#Philadelphia salon

[latorelyfe]

Man Up: The Untold Importance of Men's Self-Care

Cracking the code to male self-care: From manicures to pedicures, it’s time for guys to put their best foot forward. In a world where masculinity often shies away from the pampering spotlight, there’s an unspoken truth – self-care is not just for the ladies. Gentlemen, it’s time to embrace the art of grooming, starting from the tips of your fingers down to the soles of your feet. Today, we’re…

[nailstoday1]

Nail design | Katrina beauty bar | Nail salon Philadelphia , PA 19126

A manicure is a great way to relax and treat yourself. There’s nothing quite like a manicure that leaves you feeling relaxed and put together at the same time. We are devoted to serving our clients in an environment that provides warmth and the very best intentions for their experience.

If you are seeking a beauty salon that helps you to rejuvenate your beauty, Katrina Beauty Bar is the ideal destination! Located conveniently in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19126,

[janeyseymour]

La Cosa Nostra- pt 1

*clears throat* ...hi. i present to you, the first part of the fic that @schemmentis are co-writing. and damn, if i do say so myself.

Summary: You're a part of the mob. Melissa is a part of the mafia. Together... it makes for an interesting life.

Let us know what you think because we are having an absolute BLAST with this!

WC: ~3k

You really don’t know how you ended up in this position. 

One day, you were working at the local hair salon, the next, you learned that your boss was tied up in the mafia and needed some help getting out. Luckily for him; you already had contacts. Just not on the side he was with. Which means you couldn’t entirely get him out of trouble but you could help. And you did. You had called your “Uncle'' Joe for a favor. A big one. Taking the loans of your boss at the hair salon off the Italian’s books and claiming them to the Irish instead. At least then, you knew exactly who needed to be spoken to for the loans and what was owed. And that’s how you met Melissa Schemmenti.

Melissa had been sent on behalf of the Italian’s. To negotiate taking the salon’s books. She hadn’t given it up easily. The only saving grace was the fact that the Irish taking the books meant the Italians didn’t have a problem to worry about anymore. It was hard not to want to agree from the Italian side of it. They had nothing to lose. And you were indebting yourself a great deal to your own “family” by taking it on. Except you knew you could turn a profit if you were given the chance. You argued with the red-head spokeswoman tooth and nail, like your life depended on it. Yours didn’t, not yet. Your boss’ life did, though. 

When Melissa finally agreed to turn over the books, she’d shaken your hand with an all too satisfied smile. One that you hadn’t forgotten since. You went around everyone in your extended “family” to ask her out. You half expected her to cuss you out and make it extremely well known you had tried. Instead, she’d said yes and told you to pick her up at six.

Fast forward seven years: you now own the hair salon, that red headed woman is your wife, and you have two beautiful little girls together. Everything is great- you would even dare to say perfect. Your front is working perfectly while still being one of the best hair salons in all of Philadelphia, your wife’s restaurant has taken off and she’s been named one of the most up and coming restauranteurs in the city, and your two children are well on their way to blossoming into two of the smartest kindergarteners you know.

The day your daughters were born is second only to the day you married Melissa in the happiest day of your life. Deciding to start a family as soon as possible, you began to lay down the foundations for a family. It had been decided that you would carry while attempting to find a donor that was as similar to your wife as possible. 

The two of you had tried a few times before and hadn’t managed to get pregnant. The day that you went in to take a test and the doctor told you that were indeed pregnant was one that you’ll never forget- Melissa jumping out of her seat and tackling you in a hug, her hand already resting gently on your flat stomach. And when you found out that you were blessed enough to be pregnant with twins, Melissa had gripped your hand, making a cross over her chest with the other. She thanked God for blessing you with two; she thanked you for carrying them since she couldn’t imagine being the one to. 

Having you carry was risky though, and it never left either of your minds through the entire pregnancy that you were technically on the forefront of this illegal business that you found yourself a part of now. But you were able to make it through your entire pregnancy without a hair on your head touched (you’re fairly certain Melissa had threatened both sides that if you were even looked at the wrong way they would be taken care of). 

Melissa, even five years later, is positive you were only flattering her when you had requested to name one of your girls in honor of her. She was the love of your life, after all, you had argued. Caterina Ann had been born first, and two minutes later her sister followed. Melissa named her Rosalina Marie. Gifting one of her sister’s middle names despite their estrangement. When the two of them did finally reconcile and Kristen Marie met your rays of sunshine, she wept at their names.

And then, it all comes crashing down on you. You’re out with your wife to pick up the girls from their day at school when your phone rings- and not your personal phone: the phone that you use specifically for your business.

“Hello?” you answer softly.

“Y/N,” the manager on call replies. “We have a bit of a problem over at the salon.”

“You can handle it,” you roll your eyes. “I’m out getting ready to pick up the girls.”

“They ain’t takin’ no for an answer,” he says lowly. “Insisting you come speak to them directly.”

You hazard a glance at your wife, who is looking at you with furrowed brows. “Let me pick the girls up, drop the family at home, and then I’ll be in.”

“Make it quick.”

“Don’t speak to me like that,” you reprimand your employee. “Don't forget I can fire your ass.”

“All I’m sayin’ is, if you don’t get down here sooner rather than later, there’s gonna be a much bigger problem on our hands than we have now.” He hangs up.

You stuff your phone in your pocket, look up at the sky, and audibly ask the question, “Why?” All you wanted to do was pick up the girls and have a nice family night. You’d finally been able to take the day off after almost a month of straight work. Now though, that was being taken away from you, and you couldn’t even get a clear answer as to why.

“Why what?” your wife asks you, clearly concerned.

“After we get Cat and Rosie, I have to head down to the salon,” you huff. “Tony called and said someone is down there specifically asking for me over some sort of problem. So, I’m either giving out a ridiculous credit or I’m dealing with...” you trail off, knowing she’ll understand.

Melissa squeezes your hand. “Go. I can handle ‘em. Just... please be back for bedtime, because then I have to head to the restaurant to prep for tomorrow."

“I’ll do what I can,” you promise her. You peck her lips, and you turn in the direction of your business wondering what the hell you’ll be walking into.

You walk in through the staff entrance of the salon, swiftly ducking into the back office before anyone up front can notice. You dig through desk drawers and the small filing cabinet in the corner. You quickly slip one binder, the ledger of the illegal side of the business into the space between your belt and back before you tuck your blazer coat back over it. You grip the other binder you’d grabbed, the legal ledger, as you step back out of the office and towards the front.

“Tony,” You greet your manager with a big smile. Your eyes flashing your annoyance at him. “Who do we have here?” You quickly turn your attention to the two individuals standing in front of Tony. You hold your hand out to shake. 

Instead of a handshake, a badge is flashed from each of the suits now focusing on you. “Agent Danik, and this Agent Shaw, FBI. You own this establishment?”

“I do.” You confirm. “What can I help you with?”

“We have reason to believe this salon is laundering money. We’d like to ask you a few questions,” Danik tells you lowly.

“I’d be happy to answer what I can.” You say, attempting to seem cooperative. You know it won’t help you to dig your heels in. “But I can’t imagine where you’d get the idea of money laundering. I’ve owned this salon for almost a decade.”

“And you bought it from Bobby Esposito, is that right?” Shaw asks, brow raised.

“That’s right,” you tell them honestly. “I worked for Bobby for a few years before that; managing the office and schedules. All that.” What you’re saying is true- for years you had sent out schedules, managed different finances, and became the best stylist your business has to offer.

“Were you aware Bobby was murdered a few years ago?”

You blink. You did know. It would be next to impossible for you not to know. “Uncle” Joey had ordered the hit on Bobby and informed you about it so you wouldn't be surprised. Now, you make an effort to look shocked. “Bobby? Murdered?” You echo, your brow furrowing. “Why would somebody do somethin’ like that? Bobby’s just…an old man by now.”

The agents’ faces don’t change. You feel a shot of ice down your spine at the thought they don’t believe you. “We were hoping you might have an idea about that. The PPD has been kind enough to lend us a room. You mind coming down to the station with us, have a chat about all this?”

“I don’t mind.” You answer as calmly as you can. “But I have two little girls waiting for me at home. I promised them a bedtime story and all, you know how it is. Couldn’t I meet you down there tomorrow?”

“I know how it is.” Agent Shaw answers with a sigh. “I have a little girl myself. Unfortunately, you’re gonna have to miss the stories tonight.” He does seem a bit regretful at the knowledge of you having children, but it doesn’t change the fact that they need you down at the station tonight.

You curse in your mind. Not only are your girls going to be disappointed; so is your wife. Not to mention the binder you’re still hiding that is definitely going to be noticed at some point.

“Right…” You murmur, glancing away from the agents. “Tony, call Mel for me, won’t you? Let her know I’m gonna be late tonight.” You say before starting to follow the agents out. “Oh,” You say, pretending to remember something. You glance over your shoulder. “And tell her to take that ziti of hers off the menu, huh?” You pretend it disgusts you to even think about it. It’s something you’d never dream of saying seriously. Which is why you say it now. When Melissa hears you said to pass that along, she’ll know something is wrong. Very wrong.

As you make your way out of your business and are escorted to one of the cars out front, Tony practically shits himself inside. He knows what’s happening, and he does not want to be the one to have to relay this information to your wife. Still though, an order from the boss is an order from the boss. He calls her cell phone on his own.

“Hello?” she answers as she juggles making dinner, assisting the girls with their reading, and making a list of things she needs to purchase for her own business tomorrow.

“Melissa? It’s Tony,” your manager sighs into the phone. “Don’t shoot the messenger when I tell you this, but Y/N ain’t gonna be home for bedtime stories tonight.”

Your wife nearly fumes. “What do you mean she isn’t gonna be... yeah, Rosie, that says ‘think’, good job sweetheart... What do you mean she isn’t gonna be home tonight?”

“She’s handling her business,” Tony states. “And you need to handle yours. Y/N said to take your ziti off the menu- it’s lacking.” And then he hangs up.

Almost immediately, the redhead knows something is wrong. That anger that had been there just a few seconds ago disappears in a flash- you’re in trouble somehow. You would never, ever tell her that her ziti is lacking. It’s your favorite dish of hers, and has been- it was the first dish that she ever made for you and had secured a place for her in your heart. It was the dish that you insisted be at your wedding because you knew that it would only make the one of the happiest days of your life even better. 

She knows she has to call her manager and let her know that she won't be in until late tonight, if at all. The restaurateur is able to relay this information, along with the ingredients that she’s managed to put on a list to go shopping for, before turning her attention back to your girls and the meal that’s being made.

Once dinner is on the table, Cat and Rosie chat your wife’s ear off about their days- and while she would usually listen avidly, her mind wanders to you and what you could be dealing with right now.

“Mommy?” Rosie waves a hand in front of her mother’s eyes.

Melissa blinks a few times. “Sorry, baby. Mommy’s a little distracted thinking about the restaurant right now. What were you saying?”

She makes an active attempt to stay as engaged with the girls as possible. And they’re fine, up until bedtime. They know you’re supposed to be home by now; you had promised them that you would be home for a family night and to read them a story like you haven't been able to for a bit now.

“Mam is running late,” Melissa tells them regretfully. “But I’m sure she’ll read you a story another time, so can you please just let Mommy read and get to sleep? You have school tomorrow.”

That throws both of your girls into absolute conniption fits, and your wife can only get them to settle with her in the bed that the two of you share, each of them clinging to one of your pillows. The woman who so desperately needs to attend to her own business sighs as she settles into the middle of the bed, one of your twins on either side of her, and prays that you’re okay.

You rub your eyes as you sigh. Both Agent Shaw and Agent Dinek are sat across from you at the small table. The small interrogation room feels even smaller than it did when you entered. It’s warm with its lack of windows. It takes a good portion of your concentration every few minutes to remember you can’t remove your blazer despite the Agents having removed their’s a long time ago.

“For the fifteenth time,” You grit out between your teeth. Your hand falling away from your eyes to thunk onto the metal table. “I have no idea who would wanna hurt Bobby. He was a nice enough boss even if he was clueless about how to balance his accounting. I didn’t wanna hurt Bobby. I bought the salon from him years ago, which would have been the only thing he’d have that I’d want anyway.”

“Y/N, you know that just telling us the truth would get you out of here a lot faster.” Agent Dinek says. She doesn’t lean forward or uncross her arms that are over her chest as she looks at you. She looks bored now.

Your hand on the table curls into a fist. You’ve let the interrogation go on this long, hoping it would just be a few questions you could bat off. A couple answers and then home. Now, it’s nearing three in the morning and you’re still sitting in the uncomfortable chair. The agents are still staring at you from their seats next to the door. You swear the thermostat has risen a couple times since you’ve been here.

This, being in an interrogation room at the PPD with FBI agents, is dangerous. Asking for your lawyer is even more dangerous. If you have to resort to that; you’re well and truly fucked. In the few times you’d been in interrogation rooms, you’d only had to answer a few questions, clear up a timeline. That was it. Those moments though were never with the FBI. 

They had only been with the PPD. Police officers you were more than familiar with. People from your neighborhood. People who knew you. People that came to the salon or your wife’s restaurant. A small handful on the force know exactly who you are and what your business really is. Those people though are in the families pockets. Irish or Italian, or both. Paid for their information their unique positions give them access to. 

Agent Shaw and Agent Dinek aren’t in anyone’s pocket. They seem to know exactly who is, at least on the streets, though. They’ve brought up plenty of names you’re overly familiar with over the last twelve hours or so. Triple checking how you know them, and how well you know them.

You’re reaching your limit. If you don’t ask to speak with your lawyer, force the “interview” to end, your only other option is to come clean. You think about emerald green eyes. The eyes you fell in love with practically the first time you looked into them. You think about little faces that look like little minis of your wife even though she claims they look more like you. If you come clean it isn’t just you paying for this. Nevermind the people beneath you and the rest of the families. 

What kills you to picture is your wife and your daughters paying for it. You don’t really care what happens to the Irish or the Italians at this moment. The entirety of Cosa Nostra could fall apart and you wouldn’t give a damn. If your wife or your girls are touched even the slightest, even just inconvenienced, you would raise hell. 

You slowly lean back in your chair, feeling the binder beneath your blazer press into your spine. “I’d like to speak with my lawyer.”

TAGS, and let me know if you want to be added! : @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson

[holystormfire]

John 7:40-52

Nicodemus challenged his fellow pharisees.

Nicodemus Visiting Jesus,

Painting by Henry Ossawa Tanner (1859-1957),

Painted in 1899,

Oil on canvas

© Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts

Gospel Reading

Several people who had been listening to Jesus said, ‘Surely he must be the prophet’, and some said, ‘He is the Christ’, but others said, ‘Would the Christ be from Galilee? Does not scripture say that the Christ must be descended from David and come from the town of Bethlehem?’ So the people could not agree about him. Some would have liked to arrest him, but no one actually laid hands on him.

The police went back to the chief priests and Pharisees who said to them, ‘Why haven’t you brought him?’ The police replied, ‘There has never been anybody who has spoken like him.’ ‘So’ the Pharisees answered ‘you have been led astray as well? Have any of the authorities believed in him? Any of the Pharisees? This rabble knows nothing about the Law – they are damned.’ One of them, Nicodemus – the same man who had come to Jesus earlier – said to them, ‘But surely the Law does not allow us to pass judgement on a man without giving him a hearing and discovering what he is about?’ To this they answered, ‘Are you a Galilean too? Go into the matter, and see for yourself: prophets do not come out of Galilee.’

Reflection on the painting

In today's Gospel reading, we encounter Nicodemus, marking his second of three appearances in the Gospel of John. Initially introduced as a curious seeker who approaches Jesus under the cover of night, Nicodemus is portrayed as intrigued by Jesus yet hesitant to fully embrace his teachings. His journey of faith is subtly woven through John's narrative, culminating in his participation alongside Joseph of Arimathea in ensuring Jesus receives a respectful (indeed, lavish) burial. This progression illustrates Nicodemus's gradual movement towards a deeper understanding and commitment to Jesus. Our reading today is the second (and middle) appearance of Nicodemus. Despite being a Pharisee, he displays remarkable bravery by questioning the outright dismissal of Jesus by his peers, who criticize Jesus based on his origin in Galilee, a region they regard as insignificant compared to the religious hub of Jerusalem. Nicodemus advocates for fairness and due process, arguing that Jesus should not be judged without first being heard. This stance places him at odds with the prevailing opinions of his colleagues, and his challenge is met with scorn, evidenced by their sarcastic comment "Are you from Galilee too?"

Nicodemus's growing relationship with Jesus left him increasingly isolated in the world where he had been so much at home. He actually reminds us that as we grow in our relationship with Jesus, there is often a price to be paid. We may find ourselves a lone voice among our peers. At such times, we know that the Lord is always with us.

Henry Ossawa Tanner painted our canvas in 1899, depicting the first of the three mentions of Nicodemus in John's Gospel (John 3:1-21). The painting was Tanner's entry to the 1899 Paris Salon. We see Nicodemus talking privately to Christ in the evening, a good example of Tanner's nocturnal light paintings. The painting was purchased there for the Wilstadt Collection, Philadelphia, and is now in the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts. The narrative of Nicodemus' meeting with Jesus held significant meaning for Henry Ossawa Tanner's father, Benjamin Tucker Tanner. He was a Bishop in the African Methodist Episcopal Church and had aspirations for his son to join him in the ministry. While Henry's decision to pursue a career as an artist fell short of his father's dream, his talent for painting ultimately produced works that his father could admire and support.

Article by Father Patrick van der Vorst

[artistalley]

Philly Neo-Soul

by artist @alleannaharris

This is a print of my original illustration of a girl relaxing in her room, surrounded by Philly music and items from Philly small businesses. (Businesses include Sable Collective, Duafe Hair Salon, Marsh & Mane, Snapdragon Flowers, Rayo and Honey, Shaheed Rucker, Amalgam Comics & Coffeehouse, Uncle Bobbies, Harriett's Bookshop, Hakim's Bookstore, and Franny Lou's. Music includes Jill Scott, Erykah Badu, Musiq Soulchild, Kindred the Family Soul, Vivian Green, Maze featuring Frankie Beverly, and Philadelphia International Records.)

After using code “ARTISTALLEY24” for 20% off anything in her shop or her Etsy, don’t forget to give artist @alleannaharris a follow on Tumblr.

[love-for-carnation]

Carnations, roses, daisies, tulips and other summer flowers in a vase on a ledge Winifred Walker (1882-1965, British) Winifred attended the Camden School of Art where she won the King's Prize for Modelled Design and gained her Art Masters' Certificate and also spent time studying at Ghent. She became a botanical artist, painting in oils and watercolours. From 1929 to 1939 she was an official artist with the Royal Horticultural Society having been elected a Fellow of the Society in 1912 and throughout her career won over thirty medals with the Society. Her flower paintings were awarded a gold medal in Philadelphia and she also received awards at exhibitions in London and Paris. Winifred was elected a Fellow of the Linnean Society. Winifred exhibited works at the Royal Academy, with the Society of Women Artists, the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours, the Fine Art Society, at the Paris Salon and at the Chelsea Flower Show. She illustrated a number of botanical and gardening books, wrote and illustrated All the Plants of the Bible. Bio and other botanical works: https://thegardenstrust.blog/2019/10/05/winifred-walker-the-most-famous-of-all-flower-painters/

[conradscrime]

The Murder of Peter Fabiano

October 30, 2023

On October 31, 1957, Halloween night, in Sun Valley, California, a 35 year old hairdresser named Peter Fabiano answered his door shortly after 11 pm. Peter, being a little annoyed due to the late trick or treaters, said, "It's a little late for this, isn't it?"

The person standing on the other side of the door was not a child -- the person was taller, with a "grotesque" painted face, domino mask and wearing men's clothing including blue jeans, a khaki jacket and red gloves.

The trick or treater replied in a deep voice, "No" and held up a paper bag with a gun inside it. Then a gunshot was heard, and Peter's wife, Betty, and her teenaged daughter, Judy ran to the door to discover the shooter had already ran off and Peter was lying on his back.

Judy ran to the neighbours house, Bud Alper, who worked for the Los Angeles Police. In no time, officers were at the Fabiano's.

Peter was transferred to the Sun Valley Receiving Hospital where he later died from massive bleeding.

Peter was born in 1923, and after serving in World War II, was an extremely successful hairdresser in the area, and him and his wife Betty appeared to be a perfect couple, owning two beauty salons in LA. Betty claimed she was 36 years old and had two teenagers from a previous marriage. She had married Peter in 1955.

Betty had said that she, Peter and Judy had just went to bed shortly before the doorbell rang that night after 11pm. When Peter went to the door, Betty heard two adult voices, one that sounded masculine and the other sounded like a man impersonating a woman.

The murder of Peter Fabiano was known as the "Trick or Treat Murder" in the media, but who would commit this heinous crime?

A 43 year old woman named Goldyne Pizer was a medical secretary and described as "matronly." She graduated from Los Angeles High School in 1934 and had gotten married in the 1940's, but was either widowed or divorced it's unclear. In 1957, Goldyne met a 40 year old woman, Joan Rabel, who lived only 1 mile from Goldyne's house near the Sunset Strip in Hollywood.

Joan is more of a mystery. Some sources claim she was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and came to the US from Lithuania. Joan was a photographer and writer, often travelling to Hawaii for inspiration it's claimed. In 1957, Joan was also divorced and working for Peter Fabiano in his salon.

It was working for Peter that Joan met Betty, and the two hit it off. Joan considered herself a good friend to both Fabiano's. Eventually, Joan claimed that Betty told her Peter was abusive and controlling, and Joan began to obsess about the idea of getting Betty out of this life with Peter. Betty had even left Peter for a short period of time and stayed with Joan.

Joan would often discuss the Fabiano's to Goldyne, calling Peter "pure evil." The two would talk about Peter and Betty over coffee, and over a 3 month period, somehow, Joan had convinced Goldyne to become a hitwoman for her. She did not pay Goldyne for the actual hit, however she provided her money for a gun and borrowed a getaway car from another friend.

After the murder on Halloween, Goldyne was driven home by Joan who told her, "Forget you ever knew me."

On November 1, 1957, the next morning, Goldyne discovered she had not disposed of the gun, Joan had left those instructions out. Goldyne took the gun to Bullock's flagship store and put it in a storage locker.

It only took 2 weeks for the police to fnd this gun and question Goldyne, who confessed immediately. Both women were arrested for the murder.

In court, Goldyne was crying and showing obvious remorse, but Joan was stone cold, showing no emotion except for sometimes smiling. Goldyne plead not guilty by reason of insanity, claiming that Joan had cast some sort of spell on her that was impossible to resist.

On March 11, 1958, Goldyne and Joan pleaded guilty to second degree murder to avoid trial. Both women were sentenced to 5 years to life in prison, however no one knows how much time each of them served.

There are many rumours over this case and whether or not there was any lesbian relationships involved. Some believe that Joan and Betty's dynamic was strange, and the two were lovers. Others believe that Joan was in love with Betty, and needed to get rid of Peter as he was in the way. There has never been any definitive proof of this, and there's never been any proof that Peter was abusive to Betty.

It was claimed that Peter had asked Betty to end her friendship with Joan, which she did.

Goldyne died in 1998 in Los Angeles. Betty sold the beauty salon after Peter died and remarried in 1966. Betty died in 1999, at the age of 81 in Palm Desert, California. However, this age means that at the time of Peter's death Betty had been 39, not 36 like she claimed or those believed.

The real mystery is that no one knows what happened to Joan. She disappeared and no one was ever able to say where she went or who she became.

[bambydiaries]

Impressionism women in history 𓅔

Welcome to my history literature-art-class. Please take a seat.

Berthe Morisot (1841–95)

Berthe Morisot is the best-known of the female Impressionists, having been given a solo retrospective that traveled Europe and North America starting in 2018. Born in 1841, Morisot first showed at the age of 25 at the 1864 Paris Salon. Morisot was the only woman invited to show in the first Impressionist exhibition (formerly called the Anonymous Society of Painters, Sculptors and Printmakers) in 1874, and she went on to participate in all but one of the eight exhibitions between from 1874 to 1886. She was close with Manet, even marrying his brother, and the two influenced each other, in a way that ultimately moved her work in bolder, more abstract directions. She painted with loose, bold brushstrokes that emphasized expressivity over naturalism. A critic wrote at the time, “Her painting has all the frankness of improvisation; it truly is the impression caught by a sincere eye and accurately rendered by a hand that does not cheat.” In the The Garden at Maurecourt (ca. 1884), she depicts a mother gazing at her child with little sentimentally, perhaps even boredom or exhaustion. With its probing depiction of its sitter’s mental state, the painting exemplifies Morisot’s sensibility. Morisot died of pneumonia in 1895, at the age of 54, leaving behind an oeuvre that hints at the further breakthroughs she was poised to make. 

(BTW, here you can get wallpapers from her)

Mary Cassatt (1844–1926)

Mary Cassatt was the only American among the founding Impressionists. She came from a well-off family in Pittsburgh that supported a formal arts education first at the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts and then in Europe, after the vaunted Philadelphia school rebuffed her requests to study nude models. During her travels throughout the continent she learned under academic mentors such as Jean-Léon Gérôme and Édouard Frère and studied classical masterpieces by Correggio, Velázquez, Rubens. She settled in Paris in 1874, where she began regularly showing her portraits in the Salon. In 1877 Degas invited her to begin showing with the Impressionists, and she participated in four of the eight exhibitions. “No woman has the right to draw like that,” Degas reportedly said upon viewing Cassatt’s Young Women Picking Fruit (1891). She took the thinly veiled insult in stride, and the two maintained a close friendship based on a shared respect for asymmetrical composition and classical Japanese prints. Cassatt supported herself as a successful portrait artist and printmaker, having declared herself unfit for marriage or motherhood. In spite of this, her subject was often. the relationship between mothers and their children. In contrast to Morisot’s bold, expressive brushwork, Cassatt often depicted her the facial features and figure of her friends and family with great precision. In The Boating Party, the man’s expression is obscured, placing the focus on a deftly rendered woman and child. Cassatt once said her goal was to depict women as “subjects, not objects.”

Eva Gonzalès (1849–83)

Gonzalès never exhibited with the Impressionists, but she was close with some of the movement’s top artists—including Morisot—and her art is stylistically similar to their work. Like other aspiring female artists in 19th-century France, Gonzalès was barred from attending the École des Beaux-Arts, though like Morisot and Cassatt, her affluent upbringing afforded her the opportunity to attend private lessons. In 1869, she met Manet in Paris, and she became his only formal student. His influence on her work is evident in A Box at the Theatre des Italien‘s flat perspective at the subject’s direct gaze. The year they met, Manet created a portrait of Gonzalès, and in response she produced her own series of self-portraits, asserting her identity as professional peer—something far more than a museu. She died in 1883 at age 34 from an embolism after the birth of her son, having achieved her goal of exhibiting in the prestigious Paris Salon. In 1885, a 90-piece retrospective of her work was held at the Salons de la Vie Moderne in Paris.

Could write a book about them, ngl.

Thank you for reading till the end,

Atenea 𓅖

[palomasu]

Philly: A place for all

In class this week, we delved deep into compositional theory in urbanism and the proponents of it. This theory explores how we, as residents, can foster a profound sense of community within our neighborhoods, no matter if we call a sprawling metropolis or a quaint small town our home. It was a captivating discussion, and it struck a chord with me because I've seen it come to life right here in Philadelphia.

One of the most celebrated examples of this concept here in Philly is the Gayborhood, which I visited two weekends ago on a night out. The contrast between the vibrant display of pride in the Gayborhood and my memories of Jamaica was stark. In the Gayborhood, rainbow flags fluttered proudly from storefronts, and every corner seemed to exude an atmosphere of acceptance and celebration. It was a stark contrast to my experiences in Jamaica, where the LGBTQ+ community faced considerable challenges and discrimination. This experience left me with a mix of emotions: I was grateful for the safe and accepting space it provided, but I was also reminded of the work that still needed to be done globally. The Gayborhood serves as a beacon of hope, a testament to what could be achieved when communities came together to support one another.

Just a few blocks away from the Gayborhood, I've found myself immersed into the bustling atmosphere of Chinatown on the occasional weekend; a place that is living testament to the strength of cultural identity and community bonds. The streets are a sight to behold, adorned with colorful lanterns, and the air carries the tantalizing aroma of authentic Chinese cuisine. It's a place where I've seen both residents and visitors alike experience the rich Chinese culture, fostering a sense of belonging that goes beyond geographical boundaries.

Chinatown, Philadelphia

Venturing beyond Center City, I've had the opportunity to explore the remarkable diversity found in Cedar Park, situated in the heart of West Philly. Here, the African and Caribbean populations have created their own unique enclaves, enriching the cultural mosaic of the region. I've discovered vibrant African/Caribbean markets, heard a medley of languages spoken on the streets, savored the flavors of various cuisines from across the African and Caribbean diaspora, and even had my hair braided at one of the many hair salons. Seeing my Jamaican culture celebrated through the tantalizing aromas of jerk chicken and the lively reggae music playing in the background of a random mart brought a sense of nostalgia and comfort, reminding me that cultural diversity was not only welcomed but embraced in all areas of Philly.

[shannonselin]

Joseph Hopkinson by Thomas Sully

Joseph Hopkinson, a close friend of Napoleon’s brother Joseph, was born in Philadelphia on November 12, 1770. Hopkinson was a lawyer, musician, writer, politician and judge. He and his wife, Emily, hosted a lively salon and mentored artists and writers.  One of the things Hopkinson was renowned for during his lifetime was writing “Hail Columbia.” This was the de facto national anthem of the United States for most of the 19th century. It remained a contender until 1931, when “The Star-Spangled Banner” officially gained the title. “Hail Columbia” is now the official Vice Presidential anthem. For details, see “Joseph Hopkinson, Joseph Bonaparte’s Great Friend.”

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[janeyseymour]

La Costa Nostra- pt 21

Cowritten w @schemmentis

Summary: You find yourselves falling into this new life. Meanwhile, things back at home change.

WC: ~2.05k

The girls love their new school- something you’re eternally grateful for. You manage to find a new business to manage the accounts of, free of any secondhand business on the side while your wife falls back into teaching like she used to before she left to open her restaurant.

This life is different, but it isn’t unwelcome. You easily blend in to the always lit and alive city. You spend much of your time out exploring, finding new special spots and diners to take your girls. You even join a new perish- one that you know will never quite feel like the one back in Philly. The people there are nice enough, but no one will ever be Barbara and Gerald Howard.

Meanwhile, back in Philadelphia, Gerald Howard brings the ledger into his place of work. He calls up the two who handled your case to begin with and brings them in while his wife is there.

Together, the four of them promise to take down the mafia. Neither agent lets it slip that the four of you are still alive; Danik almost does though at Barbara’s shed tears for your twins.

Instead, Danik puts herself into the work at the end of your case. The dismantling of the mafia in the city. A workaholic already, she pushes herself even further. It's only Shaw that reminds her to sleep, at least for an hour or two. To eat, even just a few bites. Danik might know the truth of you and your family being alive. It doesn't negate that there are people out there who would stoop to order the hit. To include two very young children in that hit.

They start back at the very beginning. Working through your old salon and Melissa's cherished restaurant. Neither look the same now, a few months since your ‘deaths’. It's far more obvious now that both locations are fronts. Whoever is running things is getting sloppy. Danik guesses because they've run out of people they can use to hide behind; like you and Melissa were. The members of Cosa Nostra are front and center now. Running in and out of both the salon and restaurant at all hours.

“That definitely wasn't as good as the last time we were here.” Shaw mutters as he follows Danik out of Twelve Tables.

“I'll give her this much;” Danik starts as she gets into their unmarked car. “Melissa was much better with the food than whoever is back there now.”

Shaw sighs as Danik begins driving back down the street. “Back to the salon? Again?”

“Yes. We're closer there than we are with the restaurant. Besides, I called Andretti. He's still undercover and is with the Italians. He's going to try to nab Luca tonight. I need to be there.”

“Grace, you need a break.” Shaw says quietly from the passenger seat. It's rare for them to use their first names, but in the last few months it's grown in frequency. He silently blames a former Melissa Schemmenti and her teasing him from her hospital bed.

He hasn't asked his work partner out. He won't until the case is done. Still, he's been driven to show his affection for her in trying to make sure she takes care of herself at least while they work. Because if people around here are okay killing kids; there's a good chance they're more than okay with killing a federal agent or two in the right circumstances. Circumstances they're pushing their luck on every day and have been for a long time now.

“Ben.” Agent Danik says, almost sounding through her teeth. She's grown from looking at him with a glare for pulling out first names to returning the use of them. At least sometimes. It's progress. “Not tonight, alright? Just…tonight could be the break we need. Leave me be about the rest shit. Just for tonight.”

Agent Shaw sighs. “Just for tonight.” He reluctantly agrees as his partner parks their car adjacent to the salon. “But tomorrow, you’re sleeping. I’ll drag you to bed myself if it means you’ll get sleep.”

He doesn’t miss the blush that creeps into his colleague’s cheeks.

From here, they can see the front through the large glass windows. The very few clients and hair stylists moving about the front. They can also see down the side alleyway. The door you told them any side business went in and out of. The occasional meeting was held in the alley, too.

Tonight, there's a figure leant against the brick next to that door. The dim glow of a cigarette seen each time a draw is taken from it. In the light of dusk, it isn't easy to make features from where the figure stands. Though the height and build matches Luca Bellino.

“There's Andretti.” Grace says with a nod to a man walking down the sidewalk, from the direction of Twelve Tables.

Andretti turns down the smaller path of the alley way. It's then that the figure near the back door of the salon drops the cigarette, stomped out beneath a shoe. The figure steps closer to the street to meet the undercover officer halfway. Just enough distance for the street lamp to illuminate features. It's without any doubt Luca Bellino.

Shaw and Danik watch silently over the next few minutes. The conversation can't be well heard from their car, though they're certain Andretti has some recording device hidden. It looks like a normal conversation between friends. Like two men chatting and catching up over newly lit cigarettes. Until finally, Andretti pulls a thick, nearly over-filled, envelope from beneath his jacket and passes it to Luca.

Danik is already throwing open her car door and tugging her holstered weapon out as she crosses the street.

Shaw scrambles to follow after her, not bothering to even close his car door. He jogs to catch up to her, pulling out his own weapon in case.

“Freeze!” Danik calls once she's on the sidewalk. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

Both Luca and Andretti raise their hands in compliance. Danik nods for Shaw to cuff Andretti to maintain his cover as much as they possibly can. “You're under arrest.” Danik says as she tugs Lucas's hands behind his back to cuff him herself.

“The fuck?” Luca spits, turning to Andretti in a look of panic. He tries to look over his shoulder at Agent Danik. “What for?”

“Money laundering.”

“Money laundering?!” the nephew of Melissa shouts. “This isn’t money laundering! He owes me money for buying my car!”

“From a fat manilla envelope in a dark alleyway?” Danik shoots out. “Sure. We’ll believe it when we see it.”

The two men are taken into the station, and Andretti is a great actor it turns out. He huffs about the entire time that he knows Luca can hear him. And then they’re separated, and the undercover cop breathes a sigh of relief.

“Jesus, Shaw,” Andretti sighs as he rubs at his wrists. “Did you have to cuff me that aggressively?”

“Maintaining the story,” Shaw chuckles. “Sorry man.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Danik rolls her eyes at the two. “Shaw, get in there and get him to say something- anything. About the Schemmentis, about the hit on Bobby, about Cosa Nostra. Anything.”

Benjamin Shaw would be lying to himself if he said that Grace Danik ordering him around like that wasn’t hot. He obliged her orders, storming into the interrogation room.

As soon as he’s in there, Luca spills everything aside from the fact that he’s the one who was contracted to kill you and your family. Of course, he only offers up the information at a deal of not being put into jail and only paying a small fine in comparison to what he would have actually had to pay if not for the information.

Danik’s eyes raise at all of this information coming so freely. He tells who is in charge, the way that the Schemmenti family found their way into the mob- the fact that you were tied into the Irish side of it all. He takes down Tony and Uncle Dominic, and everyone else who was involved. Luca tells where they’re all planning on meeting tonight.

The police hold Luca until they can round up everybody within the family. Danik and Shaw are able to come out of the raid without a scratch on them, although other members of the family aren’t so lucky. They manage to keep both Tony and Uncle Dominic alive- if only for the information that they hold. Others are slain as they all turn on each other and try to find out who the rat is, pulling guns out of their coat pockets and firing without hesitation.

The next day, Mickey is set free from prison. He knows that originally, you, Melissa, and the girls were supposed to be the ones to come retrieve him and bring him out into the world for the first time in years. Instead, it’s Kristen Marie. He’s thrilled to see his blonde sister, but what he really wants is to see the four of you.

When he cries, Kristen can only pat his arm in an awkward fashion. She thinks his tears are being shed because he’s finally on the outside- only until he chokes out Melissa’s name and your own does she understand why he breaks down on the sidewalk of the prison building. He drops to his knees as ugly sobs wrack through his body. He was looking forward to the day that he would be able to hug your girls for the first time as a free man- to be able to pick you up and spin you in a circle without the guards looking at him as if he were clinically insane. All he wants is to be able to punch his oldest sister in the arm with a shit eating grin without having to worry about being chastised by security.

That Sunday, he finds himself slipping into the church that he knew the four of you attended. He recognizes Barbara Howard right away. As he makes the sign of the cross over his chest, he looks up at the ceiling- as if he could see that the four of you were looking down on him. He goes to slide into the pew, but a quick hand stops him.

“This seat is taken.”

“Barbara,” Mickey whispers softly through the sermon. Only then does the woman look at Melissa’s brother and see eyes that resemble your wife’s so clearly.

“Mickey?” she gasps softly as she pulls her hand away from the spot and invites him in.

The three, Mickey and the two Howards, end up at your diner in the booth that you always sit in. For the first time in months, breakfast isn’t a silent affair. Mickey trades stories about his sister and you from your past while the Howards tell him about what the four of you were up to for all the time he was behind bars. It’s therapeutic in a way for all three of them. He promises to meet them again for the next sermon.

That's the start of a new tradition. One similar to the one you, Melissa and your girls had with the Howards. Sunday morning services, Sunday brunch. Mickey fills the pew for you. They don't let anyone else sit in that last pew. After a few weeks, they don't even have to tell anyone the seats are taken. Your old parish knows not to even try.

@thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22 @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld

[pianistterenceyung]

Pianist Terence Yung has been hailed as "a brilliant young artist" with "powerhouse virtuosity," "felt musicianship" and "a real gift for communication in performance." Mr. Yung has appeared throughout the United States as a recitalist, in chamber music concerts, as soloist with orchestras, including performances in New York City, Philadelphia, Seattle and Houston, as well as abroad in Spain and France. His international honors include top prizes at the Puigcerdà International Music Competition in Spain and the Bradshaw and Buono International Piano Competition in New York City.

Notable venues include Verizon Hall at the Kimmel Center of Performing Arts (Philadelphia), Benaroya Hall (Seattle), the Teatro d Puigcerd��, the Grand Opera House (Delaware), the Juilliard School (New York City), Steinway Hall, Yamaha Salon, the Kosciuszko Foundation, the Mount Sinai Hospital in New York, and the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston. In the United States and abroad, Mr. Yung has performed at music festivals including the International Keyboard Institute and Festival (New York City), the Puigcerdà International Music Festival (Spain), the International Piano Festival (Houston), and the Adirondack International Music Festival in upstate New York.

Terence, who grew up in the United States, studied privately with Eleanor Sokoloff of the Curtis Institute of Music before entering the Juilliard School's pre-college program in New York City at the age of thirteen, where he was a pupil of Frank Lévy and Martin Canin (the teaching assistant of Rosina Lhévinne).He continued his studies with Abbey Simon at the Moores School of Music in Houston, where he holds a Bachelor of Music and Bachelor of Arts in English Literature. He also holds a prestigious Diplôme from the Académie Internationale d'Eté de Nice, where he studied with Michel Béroff and Philippe Entremont, and he took lessons informally with Susan Starr, Lang Lang, Garrick Ohlsson, and Horacio Gutierrez.

Mr. Yung has been highly committed to the education and outreach of classical music. His work with outreach organizations has made a difference for the underprivileged children of inner-city Houston through the gift of music. He has served on the piano faculties of the Yellowstone Academy and the University of Houston Moores School of Music Preparatory and Continuing Studies. His involvements with community organizations include frequent collaborations with the Orchestra Society of Philadelphia. Terence Yung has been a subject of interviews by Ming Pao Daily News, the Global Chinese Times, and French public news as an outstanding young pianist from Hong Kong.

[coollekice]

Did a lot of traveling and reflecting in 2022

This year I traveled to

Philadelphia

Boston

Cleveland

Detroit

Puerto Rico

NYC x2

Sierra Leone

France

Spain

Pray 2023 allows for more travel, money, and growth. Sharing some photos from Boston, PR, Salone, Paris, and Barcelona. To think I started the year as a depressed HS teacher and now im 1/4 done with my masters and traveling again.

[love-for-carnation]

From Illustrated London News, 16th June 1923 Winifred Walker (1882-1965, British)

Winifred attended the Camden School of Art where she won the King's Prize for Modelled Design and gained her Art Masters' Certificate and also spent time studying at Ghent. She became a botanical artist, painting in oils and watercolours. From 1929 to 1939 she was an official artist with the Royal Horticultural Society having been elected a Fellow of the Society in 1912 and throughout her career won over thirty medals with the Society. Her flower paintings were awarded a gold medal in Philadelphia and she also received awards at exhibitions in London and Paris. Winifred was elected a Fellow of the Linnean Society. Winifred exhibited works at the Royal Academy, with the Society of Women Artists, the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours, the Fine Art Society, at the Paris Salon and at the Chelsea Flower Show. She illustrated a number of botanical and gardening books, wrote and illustrated All the Plants of the Bible. Bio and other botanical works: https://thegardenstrust.blog/2019/10/05/winifred-walker-the-most-famous-of-all-flower-painters/