Hatoum’s work, whether there is a place she belongs or whether her home is where she lives is immaterial: the longing is there—it infiltrates every installation, video, document, and work on paper as a sometimes subtle, sometimes glaring inconsistency in otherwise banal and workaday objects and situations.

Interior/Exterior Landscape (2010) is the tenth room in this enfilade of objects, experiences and installations: it stands as a microcosm of the artist’s world. It is sparsely furnished; what furniture there is is largely useless or pain-inducing: a bedspring with no mattress, a chair embedded and trapped in a desk, and a pair of circular coat hangers. The bed and pillow are interwoven with hair, indicating both usage and the residual filth of a prisoner’s cell. Hanging on the wall, like a miniature of the room itself, is an empty birdcage, with a single ball of hair as [its] silent occupant. Hatoum can perhaps be criticized for freighting her objects with heavy-handed significance—the round coat hangers frame a map of the world; everywhere there is one object standing in for another, or an idea—but she crafts her installations in carefully coded phrases that reference the genre of artistic political protest. Iranian-born artist Siah Armajani has long used cage/vitrine-based claustrophobic rooms as a metaphor for exile, as in Glass Room for an Exile (2001 – 02)[,] and Ai Weiwei’s carpentry follies of chairs and tables rendered useless are also immediately called to mind. Hatoum’s spaces are encyclopedic in their description of herself—a well traveled intellectual who finds her voice stifled and her movements restricted.

William Corwin, "ArtSeen: Mona Hatoum." The Brooklyn Rail.

#Mona Hatoum #art #readings #long post /

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