#Painters in Arcadia

[nucoatpaintingsblog]

Skilled Painters in Arcadia, Ca - NuCoat Painting

Looking for skilled painters in Arcadia, CA? NuCoat Painting is your go-to source! We provide top-notch painting services, transforming residential and commercial spaces with precision and expertise. Visit our website for more information.

[nucoatpaintings]

Interior Painters San Marino, CA | NuCoat Painting

NuCoat Painting specializes in interior painting for homes in San Marino, CA, delivering exceptional results with meticulous attention to detail. Our experienced team uses high-quality paints and techniques to create stunning, durable finishes that transform your living spaces. From color consultations to final touches, we provide personalized service to enhance the beauty and ambiance of your home.

[pmamtraveller]

SCENES FROM MODERN LIFE; THOMAS EAKINS

Thomas Eakins (1844–1916) was an influential American painter known for his realism and focus on the human form. His father was a calligrapher and writing teacher, and at first, that seems to have been Thomas Eakins’ direction, too. He studied at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts where he learnt drawing and anatomy.

The Champion Single Sculls (Max Schmitt in a Single Scull) (1871)

Created to commemorate the victory of Eakins's friend, Max Schmitt, in a rowing competition on Philadelphia's Schuylkill River. Eakins, a passionate oarsman himself, depicted Schmitt in a moment of calm rather than in the throes of competition. The painting captures great detail in the water, oars, and weather, Eakins even included himself in the artwork, rowing in the background.

Portrait of Dr. Samuel D. Gross (The Gross Clinic) (1875)

It is a portrait of the renowned Philadelphia surgeon in the surgical amphitheater of Jefferson Medical College (now part of Thomas Jefferson University). Eakins includes himself in the painting, seated at the far left, sketching the scene. The patient's mother, who looks away and shields her eyes, unable to watch the surgery, is also included. The procedure took place before the advent of aseptic technique, so instruments were clean but not sterile, gloves and gowns were not worn.

Arcadia (c 1883)

This painting was an unusual venture into mythology, created during a period when Eakins was experimenting with photography. Eakins had bought his first camera in 1880 and started to use it as a photographic sketchbook. Although it can be read as another step in his campaign for painting from life, the work features models posed in a pastoral setting, including his future wife, Susan Macdowell, and his nephew, Ben Crowell.

Swimming (The Swimming Hole) (1885)

Bathers have been a popular and recurrent theme in paintings since the dawn of the art. Here, Eakins features identifiable figures, which are Eakins himself and several of his students. However, its exhibition in 1885 sparked controversy due to its graphic portrayal of nudity and identifiable figures. This backlash contributed to Eakins's resignation from the Academy in 1886 after a series of complaints about his promotion of nude studies.

The Agnew Clinic (1889)

This fine painting shows the surgeon performing a partial mastectomy, and the whole scene is a testament of how surgery had advanced in just fourteen years. The clean white gowns worn by the doctors, the use of sterilized instruments, techniques promoted by Agnew. Eakins completed the painting quickly, in just three months, rather than the year he took for his earlier masterpiece, The Gross Clinic.

[nancydrewwouldnever]

Unknown Roman painter, Hercules Finding his son Telephus in Arcadia, from the Augusteum in Herculaneum, early 1st century AD, Julio-Claudian period, fresco (National Archaeological Museum, Naples [inv. 9008])

Detail of the Personification of Arcadia

[astralnymphh]

born of flora and fauna | teaser I. ellie williams

knight!ellie x princess!reader

an; thought I would bestow a little excerpt from my prologue for this fic, cause the preluding alone needs its own teaser. plus, a little moodboard for it! this would count for the prologue only, as it's set in the wintertime and then progresses into spring. just a note this series is a bit more fantasy leaning than pinpoint history accurate (mainly in clothing department) but I'll still be including some realism into it. expect some.. complicated n poetic writing.

༻⋆the excerpt;

a vividness to her movements, flowing like a river. for it is water that soothes the most cosmic fires, carves veins into the earth's soil, descends from the heavens above and proves iron soluble. a knight so pinpoint and poised like a painter, yet so daring and baneful like a warrior of evenfall. an artisan of her craft, ellie was. born to thrive in matters regarding protection of her kingdom and its nobility.

you were a daughter of the illustrious king and queen, sister of your highly revered and cherished kin, prudence. subsequent to her fabled rise, was your fall. down-spiraling in neglect and a corroding shame that you couldn't fulfill the duties of a courteous princess. wickedness wasn't necessarily your play of folly. rebuking the role of royalty isn't your entire bastion of vengeance. you purely long for a world of your own color. your self-brewn arcadia of art. in a concise phrase, desire for sovereignty.

' why don't you resemble your sister more? '

upon this midwinter day, steel clashes and clanks with the marching of castle guards en route to their designated patrol sites just beyond the barrier of the throne room. braziers birthing a cordial flame glowing with a saffron ember, balls of warmth to resign a frigid numbing along the stone pillars surrounding the epicenter. the rabble of townsfolk forked into two large columns in the palatial hall afore the platform of the royal family, gossiping amongst themselves at the event taking place.

you are aligned in royal seating adjacent to your mother and fathers throne, crossed legs pleating your tunics' billowing skirt, seemingly stoic poise contrasting your usual gestures of criticism and resentment. a flurry of knights in waiting present themselves individually before the nobility, emanations of each one's virtues and brawns scrutinized in one sweeping glance of the majesty himself, to which the mass of them were not up to par.

on comes a figure, shrouded by a leather fitting of attire compared to the other bodies of steel and chain before them, a smooth cloak of basil green silk embroidered with their respective house symbol in yellow; a moth, and a face hidden by the iron nature of a helmet. as every knight has shown oneself to the king, so do they, forcepping the helm with a gauntleted grip to reveal a face blemished by the trudging of time and battle, freckles mimicking the color of almonds, lips like a coral rose bud and hair painted of the most earthly russet you've ever bore sights to. except, there was one asset that sucked you right into her indirect gaze, circlets of green, like a willow tree's canopy of shrubbery, green, like the vernal springscape of the earlier year, an ethereal green, a hue no soul has ever seen before.

༻⋆the moodboard;

hope yall are excited as I am!!! 💗 this is the first draft of a portion of my prologue so you may see some additions or changes.

[blueiscoool]

‘Horrible’ Painting Found by a Junk Dealer Could Be a Picasso Worth $6 Million

An Italian family had long debated throwing away the unconventional portrait.

It’s not often you sit down to read a book about the greatest masterpieces of art history, then look up to find a stellar example hanging on your own wall. Yet this was apparently the experience of Andrea Lo Rosso, who began raising questions about a peculiar painting in his parents’ living room at their home on Capri in Italy. Could it possibly be by Picasso, the forefather of Modern art himself?

For years the man’s parents had argued over the unconventional portrait, which was discovered by his father Luigi Lo Rosso in the cellar of a villa in Capri 1962, given a cheap frame, and put on the wall. This did not please his wife, who despaired at the female sitter’s strangely contorted face. The scrawled name “Picasso” in the top left hand corner meant nothing to either of them.

“My father was from Capri and would collect junk to sell for next to nothing,” Lo Rosso told the Guardian. “He found the painting before I was even born and didn’t have a clue who Picasso was. He wasn’t a very cultured person.”

“My mother didn’t want to keep it—she kept saying it was horrible,” he added.

The family sought out the counsel of the Arcadia Foundation, which carries out art attributions and appraisals. A member of its scientific committee, Dr. Cinzia Altieri, a trained graphologist or handwriting specialist, studied the signature on the painting. The foundation also enrolled the help of famed art detective Maurizio Seracini, who led a chemical-scientific analysis of the work.

As a team, these experts have confirmed the attribution to Picasso. The painting has been identified as a portrait of Dora Maar, the French Surrealist photographer, painter, and poet who was at that time Picasso’s mistress.

It is believed to have been made some time between 1930 and 1936 during a trip to Capri, where Picasso often visited, although he first met Maar in late 1935 or early 1936. The pair had a relationship lasting nearly nine years and, though she was an artist in her own right, Maar’s work has only recently received the attention it deserves. In 2019, a landmark retrospective of over 250 works by Maar was presented at the Centre Pompidou in Paris and Tate Modern in London.

If the attribution turns out to be true, the Lo Rossos can expect a financial windfall. The Arcadia Foundation has valued the alleged Picasso at €6 million ($6.7 million).

The artist painted many portraits of Maar in their time together, and several reside in major museum collections today. The auction record for a painting of Maar by Picasso was set in 2006, when Sotheby’s New York sold Dora Maar au chat (1941) for $95.2 million, according to the Artnet Price Database.

Unfortunately for this team of Italian art sleuths, their rediscovered modernist masterpiece piece is unlikely to fetch in the millions until it has been legitimized by official Picasso authenticators.

Andrea Lo Rosso said that, so far, the Picasso Foundation in Malagá, Spain has refused to even assess the work, which it believes to be a fake. The foundation declined to comment publicly on the work when contacted. It reportedly receives hundreds of authentication requests every day.

The Picasso Administration in Paris has also been reached for comment but did not respond by publication time.

By Jo Lawson-Tancred.

[frostycatblr-fandom-files]

Poets and Painters (Midday) - Wolffe x Reader [Mature Fic]

Warnings and Information: In desperate need of just one day to take his and his men's mind off the war, Plo Koon orders that everyone make a stop on a relatively uninhabited planet in a peaceful sector of the galaxy to… have a picnic? Just what does he have in mind? A certain flint-gray Commander is finding it hard to believe that they're just on the planet for a day of R&R in the middle of a war, so he isn't letting his guard down. Perhaps someone will help Commander Wolffe find some way to help him relax before the day is over… 2nd person POV. Reader is undescribed save for minor details like personal touches to a uniform, and has a gender-neutral alias. Allusions to canon-typical violence, mention of injury and loss, and Plo just being a dad to the 104th Battalion in the background. Swearing. Discussion of more adult themes and some lewd jokes the more the fic progresses (this is not an Explicit fic but it is Mature; Minors please DNI). Takes place on a fictional planet.

Word count: 4,665

Midday

The trick to keeping Commander Wolffe from prowling the edge of the clearing like a caged animal had been surprising. To everyone. 

Allowing him to watch you work keeps him seated on the hill beside you, where he does not worry his brothers or Master Plo Koon by continuing to make lap after lap. He had left your side once, to take a look at something the Clone pilot Warthog had to show him, and then did a little shiny-wrangling (namely Soapsuds) because they were too close to the forest for his comfort, but he was quick to return. 

He's not much of a conversational partner, whether that's out of respect for you to let you concentrate, or simply a product of his personality. When he has something to say, Wolffe keeps it brief. 

"I'm not that pale." 

"But your scar is." you reply with a gentle smile and a soft laugh, carefully adding traces of a lighter flesh-tone to the vertical stripe of scar tissue in your sketching of the Commander. You keep your pressure light on the page, and make your best efforts to keep the strokes in roughly the same orientation. The smile gives way to a frown the longer you fill in the length of his scar on the page. Your heart hurts for what happened to him at the hands of a dark Force-wielder. What her blade did to him. "I imagine it was quite painful, to lose your eye…" 

"Yes." Wolffe replies in a clipped voice, suggesting to you that while he does not want to dismiss your sympathies, he clearly must not want to talk about this with someone he does not know, either. You feel a tug on the lapel of your uniform, and the gloved pad of his thumb brushes over something. Oh. You'd forgotten about that. "You added a wolf's head into your uniform, Arcadia?" He's changing the subject. And that's okay. 

That's more than okay. 

Glancing down best you can, you see the sloppy replication the flint-gray Commander refers to. The thread used for the head is a steely gray, the stitches are almost invisible and camouflaged in the color of the uniform, save for the eyes in your favorite color. It was meant to be practice for repairing holes in your clothing, you explain. "For emergency situations. I wanted to see if my stitches would hold up after being washed. I completely forgot it was there." You don't explain why you went with the image of a wolf. You won't need to, in his presence.

It's easy enough to guess why this would be the animal, of all possible choices available to you in this galaxy, you would stitch into your lapel. The name surrounds you. Wolfpack. General Plo's callsign is Wolf Leader when they engage in battle by starfighter. 

It is the name of the man next to you - granted it bears an additional forn and an esk. 

Wesk-osk-leth-forn-forn-esk. 

Wolffe. 

"It held up well." he compliments you, releasing the fold of the lapel and assuming his silence once more. Degree by degree, you are seeing he is not eternally gruff or cold with you, or anyone: merely a man made stoic and far more vigilant than before by war. In his vigilance, he continues to visually sweep the field for signs of trouble or mischief. 

Maybe, while he's distracted…

You stealthily swap out the current coloring pencil in your hand - a deeper skin tone - and pluck out the Lamp Black pencil in the mix, drifting your hand lower down the page until the end of the pencil was now lined up with the loosely defined crotch and codpiece of his armor. 

Maker alive let's just get this over with. 

The body glove is going to be innocent enough to fill in, but defining the shadows around the pubic bulge in his kit will be faster. Just keep it quick and be discreet. Work fast. Hope no one sees. Hope no one asks. 

Your pulse screams in your veins when he clears his throat - loudly - next to you, and you are so certain he is now trained on you, and acutely aware of where your pencil is. "Hm-mm…" Oh kriff me sideways. "Excuse me," he apologizes, clearing his throat again softer this time, "didn't mean to startle you, but I was trying to catch Suds' attention." Thank the Maker he didn't look when he apologized. Just a few more marks to finish shading in the codpiece, and then you can start on the body suit. "O-oh. Is he wandering off again?" 

"Looked like he was about to." 

Still breathing down their necks even from here? "Y'know-"

"As their Commander I am going to look out for my brothers, Arcadia." He sounds neither happy or unhappy with what he assumed you would say. And it's fair of him to assume that, in a sense. You only wish he didn't have to feel so defensive. 

"I understand that," you promise him, and for the moment, you set down the pencil in your hand so you are not dividing your attention between the artwork and Wolffe. "and I wasn't telling you to stop, either. I only wanted to warn you that, I think, General Plo Koon seems worried about you, that something is keeping you from enjoying yourself." 

To his credit, he gives your words a moment of quiet contemplation. Whether that's to consider the truth behind the words you said, or to come up with an explanation of sorts, Wolffe remains silent and still like the forest that surrounds you on all sides. What secrets does that forest hold? What lives within? 

What will you find other than sap and blood on your palms when you pull back the thorny branches? 

"I don't believe we're here just to relax for a day." Commander Wolffe admits with a heavy look of guilt and uncertainty. "I think the General has other reasons for bringing us to Little Archossi, and he won't tell us." 

"Reasons? Like what?" You pick the pencil back up, and return to the slow, gradual task of adding color to the page. You're going to give him time to think. Time to answer, if he even wants to. He may not. Warning him that he's possibly made his General concerned about him seems to shake him down, somewhat. "I'm sorry." 

It's reflexive, apologizing for upsetting him. That seems to pull him out of his silence, for the moment. "Don't be, Arcadia. I'm not going to fault you for having good intentions. Or a good eye." 

The kri-? 

In dawning horror, you see and fully realize where your pencil lead is. And looking over at him, you see that he does too. "I-I'm so sorry, sir…" You admit that you hoped he wouldn't notice, and that adding the necessary shading and color around areas that carry their shares of suggestive and sexual imagery and connotations would have been completed with as little attention drawn to it as possible. While you're not exactly ashamed to have drawn those parts of him, you feel a bit awkward to have him take notice of your work when you add the color. 

Half of his mouth quirks in a smile, an expression of his respect, understanding that took guts to admit. "That's nothing to apologize for. It's just part of the art, Arcadia. A little "awkward" would only be understandable. Would you feel better if I purposely didn't watch?" 

Well, seeing as how you're almost done with the inner thigh, you don't see much of a point to the gesture in this part of the progress. But, he did offer. And this seems to be what's keeping him seated in the grass. And what's keeping Plo Koon freer to spend less time being concerned about his diligent commander, and more time in showing his troops more aspects of Kel Dor culture and history, it seems. (Orchid keeps asking questions that Tack could easily answer about Dorin, and it serves as a neat little lesson for some of their newer shinnies. Plo is certainly grateful for the curiosity that allows him to be a teacher, rather than a fighter, today.) 

You shrug lazily, laughing softly under your breath. "I'll leave that up to you, sir. At this point…" 

Wolffe chooses to keep an eye on his brothers, so you make the process of shading the inner thighs quick, while being careful not to get sloppy. You're not trying to recreate a master painter's work here in the first page of your sketchbook, but you don't want to look at this one day and become filled with the urge to tear it out because all you can see are glaring imperfections, either. That's nothing but a fanciful daydream of making so much progress in your artistic prowess that you would ever be struck with such a thought, of course. 

You are preoccupied with a war against the Separatists: when would you ever have the chance to make regular progress and impressive strides without backsliding and the natural degradation of your skills when you do not use them? You're a small part of the busy crew that keeps the Triumphant running smoothly. 

People constantly need you. And that's all well and good, but sometimes you find yourself running into the same problem over and over again that crews of this size inevitably face: when you, who provides the help, needs someone, who is there for you? Do you turn to another crewmate who is already up to their neck in all the problems they juggle? Turning to one of the Clone troopers is ill-advised, no matter how much they swear they don't mind lending a hand or an arm (or two) to assist. 

You've been doing fine aboard the Triumphant; better than fine, in fact. But that worry claws at you, sometimes. I'm here to help everyone. But if I needed help, who would I go to?

Who does the Commander go to when he needs help, come to think of it… General Plo? Or maybe Sergeants Sinker and Boost, if the matter was a little closer to the heart, something he believed was best kept between brothers? 

Who does Wolffe turn to in his hours of need, you wonder. 

You need to rest your wrist, and soon. You have just a little more of this tree's canopy to color in though, and then you're calling it good. You've been working on this "sketch" for more than three hours with the Commander at your side. You want to have this done soon. You want to go check out some of these things other crewmates have been laughing themselves silly over for the last hour that leave them gasping and wheezing for breath, clutching their sides and drying their faces. You're burning to know what's so funny, why they keep calling your name to come see. 

Curiously guessing over and over what General Plo's reaction will be when you show him this amateurish endeavor in outdoor art drives you to continue, however. Just a few more tiny, feather-shaped leaves… Wolffe notices the sharp twinge in your face, and the uncomfortable spasm in your fingers as you adjust your grip around the Sunflower coloring pencil. 

"Getting painful?" 

"Just a little." you admit, knowing if you pause now, you will delay when you pick the pencil back. "I'll manage." 

"Making art shouldn't bring you pain, Arcadia." 

You scoff, just slightly. "Physical pain? Agreed. But emotional pain, that's another matter. Don't worry, I'll be done soon, Wolffe." 

He asked you to call him Wolffe a short time ago. It wasn't exactly necessary to call him Commander or Sir all the time if you had him sketched out on your page quite like… that. His legs parted and bent at the knee - flat in the grass out in front of him. Wrist of the left hand resting just on the surface of his thigh, with his hand hanging limp just inches from his groin. You were generous enough to draw his fingers in a more neutral position than how they had looked in reality… Otherwise, if his soldiers and brothers got a hold of the sketchbook, there's no telling how many jokes you'd have to hear about making it look like their Commander was jerkin' it in front of you. 

Calling him "Wolffe" would do just fine when it was just the two of you alone on this hill. Perhaps he felt it was only fair if he was calling you by your name. You had no title or rank, like him. You are just a humble part of the crew, but he assured you no less important than one of the soldiers. 

It takes all of us, he said. That's how we win this war. 

You've come to the home stretch, feeling the ache in your fingers deepen with every tiny skritch and shwoop! as you methodically color in your work leaf by leaf. "Just one last, little leaf," you promise, "and then I'm done." 

"Not going to sign your magnum opus, Arcadia?" Wolffe prods a little teasingly. He's smiling at you now, even. Hours ago, he was somber and battle-ready, no smiles, no nonsense. Now, he's beginning to make small jokes. "Should add a signature so future museums know who to accredit this to." 

"A leaf and then a signature." you chuckle warmly. "Future museum… Honestly." He only offers a shrug in response to that, and you take it to mean well, you never know. "What, you're trying to tell me you think this would honestly end up in a museum gallery one day?" 

He shrugs again, gazing off into the distance, into the forest. "Overheard one of the boys in the mess say something about the notion once. Something they read. Some kind of commemorative effort made by one planet to make sure they never forgot their bloody history by way of art and song and poetry inspired by that time. Evidence of a time best not repeated, but not forgotten either." 

Such an insightful and wise thing to be said so casually, poetically, and yet, there's a weighty truth to every syllable and enunciation. 

We doom ourselves to repeat the past when we do not remember it and do not teach it anymore. When we allow ourselves to forget, the shades of rouge we sop the bristles of our brushes in will not be in the rich scarlets of Dathomir, or the forever-burning rubies of Mustafar, it will instead be with blood. 

When we have enough evidence, it silences the naysayers and the fools. It validates the choking and trembling voices that say I have tasted the bitter blade of war. I have stood before the yawning maw of nothingness it leaves in its wake. I will never be the same. You do not have the right to tell me that I am some kind of paid actor. 

If they were conspiracies, do you not think I would be among the loudest of your prophets who tout these twisted claims in the hopes of converting another?

"Fascinating. Thinking something like that will come of the Clone Wars, Wolffe?" You've finished the drawing, now. Taking an ink pen, you jot down your signature in the tidiest handwriting you can manage in the lower right corner, making note of the date for good measure. You'll think up a creative title for this later. 

There's a third rising and falling of the shoulders from the man sitting beside you. "It's too soon to tell." 

"That's fair." you reply, gathering up your supplies to put them back into the bag for safekeeping. "But you just know, if it does happen, the Separatists aren't gonna like the art." You have faith that the Republic will prevail. How could it not when the soldiers who fight for the Republic are some of the most courageous, persevering people you know? (What will come of them after?) 

You're likely right about that, he agrees with a throaty chuckle. The Separatists will not like losing this war, and they'll like the art even less. "I can only hope… that it will not just be the Jedi who are…" Wolffe grows silent next to you. He's not certain what word he wants to use to best explain his thoughts, he admits plainly. There are too many. Too many answers that are right, but he struggles to find the one thing that is most correct out of all of them. 

Given what Tack has told you, the answer is obvious. "You're hoping that the galaxy will remember the Clones were a part of this conflict too. That the galaxy won't forget the sacrifices made by your brothers, and they won't forget how many lost their lives. You probably hope that when the free peoples of the galaxy remember the Jedi, they remember you, too. Both must be appreciated together."

"You're probably right," Wolffe concedes firstly, "And you're too wise beyond your years, Arcadia." Strangely philosophical, he tells you, for how old he guesses you to be. Maybe he's the right one this time, thinking to yourself on his words. 

Maybe he's not the only one hoping that when this war ends, no matter the outcome, those who served as a part of the Grand Army of the Republic will not be a forgotten topic ten, twenty… even forty or fifty years down the line. 

Tack has made a breakthrough in his mysterious flower just before Master Plo is free to come take a look at the sketch and color work you've completed, and concern for his men takes precedence. You would not blame him in the slightest if he forgot he expressed interest in seeing what you accomplished with art materials given to you as gifts. Because of your station with the crew of the Triumphant with a secondary speciality for risk assessment, you're involved in this discussion with the researcher and his commander and general. 

Right now determining the risks posed to the men of the 104th matters more. Art and philosophical pondering will have to come later.

Tack explains to both Commander Wolffe and Master Plo that he thinks the smatterings of blue flowers that dot this clearing here on Little Archossi are known as Dinocaeruleus anthos. By their common-name, you know that these flowers are a warning. A silent, unassuming danger for all their beauty and silky blue petals. 

Terrible blue flower. 

"You can make toxic honey with these flowers?" Wolffe asks more to himself than Tack, as he reads ahead in the compiled information. Plo is taking his time to read the information on the screen of the datapad in his hands. To make sense of this, the Jedi is being thorough. 

"Poisonous, Sir, more accurately." Tack makes the correction habitually, and Wolffe does not take it personally. He knows that Tack knows what he meant, and given his aptitude for analytics and other such sciences, his researcher is not correcting him to be a smartass. "But, yes, you can make bad honey with these flowers depending on what pollinators you harvest from. They are not wholly dangerous on their own. Eat it, it might make you feel nauseated due to natural bitterants. Touch it to more sensitive dermal surfaces and it will prove a powerful irritant." 

From a short distance away, you hear the voices of Orchid and Soapsuds, Tack's batchmates (you assume), commenting on what the four of you are discussing in the shade of the tree you spent the morning sketching. "So what Tack's saying is don't stick your d-" The speaker finds himself with the other's hand anxiously plastered against his mouth to shut him up in a hurry. "Maker alive, shut up!" Soapsuds warns him, "Orchid, why are you so vulgar?!" 

There is a pointed sigh from Commander Wolffe that is aimed at the two of them. Don't make me come over there. Behave yourselves in front of the General. 

Plo makes no indication that he's noticed the situation occurring just out of reach. You have to imagine he hears Suds and Orchid wrestling with each other in the grass, now, though, and is ignoring it. "Arcadia and Tack, in your opinion, will these be enough cause for concern to consider returning back to the ship?" Plo wonders aloud. The Kel Dor returns the device to the researcher, and folds his hands together in an act of deliberate contemplation, resting them against his stomach. 

Tack looks at you, and you at him, then the Commander. There is a look in his eyes, both the stark silver and the warm vandyke brown, that reads to you as a surrender of control. 

I will carry out your judgment. 

Tack scoffs and shrugs, his arms thrown wide. "Honestly, General? I don't know enough. I'd need more time to determine through more analysis and comparison. This is only one search result for one flower it could possibly be. But it was enough of a match to make me get the Commander while he was talking with Arcadia." Enough of a match to send him into a tizzy over it. Tack had tripped coming up the hill in his haste, trying to ask if - from where he was sitting - the Commander noticed anyone messing with the blue flowers. 

We have a potential problem! had Wolffe on his feet faster than engaging a hyperdrive. And then there was a flurry of questions. Was it contact from the planet's inhabitants? Has someone gotten hurt? Are they needed to assist another battalion? Where's the General? 

He has the look again, now. Worry. The inner anxiety is eating him alive. Tack doesn't know. So what about you? 

"I see…" Master Plo hums. "And what are your feelings, Arcadia? What do you think about the situation?" 

You think. What do you think about this situation? Is it worth double checking the matches for the flower, to make sure that it really is Dinocaeruleus anthos? Are the men really going to be so flippant as to disregard any kind of warning put out about these flowers if they are the Dinocaeruleus, or worse yet, a far more harmful flower? (Not necessarily, but you have to consider that warning the troops that this flower can have detrimental potential invites the opportunity to inflict it.) 

There is one thing that is already clear to you, at least. "Tack should first make sure these flowers are what he thinks they are before we make any kind of advisory, General. That is my opinion." 

Another thoughtful hum. "Interesting. And why is this your opinion, little one?" 

"We should avoid unnecessary panic. Until we know for sure what these flowers are, I say we don't say anything. We invite unnecessary risks by making the men paranoid." you suggest, glancing first at the Jedi, and then the flint-gray Commander to his left. They had every right to accept or disregard your counseling as the commanding forces of this battalion at the day's end; you hope they will consider it at the very least. 

"I'm in agreement."

"Then we will do as Arcadia advised, and we will let young Tack take more time to confirm his findings. Until then…" Plo trails off, nodding decidedly. Thank the Maker. Tack dismisses himself in a hushed, hurried tone. If he's going to spend more time pouring over information on the Dinocaeruleus anthos, he shouldn't dawdle. The Jedi kindly wills the benefits of the Force to guide the researcher before he turns to address you once again. "Have you made use of the gifts given to you since we last spoke?" 

Blinking with a mild start, you realize that Plo has changed the topic. "Oh, yes, I have. Let me go get my sketchbook from my bag, sir." You scoop the entire bag from the grass, re-tucking your datapad among your things as you extract the book and turn it to the necessary page for his convenience. "Here." 

Taking it carefully in his hands, the book is cradled like a priceless relic as his eyes must trace over the page. Once more your property is treated with such care and respect by the Force-wielder. "My… Arcadia, you have quite a gift." 

The action is perhaps more childish than professional, but you cannot help but duck your head at such praise, fearing to meet his gaze should he see how flushed your face is. It is not the heat of the sun above you, denoting that it is now high noon, that makes your face burn. You're never quite sure how to accept a compliment. 

You opt for humility. "Oh, it's hardly that great, General Plo… I wouldn't say I have a gift… just… a-an attention for detail." And that much is true; dedication to detail is why you spent hours on a simple "sketch" to begin with; why you took so much care and effort to get everything done the best you could. The form of Commander Wolffe's armor. The curve of his jaw and the roundness of the ala of his nose. The correct texture of his hair within the typical haircut many of the Clones have. 

But though gentle insistence, the General repeats his sentiment. "Attention for detail is no less of a gift, Arcadia. In war it is a mark of wisdom, in art, it is a skill." A skill that has made for a very fine portrait of the Commander. "Have you seen Arcadia's work yet, Commander Wolffe?" He offers the sketchpad with an invitation to have a closer look, though it isn't necessary. 

"I watched Arcadia add the colors, yes." Wolffe confirms. "Quite the process."

Not to mention a strain on your wrist, but one well worth it for the praise given to you from the Jedi, and now many of the men who have congregated to come and suss out what's going on. "I can only imagine… Even gone through the trouble of adding proper shadows to such… rich color." 

Sinker and Boost smile softly, not quite sadly (but certainly somber), when they take note of the color of paint their commanding officer wears when you allow the book to be passed around so everyone is welcome to have a closer look. They hold it longest out of everyone, looking at this artistic replication a little more closely than most.

"The ol' maroon, eh? Think it's meant to depict another time, before Abregado?" 

"But he's drawn with the scar, Boost."

"Ah, yeah, good eye. Missed that bit." 

You timidly clear your throat to draw their attention, and explain that of all the colors, you didn't have gray. "I didn't want to leave his armor naked, either." Not when you went through the trouble of adding the face of the wolf and the other design to each of his shoulder pads, or the unique shape of his visor when you drew the helmet next to his hip. 

You would not deal him further, small cruelties by stealing the colors out of his coat completely. These markings he has chosen for himself mean something to Wolffe. The color he wears now is a mark of mourning. The color in the pages of your book will serve as an homage. 

You have not forgotten your brothers. You will always carry them with you.

Hmmf. Are you a poet now too, Arcadia?

No sir. Not really. 

You're uncertain where the words came from. Borrowed from something you read once? Did you perhaps hear the General say these words once upon a time? You can't recall what inspired you to say such a thing. 

But you'll remember the change in his gruff exterior, the way in which he was quieter than quiet for just a moment, and he pivoted in the grass to better face you and make you his equal. 

It's only the two of us here on the hill, Arcadia. Call me Wolffe, please. 

Don't have a fic taglist for the time being, but I'll likely start one soon if I can figure out how to make those forms some people have since I write a variety of stuff. For now, though, if you'd like to join a taglist for specific types of fics (example: just TBB-centric or just TCW-centric (or both)) don't hesitate to ask. 🩷

[FFF Masterlist] [Series Masterlist] [TCW Masterlist]

[Early Morning] [Here] [Late Afternoon] [Evening] [Deep Night] [Golden Dawn part 1]

[Golden Dawn Part 2]

[bildad-the-shuhite-official]

Ineffable Husbands Human AU- Fic recommendations

The Art of Human Nature by IneffableDoll T, 6k, human au, ineffable wives, meet-cute, artist!crowley Crowley is a painter who has only ever had an eye for nature. That is, until a client named Aziraphale commissions her for a painting to boost her self-confidence, and Crowley discovers that her client is as beautiful as the Earth itself. Then she goes and catches feelings, because she’s a disaster.

Raspberry Ripple by FeralTuxedo T, 9k, human au, meet-cute, university, professor crowley, ice cream man aziraphale, first date, fluff Every afternoon, a man in a velvet waistcoat sits on the bench by the stone fountain and eats ice cream. Every afternoon, Crowley watches him from his office window. One day, he’ll pluck up the courage to talk to him.

Everything I've Had by AppleSeeds M, 12k, human AU, chronic illness, chronic pain, hurt/comfort, bathing/washing, domestic fluff, childhood friends to lovers After developing a chronic illness that leaves him unable to live alone, Crowley moves back home to London where he reunites with his childhood best friend Aziraphale. Aziraphale helps to take care of Crowley and keeps him company while he's in bed, bringing them closer together and reigniting old feelings.

Easy by mozbee M, 18k, human au, snowed in, one night stand, insecure aziraphale, minor injuries, minor fatshaming While driving to his father's funeral, Aziraphale stops for the night at an inn, indulges in a rather whirlwind sexual encounter, and plans to take his leave very early the next morning. And then the snowstorm hits.And then the snowstorm hits.

How My Light is Spent by Azira_Amane E, 19k, blind!crowley, disability, coffee shop au, happy ending, hook ups, fluff, body worship, chubby aziraphale Navigating the dating world when you can't see it can be tricky. For Crowley, that was never a problem; he's usually too busy to contemplate a relationship. The same goes for Aziraphale, though he doesn't have Crowley's excuse - he just isn't really all that much into people as a whole. One chance meeting on Crowley's usual route home changes all that.

Anthony of Arcadia by Azira_Amane E, 19k, 19th century, human AU, farmer!Crowley, scholar!Aziraphale, tadfield, kidfic, disability, chronic pain Anthony Crowley is a farm owner with an old injury, a prickly temper, and a young new farmhand to raise alongside his flock. Ezra Fell is a former Oxford scholar who retired far sooner than he would have liked, finding himself in the idyllic village of Taddesfild. After a tense first meeting, they soon discover they are more alike than different. An English countryside AU, set very loosely somewhere around the 1800s.

Along the Changing Tide by NaroMoreau E, 53k, Human AU, summer romance, a hell lot of smut, fluff, night walks Aziraphale and Crowley meet at Anathema's beach house as guests for the summer. Neither of them think they're ready for a relationship but when they find themselves sharing a room, things will get complicated. A getting together, summer romance.

[verdigrhys]

Someday I'll finish painting my Arcadia Quest set.

I'm not usually an army painter, so this was definitely a learning experience.

[akko-kagori]

now abt those analog horror reccomendations . . . ^_^ idk if omori is analog horror (maybe its a mix) or mouthwashing or undertale but i downloaded all three games in one day so thats in. i already know abt the boiled one and yeesh doctor nowehere i wonder where he gets his ideas from other than that im not too sure but i wanna watch the fnaf vhs tapes they seem very cool :o haha

tell me whatev comes to mind !

Omori isn't an analog horror since it's not imitating the old vhs era... but still, Omori is great!!! (I have 34 hours in that game I love it)

my first recommendation is... the walten files!!!

(yes it's inspired by fnaf)

The walten files has THEMES and TRAGEDY!! It's not just "haha scary images go brr" it has an actual story to tell, a story about regret, those things that keep you up at night, that you'll never be able to forgive yourself more

I will say that it's def a series that gets better as it goes along- if you watch it watch until episode 3 (HOLY SHIT THE ENDIGTO THEART)

Next up... Local 58!!

I love local 58 so much, it's genuinely such a fun watch and you can watch it in any order you want!! Each episode stands completely on it's own and I love it for that

I will not describe what it is about because you just have to experience it raw

and then Gemini Home entertainment!! U'm not even gonna pitch this one, just go into it blind (IT'S AMAZING PLEASE TRUST)

Also Mandela Catalog. I will not give any pictures, because Mandela actually affected me on such a deep physiological level that I've had to completely ban myself from consuming anything related to it.

Mandela Catalog is about alternates, monsters the perfectly mimic humans- you could wake up, and your family could be gone, replaced by inhuman monsters mimicking them.

The alternates don't kill you by attacking you, they torture you, psychologically damage you to the point of killing yourself

Also... DREAMS OF AN INSOMNIAC!!!

DOAI was actually made by one of my fav creators, Pastra!! It's one of the most unique analog horrors I've ever seen, if vol 0 doesn't hook you, vol 1 DEFINETELY will (HOLY SHIT THE MUSIC AND VOICE ACTING)

AND ANGEL HARE

ANGEL HARE ANGEL HARE

PLEASE WATCH ANGEL HARE IT'S SOSOSOSOSSOSOOOO GOOD

It's my favorite analog horror series, I honestly love it so much <3

there are so many others I don't have time to fully get into so I'll spit out some others :3

the boiled one (big fan of doctor nowhere, although I know you already mentoned him)

Chezz kids (Chezz is so fun to say) (also it's about an abusive relationship and I enjoy that, love me so analog horror with themes)

Greylock (really really really good, very high quality)

The smile tapes (those tapes sure do smile alright)

the man in the suit (again, THEMES)

the tangi virus (brain worms for everybody!!)

Vita Carnis (the creature desgin is peak, the monsters are part of the ecosystem and not just scary monsters and I like that)

Somnium Dream Viewer (STILL SUPER NEW BUT I LOVE WHAT THEY HAVE SO FAR!! Big dream person and I love that there's an analog horror that explores them)

Arcadia (UNDERRATTED AS FUCK)

DON'T WATCH THE PAINTER THO, it uses brutal child sa for cheap shock, also the creator is UHHHH

[boozeandblues333]

The Arcadian Shephers by neoclassical painter Nicolas Poussin. The inspiration of utopia (arcadia) was a topic in the works for 10 years, first one being this one and the second (as well as the last) was ‘Et in Arcadia Ego’. Regardless of the distant hope to land in a fantasy universe, the unyielding truth of death (memento mori) gnawed at the back of Poussin’s mind, (hence the skull) and inevitably became the only truth in terms of mortal existence. Death is inevitable, even in Arcadia, yet what shall remain is the art that’s left behind to live on for the rest of forever.

The Arcadian Shepherds (1627)

[thingsthatmakemegoskeet]

Frederic Bazille (France 1841-1870) - Scène d'été / Les Baigneurs, 1869.

Pre-impressionism in its purest form, from the hand of one of its least known representatives: the very young Frédéric Bazille, who, before the movement was born, already helped to build it and would die at the age of 29 in the war without yet watch it appear.

His paintings are still somewhat claimed, but there are those who consider him a main figure for the formation of the group that would change the history of art.

It can be said that, along with Manet, he was one of the painters who wanted to modernize art a little, not only from a technical point of view, but also conceptually and thematically, since the vanguard of painting was realism.

Bazille gives us an example with these male bathers in bathing suits.

That is, the classic bucolic-mythological scene of bathers in Arcadia, but taken to present-day France, where the bourgeoisie began to enjoy leisure like bathing on a summer's day.

The painting also exudes a clear homoeroticism.

From a technical point of view, Bazille goes through perspectives (rather, he violates them), as Manet would also do, but the painter already smelled that something big was going to change in Paris.

A summer should bring a lot of light and color.

[nucoatpaintings]

House Painters San Marino, CA | NuCoat Painting

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[beautifulbizarremagazine]

The amazing Aron Wiesenfeld - Artist is currently exhibiting at Arcadia Contemporary: The solo exhibition ‘The Gardener’ showcases the artist’s atmospheric compositions, inviting the viewers to embrace the strong aura of these works. The show will still be up until May 1 - if you cannot make it in person, have a look at the website of the gallery and explore the pieces virtually!

—

#beautifulbizarre #aronwiesenfeld #painting #artist #art #painter #exhibition #arcadiagallery #soloexhibition #solo #artcollector #newcontemporary #contemporaryart

[mybeingthere]

Tim Maguire, born 1958 in Chertsey, UK, painter of huge cinematic flowers.

Maguire was raised in Melbourne and Sydney, moved to France in 1992, then Britain in 2002, and still calls Australia home.

Born in Surrey of Australian parents who were teaching in Britain, Maguire came to Melbourne as a baby. Influenced by his mother, who encouraged her children to play instruments and mix powder paints, Maguire's primary interest at Huntingtower School, Glen Waverley, was music.

But believing he wouldn't be good enough to be a solo performer, he spent years after graduating bumming around on the dole, "rebelling against my rigid family background, where the notion that God was all things good and that anything bad was regarded as a misconception".

"Like many youthful experiences, these issues have long since been resolved," he says.

The artist who paints for a living, plays sax in a band that recently supported Joe Cocker, adores golf and has a French farmhouse in the Loire Valley.

It was an accidental decision, when he was 21, to go to art school: "A friend was enrolling at East Sydney Technical College and I thought it might be fun."

During post-graduate studies he lost faith in the modernist values he'd initially embraced "because I had come to identify them with the religious values I'd rejected", and stopped using paint altogether.

Continue https://www.theage.com.au/.../tim-maguire-20051105-ge16a5...

"Tim Maguire’s signature flower paintings are no more about flowers than those of such earlier painters of the motif as Georgia O’Keeffe and Andy Warhol. It is a means to an end, as Maguire’s own remark makes clear: ‘If the flower paintings mean anything, it’s to do with the way they are made’.

Both the motif and the making process were developed during the late 1980s from Maguire’s series of landscape and abstract representations, together with his experience of working with the technical printing process of lithographic colour wash separation which led him to using pure glazes in his paintings, rather than opaque colour.

Maguire’s still-life flower paintings began in 1989 with his return to Australia and the birth of his son, after he had spent most of the later 1980s travelling and exhibiting in Europe and the United States. Birth, of course, reminds of its opposite, and an awareness of the fragility of life came early to Maguire, after a train accident that changed the presumed course of his life.3 The historical flower and still-life genre paintings of the seventeenth-century Dutch Golden Age promoted the mutability of existence through loaded imagery that served a larger symbolic and allegorical purpose. Such symbols of transience as flowers and fruit reminded the original Protestant viewers – in the then good times of Dutch affluence – of how the clock ticks, beauty fades and decay lurks.

The genre’s precise ordering of motifs and their careful spillage also provides a persuasive pictorial tension between order and disorder, the natural and the artificial, through an experience of abundant visuality. And it was this voluptuous visual presence of the historical flower pieces which drew in Maguire, who kept distant from their original symbolic meaning through his concentration on the painting process and its materiality.

By the time Maguire was back in Australia in 1989, he had come to realise that a painting’s formal qualities had to elucidate the meaning of the work, but also be analogous to it, and this became the content of his practice.5 For a short period he maintained contact with the Vanitas theme of the historical still-life genre by alluding to its favoured references in exhibition and painting titles, for instance Et in Arcadia Ego and Ex Niholo, Viva Breve (exhibitions of 1987 and 1990), Vita Fugax 1991 and Lapsus Memoriae 1989.

But by 1992, the flower paintings had become untitled and numbered, reducing any possible interpretation of personality in his paintings, which the historical still-lifes have in abundance. Nonetheless, Maguire’s early 1990s flower paintings have been described as ‘portraits’ of flowers and this painting of 1993 fits the description.6 This auspicious year Maguire won the Moët & Chandon Fellowship, which allowed him, with his family, to work that year in Champagne region of France. Bathed in a tawny, ‘uncanny’ light, overblown blossoms spill out of the picture plane and dissolve into the viewer’s space, insistently florid and improbably fecund. Critical commentary on Maguire’s paintings of this and previous periods, such as Tank 1986, Lux in Tenebris 1990 and Canal 1988-1992, includes some evocative reflections on a ‘light which is equally dark’, remarking on the way this light ‘disrupts space and focus, the pull it exerts on us, wanting us to be immersed in its phantasmic mutability’.

[heavenboy09]

Happy Heavenly Birthday 🎂 ✨ 💓 To A Very Young Russian👱‍♂️ 🇷🇺 & Jewish✡ Born Inspiring & Brilliant Likeable Actor Who Was Gone Too Soon 🥺😭

Yelchin was born on March 11, 1989, in Leningrad, Russian SFSR, Soviet Union. His parents, Irina Korina and Viktor Yelchin, were pair figure skaters who were stars of the Leningrad Ice Ballet for 15 years. His family is Jewish, and were subjected to religious and political oppression in the Soviet Union. Yelchin said that his grandparents "suffered in ways [he] can't even begin to understand under Stalin".

Yelchin's family left for the United States in September 1989, when Anton was six months old, and were thereafter granted refugee status from the Department of State. His mother worked as a figure skating choreographer and his father as a figure skating coach, having been Sasha Cohen's first trainer. Yelchin's uncle is the children's author and painter Eugene Yelchin. In an article published in the Los Angeles Times in December 1989, Yelchin's mother stated, "A woman came up, saw Anton, and said, 'He's beautiful. He will be actor.'"

He was an American actor. Born in the Soviet Union to a Russian Jewish family, he immigrated to the United States with his parents at the age of 6 months. He began his career as a child actor, appearing as the lead of the mystery drama film Hearts in Atlantis (2001) and a series regular on the Showtime comedy-drama Huff (2004–2006). In 2006, he starred in Alpha Dog with Bruce Willis, Justin Timberlake, and Emile Hirsch. Yelchin landed higher-profile film roles in 2009, portraying Lieutenant Pavel Chekov in the Star Trek reboot and Kyle Reese in Terminator Salvation. He reprised his role as Chekov in the sequels Star Trek Into Darkness (2013) and Star Trek Beyond (2016).

Yelchin frequently worked on independent and lower-profile films, headlining the romantic drama Like Crazy (2011), the 2011 remake of Fright Night, the supernatural thriller Odd Thomas (2013), the romance 5 to 7 (2014), the horror comedy Burying the Ex (2014), the neo-noir The Driftless Area (2015), and the horror thriller Green Room (2015). As a voice actor, he voiced Clumsy Smurf in the live-action Smurfs films (2011–2013) and lead role James "Jim" Lake Jr. on the Netflix animated series Trollhunters: Tales of Arcadia (2016–2018).

He maintained an active career until his accidental death in 2016 when he was fatally injured by his SUV.

He was 27 Years Old

Today Would Be His 35th Birthday 🎂 💕

Please Wish This Young & Incredible Russian👱‍♂️ 🇷🇺 & Jewish ✡ Born Actor A Very Happy Birthday 🎂 In Heaven ☁️

WE ALL LOVE HIM

WE SEEN HIM ON THE BIG SCREEN IN SPACE, THE FINAL FRONTIER & IN A  APOCALYPTIC FUTURE RUN BY MACHINES & HE WAS A HIGH SCHOOL 🏫 KID CHOSEN TO BECOME A KNIGHT FOR TROLLS IN A DREAMWORKS ANIMATED TV SERIES 📺  BEFORE HIS UNTIMELY PASSING 🥺

& WE MISS HIM ALL VERY MUCH 😢

THE 1 & ALWAYS

MR. ANTON VIKTOROVICH YELCHIN AKA ANTON YELCHIN👱‍♂️🇷🇺✡ AKA PAVEL CHEKOV OF STAR TREK 🌟 🚀👨‍🚀🌌🌠 (2009) & YOUNG KYLE REESE OF TERMINATOR SALVATION 🤖

HAPPY 35TH BIRTHDAY 🎂 IN HEAVEN ☁️🥺😭😇

WE LOVE YOU & WE MISS YOU ALWAYS. UNTIL NEXT TIME. REST IN PEACE ✌ 🙏 😔. ANTON 👱‍♂️🇷🇺✡ 

#AntonYelchin #StarTrekTrilogy #TerminatorSalavtion #OddThomas #TrollHuntersTalesOfArcadia