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cconfusedkat · 4 months ago

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Alright i call this a win

Telll the plot about one your AUs?

Please

-alz

AHHH SURE I WOULD LOVE TO!!!! This ones being drawn instead of written so im just trying to find more time to draw it out but

This one is called "You begun my story, but i won't let you end it" (can be shortened to just 'reclaimation of lamb' :>c)

It begins similiar to the main game where Lamb gets beheaded, given the red crown by TOWW, and then begins to crusade and yeah yeah

However, this time, lamb chose to give up the red crown to narinder. Narinder took the crown back and didnt kill lamb, rather wanting lamb to continue running a cult under his name... and a certain unknown god didn't like that narinder was going against the laws of the old faith.

So, with all this in mind, what's there to do now? What is the main point of this?

Mystic Seller—unknown god in question—makes an offer up to the lamb. TOWW may be powerful with the red crown, yes, but mystic seller is still powerful than all; even lamb who now remains as nothing more than a cheap fake god ever since nari took back the red crown.

Lamb begs mystic seller for godhood, days on end, wanting their sense of religion and faithfulness in themself back. They felt useless that the cult was entirely dedicated to TOWW instead of themself now. Along with being incredibly lonely, knowing they would be the only ever Lamb of their race left in the old faith to simply let narinder win. Lamb slayed all four bishops, thousands of times in purgatory now, taking all their anger out on each of them.

After years of getting more irritated by lamb's stubborness, they sit down and make a negotiation with the lamb: "If you want your power so back, i will request three things from you. Your immortality earned back by giving me your physical heart, your faith must be restored to me instead of narinder (and to bring back the bishops as followers for more devotion points), and lastly if you can give me a god tear of your very own after i give you back the red crown."

Lamb obliged immediately, without taking much consideration of the first step. So, they get their heart removed physically by mystic seller with the pointiest claws, waking back up in their leader's tent after the 'precision' was made—the two requests from mystic seller looping in their head, making their way to each of the four temples where they tortured each bishop in purgatory, bringing them back to their cult in different ways.

They resurrect shamura first, then kallamar, then leshy, and lastly, heket. The fights got more tough on the go, so that's why they chose to begin in that order rather than the first original order prior.

Shamura gave up because they were too tired of torture, kallamar fell to his knees immediately when finally hearing lamb say theyd spare him, leshy greeted lamb with a bloody battle to then accepting defeat, and lastly heket gave lamb WAR. After hours of trying to convince theyd genuinely bring heket back, they kill her when shes caught off guard, to then her also giving into the Lamb's willingness of bringing her back as a follower to the cult.

Now that all the four bishops were back in the cult, TOWW was the last one to kill. Again, another battle that lasted for hours, longer than heket's. He had the power of the red crown, and lamb fought and fought until mystic seller stepped in as they were quite literally dying of blood loss on the floor. They took the crown from narinder in one go, stealing it from his head, Narinder poofing back to follower form as he laid there incredibly weak

What does mystic do with the crown? They keep it until lamb heals from narinders battle, all of the now ex bishops residing in their cult and worshipping mystic seller.

Lamb didnt like this one bit.

After healing for what felt like decades (which only took five years instead), they challenge mystic for the red crown. "You and what army?" Was asked, but they knew theyd be too weak.

Which is why they used the actual remaining crowns' power from the ex bishops as support, to aid them in battle. This feels like a broken record but this so happened to be the last ever battle that happened to last days instead of hours, mystic tired AGAIN of these annoying games.

Lamb cried more than ever, unable to believe they'd get back their crown and godhood so easily after days and days of fighting a battle they couldn't win for a second time

Mystic turned away in the realm, "you fulfilled my last request, My Lamb. A God's Tears, from the ripe source. I thank you for all that you have done for this land. Go on, spread your New Faith. I will remain here to trade in anything you wish."

Really, lamb didn't have the energy to argue back with anything Mystic said, so... they rest in their tent for weeks, avoiding all social interaction. There was a new faith to begin, anyways, they had to properly be in the right mental head space to fully comprehend they were the last god in this new land the people had to rely on.

All this tough work felt like seconds to them. Five millennia after fighting *this* long to get their godhood back.

But like they said, "You begun my story, but I won't let you end it."

Shsjdnsnfs so basically thats the entire jist of a hypothetical chapter one if i genuinely ever did plan to write this out better since drawing takes more time,,, i hope this all made sense!! :'-Dc

#sydneys asks

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years ago

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Psycho Analysis: Fu Manchu

(WARNING! This analysis contains DISCUSSIONS OF OUTDATED RACIST STEREOTYPES! This analysis does not support or condone such things whatsoever and merely is here to analyze the cultural impact of the character!)

"Imagine a person, tall, lean, and feline, high-shouldered, with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan, a close-shaven skull, and long, magnetic eyes of the true cat-green. Invest him with all the cruel cunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one giant intellect, with all the resources, if you will, of a wealthy government—which, however, already has denied all knowledge of his existence. Imagine that awful being, and you have a mental picture of Dr. Fu-Manchu, the yellow peril incarnate in one man."

— The Mystery of Dr. Fu-Manchu (1913)

I think it really goes without saying that the late 19th century and early 20th century were deeply, incredibly racist. One such manifestation of the racism and xenophobia of the times was the villainous archetype known as the Yellow Peril. The so-called “Yellow Peril” is a caricature of eastern cultures, portrayed in a villainous light; the characters are diabolical criminal masterminds who tend to be geniuses, know kung fu, have mystical powers, command barbarian hordes, and dress like the most stereotypical dynastic noble you could imagine. Just think of every single cringeworthy Asian stereotype you can imagine, stuff it into one villainous package, and BOOM! You have yourself a Yellow Peril villain.

You’ve most definitely seen villains that fit some semblance of this trope. Lo Pan of Big Trouble in Little China and Long Feng from Avatar: The Last Airbender are notable examples (and ones that aren’t particularly problematic, as their works don’t rely on some white guy saving the day and instead have Asian heroes). But we’re not here to talk about them, oh no – we’re here to talk about the grandaddy of them all, the villain who codified the idea of a Yellow Peril villain to such… er, for lack of a better word, “perfection,” that even though he has somewhat faded from the public consciousness he has managed to continue inspiring villains up until the present day: Fu Manchu.

While not the first Yellow Peril villain, he is pretty much the face of it. He is what comes to mind when you envision such a villain, which may be because his cultural impact runs so deep – characters such as Batman’s nemesis Ra’s al-Ghul, the Iron Man foe The Mandarin, and James Bond baddie Doctor No among many others all draw inspiration from this legendary Devil Doctor. So what exactly is his deal that has made him such a problematic icon?

Motivation/Goals: So Fu Manchu’s goals started with him being a Chinese nationalist but eventually he moved into your standard world domination, with him developing over time into becoming a sort of noble criminal, a diabolical mastermind with some level of ethics, class, and standards; the man sent his nemesis gifts on his wedding day and always stuck to his word. This doesn’t seem like much now, but you gotta remember, this guy was one of the first big literary supervillains; you’ve gotta cut him a little slack.

Performance: So it is time to discuss the elephant in the room… not once in his long and storied history in film has Fu Manchu been portrayed by an actor of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, or Indian descent. Fu Manchu has always, always been portrayed by the worst possible option in every single case: a white guy in yellow face. Christopher Lee is perhaps the most well-known white man to play him in a serious work, portraying him in a series of films, though Boris Karloff portrayed him as well.

Peter Sellers portrayed Fu in his last major cinematic appearance, though unlike most other examples that film – The Fiendish Plot of Dr. Fu Manchu – was a parody, which does at least take away a little bit of the bad taste.

The only valid white man portrayal is, of course, from the fake trailer for Werewolf Women of the S.S. As said fake trailer is a ridiculous sendup of exploitation films and trashy cinema in general, the inclusion of a white man playing the fiendish doctor is pretty much part of the joke – but it’s who they got that’s the real treat. We’ll get to that shortly, but before that…

It is honestly really disgusting that in the long history of this character, he has never once been portrayed by an Asian actor. You’d think at some point that someone might at least just cast any sort of Asian due to the unfortunate tendency to view Asian actors as interchangeable, but they couldn’t even do that.

Final Fate: Fu Manchu is notable because he always gets away, even if his plans are foiled; in fact, he’ll sometimes have plans within plans, so even when he loses, he still wins to some degree. But enough about his in-universe fate; let’s talk about the real world fate of the character, where Fu Manchu has a very odd legal status in terms of public domain.

While the first three books are in the public domain, some characters from later books are not considered part of the public domain, which has lead to situations such as Marvel’s Master of Kung Fu not being able to be reprinted for years. On top of this, as the character’s creator Sax Rohmer died in 1959, Fu Manchu is not in the public domain in Europe; this has led to him appearing but not being directly named in Alan Moore’s The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, where he is only referred to as “The Doctor” (amusingly, he goes up against Moriarty in that comic, the character he draws inspiration from).

Best Scene: In what is one of the very few non-offensive uses of the character, Fu Manchu is given a brief cameo in the trailer for Werewolf Women of the S.S. that shows up in the Rodriguez/Tarantino double feature Grindhouse, and he’s played by… well… just watch:

youtube

Final Thoughts & Score: Fu Manchu is an absolutely fascinating villain born out of incredibly problematic places.

There is absolutely no denying that Fu Manchu was created from a deeply racist place. It’s an unavoidable fact. There is no getting around it. Fu Manchu as a character was meant to demonize the Chinese, to the point where production of films based on him as well as the novels was halted in times of war when the Chinese were allies. These books, these stories, are all extremely problematic by the standards of today.

But with that being said… who, exactly, is the title character? Do you know, without looking it up, who the hero who Fu Manchu antagonizes is, the Holmes to his Moriarty? This is Fu Manchu’s series, and throughout it he projects an air of intelligence, sophistication, and even honor that you wouldn’t expect would be afforded to a character such as him. As far as racist propaganda goes, an extremely charitable person could be able to call this “progressive” in some regard. Positive discrimination is a step up from regular discrimination, right? Again, there’s really no getting around the glaring problems with the character and his origins, but the fact Fu Manchu is one of the first supercriminals in literature and manages to just be unflinchingly cool to the point where you’ll probably end up rooting for him over the bland white protagonists says something for how utterly racism fails when it manages to make the object of its derision infinitely cooler than the race it’s trying to prop up as superior.

By my own criteria, Fu Manchu could only be an 11/10. I can’t deny how much of an impact, for better or for worse, the fiendish doctor has had on pop culture, to the point where he gave his name to and subsequently killed off a variety of facial hair, a feat only matched by Hitler. But this comes with a disclaimer: I cannot stress enough that Fu Manchu is deeply and inherently problematic on a conceptual level, and that despite how genuinely cool and fascinating he is in the right hands it doesn’t and cannot erase that his original purpose was to demonize the Chinese and Asian cultures. He also managed to help perpetuate yellowface and helped to popularize cliches that have plagued Asian villains to this day. While many in his wake have still managed to be cool and engaging in their own right, it really cannot be said how this character has a very complex history. Has he done more bad than good? That’s not for a white guy like me to determine; I’m merely here to determine the overall quality of the villain and determine their impact, and Fu Manchu undeniably has impacted culture. It would be wrong and disingenuous to break my own rules to give him a lower rating due to his problematic elements, but at the same time I cannot sit here and pretend they do not exist.

I would love to see the day where Fu Manchu can be reclaimed to some extent. Look at Shang-Chi, for example; the (at this time) upcoming Marvel film is set to feature the Fu Manchu-inspired Mandarin as a major character, and he is set to be played by Tony Leung Chiu-wai, a Hong Kong actor. If one of the characters inspired by him can get portrayed by an Asian actor, perhaps someday in the future Fu Manchu can be reclaimed from his racist origins and given the respectful treatment he deserves. Fu Manchu is a character that is in many ways accidentally incredible and iconic. Born from horrendous racism, and yet the racist screeds depicting him always somehow manage to prop him up as the best character in the lot… it’s the paradox of racist thought, to go so far in demonizing their target they manage to make them more interesting and engaging than the generic protagonists. Fu Manchu is a truly great villain mired in the problems of the time he was created; in the right hands, great work could be done with him.

Bottom line is: Rob Zombie, get Nicolas Cage on the phone and start filming Werewolf Women of the S.S.

#Psycho Analysis #Fu Manchu #racism #yellow peril #racism against asians #racism against chinese #cw: racism

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kshitij1997 · 4 years ago

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Hi everyone! Hope you liked the previous chapter.

Someone sent me an anonymous message asking me whether every main character may have a story pulled from history to relate to. I would like to say that nearly every character would relate to someone or some event and I hope that you readers find the thematic relations to be resonant with the story.

Note: Of course, even though there was no saint Vida of Avignon in actual history, Pope Innocent the third's persecution of the cathars was a real, horrible, occurrence in 13th century France, not 14th century France, sorry for that error :P.

I'll let you decide how Europe would react to finding evidence of magic in the nineteenth century.

Anyways, onward with the story!

All Frozen and Tangled characters belong to disney. All I own is this retelling and the OCs.

Chapter 9 : An attack and the accident

Early December 1827, Northern Arendelle.

It was a chilly winter wind on a chilly winter evening that cut through the night skies and the sparse land just south of the mist like a red-hot knife cutting through butter, accompanied by a noise like nails on a glass pane. A trio were passing through, struck by poor timing and bad luck, leaving a faint trail of blood behind them. They were quite possibly the only survivors of a cruel ambush laid out for them. The trio were of the Iceni tribe, one of the most ancient tribes in Arendelle, tracing back their ancestry to ancient England. With the rise of the Romans, the Iceni mostly petered out, with a few emigrating to Arendelle. With the passage of time, the Iceni combined forces with the tribes across the country and became a force to be reckoned with as the Raiders who ravaged all of Europe, from the Northest part of Greenland right to the borders of the Caliphate in Spain. Sadly, those days were long gone, as the ideological split from the south cost the tribes the security and any prosperity they had. It was hard to believe that those formidable tribes, who once held all of Europe in terror, were now reduced to pockets of settlements across the northern wilderness, being forced to adapt to the new world.

Of all the raiders, only the southern Arendellians and the Northurldra truly retained the seafaring capability. The Iceni stuck to land. To compensate, the Iceni knew the land better than anyone else in the country and found new livelihoods in mapmaking, surveying, transporting goods across the land. The Iceni were also among the few who kept the voice going by anointing heralds regularly to be stationed at different parts of the country. In many ways, the Iceni were the unappreciated lifelines who kept the country afloat, for they were in every strata of society, from the miners to the businessmen, to even the king's staff and courts.

And some of them were ice harvesters and sellers, crucial for preservation in a time before one could refrigerate their supplies. It was to this trade that the trio belonged to. A man, a woman and their eight-year-old boy, in tow.

The man, who went by the name Guthrum, was limping in the three-foot snow that surrounded him. The man stood tall; six foot four on a good day. However, this wasn't a good day, as he had suffered a grievous injury to the gut and had to use the support of his wife, named Freyddjis, herself a six- footer. He had been bleeding through his stomach into his reindeer-wool coat and pants, the browns of the fabric turning first to burgundy, then to crimson from the blood.

They were almost through the shallow bed of snow when the little boy with them winced with pain. His leg had been sprained in the escape, and he had to jump into the water with his parents to escape the attack, so now the cold was getting to him as well.

'Ssh shh Kristoff, hold on, I'm sorry.' Freyddjis whispered as she readjusted her son's grasp on her back and torso and straightened her arm to further support her injured husband.

'Freyda…' Guthrum began to speak, in a voice weak with fatigue and injury.

'Breathe, my love, we're getting close to the settlement. Don't give up please.' Freyddjis pleaded to her husband, making every attempt to keep her husband awake and not fall unconscious.

'I was a fool; I should've known better than to guide them all to that cursed valley.' Guthrum hissed painfully as his wounds had begun troubling him again; the loss of blood had begun to make him delirious.

'Don't blame yourself, the decision lay with the leader and everyone else. We all knew the risks of travelling through the valley of death. We knew what could happen if the Northurldra were disturbed. We gambled, and we lost.' Freyddjis tried desperately to calm her husband down, trying her best to ignore the doom rising in her own belly and throat.

'Now what shall I tell Hardrada's widow? How she b-begged him not to go. She made me a request, not an oath, a plea to protect him, so that he m-may see h-his...i-infant come in the w-world . How shall I face her? How…...how w-will I….find the courage…to f-face her?' Guthrum spoke haltingly as his wakefulness began to falter and his throat went dry, even as tears fell from his disoriented eyes.

'Don't think about that, we'll face her together, I promise. Don't give up now, please.' Freyddjis tried in vain to subdue the lump in her throat that rendered her voice thin with emotion. 'We need to get under cover soon, they're still following us. I know it, I can feel them getting close.' She shifted her gait to prevent Kristoff from falling. The boy had been wide awake all this time, his wounds not so serious, but the cold was still a concern. The boy also felt dread; for he had never seen his parents so feeble before. The boy had known fear before, sure, however this was a new feeling. This horrible feeling, as if he was about to learn what loss was and there was no coming back from this event.

'Freyda, you're...you're one in a million, you k-know that? I-I made the guh..ggnnnn...the greatest decision of m-my life making y-you my wife. You- you did your best with m-me. Now go. L-leave me be, I'm done for.' The man spilled some blood from his mouth as he finished speaking, adding to the delirium and the cold, this was not encouraging at all.

'Shut up, you fool! You're not dying today, do you understand! We're close to the mountains of the stonepeople. It is an hour's trek left at most through the forest, we're halfway through it. I know you can hold on. I know it.' Freyddjis growled at her husband, ever as the mere possibility of the event brought tears to her eyes. In that moment, Kristoff was afraid of everything; what could happen in the next moment, what could happen tomorrow morning, would his father be all right, how would he and his mother get by, everything. It wasn't fair; he was so young, too young to ask such heavy questions. It seemed that he was learning a lot in a very short time. His father's voice broke his chain of thought.

'Freyda, I know you'd n-never leave me. I'll make the choice easier. Just k-know that I...I love you and little Kristoff. Forever.'

With that, Guthrum summoned his remaining strength, pulled out a well-concealed pistol and shot himself through the head, from temple to temple.

BOOM!

A thunderous, deafening noise. Then the man hit the floor, his face blackened and bloody from close impact. It was a terrible mess.

The tree upon which his body fell, became dyed with blood and grey matter. In the dead of night, illuminated only by a pale crescent moon, the tree with red leaves having five edges, and the alabaster bark of the great Snowpillar tree;

The great tree symbolic of death to the Iceni, painted red by fate and by the bravado man may feel in his final moments.

It was all a haze to Kristoff, who couldn't register anything around him in that moment. Somehow his vison became blurry, his ears fell numb, his limbs felt rigid. And yet, his eyes were transfixed on the lifeless body of the man who was until ten minutes ago, his father.

And yet he could say nothing, do nothing. Couldn't shout, couldn't kick, couldn't put his mind at ease at all. A dull voice persisted in his head; the painful screams and cries of his mother whose voice felt present and far away all at the same time.

In the distance towards their left, deep in the forest, a few lights lit up.

Friends? No. Foes. Definitely foes.

Well, Kristoff was the man now. He had to rouse his mother.

'Mum' he slid off his mother's back said, 'I see lights coming.'

Freyddjis came out of her grief with a shock. Foolish, very foolish to scream in the forest at night, especially for a deceased one. Her mind became unnaturally alert and active, thinking a thousand miles in a thousand directions per second. After a moment of quick reasoning, she handed him a knife and spoke softly 'Kristoff, my love, listen carefully. We'll have to part. Run. Run away from here. Away from me, as fast as you can. Your life depends on it. Don't look back, whatever happens. I'll come back for you soon. I love you.' With that, she embraced him fiercely and smothered him with tearful kisses.

A pang troubled his mind. What if...

'What if I get caught?'

Her answer came, chillier than winter's cold. 'Use the knife. Die fighting. They will not be kind to you.'

With that, she was gone, drawing the attention of the lights to her, disappearing into the thick darkness of the forest and the night.

Kristoff had never run so fast in his life, at least how fast his sprain would let him. Running blind through the forest, caring not for the frightful spirits whose myths he could listen to all day from his mother. The moon was being mean-spirited in lighting his way towards the mountains of the stone people, at times being blocked by the clouds, at times by the leaves. How the trees rustled around in unease, in disdain, as if teasing and mocking his attempt at escape. The hissing and growling in a language from the Snowpillars, in an ancient tongue he didn't understand.

Old, primal, mystical, terrifying.

He stopped dead in his tracks as the growling became more prominent, recognizable and severe, a knife drawn out in his trembling hand. Is this it? Will the spirits kill me?

His question was answered almost instantly as a pair of yellowish-green lights lit up at once from up ahead. Lights that were like eyes. Eyes of a beast. A beast looking to kill.

A mountain lion, probably disturbed in its attempt at finding food for himself by these fools making a ruckus. What the great beast may have lost in some wily stag, it could have found in this human kid. It was graceful in its movement as it climbed down from the tree and faced the kid, like a well-seasoned thief stealing a prize through sleight of hand. Every move deliberate, every stride and crawl graceful, every intention murky and dangerous.

Kristoff could only stand frozen in fear, even if the knife stood up in his hand, rudely challenging the predator. Please, please don't kill me.

The mountain lion growled and bared his deadly canines, as if insulted and slighted by the non-verbal cry for mercy. It was almost ready to pounce when-

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A succession of musket fire, followed by a painful scream cut short, sending ripples throughout the jungle. The mountain lion changed its stance completely, faced the direction of the source of the noise.

This abrupt distraction was enough for Kristoff to try and escape. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was at the edge of a steep valley. One false step and that was it.

He fell screaming, headlong into the valley. He tried to stall his descent somehow, but to no avail. With nothing else left to do, he closed his eyes, and braced himself for the impact.

It was by sheer accident that his fall was broken by the river blowing at the base of the valley. The river that shone like silver in the pale moonlight. He may have escaped the possibility of splattering himself from the fall, but the sheer tension from the surface of the water drew out a cry of anguish from him as he landed into the water. To make matters worse, the danger of drowning had multiplied manifold.

He tried grasping for the bank as the pace of the river quickened as it descended from the mountains. Even as water rushed into his lungs, he tried further and did his best to keep his head above the water. Finally, after several minutes, the river decided to relent and slowed down. Kristoff used all his remaining strength to swim and crawl towards the shore. With the solid ground of the riverbank firmly under him, he fell, exhausted.

Before he lost consciousness, the last thing he remembered seeing was a feminine figure, but somehow not a human. More like stone. Stone covered with moss and remarkably, flowers. In the middle of winter.

And then. Darkness.

A fortnight later; the eve of the winter solstice, Arendelle, 1827

'Wow, Elsa! You've outdone yourself!' Both Anna and Olva squealed delightfully in unison.

'Thank you, thank you! I didn't know I had it in me.' Answered Elsa, flush with excitement. The creation which the three sisters were talking about was a massive chandelier she had made of ice in the ball room. Elsa loved designing chandeliers. The geometry, the scope, the intricacies, the elegance, the weight, the beauty. How every piece is perfect in its alignment, how every facet angled to reflect the maximum amount of light possible. She had discovered her passion for it when she was seven; she had gone with her mother and sisters to Russia, to the courts of the Tsar. How his palace was gigantic, how his hall was huge, it could have easily housed a thousand people at a time. And the chandelier! She could observe it forever.

However, the exact replica she had tried to make was no less a marvel. She had worked on it for almost a year, making sketches, obsessing over it in her bed, late at night. To see every turn, twist and bend of the hanging piece of glory. Scribbling a line here and there, a short diagram between comprehension, some more figures in arithmetic. She had even got a scolding from Iduna once when she had absentmindedly written something on the tablecloth while eating supper.

Ah, but now, the whole thing was etched in her memory like carvings on granite. She remembered everything from memory. Building it was no effort surprisingly; she kept the figure with detail in her mind, conjured a glowing ball and shot it towards the ceiling of the ballroom.

It was beautiful, almost otherworldly in its appeal; for no chandelier in the world lit up to a blue of this shade. What made it even better was that the ballroom was not as big as the Tsar's court, which made the chandelier even more gigantic and beautiful.

'This is amazing!' Anna chirped. The five-year-old never grew tired of Elsa's abilities. Be it early morning, late afternoon, or the middle of the night, the redhead was always eager for the platinum blonde's magic.

'It's wonderful. How long did it take you to make it in your head?' Olva asked with the curiosity only she had; the dark-haired girl always took so much interest in her powers, like someone trying to uncover a mystery, completing a puzzle. In such thrilling moments, she always had a far-off glow in her eyes. She loved Elsa's power in her own ways, different from Anna's adoration. Olva had more excitement and respect.

'When did you learn all this, Elsie?' Olva asked with genuine admiration.

'Umm, between you two pulling my leg and getting me involved in all your hare-brained mischief and fun.' Elsa replied with a wink.

'Hardy hardy har. You know you love the trio.' Anna quipped with a grin as Elsa nodded with a smirk. Olva laughed, oh these two.

'I'm not done yet.' Elsa said with a mischievous smile.

'What, there's more?' Anna perked up.

'Yes, but first, the last one to get up from their bed has to bring us hot chocolate.'

'Hmmm, who could that be now?' Anna asked with an impish grin looking towards Olva.

The trio already knew who it was, but Olva begged to differ.

'Hey, it was who got to the ballroom last. I remember very well that I was the first one in, I made sure of that. I sprinted out of bed, got in before you two. Therefore, Anna should be getting the hot chocolate, not me.'

'No, it was who got up the latest, it always has been, why would we change it now?' Anna said.

'Yes, not our fault you were fast asleep.' Elsa added.

'So, I sprinted and nearly slipped on the staircase for nothing?'

'Yes, apparently.' Elsa replied with faux concern and hidden fun-poking in good humour

'Boo, the both of you, how do I win? Anna sleeps on time of an owl, and Elsa's too excited for her birthday. Not fair.'

'Come on, you know it will happen every time. Besides, you make the best cup of hot chocolate ever.' Elsa began.

Olva put on a haughty air 'Hmm, it is true.'

Elsa and Anna smiled to each other. See, it never fails.

'All right, I'll get it. But don't start anything without me!' With that, the dark-haired princess rushed to the kitchens.

A few minutes passed, and Anna began to fidget.

'What is taking her so long? We've been here for daaayyyyyyss' Anna was a natural at exaggeration.

'You know the kitchens are on the other side of the castle, right?' Elsa told her little sister.

'So? Can't she hurry up? I'm getting bored.' Anna replied.

'She'll be here in couple of minutes, don't worry.' Elsa assured her.

'Say, what if we ice the floor?' Anna asked with a grin.

'Oh no, Olva would not like that.' Elsa backed away

'Oh come on, she would just join in the fun, you know her.' Anna said.

'Guess I got talked into it, huh.' Elsa said with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk.

'Yes!' Anna could barely contain her excitement.

Elsa closed her eyes, twirled around and stamped her foot on the floor. On cue, a thin layer of ice blanketed the floors of the Ball room, with the little princesses going giddy over the patterns the ice formed. Anna began to skate along one of the patterns, only to fall flat on her face.

'See Anna, I told you to wait. There are many more ways to fall.' said Olva as she glided in, making a perfect loop, doubly impressive with her carrying a tray and a box as well.

'Here's your hot chocolate, you lunatics. Enjoy.' Olva laughed.

'Gimme gimme gimme!' Anna squealed as she got up.

It was worth the short wait. Olva created magic when she had sugar, milk and chocolate in her hands. It tasted like heaven.

'Mmhmm, when did you learn to make it so well?' Elsa asked with a contented sigh.

'You know, between you two pulling my leg and I being left behind to cover up for you.'

Touché.

'What's in the box, Olva?'

'Well, it is our birthday gift for you. Happy birthday Elsie' Olva and Anna beamed.

Elsa hugged her sisters together in an instant, with tears of joy in her eyes 'Thank you, thank you so much, both of you!'

Anna and Olva hugged her in return, while exchanging glances of victory. We're good at this.

Elsa opened the box and there it was; a wooden carving of an eight headed star, complete with carvings indicating facets and faces of crystals, along with three dolls made of cotton and felt, each signifying one of the sisters.

'Oh you two, you precious little kittens! Thank you so much! Ask me anything, I'll give it to you right now.' Elsa giggled.

'Hmm, we're missing something here. What do you think is missing here?' Olva began.

'Snow!' Anna finished.

'Of course, I'm feeling kind tonight. How much snow, my humble citizen?' Elsa moved with a show of royalty; something that came naturally to her as she was the heir apparent to Arendelle.

'Oh, your majesty, the whole room!' Anna joined in the fun, always up for a caper, a commoner at heart.

'My liege, I must say, we need to be able to leave safely and in one piece once we're done.' Olva joining in as well, ever the voice of reason.

'Well said, noble adviser. Shall three feet of snow be good?' Elsa addressed Olva, clearly enjoying herself.

'Ample, your majesty.' Olva finished. This was a special occasion, after all.

'Very well. Now let's get this bastard up in the air.' Elsa said, dropping the regal flair at once and shooting the glowing ball of snow in her hands towards the ceiling.

'Ooooooh naughty word!' Anna cooed.

'It's my birthday, who's gonna stop me?' Elsa said in mock defiance.

'Yes, tonight we shall cuss like gutterheads!' Olva heartily laughed as she looked upwards to the ceiling only to remark, 'Hey, is it snowing from the chandelier?'

'Damn right it is.' Elsa announced it in pride.

'You magnificent shhhhee wolf.' Olva called out.

'You worked hard to control yourself, didn't you?' Elsa asked.

'Yes, you ice-shitter.' Olva said

'Oooh, there's going to be trouble for that!' Elsa laughed.

'Yes, a fairy tale! To rescue her rowdy friend, the princess must calm the snow queen and survive her quests and save the day. Also, the floor is lava!' Anna yelled in excitement.

With that she began to jump on the snowy bed, already two feet thick. 'Wait, dear friend! What about Olaf?' Olva called.

'Olaf?' Oh yes, how could she forget?

The trio get down to business, building a snowman who always had the same name. they always argued about the design, but hilariously always ended up making the snowman the same crooked way they always did. Olaf, the snowy saint of friendship and family. With a love for warm hugs, of course.

With Olaf's blessing, the trio began their fairy tale, the snow queen giving the adventurer higher platforms of snow to jump from, to save her trapped friend. Anna going higher and higher towards the ceiling.

Wait, what are we doing?! She's gonna fall terribly from that place!

Olva suddenly realized with horror. 'Elsa, stop! Anna's gonna fall!' Olva screamed.

Elsa broke out of her birthday high to see where Anna was. From a pleasant dream to a terrible nightmare. 'Anna, wait, slow down! I can't keep up!' Elsa shouted.

Alas! The little redhead was too excited to listen. 'Catch me, o queen of ice and snow!' she yelled as she leapt from the chandelier.

In her haste to help her, Elsa slipped on her ice. It had never happened before. Even as she fell herself, she tried to save her baby sister 'Anna!'

Smack! Went the ice to Anna's head. She was stunned into unconsciousness as she landed head-first on the snow, three feet deep.

'Oh no!' Olva screamed again as she rushed beside Anna, right beneath the chandelier.

But it wasn't over, for Anna hadn't been the only one, or thing caught in the crossfire. The chandelier of ice cracked dangerously from the top and went into free-fall.

'Olva, get out of there!' Elsa yelled through her tears threatening to fall and crash any second.

Olva used all her might, trying to drag herself and Anna as quickly as she could. While Olva was ultimately successful in pulling Anna away, she herself was not so lucky. While she avoided the worst impact of the chandelier, she was knocked unconscious by the corners of the chandelier and her left side, from head to hand, was pierced by scores of tiny icicles, forming horrible scars and blood flowing from the tiny cuts.

Elsa was dazed in shock; what just happened? A minute ago, we were playing and now this?

She rushed to the side of her sisters. Anna had a streak of white running through her red hair and Olva's cheek and forehead scars had begun to redden. In her fear, the three-foot snow became a solid block of ice. Elsa could do little but hold her unconscious sisters close, scream for her parents and cry. Ultimately, Agnarr and Iduna had to smash the doors with an axe and pickaxe as the ice was too stubborn for them. They quickly seized up the situation, took in the icy carnage and made some tough decisions on the spot. Tough decisions, for which, only Grand Pabbie could help them.

Yes, the plot is in motion, after so long! I'm shit at writing, even though I improve steadily :P

As always, constructive feedback is always welcome.

Until next time 😊.

#frozen #frozen angst #frozen elsa #frozen fanfiction #frozen fandom #frozen fanfic #frozen anna #elsa and anna #OC:Olva[Sister to Elsa and Anna]#snow sisters #arendelle sisters #elsa of arendelle #kristoff #kristoff of arendelle #anna of arendelle

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 5 years ago

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Summer Blossoms

V’s entry on the 2019 Year of Smut!

Mystic Messenger | Jihyun ‘V’ Kim x MC | Explicit

Yall know they’ve done this at least once

“How much for this painting?”

MC glanced up from her clipboard and followed the stranger’s gaze. From the looks of things, he had an eye on one of the more experimental pictures, with bright streaks of colours that overlapped from one side of the canvas to the next with seemingly little regard for rhyme or reason.

“This one? Ahhh, this one is going to be auctioned off later on this evening. I don’t have an exact price for it, but the reserve is four hundred thousand won. If you like, I can make a note of your name and maximum bid.”

The collector scratched his chin before giving her a smile.

“Put me down for six million,” he said. “Lee Jinho.”

MC scribbled his name down with a nod, waving him off as he crossed the party hall to mingle with the other guests. MC watched him leave, muttering something about zany bourgeoisie as she sought out Jaehee.

As with most RFA parties, V had donated several of his artworks in the hopes of attracting generous donations. Where before he had handed over photograph collections, now his skill with a paintbrush was the main attraction. His works had always been popular, but now it took everything in MC and Jaehee’s power to keep the auction in order.

Jaehee, as it turned out, was taking a break to stretch her legs and take off her high heels, her clipboard momentarily placed across on her lap.

“We’ve got another one,” said MC, taking a seat beside her. “Summer Blossoms.”

That painting had been on the receiving end of far more attention and bids than any other; more than Jihyun’s recreation of water lilies that had taken him several hours or the portrait he had scrapped and restarted several times. If she had been anyone else, MC might have been offended or even disappointed on his behalf, but just looking at that one filled her stomach with butterflies.

She knew its story after all. She was there when it was painted.

Jaehee picked up her pen and took MC’s clipboard, swiftly copying down the latest bids, while also adding some entries from her own.

“It looks like we’re going to get a lot of donations this evening,” she said. “V’s works are always a best seller.”

MC glanced around the room, searching for the telltale shade of his hair. He was standing by one of the punch bowls, engaged in what appeared to be a most serious debate with someone dressed as a mascot for one of the numerous animal sanctuaries they had invited. MC wondered what they were talking about, taking in every hand movement and twinkle in his eye at whatever it was the mascot said to him.

Every movement, every expression, reminded her of different times-the concentration across his face and flick of his wrists as he applied stroke after stroke of paint. He took great care in his art and so Summer Blossoms stood out like a sore thumb.

She blushed and took her clipboard back from Jaehee, staying in her seat and taking the opportunity to admire the painting from across the room. She admired the arcs of bright scarlet, the perfectly symmetrical rows of blue. She eyed the flashes of yellow at the top, blooming like flowers and perfectly suited to its name.

She knew the origin of every stroke, every smudge and layer of colour.

She was there when it was painted. She knew the story others didn’t.

She had seen Summer Blossoms when it was little more than an empty canvas, big enough to swallow her whole. She’d stood at the edge and taken in its broad frame, conscious of its vast emptiness in ways she never had before.

She was modest even as she gathered her hair at the base of her neck and tied it up into a bun, giggling at the feel of a paintbrush against her exposed skin. She didn’t know what colour he had chosen, only that it tickled and she had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself doubling over with laughter.

“Almost done,” he had said, before taking her by the shoulder and turning her to face him, smiling mischievously as she instinctively reached up to cover her naked body.

She had posed several times for him, alone in his studio. Those paintings never saw the light of day and were locked in a safe in their bedroom. She knew she ought to be used to being naked around him, but modesty kicked in more often than not.

He kissed her on the lips with a sigh and she allowed her arm to drop to her side, leaving her exposed in front of him. Perhaps it was the heated blush creeping across her cheeks, but she was suddenly far more aware than before of how cool and wet the paint across her back actually was.

She wasn’t just naked. No. This time she was a canvas in her own right. Jihyun lifted his paintbrush and traced swirling patterns across her body-bright arcs of blue and green, reds and pinks. He painted her collar bones, her breasts, her thighs, stopping only when she was almost entirely clothed in a layer of paint.

He set aside his paintbrushes then and reached for his shirt - the same ratty and faded shirt that he always wore when he painted. MC had long given up on trying to wash the paint out of it; it attracted stray flecks and streaks of colour. He abandoned it without hesitation, cupping his hands around her jawline as he kissed her. She reached for his belt buckle as his hands roamed her body, smearing the paint he had so lovingly applied.

She remembered fiddling with his belt buckle and fly, so overtaken by their kisses that her hands trembled and she had to break free to actually succeed. Jihyun’s response was to laugh and kick aside his pants, pushing her down onto the canvas with exactly the right balance of gentleness and force.

MC looped her arms around his neck, the paint across her front transferring to his chest. The canvas was coarse beneath her skin, though she barely felt it, too absorbed in the touches of the man above her; the same man that had taken so many months to bloom.

When she first met him, he had been a shrinking violet, too shy to so much as reach for her hand. She had thought she was dreaming the first time he leaned in for a kiss, let alone asked her to share his bed. He was a different man and unrecognisable; boisterous and affectionate where before he had been withdrawn.

She reached her hand to his abandoned paints, smearing colours across her palms and running them across his back as his hips crashed against hers. She gasped, robbed of all coherent thought, unable to draw her attentions away from how undeniably good it felt every time their bodies connected.

“Wait,” she whispered, loosening her arms and kissing him on the lips as he stopped.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, just…”

She pushed him over onto his back, pressing her hands down on either side of his head and straddling his waist.

“Better,” she said, sliding down onto his cock. He gasped at the rush of sensations and reached out for her hips, guiding her movements and holding her down every time she took him in completely.

MC’s movements were deliberately slow, an attempt to fully absorb the feel of him-every contour of his body, every curve, every scar.

Jihyun’s body had so many scars and she knew he was ashamed of them. They had been together for many months before he allowed her to see them, let alone reach out and touch.

He said nothing, though, as she sat up onto her knees and rested a hand on his stomach for balance. She dug her nails into her paint-streaked palms, taking him in so quickly and deeply that it bordered on pleasure and pain. She was close, so close, so unbearably close.

Jihyun closed his eyes and pushed his hips into her every time she dropped low, moaning her name and other words she could not decipher. She loved his voice at the best of times and especially when he was so incredibly restrained. She knew he held back more often than not, that his soft voice was the only one most people knew. Hearing him moan so deeply and desperately was music to her ears; a symphony only she was permitted to hear.

“Yes,” he moaned, “MC...MC..so...so good.”

His grip on her hips grew tighter with every touch, closing into fists until she could do little else but take him in shallowly, shockwaves running through her every time her clit touched his pubic bone.

“Wait,” he breathed, as urgently as she had, pushing himself up into a sitting position as she stopped. He planted a hand at the base of her spine, as firm as the kisses he planted on her lips.

She didn’t try to resist as he pushed her onto her back, only too happy to hit the canvas like a rag doll. He lifted her legs over his shoulders and she dug her nails into the fabric, crying out at the top of her lungs at the jolts of pleasure rushing through her core when he finally began to thrust.

He wasn’t holding back anymore, unapologetically chasing his own pleasure. MC raised her arms above her head and gripped the edge of the canvas, arching her hips into his.

She was lost in pleasure, lost to the feel of his hands against her thighs and cock deep inside of her. Not so long ago she would have laughed at the idea that one day this man would leave her cunt and throat raw, yet there they were, MC rapidly losing her voice and pushing her body into his. In the end, she came so hard and suddenly that it took them both by surprise.

Her body was warm, her arms and legs pleasantly numb and she glanced around the room contentedly as Jihyun chased his own release. In that moment, she was at ease with everything, enlightened in ways she usually wasn’t. She glanced around at the completed paintings that surrounded them, remembering that Jihyun’s first paintings were monochrome.

He let out a guttural moan, pulling out just in time to spill across her stomach. For a while, they stayed there, bodies entangled and covered in paint.

Reality sank in slowly- MC realising she had paint in her hair and Jihyun laying down beside her, body covered in bright streaks of colour reminiscent of summer blossoms.

The resulting painting was perfect chaos and MC loved nothing more than to admire it. From her position across the party hall, she could still make out every movement. She could see the spot her hands hit the fabric as she rested them on either side of Jihyun’s head; the marks where she had rested her knees against the fabric. She could see the layers of colour where both her back and Jihyun’s had pressed against the canvas; the subtle areas where he had drawn patterns on her body, only for it to be rubbed off and transferred elsewhere.

She didn’t blame the wealthy for wanting it so badly; they could try and fail to understand its deeper meaning for the rest of their days, never knowing how it had come to pass just as they would never really know the man who had so lovingly painted her body.

#mystic messenger #mysme #jihyun kim #v #v x mc

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caveartfair · 7 years ago

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This Work Will Put Mark Bradford among the 10 Most Expensive Living Artists

Mark Bradford, Helter Skelter I, 2007. Courtesy of Phillips / Phillips.com.

Last May, the artist Mark Bradford represented the United States at the Venice Biennale with a show-stopping suite of work installed in a ripped-up pavilion. In November, his show opened at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden in Washington, D.C.; and at Art Basel in Miami Beach in December, Hauser & Wirth sold a Bradford out of its booth for $5 million—one of the biggest sticker shocks of the fair’s first day. A show in Hauser’s Los Angeles space, which opened this month, sold out within a few days. The going prices for the ten paintings, between $2.5 million and $5 million, place in the uppermost bracket for any work put on the primary market for the first time.

Those institutional and market stepping stones paved the way to the present moment, when one of his paintings hits the block at Phillips’s London salesroom on March 8th for his biggest sale ever. At forty feet long, Helter Skelter I (2007) is also the one of the largest Bradfords to ever exchange hands—and with an estimate of £6 million to £8 million ($8.3 million to $11.1 million) it will be the priciest.

The sale has been guaranteed by a third party and will nearly double the artist’s previous auction record $5.8 million. It will take just a few more bids above the guarantee price to make Mark Bradford one of the most expensive living American artists, alongside Brice Marden and Frank Stella, and make him the most expensive living artist of color.

“I think that he is the most important living abstract painter—the fact that that painting is likely to break the $10 million mark is a consequence of his extraordinary significance as a painter,” said Christopher Bedford, the director of the Baltimore Museum of Art, who helped put together the exhibition in Venice.

In the decade since it was made, Helter Skelter I has wound through private collections and public museums, passing through the hands of a collector who runs a $3 billion forklift company and a racket-smashing tennis superstar. It’s a work grand enough to merit the way collectors have pursued it, and it’s an integral part of Bradford’s whole practice—one coveted piece that can sum up and explain his entire ascent.

“This is among one of his most significant paintings, and so does it deserve this degree of attention? As one of the most important paintings by today’s most important abstract painter?” Bedford asked.

He paused, considered his own query, and then said, dryly, “Probably.”

Helter Skelter I was started in 2007 in Inglewood, the Los Angeles neighborhood where Bradford’s studio was located at the time. The Whitney Museum of American Art in New York hosted a small but breakthrough show in 2007 and subsequently purchased the twenty-foot-long Bread and Circuses (2007). Soon after his Whitney show, New York’s New Museum asked Bradford to make a work for its brand-new, month-old building on the Bowery to appear in “Collage: The Unmonumental Picture.” He took full advantage of the expanded exhibition space and began the monumental task of putting together a pair of works, Helter Skelter I and Helter Skelter II, that, when installed next to each other, would stretch across the side of the building. The work was striking: a blitzkrieg assemblage of stuff, a collage intimate up close and monstrous to take in fully, a spindly web studded with text snippets—“CANDY,” “KING,” “BEST”—with skeleton heads peeking out from beneath the fog.

“Bradford’s behemoth collages, stretching across another 70-foot wall, with their silver paint over torn-up advertising posters lacerated by networks of fluid, incised lines, are as tough as the street and just as resistant to simple answers or unearned beauty,” wrote Thomas Micchelli in the Brooklyn Rail, adding that the works “can be considered not merely the finest in the show but quite possibly the best contemporary art on view anywhere in New York.”

Bedford said the work marks a key progression in Bradford’s practice, where he was applying the process of adding objects from his outside world to his production in his studio world, but on a much larger scale.

“You can deep dive into the surface of this canvas, you see the application of the silver, you see a lot of caulking, you see the use of string embedded in the surface, there is colored paper, there’s printed paper, there’s custom printed paper, there’s found objects,” Bedford said.

Bedford was working as a curator at the Wexner Center for the Arts, a museum in Columbus, Ohio, putting together the artist’s first survey, when he first encountered Helter Skelter I. From 2010 until 2012, the survey would travel to the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston, the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago, the Dallas Museum of Art, and the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Although Helter Skelter I wasn’t included in all the show’s various touring iterations, Bedford chose to write about it in the catalogue, as it was already a talisman for Bradford.

“Mark will talk about this in a semi-mystical way—he feels that he has X-number of truly significant paintings in his body,” Bedford said. “I believe Helter Skelter I belongs in that lineage of paintings.”

It wasn’t in Bedford’s show because it found a new home shortly after its debut. Chelsea gallery Sikkema Jenkins Co., who represented Bradford until 2013, had mounted a show of new work by him in 2008. When the New Museum show closed, partners Brent Sikkema and Michael Jenkins made a deal to sell Helter Skelter I to a collector interested in the gigantic canvas. (Jenkins said in an email he was “not interested in discussing Mark Bradford work.”)

The Phillips catalogue lists the first owner as “Private collection, Ohio,” and three people familiar with the works have said the private collector in Ohio is James F. Dicke II, the CEO of the New Bremen-based forklift company Crown Equipment, which is worth close to $3 billion, according to Forbes. Dicke is a painter himself, and a major donor to Republican politicians. In 2016, as a GOP delegate, he cast a vote at his party’s national convention, and after the election voiced his support for Donald Trump.

Mark Bradford, Helter Skelter I, 2007. Courtesy of Phillips / Phillips.com.

Dicke is also a major supporter of the Dayton Art Institute. A representative from Crown Equipment who confirmed that the work was in the Dicke Collection beginning in 2008 said that Jim Dicke loaned it to the Dayton Art Institute in June 2008, and that it remained on view until May 2010. In 2011, the museum hosted the exhibition “Creating the New Century: Contemporary Work from the Dicke Collection” and Helter Skelter I appears in a photo in the catalogue, and a contemporaneous story in the Dayton City Paper mentions seeing it installed in the Dayton Art Institute’s rotunda room. A curator at the Dayton Art Institute also confirmed that Helter Skelter I was for a time in the Dicke collection.

Jim Dicke held onto the work for about five years. In 2013, the art advisor Josh Baer was sniffing around for a Bradford and heard from another private dealer that Helter Skelter I was very quietly back on the market. Thrilled, Baer passed the word along to one of his biggest clients, the retired tennis champion and commentator John McEnroe, who was nearly as famous for his on-court tantrums as he was for his serve and volley.

McEnroe has been collecting art since the 1980s, and in 1994, the retired champ even went so far as to open his own gallery in Soho, having learned the ropes from friends such as Larry Gagosian. After making the gallery appointment-only, he continued to build his collection and became interested in purchasing a Bradford after getting a recommendation from Ann Philbin, who was then the director of the Drawing Center, and now runs the Hammer Museum in Los Angeles.

Speaking with Baer in an interview published in the Phillips catalogue, McEnroe said, “When you said you can get me one, but it’s going to be the mother of all Bradfords, I was like OK. When we did go and see Helter Skelter I, I remember just thinking to myself, ‘Oh my God, here we go again.’”

It was a prolonged extraction process—McEnroe makes passing reference to “all the effort of getting Helter Skelter I ” in the interview—but he was finally able to purchase the massive work and transport it, rolled up, to his pied-à-terre in Soho, the entire second floor of 41 Greene Street. After a few years of living with it, in early 2017 he started planning to redecorate his loft, which would mean parting ways with the gigantic work.

The timing, a Phillips official said, was excellent. With the Venice Biennale coming up, Bradford was about to become a household name. And with the artist’s newfound fame, McEnroe thought that it could benefit from a public offering at auction.

“John has this history with very large scale works that he has to own for a limited period of time—he enjoys them, absorbs them and then moves on,” said Jean-Paul Engelen, deputy chairman, Americas, at Phillips. “And, the timing was good.”

Engelen said he began talking with McEnroe in the fall of 2017, and eventually came by the Soho pad to see it. Until then, he had only read about the work and seen photos of it. “I remember coming through the door in his loft and thinking, Oh my God, this is incredible,” Engelen said.

Consignment negotiations ensued, but stalled because there was no third-party guarantee—the irrevocable bid from someone outside of the auction house that reassures the seller she or he will receive a minimum guaranteed price. Eventually, the house was able to rope in someone to put up the money to match the minimum price.

When asked about the third-party guarantor, Engelen said that development was “very, very helpful” in convincing McEnroe to part with the work—and to do so specifically at Phillips, not at its higher-profile rivals, Christie’s and Sotheby’s—but also that the pedigree of the guarantor was much to everyone’s liking.

“The third party knew the painting, knew of the rep of the painting—he had seen it in the New Museum show and was very excited, and didn’t want to miss the opportunity,” Engelen said. “It made it easier that the third party did see the work initially.”

When asked on the phone why he advised McEnroe to go with Phillips, Baer said, “This is an opportunity for Phillips to demonstrate that they can sell this masterwork, and build their brand.”

“It’s an achievement to make a new auction record for an artist,” added Baer, who also runs the well-read art industry newsletter, The Baer Faxt. “They know what's at stake and I think they’ll get it done.”

Phillips declined to comment on the identity of the guarantor, beyond denying it was one collector whose name had been thrown around by several sources. But being guarantor does not necessarily mean going home with the prize pony. People all over the world seem to want to buy Mark Bradfords. Hauser & Wirth is set to open its first gallery in Asia during Art Basel in Hong Kong next month, and the first show will once again be a stack of new work by Mark Bradford.

Marc Payot, who is partner and vice president at Hauser & Wirth, admitted that Bradford’s high-profile auction appearances—coupled with the shows in Venice and at the Hirshhorn—do affect the way in which the gallery prices the work, but maintained that “the leading factors influencing price and demand are the quality and impact of the art itself.”

“Mark’s work is outstanding—it’s uniquely radical and resonant—and this has become clearer and clearer with his numerous institutional shows over the past couple years,” Payot added in an emailed statement.

Engelen acknowledged Bradford’s market has been fanned by the number of shows around the world, and believed there were plenty of potential bidders ready to outbid the guarantor.

“We’ve been approached by several people who want to come in and take a look at the painting,” he said.

And Bedford, as the director of a major city’s biggest art museum, was less concerned with the identity of the buyer than with the buyer’s intentions—that is, whether or not they would be willing to purchase the work and then gift it to an institution.

“There are certain works, in their scale and ambition and effect, that are pretty unique in their communicative capabilities across those thresholds,” he said. “I think Helter Skelter I is one of them—it would be a remarkable thing if that painting would be committed to a public collection as a promised gift.”

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

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tanmath3-blog · 7 years ago

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Gerri R. Gray is a poet with a dark soul, and the author of the bizarre adventure novel, The Amnesia Girl (HellBound Books, 2017). Her writing has appeared in numerous literary journals and anthologies, including Beautiful Tragedies and Demons, Devils & Denizens of Hell 2 (both published by HellBound Books). She has also contributed to the book, Ghost Hunting the Mohawk Valley by Lynda Lee Macken (Black Cat Press, 2012). She is a lifelong aficionado of horror, dark humor, and camp, and blames her twisted sense of humor on a wayward adolescence influenced by the likes of Monty Python, Charles Addams, Frank Zappa, and John Waters. 1. How old were you when you first wrote your first story? I wrote my first story at the ripe old age of thirteen. It was a short (and somewhat dreadful) play called Won Ton Soup, complete with a musical score that I composed. 2. How many books have you written? I’ve written two-dozen non-fiction books on the subjects of witchcraft and the occult, under a different name, all of which have been published. I eventually grew disenchanted (pardon the pun) with that genre and yearned to branch out as a novelist – a dream that I had for many decades. So far, I’ve written one novel and a collection of poetry and short stories under my real name, and I’m currently working on a second novel. 3. Anything you won’t write about? I enjoy writing dark poetry (the darker, the better), twisted humor (the more twisted, the better), and horror – especially if it has peculiar characters and/or a bizarre twist to it. However, if a subject matter doesn’t interest, excite, or amuse me, I simply won’t write about it. It would be a boring mental torture for me, like doing math homework or income taxes. 4. Tell me about you. Age (if you don’t mind answering), married, kids, do you have another job etc… I’m old enough to be an antique car, although in my head I’m still thirteen at times. I’m a Capricorn; originally from the Chicago area; my favorites colors are red and black. I’m married to a wonderful Canadian man named Brian, who’s retired, and we have no children. Up until several years ago, we operated a bed and breakfast out of our restored Victorian mansion. It was called the Collinwood Inn and themed after the 1960’s supernatural daytime drama, Dark Shadows. Before the B&B, I owned and operated an antique shop outside of Jamestown, New York (a city whose claim to fame is having a graveyard where Lucille Ball’s remains are buried.) 5. What’s your favorite book you have written? The Amnesia Girl! I really had a blast writing it. It actually started out in the 1970s as a weird little play called The Joy of Insanity, but never went anywhere. In fact, not only did an agent reject it, but she also expressed her disdain for it by writing on the first page, in red pencil, that it was “vulgar.” I felt completely discouraged by that and literally tossed the manuscript into a box and moved on with my life and my writing career. But it nagged at the back of my mind for years until I decided one day to re-write it as a novel, give the story a major overhaul, and breathe new life into the characters. Completing it was kind of a bittersweet experience for me I have to admit. I was delighted with how the story turned out and excited to begin shopping around to find a publisher for it. But on the other hand, when the time came for me to type ‘The End’ on the last page, those two little words made me feel like I was letting go of an old friend that had been a part of me for such a long time, and the finality made me feel a little melancholy.

6. Who or what inspired you to write? I developed an interest in writing, including songwriting, early in life when I was in grammar school. I can’t really give credit to any one person or thing as being my sole inspiration, as I draw inspiration from so many different sources, including individuals and events from my own personal life, dreams, nightmares, the arts, and underground culture. I’ve always been attracted to the absurd and the abnormal, and, in many ways, those things inspire my writing as well. Even though my novels and short stories are works of fiction, I’d say nearly every one of my characters is based, to varying degrees, on actual people who I’ve known or who have affected my life in one way or another. As far as what inspires my poetry, I tend to write some of my best poems when I’m in my darkest, gloomiest moods. 7. What do you like to do for fun? Writing is the number one thing that brings me pleasure. I also have a passion for photographing old cemeteries, paranormal investigating, watching old films, rummaging through second-hand shops, adding to my record collection, reading books, playing board games, and doing jigsaw puzzles. I’m not really a “people person,” so I tend to enjoy things that don’t require or involve large groups of people. 8. Any traditions you do when you finish a book? Sometimes I’ll have a big Brown Cow to celebrate. Sometimes I’ll have more than one. 9. Where do you write? Quiet or music? I don’t know how this will affect my public image as an author, but I almost always do some writing in the bathroom while sitting on the “mystical throne of inspiration.” I also write in my bedroom or in my home office. Wherever and whenever the mood strikes me, I suppose. My usual modus operandi is to write down the words on paper first, and then type them into the computer. Quiet is essential, as is solitude. When I’m working on a horror story, I’ll sometimes like to have “mood music” like Henry Mancini’s “Experiment in Terror” or Humphrey Searle’s “Suite from the Haunting” playing in the background. 10. Anything you would change about your writing? In a perfect world, I would do away with writer’s blocks and grammatical errors, and everything I cranked out would become an instant best seller. (Hey! A girl can dream, can’t she?) 11. What is your dream? Famous writer? What writer doesn’t dream about being famous or writing a best-selling book? We wouldn’t be human if we didn’t. I’ve always believed that a person without a dream is a person who’s dead inside. Without our dreams, we have no hope, no passion, and no drive. My dream had long been to see my novel, The Amnesia Girl, get published; and, thanks to HellBound Books, it’s a dream that’s been realized! My new dream is to see it made into a motion picture someday! 12. Where do you live? I live in the central part of Upstate New York in what used to be called the Leatherstocking Region. (That has kind of kinky sound to it, don’t you think?) Our home, a mid-19th century Italianate mansion, is the quintessential haunted house, complete with a tower and resident ghosts. It’s also a money-pit, so I hope to sell lots of books. 13. Pets? Yes. A Siamese cat named Aristede.

14. What’s your favorite thing about writing? I love the entire creative process of writing, and being able to touch people in some way with the fruits of my imagination, whether it’s making them laugh, scaring them, shocking them, or whatever. I love getting a reaction. I’ve always felt that one of the best things about being a writer is the freedom to be eccentric. A lot of people are of the opinion that all writers are eccentric, so they automatically expect you to be that way. They’re totally discombobulated if you aren’t. (Believe it or not, I think this is the first time in my life I’ve ever used the word, ‘discombobulated.’) 15. What is coming next for you? Hopefully, it won’t be the IRS. I’m currently working on a new novel that will be even more bizarre than my first, and I’m also compiling and editing short horror stories for an all-women anthology called The Graveyard Girls. Additionally, I have a book called Gray Skies of Dismal Dreams due out in early 2018. It’s a collection of my dark poetry and fiction, and some of my cemetery photography as well. 16. Where do you get your ideas? Most ideas just pop into my head from out of nowhere, and usually when I’m in bed and drifting off to sleep. I’ve had so many stories, poems, characters, and dialogue come to me that way that I’ve lost count. It’s almost like channeling. And when I was working on The Amnesia Girl, I would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night and have entire yet-to-be-written chapters of the book play out in my brain as though I were watching a movie. Sometimes it was a little weird, but always entertaining. I started keeping a notebook and pen next to me in bed because if I don’t write all these things down when they come to me, I almost always forget them in the morning. You can connect with Gerri R. Gray here: Official website: http://gerrigray.webs.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorGerriGray/ Amazon author page: https://www.amazon.com/author/gerri_r_gray HellBound Books author page: http://www.hellboundbookspublishing.com/authorpage_gray.html Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/17311761.Gerri_R_Gray

Some of Gerri R. Gray’s books:

Getting personal with Gerri R. Gray Gerri R. Gray is a poet with a dark soul, and the author of the bizarre adventure novel, The Amnesia Girl (HellBound Books, 2017).

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geopolicraticus · 7 years ago

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Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part VI

Oswald Spengler and Otto Neurath

Otto Neurath is an interesting figure in the history of early twentieth century philosophy, specifically, Anglo-American philosophy in the age of positivism and the emergence of analytical philosophy (though I should point out that Neurath was Viennese and not Anglo-American). Neurath would not appear on a short list of the first rank of analytical philosophers -- Bertrand Russell, Wittgenstein, Carnap, and maybe G. E. Moore -- nor perhaps even among the second rank -- Moritz Schlick, A. J. Ayer, Hans Reichenbach, etc. Though we might place Neurath among the tertiary figures of early analytical philosophers, Neurath nevertheless played an outsize role because of his activism, that is to say, Neurath seems to have been the kind of man who gets things done -- a mover and a shaker.

Moreover, Neurath lived at a time when things desperately needed to get done. We have to try to recapture the chaos of the first half of the twentieth century in order to understand Neurath’s intellectual milieu. For a Europe utterly shattered by the First World War, the utopian vision of communism offered a hope that was not to be found in any other social movement. All forms of traditionalism had been discredited by the war and its aftermath, and communism alone seemed to offer a vision of the future. Communism, in short, offered a human destiny, at a time when Spengler said, “Optimism is cowardice.”

Neurath was part of this growing influence of socialism and communism, which was especially prevalent among the intelligentsia. Many if not most of the philosophers and scientists who fled the continent before, during, and after the wars were socialists or communists seeking refuge from a political milieu increasingly unfriendly to their efforts.

Spengler might be characterized as part of the conservative reaction against the growth of socialism and communism, though Spengler is not always included among the representatives of the “conservative revolution” with figures like Ernst Jünger and Carl Schmitt; Spengler was a somewhat isolated figure. Nevertheless, when the first volume of Spengler’s The Decline of the West was published it became an unlikely best seller, propelling Spengler into the limelight of post-war Germany. The defeated Germans were prepared to hear that western civilization was in terminal decline.

As the “it” book in post-war Germany, The Decline of the West predictably drew many responses, among them Otto Neurath’s Anti-Spengler, a 96-page pamphlet published in Munich in 1921. Spengler was living in Munich, and one wonders whether he saw copies of Neurath’s pamphlet on sale. Neurath’s pamphlet bears the dedication, “Dedicated to the young and the future they shape.”

As a positivist and one of the founders of the Vienna Circle, Neurath held an unflattering view of Spengler’s metaphysical structure of historic humanity, and indeed Neurath is highly critical of what he sees as Spengler’s mysticism and obscurantism. Presumably a positivist “big picture” treatment of human history would be anti-metaphysical, but whether it would even be possible for a positivist to write such a work is not clear. Neurath wrote, “...a work on the future of mankind is not subject to the criteria for specialized studies.” In other words, Neurath answers in the negative the question I posed as Is it possible to specialize in the big picture?

As I would like to believe that this question can be answered in the affirmative, I am inclined toward reading Spengler as an inchoate effort in this direction, imperfect and often confused, but still pointing the way, while I read Neurath as lacking the imagination to project his positivist views into historiography, and therefore settling for the indifferent, perhaps even casual and sloppy formulations of Marx (or that part of Marx that was taken up into post-war socialism and communism).

Neurath quotes Spengler at length in his pamphlet, and attempts to rebut Spengler point-by-point (though not to the extent that would be necessary to engage with the whole of Spengler’s long book). But really it is not the point-by-point argument that animates Neurath’s pamphlet; Neurath was focused on the grand narrative that he seems to suggest cannot be studied scientifically. In the final paragraph of his pamphlet Neurath wrote:

“Everyone in his innermost soul must come to terms with mysticism and antinomies; but the struggle against the mystic euphoria that attaches to trivial contradictions can be fought independently of that. Young people who take life seriously must quickly settle this in order to advance to strong constructive activity, but also to old and difficult questions of existence and world-views, which are spared no one, be he as logical and acute as a man can possibly be.”

Neurath may as well have said, “move fast and break things.” This is exactly what happened. Quickly settling accounts with the deep human past did not work out well for any concerned, not for the tens of millions killed in the subsequent war, and not for the tens of millions killed by the attempt to put socialism and communism into practice after the war. Advancing quickly to constructive activity did not work out at planned, and more often than not represented retrogression rather than advancement.

When Europe was shattered a second time by the Second World War -- effectively, defeated as a civilization and divided between the non-European superpowers of Russia and the US (Julius Evola spoke of men among the ruins, and this seems an apt characterization) -- there was no longer a European tradition that offered a hope or a destiny. Spengler died before the war started, in 1936; Neurath fled to Holland, and then to England, dying in the same year the war came to an end. Neither figure was to be especially prominent or influential in intellectual circles in the coming decades. One might well draw the conclusion that each, in their different way, represented a dead end of European civilization. But I do not think that this would be the correct judgment.

Spengler and Neurath represent perennial traditions in European thought. Spengler is the gloomy, big picture thinker, always being a wet blanket by reminding his contemporaries that they are mere moment in something far larger than themselves; Neurath was the optimistic voice of a very different grand narrative of human society. If Spengler were revived and looked back upon this history, I believe he would still see his grand narrative playing itself out, and would have a place for Neurath’s grand narrative within the more comprehensive whole of his thought.

But instead of Spengler, there was the grand historical narrative of Arnold Toynbee’s multi-volume A Study of History. Toynbee is another story, and his intellectual debts lie elsewhere. Nevertheless, in Toynbee we have yet another figure who has made little impact on academic historiography, thus something of an outsider, who gained popular renown (and even made the cover of TIME magazine). I would argue that Toynbee was “timely” in precisely the Nietzschean sense in which Spengler was “untimely,” but that is an argument for another time.

Oswald Spengler and Human Destiny

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part I

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part II

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part III

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part IV

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part V

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part VI

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part VII

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part VIII

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part IX

Metaphysical Structure of Historic Humanity, Part X

#Oswald Spengler #Otto Neurath #The Decline of the West #conservative revolution

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aaronsniderus · 7 years ago

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10 Movie and TV Show Home Values in Real Life

Whether it’s Lorelei’s house in ��Gilmore Girls” or the living room with the leg lamp in “A Christmas Story,” some of the locations in our favorite movies and TV shows are just iconic.

And then there are many homes and living spaces like those in “Friends” and “Home Alone” that seem just palatial. It makes sense to do this from a script writing point of view. It gives the writers, actors and directors the space to play out a grand vision onscreen. However, have you ever wondered what it would actually cost to live in some of those places in real life? We did.

Join us as we embark on a grand tour of homes from the big and small screen alike.

‘Home Alone’

Image: HookenOnHouses.net

There was plenty of room for Kevin McCallister to roam in the house featured in the 1990 holiday classic directed by John Hughes.

The house in suburban Chicago had five bedrooms and three and a half baths where Kevin could hide from the people trying to rob his house. It’s a really nice house as depicted in the movie. But how much would it cost in real life?

According to the “Home Alone” wiki, the movie novelization states Kevin’s father Peter is a successful businessman. If he had held onto the house, it would be worth $598,263 based on fair market value in that area for 4,243 square feet.

Home values often rise faster than the inflation rate, particularly in a seller’s market, but Zillow home value data only goes back so far. It’s not perfect, but in order to get an approximation of what the home would have been worth, I’m using the inflation rate.

The home would have been worth $324,316.97 when the movie was released in December 1990, assuming the only factor driving the price up was inflation. However, one way to really see your home value rise in a way a successful businessman like Peter McCallister would really appreciate is to have it featured in a blockbuster movie.

According to Zillow, the home in Winnetka, Illinois, is actually likely worth $2,079,433 today. There’s clearly some markup because the movie was shot there.

‘The Addams Family’

Image: 21ChesterPlace.com

They’re creepy, kooky, mysterious and spooky, and they happen to have a seriously cool mansion. That’s right – I’m talking about “The Addams Family.”

This house is a little bit awesome, because it definitely has a look that Morticia and Gomez would be proud of. The history of the exterior is well chronicled. The 21 Chester Place address that’s used to set the scene in the show is actually located in the West Adams District of Los Angeles.

This one poses an interesting challenge to try and find a value. Longtime fans of the show will notice there’s no third floor or tower. The show used a matte painting for the exterior for every episode after the pilot once they had their inspiration. In addition, the house was never sold. It was eventually donated to the Catholic Church, which eventually gave the land to Mount St. Mary’s University.

However, that doesn’t mean some enterprising people haven’t tried to do their own real estate evaluation. The Movoto Real Estate blog calculated that the third floor and tower would add 2,400 square feet, for a total of 14,400 square feet. Based on Los Angeles real estate prices, the current value would be $5,846,400. In 1964 dollars, that comes out to $736,665.49. That house is spooky expensive.

‘Friends’

Image: HookenOnHouses.net

On “Friends,” they conveniently avoid the problem of how much the characters’ apartment would cost by explaining that Monica inherited a rent-controlled apartment from her grandmother and never told the landlord that grandma died.

That has to be illegal, but it’s brilliant screenwriting because it gives them a lot of flexibility. Monica and Rachel were paying just $200 per month, which suddenly makes a two-bedroom apartment in the West Village district of New York seem a lot more reasonable on the salary of a coffee barista and a sparsely employed chef. How much would it really cost for Monica’s apartment?

A quick search of Trulia shows that you can expect to spend a minimum of $3,400 per month on an apartment in that area. And that price probably doesn’t include the gorgeous windows and balcony access.

Bottom line: If your job’s a joke and you’re broke, the only way you’ll afford a West Village apartment is with a little TV magic.

‘16 Candles’

Image: HookenOnHouses.net

The Chicago area appears to be a favorite setting for John Hughes. He moved there as a teenager. Before that, he’d grown up in the Detroit area (hence Cameron Frye’s Gordie Howe jersey in the next movie on the list).

Nice real estate near the big city is expensive. The house from “16 Candles” is no exception. When the house was listed for sale around June of last year, the owners wanted $1.5 million.

While it will cost you $141 per square foot to get a home in the area, there’s definitely a movie markup here. Based on square footage, the home should have cost around $435,500 today if the movie hadn’t been filmed there.

‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’

Image: DNAInfo.com

Cameron Frye had the coolest house in our final John Hughes movie of this list. It had a very distinctive modern look with floor-to-ceiling glass windows. It also didn’t hurt that there was a Ferrari to ogle at. But like a few other houses on this list, the story behind the real estate listing holds its own intrigue.

Although it looks very cool, the windows made the place harder to sell. It turns out that single-pane windows aren’t great from an insulation perspective, making it hard to keep the house a comfortable temperature. Also, it was strangely divided into two parcels of land.

This caused the listing price of the home to fall from $2.3 million when it was originally listed after the owners died in 2009 to $1.65 million in 2011, and it was in danger of being torn down.

It was finally sold in 2014 for just over $1 million. The owners are undertaking a major renovation.

‘Full House’

Image: Zillow.com

The home from “Full House” sold last year for $4 million. Well, not the home from the show. That was a soundstage. The home that serves as the backdrop in the exterior shots sold for an inflated price, even by San Francisco standards.

The house is 2,484 square feet. That gives the house a value of $1,381,104 based on the square footage. If anyone wants to give me the $2.6 million markup for being the Full House exterior, my response is going to be “You got it, dude!”

‘A Christmas Story’

Image: AChristmasStoryHouse.com

One of my mom’s absolute favorite movies during the holiday season is “A Christmas Story.” I couldn’t let this post pass without knowing what the house in that movie was worth. The really cool thing about this particular house is that you could legitimately buy the place without drawing a Hollywood paycheck.

The house where Ralphie listened to “Little Orphan Annie” and learned to always drink his Ovaltine is actually in Cleveland. A fan purchased it on eBay in 2005 for $150,000. It has since been turned into a shrine to the movie, complete with museum tours.

Super fans can even sleep where Ralphie and Randy did for as little as $395 per night. The upstairs floor has been converted. The price per night does vary with the seasons. If you want to stay Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, it’ll cost you $1,995 per night.

‘Clueless’

Image: ImNotAStalker.com

One thing I feel comfortable saying about Alicia Silverstone’s character in “Clueless” is that she probably had no idea how much it cost to live in that mansion.

The Encino, California, house had seven bedrooms and 10 bathrooms. Who knows why you’d need 10 bathrooms in a house with seven bedrooms, but why not? It’s 9,441 square feet on a two-acre lot.

Basing solely on square footage (not accounting for the amenities in the house), it’s worth $3,833,046 currently. In July 1995, that would have translated to nearly $2.4 million.

‘Batman’

Image: Thrillist.com

Batman is one of the cooler superheroes around. That’s a fact in my mind. The best thing about him is that his status is attainable. Sure, he’s a gazillionaire, but at least his abilities are based on skills and technical prowess rather than mystical or sci-fi powers. I had to check out what Wayne Manor would cost.

As it turns out, someone totally went ahead and did the math. The Movato blog puts the cost of the Caped Crusader’s digs at just north of $32 million. It’s not just the 42,500 square feet of space, either. We have to take into account the multilevel garage, ballroom, game room, library and laboratory. Of course, it includes the services of Alfred.

One of the things that was most interesting about this is actually putting a real-life location to Gotham City. They chose Chicago, although in the movies, New York and Pittsburgh have also been used, to name just a couple.

‘Gilmore Girls’

Image: Truila.com

Throughout the show’s seven seasons, the houses of the characters played a key role in setting the stage for the events that happened to Lorelai, Rory and the gang.

How much would it really cost to live in Stars Hollow? An enterprising writer from Trulia grabbed some coffee worthy of Luke’s Diner and set about finding out by comparing the homes in the show with those in the Connecticut town it’s based on.

Sookie had the most expensive home on the list, with her three-bedroom, two-bathroom house coming in at $685,000 when the Trulia article was written last year, and Lorelai and Rory’s house came in at $445,000. Real estate in the Northeast doesn’t come cheap.

Do you have a movie or TV show home you’d like to live in? Let us know in the comments. What did we leave off the list?

The post 10 Movie and TV Show Home Values in Real Life appeared first on ZING Blog by Quicken Loans.

from Updates About Loans https://www.quickenloans.com/blog/10-movie-tv-show-home-values-real-life

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mikebrackett · 7 years ago

Text

10 Movie and TV Show Home Values in Real Life

Whether it’s Lorelei’s house in “Gilmore Girls” or the living room with the leg lamp in “A Christmas Story,” some of the locations in our favorite movies and TV shows are just iconic.

Join us as we embark on a grand tour of homes from the big and small screen alike.

‘Home Alone’

Image: HookenOnHouses.net

There was plenty of room for Kevin McCallister to roam in the house featured in the 1990 holiday classic directed by John Hughes.

According to Zillow, the home in Winnetka, Illinois, is actually likely worth $2,079,433 today. There’s clearly some markup because the movie was shot there.

‘The Addams Family’

Image: 21ChesterPlace.com

They’re creepy, kooky, mysterious and spooky, and they happen to have a seriously cool mansion. That’s right – I’m talking about “The Addams Family.”

‘Friends’

Image: HookenOnHouses.net

Bottom line: If your job’s a joke and you’re broke, the only way you’ll afford a West Village apartment is with a little TV magic.

‘16 Candles’

Image: HookenOnHouses.net

Nice real estate near the big city is expensive. The house from “16 Candles” is no exception. When the house was listed for sale around June of last year, the owners wanted $1.5 million.

‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’

Image: DNAInfo.com

This caused the listing price of the home to fall from $2.3 million when it was originally listed after the owners died in 2009 to $1.65 million in 2011, and it was in danger of being torn down.

It was finally sold in 2014 for just over $1 million. The owners are undertaking a major renovation.

‘Full House’

Image: Zillow.com

‘A Christmas Story’

Image: AChristmasStoryHouse.com

‘Clueless’

Image: ImNotAStalker.com

One thing I feel comfortable saying about Alicia Silverstone’s character in “Clueless” is that she probably had no idea how much it cost to live in that mansion.

The Encino, California, house had seven bedrooms and 10 bathrooms. Who knows why you’d need 10 bathrooms in a house with seven bedrooms, but why not? It’s 9,441 square feet on a two-acre lot.

Basing solely on square footage (not accounting for the amenities in the house), it’s worth $3,833,046 currently. In July 1995, that would have translated to nearly $2.4 million.

‘Batman’

Image: Thrillist.com

‘Gilmore Girls’

Image: Truila.com

Throughout the show’s seven seasons, the houses of the characters played a key role in setting the stage for the events that happened to Lorelai, Rory and the gang.

Do you have a movie or TV show home you’d like to live in? Let us know in the comments. What did we leave off the list?

The post 10 Movie and TV Show Home Values in Real Life appeared first on ZING Blog by Quicken Loans.

from Updates About Loans https://www.quickenloans.com/blog/10-movie-tv-show-home-values-real-life

0 notes