#Eugène Labelle

[dreamtoxicatcher]

Must be love on the brain And it keeps cursing my name No matter what I do, I'm no good without you And I can't get enough

Lauralei Kohl x Eugène Labelle

[autophage]

How To Survive In Our Village

a collaborative storytelling game for 3-10 players

You will need:

three coins to flip

paper or other writing surface for a map

notecards to write on

a writing utensil

Round 1: Society

Starting with the player whose name has the longest history, and then proceeding widdershins (counterclockwise), each player describes a role within the Village. This can be official (mayor, seneschal, sherriff) or unofficial (matchmaker, drunkard, lothario). The next player gives the names of the current and previous person that occuppied that role, as well as the circumstances under which the role changed hands. At the end of the round, the first player (the one whose name has the longest history) names and describes the handing off of the role that was specified by the player before them. Each Role is written on a notecard, along with the names of both defined people in that role; these notecards make up the Society deck.

Round 2: Location

Before this round begins, draw a regular grid (Cartesian or hex probably work best). In the order from player with the earliest birthday in the year to latest in the year, players take turns labeling each space on the grid until the grid is filled up. Labels can include passable features (plain, meadow, road), structures (homes, places of commerce, monuments, temples), or features (natural or otherwise) that may impede motion (rivers, quarries, dense forests). Each player also flips all three coins. If all 3 coins come up the same, the player must describe an event that happened (either recently or passed down in oral tradition) at the location placed by the previous player; add a number to the location on the grid and write the event down on a notecard with the corresponding number; these notecards make up the History deck. This round continues until all spaces on the grid have a description.

Round 3: Needs

Starting with the player who last ate, and proceeding sunwise (clockwise), each player specifies a need that the villagers have (strict needs, such as food or water, but also social needs, such as status or amusement). Each subsequent player defines two different ways that the previously defined need can be met. At the end of the round, the first player (the one who most recently ate) defines two ways of meeting the need defined by the previous player. Each Need is written on a notecard, which constitute the Needs deck.

Round 4: How To Survive

Before this round begins, shuffle each Deck. Starting with the player who most recently suffered a hardship, and then proceeding widdershins (counterclockwise), each player flips 3 coins; for each that comes up heads, they must draw a card from any of the existing Decks. The player then specifies one Danger that is INSIDE the Village and one Danger that is OUTSIDE the village. The next player specifies how to avoid or mitigate each Danger defined by the previous player before specifying their own Dangers. The player must work any cards drawn into some aspect of what they have generated; after each player finishes, cards are shuffled back into their Decks. At the end of the round, the first player (the one who most recently suffered a hardship) specifies how to avoid or mitigate the Dangers specified by the player before them. This information is written on a notecard; these notecards constitute the Insular Knowledge of the Village.

(Background: Eugène Isabey’s “Entry to the Village of Bains”. Public domain, housed in the Met collection.)

[josefavomjaaga]

Bessières's correspondence

This is for @flowwochair: the index of the documents in the "Fonds Maréchal Bessières" in the French National Archives. Not much about the content, unfortunately. I summarised some points that I imagined were not all that interesting to you. Please let me know if there is something you'd want to have more details on and I will look if there is more.

1) Letters and orders by Napoleon to Bessières, dating from 1796 to 1813. It’s organized by the different armies and contains mostly »official« stuff of some importance, like documents related to the double abdication of the two Spanish Bourbon kings in 1808. Murat’s name is mentioned once, in connection with one document:

copies of Napoleon's instructions to Murat on how to deal with the Spanish, 17 and 28 April 1808

Maybe also of interest: some of the documents concern the reorganisation of the troops after the Russian campaign and date as late as mid and end-April 1813, so only days before his death

2) Letters from princes of the imperial family to Bessières

Mostly interesting because a large chunk seems to be labeled »a.s.«, which I believe to mean »autographe signée«, i.e., handwritten and signed. Most correspondence of important people would have been in the hands of secretaries, with the sender merely signing them. Bessières being worthy of receiving letters that these imperial princes had written themselves hints at a special position of trust.

41 letters from Joseph Bonaparte, related to events in Spain (1808 – 1811)

2 letters (not written by Jerome himself) about uprisings in Kassel in 1813

And here you go: 29 letters by Murat, in his own handwriting, relating to the daily report on the Guard, the policy to be followed, and to military events in Spain (dated 5 August 1805 to 5 June 1808)

Followed by some stuff for me: 22 letters from Eugène de Beauharnais, in his own handwriting and »d’un caractère surtout personnel« (of primarily private nature), dated 27 January 1805 - 5 June 1808

Other than that, there are letters from Josephine, Lebrun, Hortense, Stéphanie de Beauharnais, Méneval and the secretary of Madame Mère.

The rest of this section are documents related to Bessières’s military career, decorations etc.

3) Some personal letters. The connection between them escapes me

from Bessières to his sister-in-law (?), 22 February 1808.

from Bessières to a marshal on the reorganisation of the Guard, 27 January 1813.

from Madame la Maréchale concerning her financial distress, 12 December 1813 and 12 December 1814.

Facsimile of a letter from the Marshal to his wife, after his departure for the 1813 campaign

4) Certificates, letters of service and appointment, decorations

Some documents as early as 1792 among them, but mostly bits and bobs that seem unrelated

5) Letters adressed to Bessières – Army of Italy and Army of Egypt. 55 pieces

6) Ministers' reports to the Emperor and various letters. Plenty of documents and letters among them that are neither written by or adressed at Bessières

7) Imperial Guard I (Organisation, financial reports etc.)

8) Imperial Guard II (contains one more letter by Eugène!)

9) Imperial Guard III (Holland in 1810)

10) Legion of Honour and pay. 73 pieces, 1804 to 1813

11) Russia. Letters adressed to Bessières, situation reports, mostly from before the campaign started

12) Letters from Napoleon, the imperial family, the royal family and several famous personalities. A lot of them obviously from after Bessières’s death, among them (condolation) letters to Madame la Maréchale from

Napoleon - 6 May 1813

Madame Mère – 7 May 1813

Marie Louise – 5 May 1813

Caroline Murat – 25 May 1813

Eugène Beauharnais – 2 June 1813

Joachim Murat – 8 June 1813

Also contains 18 letters from Hortense de Beauharnais to Madame la Maréchale, dated 1809 to 1813, letters from Madame la Maréchale Oudinot, from Laure Junot, from Wellington (handwritten!) and plenty more

And on a happier note: a letter by Joachim Murat dated 1 Germinal year VIII (22 March 1800)

13) Related to Bessières’s city house

14) Correspondence between Marshal Bessières and Madame la Maréchale I

3 letters from Bessières to his wife, 2 prairial-15 vendémiaire an XIV (22 January-7 October 1805)

75 letters of Madame la Maréchale to Bessières, found in the cassette of the marshal after his death, 5 January 1806-1 May 1807

29 letters of Bessières to his wife, 26 March-13 December 1808

15) Correspondence between Marshal Bessières and Madame la Maréchale II. Continuation from above

72 (? I’m not sure about the numbering here) letters from Bessières to his wife, 5 January 1809, 28 September and ... 1811

48 (?) letters from Madame la Maréchale to the Marshal, January-9 December 1811

16) Correspondence between Marshal Bessières and Madame la Maréchale III. Continuation from above

9 letters from the Maréchale Bessières to her husband, 19 March - 16 December 1812

40 letters from Bessières to his wife, 13 January 1812 - 24 April 1813

17) Related to the electoral college of département Haute-Garonne

18) Personal papers, financial documents, real estate etc.

19) Letters to Madame la Maréchale during Restauration and July Monarchy

20) Collection of autographed letters unrelated to Bessières

[loosealcina]

NINO ROTA'S IL CAPPELLO DI PAGLIA DI FIRENZE AT LA SCALA, SEPTEMBER 18, 2024

Out there in everyday life, if you consider an ordinary chat over some hot (or cold) beverage, just about any occurrence of «Nino Rota» will be either preceded or closely followed (a matter of seconds at most, like lightning and thunder) by «Federico Fellini». It’s sort of inescapable, and it’s somewhat obtrusive as well. This time around, I’ll simply pretend I’ve never heard a thing about La dolce vita and 8½ (other than reporting their respective YOBs: 1960 and 1963—sorry, I had to). Il cappello di paglia di Firenze (first presented in Palermo [Teatro Massimo] in 1955) can be described as a spirited Parisian merry-go-round ignited, fueled, and finally shut down by a supremely elusive straw hat decorated with red flowers. Its libretto is based upon a Comédie-Française classic that dates back to 1851: Un chapeau de paille d'Italie by Eugène Labiche and Marc-Michel. I’d say this last pretty neutral piece of information might very well encompass/spotlight the veritable core of the night. In fact, everything in this production seemed to be specifically designed to emphasize that we’re essentially seeing a work of spoken theater. Music has been added as a polite backdrop/enhancer, that’s all. Mario Acampa’s staging was focused on energetic colors, vintage skits, and harmless fun. Its forte was letting all the actors/singers show off their comedic talents, and have a good time on top of that.

As the label Progetto Accademia signals, this Cappello di paglia di Firenze as a whole was devised and brought into reality within the Accademia Teatro alla Scala; the peculiar qualities you’d associate with those circumstances—exuberance, joy, curiosity…—seemed to really fit with the roundabout routes of the narrative. The young orchestra conducted by Donato Renzetti was lively and crisp, but the steadiness/uniformity of their performance—especially in terms of volume and rhythm—made me think of the flat surface of a comic strip. On the other hand, there were two voices I was greatly impressed with. While Désirée Giove—on a one-opera loan from the Academy of Teatro di San Carlo (Naples)—displayed a mellow, dusky yet beautifully nuanced timbre in the role of Anaide (wife of the jealous Beaupertuis, and owner of the straw hat whose accidental wrecking effectively kicks off the action), Laura Lolita Perešivana—currently enrolled in the Accademia Teatro alla Scala—was almost paradoxical as Elena (the bride): her magnificent, effortlessly dominant singing style did contrast big time with the playfully modest/unpretentious nature of her character. I wouldn’t mind listening to them again soon; something involving Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart or Richard Strauss maybe? (Just two random names off the top of my head).

[sarthak2405]

Why I Love The Song "Viva La Vida" By Coldplay

"Viva La Vida" by coldplay is the fourth album of the British Rock Band Coldplay which released on 12 June 2008 on the Parlophone label. Although Viva La Vida is the band's highest grossing album, Coldplay’s song “Viva La Vida” is an interpretation of king Louis’s lost last speech before his death. The song is written through King Louis point of view, as he apologizes to his people, accepting his fate.

The album cover art features the 1830 historical painting known as “Liberty Leading the People”. The art piece was painted by French artist Eugène Delacroix, depicting French revolutionaries marching and waving the French flag, led by the human manifestation of Lady Liberty. The painting serves to portray the revolutionaries in a heroic light, complementing the Album’s themes of life, death, war, and change.

“I used to rule the world Seas would rise when I gave the word Now in the morning, I sleep alone” — King Louis led one of the world’s most powerful countries, he commanded hundreds of ships with his simply words. However, now he was reduced to sleeping alone in a jail cell.

“Listen as the crowd would sing: “Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!” — King Louis XVI succeeded the throne after his grandfather had passed. Following the death of the beloved king, Louis XV, Louis XVI held much potential in his people’s eyes. Many celebrated his rise to kingship.

“Shattered windows and the sound of drums People couldn’t believe what I’d become.” — Although his people saw much potential in the new king, they were left disappointed. His early reign was that of reform and success, however, as time grew and promises were left unfulfilled, the French masses demanded a new order.

“Revolutionaries wait for my head on a silver plate. Just a puppet on a lonely string. Oh who would ever want to be king?” — Louis recognizes that revolution was now in full swing and that no amount of reform can help him now. Although Louis accepted his Kingship in eagerness, he looks back at his powers as a burden. He admits that the power he thought he wanted was not the same when he held it.

Unlike Delacroix’s “Liberty Leads the People”, which shows the revolutionaries as heros. The songs takes a complete 180 by showing sympathy for the fallen king. The song is a admittance of guilt by the king. This regret humanizes the King, showing understanding that he had ultimately failed his people.

Once a revolutionary himself, the first part of his reign was that of enlightenment reform, however, along his kingship he had lost sight of his values. Retreating to the comforts of his palace rather than facing his problems. The songs shows the regret of a man who once promised so much more but delivered none, accepting his fate as he knows it is well deserved.

This contrast is a deliberate choice to reinforce the album’s theme of change. With the revolutionaires fierce march and the King’s introspective review, the listener is not put onto a single side. Instead, it allows the listener to process both perspectives, allowing a completely new view of the revolution.

So people tell me what to do you feel about this song and the fallen king was he truly a villain or misunderstood man in a terrible time?

[scherzokinn]

I totally agree! People have this idea that fanart is something that is lesser art but in fact a huge chunk of what we call "fine art" today is basically... fanart.

I was thinking, for example fanfiction. While we associate this term to modern times, what it is has always been done. Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy is basically fanfiction based on the Bible, and a self-insert one no less as he wrote himself into it! And guess what? People loved it. And they still loved it centuries later, and they still love it now.

And what do artists make when they love something? That's right. Fanart. And there's plenty of old Dante fanart out there.

For example, let's talk of Eugène Delacroix. He did this wonderful painting named The Barque of Dante.

Eugène Delacroix, The Barque of Dante, 1822

This would accurately be described in modern terms as a fanart (of a fanfiction). Yet it's exposed in the MUSÉE DU LOUVRE. So clearly, the fact it's "fanart" doesn't diminish its value. As @master-of-the-game said, a fan work can be fine art and vice versa. And yes, whatever labels the art fits (fanart, oil painting etc), almost none affect its value as long as the content itself has value. I prefer some sketches to oil paintings. I prefer some short études to whole symphonies. What it brings to the audience matters best.

In addition, fan works are not limited to only writing and illustrations. Fan works can also be sculptures, dance, music etc etc. Still in the subject of Dante, composer Franz Liszt composed a Dante Symphony. This is fanmusic. Clearly, from a historical point of view, there are no limits to what a fan work can be. So oil paintings are really not that far-fetched.

Most of my fanart are full colored illustrations, although still digital. It's just my preferred medium. I dunno how much it affects how others perceive it, but that's my way of doing it. If for some it's by doing oil paintings, sketches, 3D etc then so be it! That's great. Personally some of my favorite Trek "fan works" are parodies of real-like activism but made as if set in the Star Trek universe.

Anyways, I find it really cool how simply a fan art made in an unusual medium for fan works can influence people to think more of what "high arts" is and question the elitism of it all (something which I too struggle with sometimes).

seeing you make oil paintings of elim garak has changed something about the way i perceive art, both in what others make but also in what i am capable of making.

it’s probably due to learning mostly euro-centric art history, but i’ve always thought of oil paintings as like the peak of painting ability? like, it’s fancy and it takes a while so i thought that it must be the best (ignoring the fact that my artistic field is mostly in acrylic paints and 3D sculpting and yet i still consider it very good). and i’m still working on disproving this sort of mentality that there are mediums inherently better than others, because it’s incredibly limiting to my creativity to impose a higharchy, and also it feels kind of xenophobic.

i digress a bit. point is, i’ve viewed oil paintings as a medium only deserving of gallery-type realistic portrait stuff, which is very much not what i do. i don’t make the sorts of fancy art rich people would pay for- the type of art i thought oils were for. i make paintings of comic book characters and sculptures of my personal heroes, i make jewelry and clothes and stuffed animals. stuff that i enjoy. which is good!

but still somewhere lurking in my brain was this voice telling me that on some level my works weren’t as meaningful or creative because they were fan works or made from materials i’m not an expert in or because the only people i draw and paint and sculpt are queer and trans, like me. that because my art was self-indulgent, on some level i suppose i thought it lesser.

but then i see your art. and holy shit! you’re work is INCREDIBLE! at first i was excited because, hey, i’m a big star trek fan, and garak is one of my favorite characters. i love coming across fan art of him, and it always manages to strike a chord with me. but then. as i looked at it closer, i realized it was on canvas. as i scrolled down i realize it was oil on canvas.

before, i’d pretty much only seen fanart as sketches on paper or digital drawings. one that is really only meant art-wise for quick sketches or planning of what will become “real” works, and one that doesn’t actually take up any physical space in our world, and is stored away in a little digital file.

but oil on canvas? that’s not meant to be thrown away, it’s meant to be held in gloved hands, as it is precious, and it’s not meant to be hidden away in the “files” on a laptop. no, those hang on the walls of museums or houses, meant to be displayed with pride for all to see.

and with those too colliding thoughts, that of fan works as some lesser form of art but oil paintings being the art of the rich and talented… well i realized that both were wrong. fan works are not in any way shape or form lesser than original works. what makes my layered ink painting of dream of the endless any less important than my painting of the ocean during a storm? nothing! they’re both good works. and on the other side, there is nothing that makes my oil paintings more important than my acrylic paintings or my sculpture or my knitting. it’s all art, lovely art, in the end. and the only thing that really matters is that i enjoy it.

seeing your art has helped me break some (minor) yet harmful thoughts i didn’t really even realize i had. so thank you for that. also your garak art is fucking good, and it really makes me think about what sort of life he would have after ds9. anyways, thank you. that’s what i’ve been meaning to say (that’s what this whole thing is). thanks for changing my vision for the better.

Oh wow! You know, it is very important and gratifying to know that results of your work make person rearrange their thoughts and views on something. Thank you for your sincerity! Now back to subject. I personally believe that fan work can be something fine and vice versa something fine can be a fan work. One thing that is very important to remember and remind yourself is that most of fine art that you've mentioned - gallery and most famous works (at least in european tradition) - are, well, derivative. Of Bible, of ancient myths. Yes. All this stuff can be considered maybe not fanart - but it is a subject for discussion - but illustration at least. And it is still fine art. Book illustrations - oh well. Sometimes I want to hang them on the wall, especially old ones. So - why not? Fan work always has a connotation of something derivative, and it certainly is... But just as well as most of the most prominent works. Dixi :D So that's the matter. Medium of course matters but medium does not always define the subject of art (except for common sense), as you've said. It's just maybe the cost of medium (some watercolor brushes for some reason cost... ehm. Too much :D) that defines its price, but not necessarily. I like thinking about this issue and discussing it... Plenty room for ideas. Thank you!

[universallyarbiterinternet]

DDR Langspiel-Schallplatte (LP) aus dem Jahr 1966, Übernahme von der DGG. (A034 / 454 LP). „Das Glas Wasser“ Frei nach Eugène Scribe, Regie und Drehbuch: Helmut Käutner. Mit Sabine Sinjen, Horst Janson, Liselotte Pulver, Hilde Krahl, Bobby Todd, Gustaf Gründgens, Hans Leibelt - Label: LITERA – 8 60 105 mono

[parisianprinceling]

Rêvant de Toi IV - Habitué

(On AO3)

Isabelle joins Vincent at his house for dinner, and they entertain themselves while waiting for Eugène to return with ingredients.

Vincent’s neighborhood looked like it came directly off the front of a brochure.

The uniform buildings were a tourist’s dream, perfectly well-kept and clean, the old Hausmann style perfectly intact. The street was lacking the numerous cigarette butts that often littered the sidewalk outside her own building and not a bit of the greenery was overgrown. She even swore that the cobblestone under her feet once she had stepped out of the car seemed to shine more than it did in other parts of the city.

“Are you sure we’re still in Paris?” she questioned, raising an eyebrow as she studied the scenery around them.

He let out a soft chuckle in response, his hand ghosting her back as he guided her to the front door of his building.

“Bien sûr, mademoiselle.”

A doorman nodded at the two of them as they approached, smiling and stepping aside to hold the door open for them.

"Monsieur. J’espère que vous avez passé une bonne journée,” he paused, eyes traveling over to the green-eyed man’s female companion, a clear indication that he wasn’t used to seeing Vincent come home with anyone else, but jumped in quickly to accommodate her as well, “et vous aussi, Madame.”

Vincent nodded back, sending him his own tight-lipped smile.

“Merci Jacques.”

She was led through the doors before she could give the man, Jacques, her own thanks, but was quickly distracted by the decor in the lobby.

Is this really an apartment building? It seems more like a hotel.

Just as preserved as the ancient stone outside the building, the lobby was grandiose and golden; a crystalline chandelier hanging in the center of the entryway was the main source of light, but there were smaller light fixtures throughout the area, mounted on the wall and similarly plated in gold. The floors were marble, effortlessly shining even though they had seen the soles of hundreds of shoes all in one day.

She didn’t have the time to gape for long, as Vincent continued leading her farther into the building, finally reaching an elevator, an actual elevator, not like those tiny little rising crates she was so used to seeing in Paris.

He was so at ease here, walking through the lobby as if he owned it. She recalled the image of him at his desk that she had seen in her reference magazine only this morning, and could see that just like in that picture, he was in his element now.

Of course he’s in his element, Isabelle! He lives here! The price of an apartment like this is probably a drop in the bucket in his expenses.

Only once they had mounted the elevator, her stomach dropping once more in anticipation when she noticed he had selected the button at the top labeled P and put in a key to start their ascent, did he finally pause and look at her, finally seeming to notice that his companion hadn’t said a word since she had gotten out of the car.

“Everything alright? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Well you did practically hustle me through the building. There wasn’t exactly any time to speak.

She nodded.

“Just adjusting. I’m not used to seeing places like this, even back in the states. Only when I stayed at hotels.”

He paused for a moment, humming in acknowledgement and turning his gaze to the brushed golden door of the elevator.

“You’re a journalist, correct? I’d imagine you traveled quite frequently at home.”

She nodded again, her hand pulling at the fabric of her cuff to give itself something to do other than shake from the jitters she had.

“Once my career took off I did, but I started out in a small town,” she reminisced. “All I did then was local news, nothing too exciting. A weather story here, something about a bakery–little things like that.”

He looked back to her, a small smile teasing at the edge of his lips.

“You know, they say that Paris really is just a small town, regardless of the number of tourists it receives every year. Maybe you’ll find something comforting in it’s familiarity.”

She was hoping that he might become something familiar too, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up too quickly. After all, they had just met, and soulmates or not, getting worked up too early only ever led to being let down again, and the return to earth was often harsh and unforgiving.

She was caught in his gaze for a moment, unable to look away from the gentle teasing look in his eyes. Finally, the elevator gave a ding, and her focus was broken as the doors slowly slid open, revealing a whole new room for her to admire.

A seating room lay before her, confined, but she could see a hallway off to the side that led somewhere else in the penthouse. Natural light filled the room from the other side, where there were a set of glass doors that led out onto a small balcony. The decor was both modern and ancient, straight, clean lines mixing with soft shapes and something else that just screamed eccentric. The room was altogether harmonious, but that surprised her, given that none of the objects seemed as if they would ever exist naturally together in any other type of room. Marble and gold, rigid statues and fluid plants, mahogany and plush seating, and a very oddly shaped rug in the middle of the room. He certainly had interesting taste, but then, that wasn’t to say she didn’t like it. It was his collector's den, his lair.

“It’s not for everyone, I’ll admit…” he trailed off, looking around the room before his eyes fell back on her, appraising her reaction as she took in the space. “But I’m incredibly fond of my den’s unique kitsch. It reflects an original sort of beauty, don’t you think?”

He took a few more steps into the space and took a deep breath as if he were finally getting fresh air for the first time in years. Seeing him interact with the space, standing amongst the oddly-placed objects, she could see how well they matched his personality. Confident and certain in their own way without worrying about the blueprints of society. Neither he, nor the furniture, had any need to please anyone but himself. It was refreshing to see a part of him that wasn’t so concealed, tucked behind the armor of his three piece suit.

“It’s… intriguing, to say the least,” she paused, tilting her head and giving the room one more once-over before shooting him a small, genuine smile. “I like that it reflects a part of you. That’s really what decor is supposed to do, isn’t it?”

There was silence as he processed her words, running them over in his mind.

“I suppose so, Miss Prince…”

He glanced back at her, a momentary look of approval and something else, something deeper, crossing his face so quickly that she almost missed it before it melted back into his usual self-assured facade, and he quickly changed the subject.

“I sent Eugène to obtain a few last-minute ingredients, but he should return shortly and begin working on dinner. In the meantime, why don’t you let me pour you the glass of wine I promised you in the car?”

He raised an eyebrow in questioning, but didn’t let her respond before he took off in the direction of the hallway she had seen earlier, and she followed after him quickly, not wanting to be left behind in an unfamiliar place.

He kept most things close to the chest, that much was obvious, but it only made him more appealing to her. In part, she liked the chase. It’s where her investigative side came out and it was what she excelled in. She liked hunting down a story and digging down to its origins, he was no different. And yet, she also truly wanted to get to know him, gently and slowly. If he needed time, she would be patient. It might’ve not been her strongest skill, but she was capable of it, especially with delicate matters like these. She couldn’t afford to risk making a mistake with him. He might be her only chance at this soulmate thing.

The hallway led into a large, open kitchen that had a similarly large attached dining room with a tall ceiling. The decor in this area of the penthouse was a little more toned down and modern, and while there was a decadent light fixture hanging squarely over the dining table and another oddly shaped rug beneath it, she might even say it looked fairly normal.

The kitchen was clean and tidy, with shining marble countertops and brushed steel appliances. There was a small island in the center that had a second stove on one side, and stools on the other.

She wondered if he often entertained so many people that he needed to make use of a second stove.

When she entered, he had already made his way over to the wine cabinet, and was inspecting the bottles, trying to narrow down his selection.

“I seem to remember from the other night that you’re impartial to Merlot, correct?” he murmured distractedly, only peeking up from the bottles for a second to gauge her response before he continued his search.

“You remember correctly,” she smiled and made her way to the island, leaning back against the countertop and crossing her arms while she watched him.

He nodded and mumbled something under his breath in French that she couldn’t quite catch before plucking a single bottle from the middle shelf and closing the cabinet door.

“Then I think this should do nicely,” he paused, glancing over and shooting her a small smile before returning his attention to the wine. “Something suited to your tastes and to our dinner.”

He set the bottle on the counter and rifled through the drawer, finally pulling out the corkscrew he was looking for after a minute and taking out the cork.

“Great taste in coffee and in wine. Is there anything you can’t do?” she teased softly, tilting her head and eyeing him mischievously.

He laughed softly as he began pouring the wine into two glasses he had pulled down from the cabinet. He set the bottle down once he had finished and passed her a glass before responding.

“That’s something you’ll have to learn on your own, I’m afraid,” he grinned, sipping his wine with an appreciative hum. “It would be malchance to start off by telling you my faults now, n’est-ce pas?”

She rolled her eyes nevertheless with a smile and took a sip from her own glass, savoring the flavor as it flowered across her tongue. Her eyes closed in content on their own accord.

Damn, he really did have good taste in wine.

When she opened her eyes, she found him watching her with an amused look, seemingly enjoying the display she had just given him. She could feel a flush spread across her face, and unthinkingly pressed herself backwards against the counter just a little more, seeking the coolness of the marble against her burning skin.

In her own act of deflection, she quickly countered, “Well then…why don’t we start with something a little more simple?” She paused, tilting her head to the side as she ran through all of her typical “getting to know you” questions before settling on one. “How about…who’s your favorite author?”

The glass he had been raising to his lips for another sip froze midway to his mouth, and his eyebrow quirked at her question, eyes narrowing ever so slightly in interest and suspicion.

“That’s what you want to know? First and foremost? Before anything else?” he prompted, watching her with a curious expression and finally taking a sip from his glass.

She shot him an incredulous look, setting her wine glass on the counter behind her and crossing her arms once more.

“I won’t insult you by lying and acting as if we haven’t both done our research on each other,” she retaliated, just catching the slightest bit of rouge that graced his ears at her true accusation. “I think it’s fair to skip the pleasantries, don’t you?”

He watched her for another minute with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what kind of game she was trying to play with him before the corner of his lips turned up into a wicked smirk.

“Oscar Wilde.”

He took another sip of wine, straightening his posture so that his height was at his advantage as he looked down at her.

“Are you always so direct?”

She shrugged, taking her time to uncross her arms and relax against the counter, picking up her wine glass and taking another sip, her posture the antithesis of his, countering his attempt to obtain conversational dominance.

“It’s an American thing,” she teased, shooting him her own cheeky smile. “I would’ve thought that you’d find it refreshing, given your line of work.”

The challenging look in his eyes had changed to something more appreciative as he regarded her; he was clearly just as into this game they were playing as she was.

He hummed back and glanced to the side nonchalantly.

“I do. Directness is a very attractive trait, ma chérie.” His emerald eyes fell to her once more, seeking a sign that his words had caused the flustering effect that he intended, and he found immediately that they had, as a soft blush graced her cheeks once more, her eyes refusing to meet his. “Beating around the bush is terribly dull when the obvious is so appealing.”

She got the notion that the last comment was more of a rule for other people than for himself, given how willing he was to avoid conversational topics that didn’t please him or those that hit any nerves. He was probably used to getting away with it, shooting the other party a charming smile and a string of words in his famously successful flirty tone, but it wouldn’t work with her, or at least, he wouldn’t chase her away by doing it. She didn’t see him as a way to obtain something, like most people did, and she couldn’t be bribed away with offers of money either. She wanted to get to know him, and if that took sticking around for a long time, she’d do it.

As far as she knew, that invisible red string wrapped around her pinky finger was only attached to one other person, so she’d better make her one chance count.

“Maybe that’s why I’m here then,” she started, swirling her wine and taking a sip before lifting her head and meeting his gaze once more. “Fate knew you needed someone to break the routine and throw you off your rhythm.”

The slight widening of eyes and clearing of his throat let her know that it was her turn to fluster him. His hand found his tie and straightened it like it often did when he became uncomfortable, but he quickly recovered, eyes narrowing again as he shot her an impish grin.

“So you’re supposed to challenge me, is that it?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes and pointed a weakly accusatory finger in his direction.

“You make it sound as if I was created to take you down,” she laughed softly. “I just meant that maybe you need to be shaken from your status quo a little.” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully, continuing, “Let yourself be pleasantly surprised.”

He laughed, a small, but genuinely hearty laugh, and shook his head, amusement twinkling in his shining green eyes as he watched her.

“I think you sound like more trouble than I’m prepared for,” he grinned, tilting his head with a content expression.

Before she could respond, the sound of jangling metal came from the hallway they had entered through, and she turned her head to find a tiny animal, a pug, stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, watching them both in curiosity.

Vincent’s face softened at the sight of the animal and he set his wine glass down on the counter, bending over slightly in the direction of the animal.

“Look who wanted to join in.” He glanced back at her. “This is Esteban, the most loyal companion I’ve ever known.” He turned back to the pug and tapped his leg lightly. “Esteban, viens-là.”

The dog, who was clearly used to running towards his master in these situations, approached slowly and cautiously, his eyes never leaving the woman beside his master. Vincent laughed softly and kneeled down to pet the pug, clearly happy to be back home with his canine companion.

“Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t warm up quickly to others, but he’ll come around eventually.”

He continued playing with Esteban as she watched him curiously, studying his behavior as it shifted entirely from the cold CEO persona he liked to use as a facade. It was endearing to see him like this, friendly and warm, and it gave her hope that perhaps he wasn’t quite as closed off as he seemed.

“That’s alright, I completely understand,” she hummed and watched the two for another minute, remarking, “I’ve always heard that animals are often reflective of their owners.”

He must not have truly processed her remark due to his focus on the pug in front of him, because he didn’t change the subject as he usually did, instead, he hummed in agreement before standing up next to her once more.

“Do you have any pets?”

She nodded and waited a moment before kneeling down herself and offering the pug a hand to sniff.

“Just one. A stray cat came into our apartment the first night I moved in, and he’s pretty much been there ever since, so I guess you could say he chose us,” she laughed softly, watching as Esteban slowly approached her hand and gave it a tentative sniff. “Kat, my roommate, insisted we call him Beau, but I was impartial to ‘Chomps Elysées,’” she sighed. “Needless to say, I wasn’t successful.”

She glanced up to find him watching her with an expression that was both amused and disappointed, perhaps a bit exasperated.

“What?” she questioned, tilting her head in confusion.

“You Americans and your word play.”

She rolled her eyes with a laugh and returned her attention back to the pug who had decided that she was okay, and was now whining and nuzzling his head into her hand, begging for pets. She complied and began scratching between his ears, to which he responded happily.

“I thought it was funny.”

She continued petting Esteban for a minute before he suddenly found another goal to pursue, and with a small bark, he took off back the way he came. She laughed and stood up, gently wiping her hands on her pants to brush off whatever dog hair might have stuck, though he seemed extremely well-groomed.

“He’s sweet, just a little cautious. There’s no harm in that.”

Vincent hummed in agreement, tilting his head slightly in thought.

“He took to you quicker than I expected. I’d consider yourself lucky,” he trailed off suddenly, a memory coming to mind. “He used to play tir à la corde with Eugène and his leash almost every day for two months.” He smiled fondly at the memory. “His stubbornness is well-renowned.”

She eyed him playfully, picking up her wine glass again to continue sipping at it.

“Much like that of his owner, I’d imagine.”

Vincent looked up at her in slight indignation, but before he could respond, they heard the elevator open once more from the other room, the sound of echoing footsteps approaching them until a familiar man with ginger head stepped through the doorway. It seemed that he didn’t immediately notice their presence as he listened to something on a pair of headphones attached to a device in his pocket, his steps slightly rhythmical in a minimalistic dance.

The two stood there watching him in amusement until he finally looked up and noticed them, nearly dropping the bag he was holding in shock.

He quickly removed the earbuds from his ears and mumbled out a quick apology, trying to arrange the ingredients he had bought on the counter as fast as possible.

After a moment, Vincent shook his head and turned back to her with a smile.

“Why don’t we head back to the living room and leave Eugène to his waltzing? He prefers an empty kitchen anyways.”

She laughed and let him lead her out of the room, but not before catching the slight glare the red-headed man threw at his employer as he stuck his tongue out behind his back, panickedly hiding his expression once he caught her watching.

She waited until Vincent had walked a little ways ahead of her before holding her finger up to her lips with a slight grin, mouthing, “I won’t say a word,” and following Vincent into the living room.

For once, the valet’s face matched the color of his hair.

[joachimnapoleon]

“Left to himself, he was always a day late”

17 November 1765--Étienne Jacques Alexandre Macdonald, future Marshal of France, is born. 

For generations his true character has been obscured by the sympathy English writers felt for him because of his ancestry. 

Macdonald was a son of the Wild Geese, his father being a Scots Jacobite refugee who had followed Bonnie Prince Charlie in “the ‘45,” and later obtained a French commission. Macdonald seems to have received some training in a private military school; his first service was with a semi-mercenary legion in the Dutch Army. He later gained a French commission through service as a gentleman cadet. A lieutenant in 1792, he was a colonel a year later, general of brigade in 1794, general of division in 1796. Very brave, energetic, tall and strongly built, with a commanding voice and a natural air of authority, he could make himself obeyed, even by revolutionary levies. Also, he was an expert scrambler, able to dodge the officer-hunting Jacobin extremists who considered “Mac” a title of nobility and to put his own interests above loyalty to commanders who might be in political disfavor. In early 1799 he got command of the Army of Naples through murky intrigue, but it did him little good: Called north to meet an Austro-Russian army under the famous Suvorov, he was badly wounded in a minor skirmish and then defeated at the Trebbia River. Sore in mind and body, he supported Napoleon���s coup d’��tat.... In 1809, on Clarke’s suggestion, Napoleon ordered Macdonald to northern Italy to serve under Eugène, noting that he could be used as a “wing” (corps) commander if Eugène so desired.... He did serve usefully and capped this at Wagram by leading the assault that cracked the Austrian left center. In 1812 he commanded the X Corps (Poles, Prussians, and various Germans) on Napoleon’s extreme left flank during the invasion of Russia. Though faced by nothing more than small Russian forces and long distances, he moved timidly; worse, he gave no help to Oudinot and St. Cyr on his right flank. (Later he would have the gall to label St. Cyr a “bad bedfellow.”) Doubtless his Prussian officers noted his behavior; once they were enemies again in 1813-14, they exploited his hesitations and flinching. Under the Emperor’s direct command he could still hit hard; left to himself, he was always a day late--when he did not retreat unnecessarily. At Fontainebleau he was prominent in the marshals’ mutiny, though he did his best to secure the French throne for Napoleon’s son. Thereafter he followed Louis XVIII.

Napoleon considered Macdonald brave but unlucky--meaning, in Napoleon’s vocabulary, that he lacked the quickness of mind to meet unexpected developments. He could be audacious, but too often unthinkingly so: At the Trebbia and again at the Katzbach in 1813 he deliberately crossed a difficult stream on a broad front against a superior enemy, at the Katzbach despite Napoleon’s express orders.

Macdonald suffered from a tendency to free and sarcastic speech, never missing a chance for a jest--preferably barbed. On reexamination, his Souvenirs are unreliable history; he blandly claims credit for actions where he was not present and blames his failures on his subordinates. 

By making him a marshal, Napoleon hung a millstone around his own neck. With Oudinot and Marmont, that made three millstones.

--John R. Elting, Swords Around a Throne: Napoleon’s Grande Armée

[ronk]

Claude Monet

"I would like to paint the way a bird sings" -- Claude Monet

The painter was born in Paris in 1840. His father ran a grocery store, and he'd hoped that his son would follow in his footsteps. The boy had other ideas and vowed to become an artist, much to his father's dismay. Monet began his studies at the age of 10 in Le Havre, working first in charcoal. He drew caricatures, which he would sell to the locals for 10 or 20 francs apiece. About five years later, he befriended artist Eugène Boudin, who became his mentor and taught him oil painting. Boudin also encouraged him to paint en plein air, or outside. "One day, Boudin said to me, 'Learn to draw well and appreciate the sea, the light, the blue sky,'" Monet later said. "I took his advice."

In 1861, he joined the cavalry in Algeria, intending to serve for seven years. Two years later, he contracted typhoid, and his aunt arranged for him to be discharged; he returned to France to study art, rejecting the traditional École des Beaux-Arts in favor of the private Académie Suisse. It was there that Monet met Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Alfred Sisley, and Frédéric Bazille; the four young artists became disillusioned with the meticulous detail that was fashionable in academic circles, and they began experimenting with a new style of landscape painting, producing rapid "sketches" using short, broken brushstrokes and trying to capture, above all, the fleeting quality of the light. Monet produced many paintings in the late 1860s, and although he hadn't fully adopted the technique that he became known for, he did break from tradition by painting scenes from everyday, middle-class life. He received positive notice for his painting The Woman in the Green Dress in 1866; his model, Camille Doncieux, became his lover and, later, his wife.

His painting Impression, Sunrise, which he painted in 1872, was exhibited for the first time at an independent art show in 1874, and it was his first public showing of the sketch-like style he had been trying out. "I had sent a thing done in Le Havre, from my window, sun in the mist and a few masts of boats sticking up in the foreground," he later wrote. "They asked me for a title for the catalogue, it couldn't really be taken for a view of Le Havre, and I said: 'Put Impression.'" The painting and the show were poorly received by the critics, including Louis Leroy, who dubbed the style "Impressionism." Leroy was being derogatory, and wrote, "Wallpaper in its embryonic state is more finished than that seascape," but Monet and his contemporaries adopted the name anyway. For his part, Monet felt he had finally come home. "I didn't become an Impressionist. As long as I can remember I have always been one."

Camille died of tuberculosis in 1879, shortly after the birth of their second son. Monet painted a portrait of her on her deathbed, as a last tribute. He told his friend Georges Clemenceau: "Color is my day-long obsession, joy and torment. To such an extent indeed that one day, finding myself at the deathbed of a woman who had been and still was very dear to me, I caught myself in the act of focusing on her temples and automatically analyzing the succession of appropriately graded colors which death was imposing on her motionless face." He grieved her loss deeply, and for several months, but felt a renewed passion for his art, and moved with his children to the home of his patron, Ernest Hoshedé. The patronage fell apart when Hoshedé ran into financial difficulties, but Hoshedé's wife, Alice, provided patronage of a different sort; they began an affair, she paid Monet's debts with her dowry, and eventually moved with him to Giverny, where the artist bought a small farmhouse surrounded by an orchard. They eventually married after the death of her husband in 1892; the following year, Monet bought a strip of marshland across the road from his house, and found great pleasure in designing a water-garden. "I am only good at two things, and those are: gardening and painting," he wrote. He spent nearly 30 years in his gardens, planting and painting irises and tulips, wisteria and bamboo.

Later in his career, he became interested in painting the same subject at different times of day, and produced several series: water lilies, haystacks, poplars, the cathedral in Rouen, and the Houses of Parliament in London. As he grew older, he developed cataracts, which left him nearly blind and had a profound effect on his perception of colors. His tones became muddy and muted, and his paintings had a reddish or yellowish cast. He had to rely on the labels of his paint tubes to tell him what color they contained, but he was determined to carry on. In 1921, he told a journalist, "I will paint almost blind, as Beethoven composed completely deaf." In a letter to a friend in 1922, he complained: "To think I was getting on so well, more absorbed than I've ever been and expecting to achieve something, but I was forced to change my tune and give up a lot of promising beginnings and abandon the rest; and on top of that, my poor eyesight makes me see everything in a complete fog. It's very beautiful all the same and it's this which I'd love to have been able to convey. All in all, I am very unhappy." He finally agreed to have surgery performed on his right eye in 1923, but he was disappointed with the results and refused to have the procedure repeated on his left eye. He was never again able to use both eyes together effectively, and was only able to read and write with the aid of special glasses. He died of lung cancer in 1926; his home and gardens in Giverny are now the property of the French Academy of Fine Arts, and host visitors from all over the world.

[deadnburied13]

THE "OCCULTIC" INVERTED CROSS ORIGIN?

An inverted pentagram is a more common symbol attached to the Church of Satan and Satanism, but an inverted cross is also used, such as in the Satanic Temple’s ceremony unveiling the Baphomet statue.

In popular culture, such as in music and movies, the upside down cross can mean anti-Christian and Satanist sentiments specifically or rebellion against social and political power in general. In Hollywood films like Rosemary’s Baby and The Conjuring, upside down crosses are associated with demonic activity and overall evilness to viscerally creep the audience out.

The symbolic nature of the upside down cross is best determined by its context.

The inverted cross is a recurring motif in metal music. One well-known example is Glen Benton of the band Deicide who branded an inverted cross onto his forehead.

Former Black Sabbath drummer Bill Ward suggested that the use of an inverted cross on the inner gatefold sleeve of their debut album by their label Vertigo may have been a promotional ploy or a misunderstanding of the nature of the group. Many horror films use inverted crosses as part of their imagery and marketing, especially if the film involves demonic themes.

In the music video for the Lady Gaga song "Alejandro", Gaga's robes featured inverted crosses over her crotch to resemble a penis.[5]

In the Chemin de la Croix by French composer Marcel Dupré at the part where Simon of Cyrene helps Jesus carry the cross an inverted cross motif appears at bar 7 and then twice more before it is replaced with a pastoral theme.

EUGENE VINTRAS

Pierre-Michel-Eugène Vintras , known as Pierre-Michel-Élie , born in Bayeux on April 7, 1807 and died in Lyon on December 7, 1875, is a cardboard worker from Tilly-sur-Seulles , who claimed to be the reincarnation of the prophet Elijah and was the creator of a sect . HE WAS CONSIDERED BY SOME AS THE ORIGINATOR OF INVERTED CROSS IN OCCULTISM.

The doctrine of Vintras affirms that God first reigned over the world, it is Mosaic ; next came God the son, that's Christianity; the time of the reign of the Holy Spirit , known as the “freedom of the children of God”, now arrived, Vintras is the messiah and the prophet.

In this reign of the Holy Spirit , placed under the sign of liberation, the movements of concupiscence are neither good nor bad, and one can consequently abandon oneself without crime, freedom which Vintras uses widely. The sect, which gives itself the name of "Work of Mercy", is organized into "septaines", action centers composed of seven people each, corresponding with each other, and working together to spread the news doctrine. All the followers have the names of angels, with the Hebrew ending in "ael", revealed by Saint Joseph, which also indicates the names of the people who died in grace, as well as the order in which they are placed in the other world: "legions, thrones, dominions", etc.

The “Sacred Septaine we”, which takes precedence over all the others and whose headquarters was in Tilly-sur-Seulles, has a larger number of members. Having as its object to maintain the unity of action and to prevent any schism in the work, it has the gift of infallibility; her decisions become acts of faith and she controls the acts of the other septaines. Despite the proclamation by these groups of their membership of the Catholic Church, the Holy See and the bishops condemn this doctrine.

Baron de Razac became involved in this sect and his castle, called the "Tent", became its spiritual center. The sect, then had nearly two thousand followers in the cities of Rouen , Le Mans , Paris , Angers , Tours , Cahors and Albi . A clergyman from Savoy becomes the logographer of the sect. He published anonymously at Locquin, in 1841, the first publication of "Children of the Work", the Opuscule on communications announcing the Work of Mercy. From this moment, the sect publishes several pamphlets collectively written, then, at the end of 1842, a periodical called the Voice of the Septaine , of which appear forty-eight deliveries until 1846. Most of the writings of the sect emanate from the pen of Charvoz, who had published in 1846, under the pseudonym of Father La Paraz, the Prisons of a current prophet pursued by all powers .

From 1841 , Vintras said that he had obtained, during ceremonies, mysterious bloody hosts, some of which were transmitted to the occultist Joanny Bricaud . Another occultist, Éliphas Lévi visits Vintras. Stanislas de Guaita devotes a long study to him which concludes with: "The bloody hosts are true, but they are demonic!" "

The following year, Vintras, accused of fraud, was imprisoned for six years.

He resumed his preaching in 1848, he was then exiled by the Second Empire and did not return to France until 1862 . When he died in 1875, Father Boullan tried unsuccessfully to succeed him at the head of the sect.

[trench-rat]

Until this year, few would have known the name of dragoons officer Hubert Rochereau, or heard of the tiny village of Bélâbre in central France. But the revelation this autumn that the young soldier’s bedroom, complete with his feathered dress helmet and military jacket, had been preserved for almost 100 years after his death on a Belgian battlefield in the first world war brought unexpected recognition to both. Now Laurent Laroche, mayor of Bélâbre, is hoping his commune’s new-found fame will also bring a benefactor to save Rochereau’s room for posterity. “When you walk into it it’s as if time has stood still,” he told the Guardian. “On a much smaller scale, I imagine it’s how the explorers felt when they opened the first pyramid or ancient tomb. “It would be a great shame for it to disappear. As someone who loves history, I feel it’s is also important not to forget the sacrifice made by men like Rochereau.” Second Lieutenant Hubert Guy Pierre Alphonse Rochereau, 21, a graduate of the elite French Saint-Cyr military school, died in an English field ambulance on 26 April 1918, a day after being wounded during fighting for the village of Loker in Flanders. His parents had no idea where he was buried until 1922 when his body was discovered in a British cemetery and repatriated to the graveyard at Bélâbre. They turned the room where their son had been born on 10 October 1896 into a permanent memorial, leaving it largely as it had been the day he went off to war. On the shelves his school books and military manuals collect dust. On his desk lie a filled pipe, Gold Flake cigarettes, two pistols, a knife; keys and a notebook remain untouched alongside a small vial labelled as containing “the earth of Flanders in which our dear child fell and which kept his remains for four years”. On the lace counterpane that covers his iron bedstead are Rochereau’s medals – the Croix de Guerre and the Legion d’Honneur – and photographs of friends who also died in the war. The grief-stricken Rochereau, a distinguished military family whose forefathers were believed to go back to the French Revolution and Napoleon Bonaparte, then bricked up the entrance to the room. However, Laroche revealed that the sealing of the room was just the beginning of the property’s extraordinary and controversial history. In 1935, Hubert Rochereau’s parents bequeathed their substantial mansion house in Bélâbre to a military friend, General Eugène Bridoux, on the express condition that their late son’s room would remain untouched and unchanged for 500 years. Seven years later, Bridoux became secretary of state in the Vichy regime and was responsible for organising the deportation of Jewish families to the Nazi concentration camps. During the Allied liberation of France, he escaped to Germany before being captured and returned to France where he again escaped and fled to Franco’s Spain where he remained until his death in 1955. Bridoux was condemned to death by the French authorities in absentia and his house in Bélâbre confiscated as the property of a collaborator. Laroche said it was rented to a family of solicitors until it was reclaimed in the 1950s by Bridoux’s granddaughter, whose husband, Daniel Fabre, still lives in the house. “They knew about the room at the end of the corridor but had never seen it because it was bricked up. So they broke down the wall and made this strange discovery,” Laroche said. “The family invited local officials to see it in the 1980s and said they intended to keep the promise made to keep the room untouched even though the clause in the sale document has no basis in French law. But we cannot forget that it is a private property. Mr Fabre has two daughters and we don’t know what they will do with it one day. Indeed, they are perfectly free to do whatever they want.

[richincolor]

New Releases - April 7, 2020

This is quite an interesting time in publishing. While we try to celebrate new releases each week, we know that dates have been changing due to printing and shipping issues, so we have definitely celebrated a few before their actual publication. If you know about any changes, please let us know. Here are four books releasing this week and two we missed last month.

Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know by Smira Ahmed Soho Teen

It’s August in Paris and 17-year-old Khayyam Maquet—American, French, Indian, Muslim—is at a crossroads. This holiday with her professor parents should be a dream trip for the budding art historian. But her maybe-ex-boyfriend is probably ghosting her, she might have just blown her chance at getting into her dream college, and now all she really wants is to be back home in Chicago figuring out her messy life instead of brooding in the City of Light.

Two hundred years before Khayyam’s summer of discontent, Leila is struggling to survive and keep her true love hidden from the Pasha who has “gifted” her with favored status in his harem. In the present day—and with the company of a descendant of Alexandre Dumas—Khayyam begins to connect allusions to an enigmatic 19th-century Muslim woman whose path may have intersected with Alexandre Dumas, Eugène Delacroix, and Lord Byron.

Echoing across centuries, Leila and Khayyam’s lives intertwine, and as one woman’s long-forgotten life is uncovered, another’s is transformed. — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

The Perfect Escape (The Perfect Escape #1) by Suzanne Park Sourcebooks Fire

Nate Jae-Woo Kim wants to be rich. When one of his classmates offers Nate a ridiculous amount of money to commit grade fraud, he knows that taking the windfall would help support his prideful Korean family, but is compromising his integrity worth it?

Kate Anderson wants a fresh start, away from her controlling father. She fantasizes about escaping to New York, where she can pursue her dreams. But how can Kate get there when she can’t even buy dinner without his approval?

Worlds collide when Nate and Kate meet at the zombie-themed escape room where they both work. As sparks fly, fate steps in: a local tech company is hosting a weekend-long survivalist competition with a huge cash prize that could solve all their problems. The real challenge? Making it through the weekend with their hearts intact… — Cover image and summary via Goodreads

We Didn’t Ask for This by Adi Alsaid Inkyard Press

Central International School’s annual lock-in is legendary. Bonds are made. Contests are fought. Stories are forged that will be passed down from student to student for years to come.

This year’s lock-in begins normally enough. Then a group of students led by Marisa Cuevas stage an ecoprotest and chain themselves to the doors, vowing to keep everyone trapped inside until their list of demands is met.

Some students rally to their cause…but others are aggrieved to watch their own plans fall apart.

Amira has trained all year to compete in the school decathlon on her own terms. Peejay intended to honor his brother by throwing the greatest party CIS has ever seen. Kenji was looking forward to making a splash at his improv showcase. Omar wanted to spend a little time with the boy he’s been crushing on. Celeste, adrift in a new country, was hoping to connect with someone—anyone. And Marisa, once so certain of her goals, must now decide how far she’ll go to attain them.

Every year, lock-in night changes lives. This year, it might just change the world. –Cover image and summary via Goodreads.

So This is Love: A Twisted Tale by Elizabeth Lim Disney Hyperion

What if Cinderella never tried on the glass slipper? Unable to prove that she's the missing princess, and unable to bear life under Lady Tremaine any longer, Cinderella attempts a fresh start, looking for work at the palace as a seamstress. But when the Grand Duke appoints her to serve under the king's visiting sister, Cinderella becomes witness to a grand conspiracy to take the king-and the prince-out of power, as well as a longstanding prejudice against fairies, including Cinderella's own Fairy Godmother. Faced with questions of love and loyalty to the kingdom, Cinderella must find a way to stop the villains of past and present . . . before it's too late.

Missed in March--

We Are Totally Normal by Rahul Kanakia Harper Teen

Nandan’s got a plan to make his junior year perfect. He’s going to make sure all the parties are chill, he’s going to smooth things over with his ex, and he’s going to help his friend Dave get into the popular crowd—whether Dave wants to or not. The high school social scene might be complicated, but Nandan is sure he’s cracked the code.

Then, one night after a party, Dave and Nandan hook up, which was not part of the plan—especially because Nandan has never been into guys. Still, Dave’s cool, and Nandan’s willing to give it a shot, even if that means everyone starts to see him differently.

But while Dave takes to their new relationship with ease, Nandan’s completely out of his depth. And the more his anxiety grows about what his sexuality means for himself, his friends, and his social life, the more he wonders whether he can just take it all back. But is breaking up with the only person who’s ever really gotten him worth feeling “normal” again?

From Rahul Kanakia comes a raw and deeply felt story about rejecting labels, seeking connection, and finding yourself.

Run Rebel by Manjeet Mann Penguin

When Amber runs, it's the only time she feels completely free - far away from her claustrophobic home life. Her father wants her to be a dutiful daughter, waiting for an arranged marriage like her sister Ruby.

Running is a quiet rebellion. But Amber wants so much more - and she's ready to fight for it.

It's time for a revolution.

[ourkinfolx]

No. 1: Fania

Fania Noel is a woman with plans. And not just the vast, sweeping plans like the dismantling of capitalism and black liberation. She also has smaller, but no less important, plans like brunch with friends, hitting the gym. 

“Every week, I put in my calendar the times I need to be efficient,” she explains. “So I put what time I work out, with my friends, my time to watch TV shows, to read. And after, I can give people the link to put obligations.”

The link she’s referring to is her online scheduling system connected to her personal website. It’s one I’ve become well acquainted with after our first two failed attempts to schedule interviews. We had plans to meet in person, in a Parisian Brasserie she’d recommended, but between canceled flights and buses, Skype turned out to be the most practical option. Our disrupted travel was just one in a long list of inconveniences brought on by the virus safety measures. It might even be said that the coronavirus also had plans. 

The global pandemic and subsequent slowing of—well, everything comes up a few times in our conversation. Like some of the other activists I’ve talked to, Fania sees a silver lining, an opportunity.

“This might be the only sequence of events in the history of humanity that you have the whole planet living at the same tempo, being in quarantine or locked down or slowed activity,” she says. 

“So we all have a lot of time to think about how [society is] fucked up or the weight of our lives in terms of this society. And I think we have to ask if we want to go back to this rushed kind of living. It’s really a game changer.”

I first heard of Fania, a Haitian born afro-feminist, earlier in the year, while talking to a Parisian friend about the need for more black spaces in the city. She angrily described how a few years ago, Fania tried to have an event for black women, only to be met with fierce backlash and derision from not just right-wing groups, but anti-racist and anti-Semitic groups. The event wasn’t actually Fania’s alone; it was an effort by Mwasi Collective, a French afro-feminist group that she’s involved with. 

Either way, it was a minor scandal. Hotly debated on French TV and radio. Even Anne Hidalgo, Paris’s mayor, voiced disapproval. Critics claimed the event, called Nyansapo Festival, was racist itself by exclusion because most of the space had been designated for black women only. 

Despite all the fuss, the Nyansapo Festival went on as planned. Several years later, following the killing of George Floyd and the international movement that followed, Anne Hidalgo published a tweet ending with the hashtag #BlackLivesMatter. I found it curious, she’s always struck me as more of an #AllLivesMatter type. 

I ask Fania if, given the tweet and possible change of heart from the mayor, she thinks her event would be better received in the current climate. She points out that there had been two Nyansapo Festivals since, with little to no media coverage, but seems overall uninterested in rehashing the drama. 

“We’re way beyond that now,” she says, shaking her head. She ends it in a way that will be familiar to anyone who’s ever been almost imperceptibly corrected by a black woman, and I quickly move on to the next topic. 

It’s not until later, when reading some of her other interviews, that I’m able to fully contextualize our exchange. It’s common for activists, especially those working in or belonging to a culture where their identity makes them a minority, to be asked to view their work through the lens of conditional acceptance of a larger group of oppressors and/or gatekeepers. Asking feminists what men think, asking LGBT how they plan to placate heterosexuals. In her dismissal, Fania resists the line of questioning altogether, and in another interview, she makes the point more succinctly when explaining why she doesn’t believe in the concept of public opinion: 

“As an activist, the core ‘public’ is black people and to think about the antagonism and balance of power in terms of our politics rather than its reception. It’s normal in a racist, capitalist, patriarchal society that a political [movement] proposing the abolition of the system is not welcomed.”

One might argue if you’re not pissing anyone off, you’re not doing anything important. 

Rolling Stone’s July cover is a painting featuring a dark-skinned black woman, braids pulled into a round bun on her crown. She has George Floyd’s face on her T-shirt and an American flag bandana around her neck. One of her hands is raised in a fist, the other holds the hand of a young black boy next to her. Behind her, a crowd, some with fists also raised, carry signs with phrases like Our Lives Matter and Justice For All Now. 

According to Rolling Stone, they tasked the artist, Kadir Nelson, with creating something hopeful and inspirational and he “immediately thought of Eugène Delacroix’s ‘Liberty Leading the People,’ the iconic 1830 painting that depicts a woman leading the French Revolution.”

Regarding his choice to center a black woman in the piece, he explains: “The people who were pushing for those changes were African American women. They are very much at the forefront in spearheading this change, so I thought it was very important for an African American woman to be at the very center of this painting, because they have very much been at the center of this movement.”

During our call, I mention the painting and ask Fania her thoughts on why, so often, we find black women at the forefront of any social justice or human rights movement.

“Women have always organized,” she says simply. “Women work collectively, they run organizations.” She points to the church and organized religion as an example. 

“Look at the composition of church. Who’s going to church, who’s going to ask for help from God?”

Anyone who’s spent time in the houses of worship for a patriarchal religion has vivid memories of the very present men in the room. From the booming voices and squared shoulders of the pulpit to the stern, sometimes shaming looks of brothers, uncles, fathers. But the women, often more numerous, run the councils and the choirs. Around the world women pray more, attend church and are generally more religious. And the men?

“In a context of church, it’s really acceptable to ask for help from God. Because it’s God,” Fania says. “But you don’t have a lot of black men, a lot of men in any kind of church.”

That isn’t to say that men, especially black men, are complacent. Fania notes that traditional activism goes against the patriarchy’s narrow view of masculinity. 

Activism, she explains, requires one to acknowledge they’ve been a victim of a system before they can demand power. And for a lot of men, that’s not an option. 

“They want to be seen as strong,” she says. “As leaders. They want to exert control.”

In short, both black men and women acknowledge the system would have us powerless, but while women organize to collectively dismantle it, men tend to stake out on their own to dominate it. 

Black capitalism as resistance isn’t new, and was more prominent during the civil rights movement, which was largely led by men. In 1968, Roy Innis, co-national director for the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) opined, 

“We are past the stage where we can talk seriously of whites acting toward blacks out of moral imperatives.” While CORE’s other director, Floyd McKissick, reasoned, 

“If a Black man has no bread in his pocket, the solution to his problem is not integration; it’s to get some bread.”

More recently the dynamics of this played out in real time on Twitter as Telfar, a black, queer-owned fashion label, sent out notifications of a handbag restock only to be immediately descended upon by a group of largely black, male resellers. Telfar describes itself as affordable luxury for everyone, and for many of the black women who buy Telfar, it exists as proof that class and fashion need not be so inextricably linked. But for the men who bulk purchased the bags just to triple the price and resell, these were just more items to wring capital out of on their quest to buy a seat at the table. 

Of course, it’s not unreasonable to argue that the purchase of a product, regardless of who makes it, as a path to liberation is still black capitalism. And in another interview, Fania specifically warns against this type of consumption. “Neoliberal Afrofeminism is more focused on representation, making the elite more diverse, and integration. This kind of afrofeminism is very media compatible. Like great Konbini-style videos about hair, lack of shades of makeup, and [other forms of] commodification.” But, she explains, “The goal is a mass movement where our people are involved, not just passively or as consumers.” 

But can consumption be divorced from black liberation if it’s such a key aspect in how so many black people organize? I bring up all the calls to “buy black” that happened in the wake of George Floyd. Some of it could be attributed to the cabin-fever induced retail therapy we all engaged in during quarantine. And for those of us who, for whatever reason, were unable to add our bodies to a protest, money seemed like an easy thing to offer. Buy a candle. A tub of shea butter. A tube of lip gloss. But what did it all really accomplish, in retrospect?

“We have to think about solidarity,” Fania explains. “Solidarity is a project. When we say support black-owned business, we still have to think about the goal, the project. So if we support coffee shops, bookshops, hair dressers that have a special place in the community and are open to the community and in conversation with the community, it’s good and it can help. But if it’s just to make some individual black people richer, it’s really limited.”

Black capitalism vs anti-capitalism remains an ongoing debate, but shouldn’t be a distraction. In the end, everyone will contribute how they best see fit and we still share a common goal. Besides, we’ll need all hands on deck to best make use of our current momentum. And that’s something Fania underscores in one of the last points she makes during our conversation:

“Something we have to repeat to people is that these protests: keep doing them. Because you have years and years of organization behind you. People came out against police brutality and a week later we’re talking about how we move towards the abolition of police, how we go towards the abolition of prison. How we move towards the end of capitalism. And this is possible because you have a grassroots organization thinking about the question even when no one else was asking it. So now we have the New York Times and the media asking if these things are possible. But that’s because even when we didn’t have the spotlight, we were working on the questions about the world after. And every day radical organizations, black liberation organizations, are thinking about the world after and the end of this system. And when protests and revolts happen, we can get there and say ‘we have a plan for this.’”

[courtneyblight-cgcphotography]

victorian window lit portraits

-TAKE 1-

the first attempt at this task was somewhat successful but it was difficult finding a spot in the college that had only light from the windows. 

i think i managed well with the costume and accessories to match the era although i do think i could've done more with the hair. 

next time i try this task again i will be in the studio so that will give me an improved setting for lighting as i can control it better. i will also bring supplies to fix the hair into a style more worthy of the label “victorian”. i will also try out a number of different poses and angles on my model.

⇣ favourite final image

⇣ other images captured

for my next attempt i will refer to these new images below whilst keeping some aspects the same as my first try.

⇣ 2nd attempt final edited image:

back in their time they used a few different techniques, Daguerreotype being one of them, and i have a separate post for that, but briefly its a technique where an image is exposed to a light sensitive piece of reflective surface made from silvered copper that's been treated with chemicals that makes it possible to transfer to. when the exposure is done the plate it is treated with mercury and a fixer to stabilise the image. after that the fixer is washed away with distilled running water and the image remains on the plate for a longtime. although with effort the image could actually be worn off even after this process.

another technique that was used was invented by William Henry Fox Talbot who managed to create the first negative. his technique is called calotype which is the very root of photography using chemistry. how its done is the image is projected through a lens on to a piece of sensitised paper that's inside the camera, that if you were to take it out and look at it, it can't be seen yet. when taken into the development process this is where the image starts to show, much like developing negatives today. this technique didn't produce images that were as sharp as Daguerreotype images but at least with calotype you could make multiple images from the same negative. 

these two techniques were expensive and strenuous so in search of a different alternative Frederick Scott Archer invented the wet collodion process, or ambrotype, which was easier and cheaper. how its done is a plate of glass is coated with wet collodion solution containing light sensitive silver salts, while its still wet its then exposed. a dark room or black heavy covering is needed for this technique but it does take less time to expose. this process creates a very sharp image in the glass in a negative form. to view the image the back of the glass plate was either painted black or had black card applied. the end results of the technique was often confused for Daguerreotype but the way to tell the apart is that Daguerreotype has a shiny reflective surface and ambrotype does not.

another type of process is tintype/ferrotype. this is where an image is produced onto a textured piece of tin or iron. an effect of this particular technique is that the outcome colour would be a strong colour, often convincing people that the image was in fact a painting and not a photograph. below is an example of this. i would never think this is a photo from looking at it.

despite the strong colour palette and distinguishable style of final image this technique remained very popular right into the 20th century and was used especially by those taking photographs of beach scenes. 

scientist Sir David Brewster introduced lenticular stereoscopy to the world. an image from this technique was called a stereogram. the result of this was two images, one for the left eye and one for the right, viewed together through a stereoscope, viewed below.

honourable mentions:

- André Adolphe Eugène Disdéri created the carte-de-visite technique which turned out to be the most popular choice of photography in the 19th century. 

- George Eastman launched the Kodak camera in 1888 for $25 which is about £420 today. his company “Eastman Dry Plate & Film Company of Rochester, New York” sold these cameras preloaded with light sensitive film which was good for 100 shots. their slogan was “you press the button, we do the rest.” because after the film was used up the customer who bought the camera, the company wanted you to send it back to them where they would retrieve the film in a dark room and process the images for you. they would then reload the camera and send it back to the customer for $10, or £165 today.

- from then it was the digital era. to kick it off sony released the Sony Mavica in 1981, that was the first digital electronic camera. 

a fun fact is that its estimated that every two minutes, we take as many photos as were taken during the whole 19th century. wild!

[deepartnature]

065° BEL BIGUINE LA - selected by Les Mains Noires

"At last! At last a new French West Indies compilation! And not the least! We are very happy and quite proud to present 'Bel Biguine La', a special selection focusing on rare early Biguine dirty recordings from Guadeloupe and Martinique from late 50s and 60s! 12 rare tracks accompanied by liner notes about the songs, the musicians and the incredible Disques Emeraude, very first record label to record Guadeloupian music in Guadeloupe and run by Robert Mavounzy’s brother, Marcel Mavounzy. ... Until the early 50s, all the creole records were produced and recorded in Paris by majors like Columbia, Pathé-Marconi, Odeon, etc. The musicians were, between others, Sam Castendet, Eugène Delouche, Alexandre Stellio, Al Lirvat. Honoré Coppet track and the other from his brother Barrel Coppet are perfect example of those metropolitan recordings even if they are from late 50s and early 60s. ..."

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