#british school of landscape painting

[sleekervae]

New York Romantic .5

Masterlist

a/n: Happy new year everyone! I'm so sorry I've been MIA in recent weeks. I've been going through a depression spell over the holidays, but I'm trying to come out of it. I promise I'll be updating my other stories, slowly but surely as always. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this update!

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: a soft snow day in new york

word count: 5181

taglist: @watercolorskyy @carolanns-world @alana4610

The hallways were relatively quiet, a handful of students were cleaning out their lockers and studio spaces for the winter break. Tom didn't have much in his own locker, just some loose papers and a couple of text books. He wasn't too pressed to notice somebody walking upon him until the lockers thudded and shifted under the weight of someone's shoulder ramming into them. Tom glanced up to find Daniel staring back at him, sharp almond eyes reminding him of a cat with a mouse narrowed in his gaze while sidling up beside him with a disarming smile.

"Hi!" he greeted cheerily.

"Hi," Tom nodded back, "You're... Daniel, right?"

"Yeah! You're an acting major, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm Tom," Tom put his hand out for Daniel to shake, though the spindly dancer shrugged him off. Tom didn't think anything of it and continued to sort his things.

"Nice to meet you. I don't wanna be brash right before the break, but I've noticed you've been talking to Noelle quite a bit lately," he said.

The mention of her name caused Tom to pause; he straightened his posture and turned back to the dancer.

"Yeah... she's my neighbour," Tom replied cautiously, sensing an unspoken tension in Daniel's words.

"Do you like her?" Daniel asked.

Tom shrugged back, "Yeah. I mean she's very nice," he replied, itching to get to the point of why Daniel wanted to talk about this.

Daniel's smile faltered, a touch of protectiveness entering his voice. "Look, man, I've had feelings for Noelle for a while now. We're kind of a thing, you know?"

Tom fidgeted uncomfortably. Not once had Noelle, Bianca, or anyone in her circle mentioned that she had a boyfriend, "She's not your girlfriend, though,"

Daniel's expression turned stern, his tone more forceful, "Not officially, but we're getting there. It'd be best if you didn't get too close. Just to avoid misunderstandings,"

Tom hesitated, struggling to articulate his thoughts, "I-I'm just -- I didn't mean to —"

Before Tom could finish, Daniel's demeanor stiffened, a hint of displeasure flashing across his features, "You kissed her at Josh's party, didn't you?"

Tom's gaze faltered, "Well, yeah... but it was truth or dare," he shrugged back, discomfort tingling up his spine.

Daniel refrained from scoffing, "Well, next time either pick truth or take the shot. Because you may be all cool with your British accent and your Shakespeare, but I saw her first,"

At that, Tom's discomfort turned to a subtle anger, "I haven't done anything wrong. She's not your girlfriend and she can do as she pleases," he replied.

Daniel was about to rebut when his friends called for him at the end of the hall, "Daniel! You coming?"

Daniel straightened up, his expression firm and his lips feigned a smile, "Just mind your business, man," just to add insult to injury, he reached out and popped the collar of Tom's button-down before sauntering away. Annoyed, Tom adjusted his collar back into place, trying not to glare a hole into the back of the dancer's head.

School was out for the winter, Julliard's halls were empty and students had taken off from the break. Tom woke up two days after school's end and found the city glittering absolutely glittering. Overnight, a gentle blanket of snow had delicately wrapped itself around the towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, transforming the usually hectic urban landscape into a picturesque winter wonderland. The snowflakes continued to gracefully fall from the heavens, painting the cityscape in a pristine coat of white. The delicate snow-covered branches of trees along the sidewalks added a touch of ethereal beauty, creating a breathtaking contrast against the steel and concrete structures. As the city stirred to life, there was a palpable sense of awe and wonder within Tom at the enchanting transformation that was downtown Manhattan.

Sunny had left the day previous, fearful that the snow would hinder his flight to Birmingham, so Tom was left to his own devices in the apartment. Noelle's family was supposed to arrive today as well, just in time for her department showcase in a couple days. Tom hadn't spoken much to her after that party, he wasn't sure what to say -- if he should say anything at all.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought back to that kiss, replaying moments in his head as he laid awake in bed. He could still feel the ghost of her soft lips imprinted on his, the tang of her cherry lip balm against his tongue, how easy and natural it felt to have her in his embrace. The giggling and snide comments afterwards didn't phase him so much as his own fears did. It was a dare after all, it wasn't supposed to mean anything.

So why was he still so affected after a few days? And why was Daniel so suddenly possessive of Noelle?

He went about his day as per usual, oatmeal for breakfast and lounging on the couch with Netflix. Despite the heavy snow, he could still hear the cacophony of traffic blaring just outside his window, the pane itself was covered in beautiful, delicate curls of frost. He checked in with his mum as well and she spent about fifteen minutes showing him all the decorations she and his sister had put up. She reiterated that it wouldn't be the same Christmas without him, but as long as he was safe and having fun with friends then she wasn't worried.

And Tom wasn't going to be completely alone, there were a couple friends sticking around in the city he would hang around with; Jordan being one of them. And not to mention he still had Doris' dinner offer on the table if he felt so inclined.

It was peaceful, tranquil, and by the time the early afternoon rolled around Tom was close to falling asleep on the couch. That is until he heard a knocking at his door. Tom figured it might've been Doris checking in, but she would've been hollering for him. And then he heard it:

"Tom? Are you home?" it was Noelle.

Why was she still here? She should've been downtown with her family at this rate. Nevertheless, Tom threw on his slippers and shuffled over to the door, and sure enough he found Noelle standing in the threshold, bundled up in her coat, boots and toque.

"Hey. What're you doing here?" he asked, leaving against the door frame to offset his nerves, "Aren't you supposed to be downtown?"

"I was," she nodded, "But my aunt called and their train got delayed because of the snow and it's a whole mess right now. They're hoping to catch the one tomorrow," she explained, "But I mean -- I was wondering if you had no plans today... do you wanna hang out?"

His anxiety lessened, endeared with her big brown eyes and wistful smile, "Yeah, yeah I'd love to," he replied with a nod, "You're going out somewhere?"

"I'm getting some groceries at Paddy's. Leave it to Bianca to forget to stock up before she left," she chuckled, "I should be back in about thirty minutes, I just wanted to catch you early,"

"Well, how about I come with you?" he offered.

"Oh, it's okay. I'll be fine," she assured.

He scoffed back, "Well maybe, but you shouldn't have to take all your stuff by yourself. Not in this weather, anyway," he replied, "-- I'd feel better coming with you, I mean,"

Noelle pressed her lips together, trying hard to bite back her smile. His own lips held a half purse, his big blue eyes blown as he feigned a pout.

"If you're sure, then yeah! I wouldn't mind the company," she said.

He went to grab his snow boots and coat -- grateful his mum had shipped them over a month early -- and ventured out into the cold alongside Noelle. There was a moment of hesitation in the back of his mind, wondering if he should've taken Daniel's warning more seriously. But on the other hand Noelle wasn't his girlfriend, nor was she Tom's, and if she wanted to hang out with him then who was he to deny her?

If he thought he was cold within his apartment then he would've been laughing, a sharp cold wind immediately nipped at his nose and eyes. The usual walk to Paddy's was a little more chaotic then usual, snow had piled onto the sidewalks as high as mid-shin -- well, for Noelle at least. Tom was bemused as he watched her stomp heavily into the snow banks, almost hopping from foot-to-foot. Despite his entertainment, he offered her his hand, helping guide her along until they came to the already shovelled walkways. Neither of them bothered to unlatch their hands on the stroll over.

Stepping inside Paddy's was scarce with people, two store attendants were shovelling snow out of the entrance while another was struggling with a large bag of melting salts. Tom grabbed a cart and his hands stung at the frigid cold on the hand rail. Nevertheless he planted his foot on the bottom rail and sailed in right past Noelle.

Noelle quickly caught up to the young actor strolling down the baked goods section, having now collected a few necessities. Tom already had thrown in some fruit, vegetables, cereal, a gallon of milk and a bag of pretzels. His eyes were scanning over display case filled with cookies, small cakes, and croissants. They were a pretty decent size, dusted in powdered sugar and appeared flakey and soft. He had asked for two from the bakery attendant just as Noelle had come over with a plethora of goodies in her arms.

"What's all this?" he asked curiously, his eyes skimming over the packet of sausages and box of pancake mix.

"You ever do brunch?" she replied, her eyes glimmering in excitement.

"Not very often," he admitted, his intrigue spiking, "Do you?"

Noelle dropped her items into the cart, sporting a satisfied smirk, "Only when I don't feel like eating instant noodles for the third time in a week," the attendant had just placed the bag of croissants on the countertop for Tom, "What's that?"

"Croissants," he replied simply, "Would they be acceptable for brunch?"

"Is the pope a catholic?" she simpered, "We should get some jam, then -- rasp--"

"Raspberry?" they spoke in sync, bashful grins exchanged in tandem with lithe chuckles and blushing cheeks. Tom placed the croissants in the cart along with the rest of their goodies.

The snow had began to fall again as they trudged back home, hand-in-hand. Neither Tom nor Noelle mentioned it, both silently reassuring themselves that their joined hands were merely for stability on the slippery ground. But as they walked along sidewalks meticulously cleared of snow for easy passage, Tom wondered if that explanation held true at this point.

Nevertheless, Tom did his best to help Noelle as much as he could, keeping shells out of the eggs he cracked and doing his best to avoid grease spatter. Frost curled across the glass window panes, snow continued to pile anew across the cityscape, and yet Tom and Noelle remained safe and warm in their little sanctuary, the tantalizing smell of bacon and sausages wafting through the air while music drifted softly from Noelle's small speaker set up.

There was a jar of open peach jam on the table, to which Tom happily took advantage of to smear across his croissant. Noelle had settled for butter on her own, noting how Tom's face seemed to fall in disappointment after one bite.

"Is it okay?" she asked tentatively.

"Yeah, not as crispy as I'd like it to be," he nodded.

"Probably because it sat in the bag for about an hour," she shrugged back, "Or grocery croissants don't usually tend to match up with the elite bakeries,"

"Probably," he agreed, "But I love them, anyway. My dad used to bring us croissants from this bakery on Saturday mornings -- and I swear to you, they were the most amazing croissants I ever had in my life!"

Noelle grinned, his enthusiasm rubbing off on her as she cradled her chin in her hands, "Most amazing croissants? That's a pretty bold statement, considering where you are," she chuckled back, 'But that's a really sweet memory. I bet he was a really great dad,"

"He was. When I saw him, anyway," Tom nodded, "He was always working on the show, even before my parents separated. But he did his best to make time for us, and every time -- even if we just stayed home and watched movies, we always had a great time," his voice harboured a lilt of sadness, ruminating for the things he missed most. He didn't want his face to betray his feelings in front of Noelle, though it wasn't hard for her to pick off his demeanour change.

Her expression softened, her chest tugging at the shift in his gaze, how his words drifted into nothing. Without a second thought Noelle's hand slid across the small dining table, at first her finger tips simply nudged his, then slipped over them. Tom was brought out of his headspace the second her chilled hand fell over his, so small and dry, but nevertheless her skin was so smooth, carrying a few blemishes in the form of paper cuts and unevenly filed nails.

"He sounds like he was wonderful man," she smiled, "I think I would've loved to have met him,"

He began to relax into her touch, it all felt so natural and cozy, although he began to remember:

"-- you may be all cool with your British accent and your Shakespeare, but I saw her first,"

And with that Tom pulled his hand away. Noelle's smile disappeared.

"I'm -- I'm sorry," he stammered suddenly.

"No, no, I'm sorry," she shook her head, "I didn't mean to overstep --"

"You didn't!" he exclaimed quickly, then brashly scolding himself for raising his voice, "Sorry. I just don't want to..." cross a proverbial line? Get his ass handed to him by a neurodivergent hip hop major?

"You didn't do anything wrong," she assured him, her fingernails began to scratch at the faded wood top, "-- I know we haven't really spoken since the party... but if that kiss made you uncomfortable --"

"Not at all," Tom shook his head, "I mean -- I mean, I knew it was for a dare. I just don't want to put you in any awkward position,"

Noelle cocked a brow, "How do you mean?" she asked.

He was a little uneasy as he blurted out, "... Well, I don't want to put you in an awkward position with Daniel, is all," he replied.

"Daniel?" she nearly scoffed, "What does he have to -- oh God," she sat back in her seat, her eyes rolling, "What did he tell you? That I'm his girlfriend?"

Tom shrugged, "In not so many words,"

She began to snigger, "Oh, he wishes. We went on one date at the beginning of the summer, but we didn't have a spark -- I didn't, anyway. And of course he didn't get the hint. I can't really avoid him because we're on the same floor, so I grin and bear it for a few minutes until I find an out. If he said something to you, I'm really sorry,"

Despite how selfish it may have been, Tom began to feel better knowing that. He too let out a chuckle, "He does seem like he's a little bit in his own world," he said, "You don't have to apologize for him, either,"

"I know. But I promise you he's harmless," she replied, "And he has no right going around to my friends and telling them off, either. I'll handle it,"

"That doesn't seem fair to you," Tom noted, "Have you thought of reporting him?"

"To who? The faculty?" she scoffed back, "What're they gonna' do?"

"Well, something if you report him for harassment," he said.

"Honestly it's not that big a deal," she smiled, hoping to settle his worry, "I'm a big girl, you don't have to worry about me, Tom,"

Tom smiled back, "I never doubted you could handle yourself, but I'm still allowed to worry," feeling cheeky, he reached over with his fork and stabbed into a grape, popping it promptly into his mouth.

Noelle gaped dramatically, then she began to pout like a grumpy child, picking up another grape and hucking it at him, "Stop stealing food from me! I'll fight you!" she cried defiantly. Tom simply laughed as it bounced off his chest.

Not soon after the dishes were placed in the sink and the table was cleaned. The pair settled onto Noelle's couch for another movie, with Tom insisting she could pick the movie this time. She decided on Die Hard -- the truest Christmas movie out there. She had also fetched a bottle of gin, from where Tom wasn't so sure, orange juice, and two glasses.

"Aren't you supposed to be twenty-one to drink here?" he asked, giving her a playful side eye.

Noelle glared back, smirking, "Who are you, my dad?" she quipped back.

"Certainly not," he chuckled, "And if you ever call me such, we'll see what happens to you,"

Noelle rolled her eyes, bumping his gently with her elbow as she poured them drinks, "Okay, okay," and she handed him his glass, " -- how would you feel if I called you 'mom'?"

He paused momentarily before taking a sip, eyeing her up and down as she tried to bite back her growing grin. The moment felt all too uncanny, though Tom had no complaints. His best form of retaliation was to reach over and tousle the top of her hair. Noelle whined and tried to push him away, shaking her hair back into place with one last glower thrown his way. Bear in mind she made no move to slide away from beside him.

The movie started as normal, and both Tom and Noelle had seen it a handful of times over to know how the fallout opens, how the terrorists take control of the building, how McClane shoots at the police car as his only form to get help. So it was any wonder Noelle couldn't find herself to focus.

Tom was -- in not so many words -- hot. Temperature hot. She couldn't deny she found him attractive as well, but his body radiated heat like a human furnace, it was near impossible for her to not want to come in closer. The warmth was taking its toll on her, and she had to wriggle out of her sweater to get some relief.

Her movement struck Tom's attention, he couldn't help but peak out of the corner of his eye. His eyes flitted over her chest, skin tastefully covered by her tank top but he still couldn't help himself. He blushed when he met Noelle's gaze, realizing he'd been caught and grinned bashfully. Noelle shook her head and made a face, diverting her eyes back to the screen but on the inside she had to fight to keep herself together.

Paying attention to the film at this point as near-impossible, Noelle's mind was somewhere else. Specifically focused on her friend; emphasis on friend. Thought nevertheless she noted how much bigger he was then her, slim physique overall but he bore broad shoulders, long legs stretched out in front of him. Tom appeared a little younger then twenty-one and despite that, he was so mature beyond his years. And old soul.

Her brain flickered back to that party, that damn kiss, all the same flustering as it was breath-taking. She hadn't kissed many guys in her twenty-years of course, but she had never been as electrified as she had been when she tasted the whiskey off of his lips.

Noelle sipped her gin and juice, hoping to hydrate her suddenly dry throat. Alan Rickman's character was suddenly commiserating on his first meet with John McClane, and she suddenly had an idea.

She turned to Tom, "Would you rather be the good guy or a bad guy in an action movie?"

Tom chuckled, "Bad guy, obviously. But it depends on what my goal is,"

"Okay then, what would motivate you to take over the world?" she asked.

"Power, of course. But I don't want to be a psychopathic trigger-happy, domineering villain. The good villains are slick, charismatic, and well composed, like this guy," he pointed to Hans Gruber, "That guy is so smooth and so compelling he could sell water to a fish. Lulling you into a false sense of security. I'd be that villain,"

Noelle simpered, "Remind me to stay on your good side if you were to go power hungry,"

"Well, how about you?" he asked, "Hero or villain?"

"Villain, of course," she replied, "I'd be an Ursula-type villain. Or Maleficent. Just bat-shit crazy magical and maniacal, and I'd get to turn into a giant monster if I so please,"

Tom cocked a brow, "You want to grow into a giant sea witch?"

"Well, yeah!" she nodded, "You think I asked to be this short?"

He laughed, shifting away ever so slightly as though she may grow at any instant. Noelle pouted back and crossed her arms; but she couldn't help but smile when he moved back beside her.

Tom couldn't lie, he was still nervous around Noelle, but she always managed to put him at ease. She was so laid back, and after all, it was hard to be intimidated by a beautiful girl when she was comparing herself to campy Disney villains.

As they watched the movie, Noelle's gaze darted to Tom now and again. She flitted over his sharp profile, and his cheeks and nose still held their tinge of soft pink, a delightful contrast against his pale complexion. And the curve of his lips was pure... temptation. The inkling struck her, she wanted to kiss him again, she wanted to kiss him so badly.

God, you're ridiculous, she chided to herself. He only kissed her because Iseul dared him to, that was all. And if Daniel was already giving him flack, chances were he wouldn't want to be wrapped up in that in any way. And who was to say he even found her attractive, for all she knew he had a girlfriend waiting for him back in England.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked suddenly.

Tom nearly choked on his drink, "No," he replied, "Why?"

"I'm just curious," she shrugged back, "... You met anyone you'd consider asking out?"

"In drama? Nah," he shook his head.

"What about outside of drama? The opera majors are gorgeous," she noted, why she was talking about this she wasn't so sure why. She blamed the gin for the most part, though her own inhibitions were playing their part.

Tom smirked at her, "Are you trying to set me up?" he asked suspiciously.

She simpered back, "Uh -- no. I don't do the whole match-making thing. Iseul on the other hand is like a friggin Korean cupid," she shook her head.

"Was that her intention at the party?" he asked, "Trying to set us up?"

Noelle refrained from rolling her eyes, "I don't know. I think she's just sadistic of something. But... if that dare made you uncomfortable,"

"-- It didn't," he assured her, his deep blue eyes meeting hers, "If it had I would've said something. So please, don't worry," he assured her with a grin.

Noelle pouted back, "I'll worry about you if I please," she retorted.

He feigned shock, his hand coming over his chest, "She worries about me, oh my gosh!" he mocked, much to her amusement.

"Don't let it go to your head," she poked at his nose just for good measure.

His nose twitched, his gaze falling over her again in a hot, lingering perusal crackling over her skin like a live wire. This time there was no mistaking the interest in his eyes.

Should she make a move?

Could she cross that line again?

Lean in closer, ask if she could kiss him, or better yet ask if he could kiss her. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts she hadn't even realized the credits playing over the screen.

"Do you want me to go?" he asked.

His posh voice startled her, and she realized she hadn't made a move to turn off the movie.

"No, I mean -- you're more then welcome to stay. If you can handle putting up with me any longer," she tried to joke. But it was reigning true, she didn't want him to leave.

Tom grinned bashfully, "As horrible as that sounds, I'll try to pull through," he replied.

"But if you're tired --" she began, "I don't mind if you want to --"

"I'm fine," he nodded, "If you don't mind having me over, that is," he found it odd how suddenly she seemed so nervous, perhaps he ought to take that as a good sign?

"I don't mind at all," she replied, "I like having you around. It's your turn to pick, anyway,"

She likes having me around, he hoped his face wouldn't betray how his chest swelled, the heat in his body suddenly elevated, "How about Elf?"

Suffice to say, another movie turned into another, and then another, and before neither of them could realize they had fallen asleep on the couch, curled up together as the snow continued to fall over the city.

All was quiet, peacefully so as the sun broke out over the Eastern horizon. The snow stopped at some point during the night, glimmering in sun rays like millions of Swarovski crystals bejewelling the skyscrapers and cars. And in that tiny apartment Tom and Noelle slept soundly, cozied up with arms wrapped the other, the laptop screen having gone black hours ago.

As the light peaked through the curtains, Tom couldn't help but begin to stir, blinking sleep from his eyes as he realized he wasn't in his apartment. The previous night came rushing back in a flood, and if he were more awake he may have jumped to find Noelle swathed in his arms. Though she continued to sleep, her button nose buried in his chest and her lashes fluttering as she continued to dream. He wondered what she dreamed about, if she enjoyed her dreams or if she slipped into a thick state of time-stopping nothingness.

It was Sunday, there was nowhere for them to be, no need to get up, no need nor want to move from that very position. The wall clock, though a few minutes ahead, indicated it was somewhere around nine. He wondered if her asking about his dating life was a ploy, or sheepish way in to test his interest.

Tom settled back into the couch, cradling her close to him, pretending for a moment that maybe, just maybe, this could've been his life; their life.. His eyes slipped shut and he inhaled sharply, unable to help but smile as Noelle wriggled to get comfy against him. He too would've fallen back to sleep, if not for the sudden knocking on the door.

Tom thought he was imagining things at first, but sure enough there was another knock. Perhaps it was Doris? Or Bianca? No, Bianca was out of the city and she had her own key anyhow. Nevertheless, Tom didn't feel it was right to answer Noelle's door.

As much as he hated to wake her, he nudged her gently, whispering her name until she too came to consciousness. Her head lulled from side to side, taking stock of the mess on her coffee table, the mess they were on her couch. She rubbed sleep from her eye as she yawned.

"What's up?" she grumbled groggily.

"I'm sorry to wake you, but there's someone at the door," he mumbled.

The seemed to light a small fire under her, she sat up promptly and did a quick stretch, "Maybe Doris wants to collect rent before Christmas?"

"Is she allowed to do that?" he asked, his eyes never leaving her as she started for the door.

"Probably not, but she's also not supposed to be splicing cable from her neighbours and yet..." shuffling in her fuzzy socks, Noelle pressed up on her toes as she peered wearily through the key hole. Who she saw on the other side made her heart stop, "Holy shit!"

"Who is it?" Tom asked, vividly more awake now. The knocking continued.

"I'm coming!" she then turned to him, sheer panic befalling her face and she clawed her fingers through her hair, "Put the gin bottle behind my bedroom door and smooth out your shirt. You got here ten minutes ago and we're trying to decide where to go for breakfast,"

"-- What?"

"Just trust me! Go!" she waved him off. Tom didn't argue, snatched the gin bottle and glasses for good measure. He disappeared down the hall, figuring the open door was Noelle's bedroom.

Slipping the glassware behind the door, he paused momentarily to take a glance around her room. It was a small space, soft grey sheets and pillows were messed and unmade with a few clothes sitting untouched overtop. Papers and books were stacked and scattered across her little white desk, and Ikea special from the looks of it. There was a clothing rack of clothes hung up, a few more folded and sitting next to the line of the three pairs of shoes she owned that weren't ballet related.

Tom froze suddenly when he heard a loud exclamation from the door, "Surprise!"

Smoothing out his shirt wrinkles and tousling his hair, Tom wandered back into the main area of Noelle's apartment, finding her embraced by an older couple and another young girl. The older gent was bringing the suitcases into the apartment while the young girl was trying to upkeep some conversation with Noelle through the older woman's fawning and preening.

"What're you guys doing here? I thought your train wasn't coming until later?" Noelle gaped.

"We were able to get a late train last night, it just missed the snow storm coming in!" the older woman exclaimed.

"And checkin's not until eleven so we thought we'd swing by and surprise you!" the older man added.

Tom stood in the mouth of the hallway momentarily, just watching, bemused and taken with who he assumed was Noelle's family. The young girl suddenly turned, just to take a look around the space at first when her gaze fell on top. She nearly jumped out of her nikes.

"The hell are you?" she snapped, prompting the other's attention to turn to him. The fawning and happy reunions came to a sudden halt, with Noelle slipping out of the woman's grasp to get everyone acquainted.

"Uh -- right. Sorry, um -- this is Tom. He's my friend from school," she introduced, smiling assuringly at him, "Tom, this is my Aunt Franca, my Uncle Maurice, and my cousin Chiara,"

[gemmahale]

a little late but re: WIP ask game -

MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE MUSEUM MUSE

WIP Ask Game

Oh Mads. You and your love for Museum Muse will never cease to delight me. (And there is no such thing as too late, I promise.)

You clarified in DM's that you were curious about how their first DM goes. I haven't gotten there yet, so I don't exactly know. 😅 I just know the circumstances.

So, instead, I'll offer you this: the stories behind their usernames and some of the forums they are frequent in. (Usernames fuckin' suck to come up with, okay? Especially because John and Daisy are both alive at the advent of the internet.)

Under the cut because I...I did world building again. 😅 Sorry not sorry.

Divider Courtesy of @thecutestgrotto

John's username: TinkerKelpie93

In my canon, kiddo John was the kid that took everything apart and put it back together - just to see how it worked. The radio, the clock, the lawn mower, you name it, he could fix it (most likely). Kid was building inventions in the garage where his father worked with scrap parts cast aside from the vehicles repaired.

His granda (his Da's dad) encouraged him up until his death when John was in his early teens. He told stories to wee John about his ancestors, the Scottish Travellers (from my research, they're similar to/adjacent to Romani populations in Scotland- if a Scot wants to correct my history, please do! I want to do this right. 💚) who are/were called "Tinkers" (usually in a negative connotation - literally meaning "itinerant tinsmith").

So Tinker is a bit of a historical nod to his family history and his tendency to "tinker" with things when he's thinking (hello neurodivergency, it's good to see you. 😅)

His love for Scottish Mythology (and the Kelpie part of his name) is courtesy of his Gran (Mum's Mom). She was a school teacher, and loved teaching the mythos of the region. They had a place on the edge of a small loch, and she would always warn him away from the water with a reminder of the stories about the kelpies trying to drown children. As he grew into his artistic practice, he did this detailed Kelpie artwork to give her for the holidays featuring her house, the swing by the loch and the landscape with the fearful mythological creature in the center of the lake that still hangs over her mantle. This John loves oil pastels and charcoal (it's the tactile part), but will make do with pencils when he's in country.

And 93 because, well, he was born April [redacted], 1993. This man's an Aries, y'all. (Bite me on the date. I have my timeline to back me up.)

Divider Courtesy of @thecutestgrotto

Daisy's username: IrisOfTheLake

Daisy's a symbology and history nerd. (Her love for mythology and art is how she ended up getting a degree specializing in the Still Life paintings of the Dutch Golden Age by female artists, but that's another story. She almost studied Arthurian Legends instead, but decided art history and preservation were her true academic love.)

Her aunt has a prolific collection of irises - she's incredibly active in the British Iris Society and Daisy spent many many seasons after school helping her dig and divide them to share with the neighbors and the other members. She even helped her aunt with cross-pollinating and some breeding attempts (though her aunt didn't progress very far down that road for reasons).

Iris is also the Greek Goddess of messages, often said to arrive on rainbows. Iris flowers hold a number of meanings in the floral language, including hope and wisdom. (Can you see where I'm going with this? I hope so.)

"OfTheLake" directly refers to the legends of King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake. (I told y'all, she was a nerd about this shit.) Y'know, the one that gives the sword Excalibur to Arthur and disposes of Merlin? That Lady of the Lake. Badass bitch if I ever heard of one, who holds a lot of wisdom and knowledge to help others achieve their goals.

Why IrisOfTheLake? It sounded good and smashed two of her early fascinations and hobbies together. 😊 (And the irony of our girl having not one but two flower nicknames makes me giggle.)

Divider Courtesy of @thecutestgrotto

Both John and Daisy recognize each other from lurking and posting in a number of forums together, including art history and BDSM. John regularly shares his more refined drawings (usually done on leave or during long waiting periods), and Daisy is regularly active in the floral symbiology threads, talking about the language of flowers and meaning and bullshit like that. (I just realized I have to write all this, fuck me.)

Anyway, they bond over some dipshit in the BDSM forum espousing some gender essentialism bullshit - men are doms, women are subs, blah blah blah. Daisy has an eloquent take on it, John just wants to thrash them for being so black and white and says as much.

Who reaches out first? To be seen. (I have to leave you some mystery lol.)

[scotianostra]

On October 24th 1796 the artist, David Roberts, was born in Edinburgh.

The son of a shoemaker, who began his career as an apprentice house painter. Roberts was born in Stockbridge, near Edinburgh, and while a boy he was a frequent visitor to Rosslyn Chapel, it’s architecture is a complex fusion of influences from many cultures, and it has been mentioned that it was an immense inspiration to the painter.

At the age of 19, after studying art formally at night, Roberts became foreman of work at Scone Palace for a time. Returning home in search of a new job at the end of the project, he took work as a scenery painter for James Bannister’s circus. Bannister offered him more work, engaging him on a good salary of 25 shillings a week, and for a while Roberts toured the country with the circus.

Through Bannister, Roberts then found work at the Pantheon Theatre in Edinburgh, but when the venture failed, he returned to his trade of house painter and decorator. All the time he was working on the “day job”, he was also practising his sketching and painting, thus developing his fine art skills.

Roberts returned to painting scenery for theatres in Edinburgh and Glasgow, meeting his wife, the actress Margaret McLachlan, at the Theatre Royal in Edinburgh. They had one child, Christine. In the early 1820s he exhibited work at the Fine Arts Institution in Edinburgh, including scenes of the abbeys of Melrose and Dryburgh, which were popular themes due to the immense interest in the history of the Anglo-Scottish border created by the work of Walter Scott.

Roberts was offered work in London, at first by the Coburg Theatre and then the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. Soon Roberts was commissioned to work for Covent Garden, while also successfully exhibiting at the British Institution. Gothic, romantic and religious themes were still popular in art and Roberts continued to produce paintings of Scottish abbeys and famous European Cathedrals. He developed his range into landscapes and seascapes, as well as Biblical and antiquarian themes, achieving fame though his painting “Departure of the Israelites from Egypt”.

Roberts began to travel in 1832, producing a series of lithographs from his trip to Spain and Morocco. In 1838, he embarked on a tour of Egypt, Nubia, Sinai, Syria and the Holy Land, and his sketches, paintings and lithographs were hugely in demand on his return. Publication of “Sketches in the Holy Land and Syria, 1842–1849” and “Egypt & Nubia” followed, volumes that ran to many editions and are still popular as reprints today.

When he returned to Scotland, the Royal Scottish Academy feted him at a public dinner. As a result of this, Roberts advised the Academy that he was worried about work that was being done at Rosslyn Chapel. One of the major architectural conflicts of the time was between the “romantic school” who viewed overgrown buildings as beautiful in their own right, even seeing the moss and overgrowth as protective, and those who wished to restore and preserve buildings.

When he returned to Scotland, the Royal Scottish Academy feted him at a public dinner. As a result of this, Roberts advised the Academy that he was worried about work that was being done at Rosslyn Chapel. One of the major architectural conflicts of the time was between the “romantic school” who viewed overgrown buildings as beautiful in their own right, even seeing the moss and overgrowth as protective, and those who wished to restore and preserve buildings.

Roberts also visited Italy in the early 1850s, producing a volume of paintings entitled “Italy, Classical, Historical and Picturesque”. The last 15 years of his life were spent carrying out prestigious projects such as the painting of the opening of the Great Exhibition of 1851. He became a member of the Royal Academy and was given the freedom of Edinburgh. His distinctive style and intuitive interpretation of light were emulated by many artists who came after him.

The last time I posted about David Roberts I featured his work in Palestine and Egypt, the pics this time around are his home grown work, the first being a self portrait, next is his apparent inspiration, the Entrance to the Crypt, Rosslyn Chapel, St. Mungo’s Cathedral, Glasgow and Dumbarton Rock.

If you want to see more of his work check out the Royal Academy's site here.https://www.royalacademy.org.uk/art.../name/david-roberts-ra

[mybeingthere]

Beautiful paintings by British artist Edward Burra.

Edward Burra was born in London in 1905. He briefly attended boarding school but when he caught pneumonia in 1917 he was sent home to Rye and his formal education came to an end. Burra's education continued at home where he was surrounded by books. The Burra household was highly cultivated and arty and Burra was encouraged to read and draw. Between 1921 and 1923 Burra attended the Chelsea Polytechnic where he studied life-drawing, illustration and architectural drawing. It was here that Burra developed an interest in jazz and the cinema and made friends that he would keep for the rest of his life. This was followed by two years at the Royal College of Art between 1923-1925.

Burra travelled extensively during his lifetime spending time in Italy, France, Spain, Morocco, North and Central America and Ireland. In 1925 Burra met Paul Nash, who encouraged him to exhibit his work and taught him wood engraving and collage making. Paul Nash exposed Burra to Surrealism which captivated him. While he did dabble in the movement and was briefly a member of Unit One, Burra was never whole-heartedly part of any artistic group. Burra also designed costumes and sets for theatre and opera productions, particularly during the War years when travel was more difficult.

Burra suffered from poor health throughout his life. As he grew older it became more difficult for him to travel as far or as extensively. In his later years, his sister Anne drove him around Britain and he produced many landscape paintings at this time. Burra died in Hastings in 1976, at the age of 71.

[love-for-carnation]

Iris and Pinks in a Japanese Vase with Pears Joan Thewsey (British)

Joan Thewsey was born in Yorkshire and studied classical art. Awarded a scholarship from the Goldsmiths Society, Joan intensified her foundations in Florence. She specialises in large scale watercolours. Many of Joan's works are in private collections after being shown British exhibitions. In addition to lush bouquets of flowers, Joan Thewsey paints gardens and landscapes. For many years the artist has been a member of the Royal Society of Botanical Artists and she is passionate about introducing children to art at an early age. Joan headed the art department of a comprehensive school for a number of years. As well as her own artistic projects, she invests a lot of time teaching other teachers how to introduce learners to art. Mostly in evening classes, she gives lectures that include painting as well as design and textile art.

Other painter's works: https://www.meisterdrucke.uk/artist/Joan-Thewsey.html

[the-paintrist]

Philip de László - Portrait of Portrait of Sir Alfred East - 1907

Philip Alexius László de Lombos MVO RBA (born Fülöp Laub; Hungarian: Fülöp Elek László; 30 April 1869 – 22 November 1937), known professionally as Philip de László, was an Anglo-Hungarian painter known particularly for his portraits of royal and aristocratic personages. In 1900, he married the Anglo-Irish socialite Lucy Guinness, and he became a British subject in 1914. László's patrons awarded him numerous honours and medals. He was invested with the Royal Victorian Order by Edward VII in 1909 and, in 1912, he was ennobled by Franz Joseph I of Austria; becoming a part of the Hungarian nobility.

Sir Alfred Edward East RA RBA (15 December 1844 – 28 September 1913) was an English painter.

Alfred East was born in Kettering in Northamptonshire and studied at the Glasgow School of Art. His romantic landscapes show the influence of the Barbizon school. His The Art of Landscape Painting in Oil Colour was published in 1906. In April 1888 he had shared an exhibition at the galleries of the Fine Art Society with T.C. Gotch and W. Ayerst Ingram, and was commissioned the following year by Marcus Huish, managing director of the Society, to spend six months in Japan to paint the landscape and the people of the country. When the exhibition of 104 paintings from this tour was held at the Fine Art Society in 1890 it was a spectacular success.

East visited Spain after 1892 when he visited Algeciras at the southern end of Iberia.

In 1906 he was elected president of the Royal Society of British Artists, a position he held until his death. In that year, he published his 107-page illustrated "The Art of Landscape Painting in Oil Colour"; in its preface, he made the observation: "The greatest errors in landscape painting are to be found – contradictory as it may appear – not so much in the matter of technique as in the painter's attitude toward Nature". In this book he described his techniques using colours, half-tones and pencil sketches.

He was awarded a Knighthood in 1910 by King Edward VII. His portrait was painted by Philip de Laszlo. The Alfred East Art Gallery in Kettering, designed by John Alfred Gotch opened on 31 July 1913. The Alfred East Gallery is Northamptonshire's oldest purpose-built art gallery.

East was elected an Associate of the Royal Academy in 1899, having been a regular exhibitor since 1883 and elected to full membership in 1913.

On 28 September 1913, Alfred East died at his London residence in Belsize Park. His body was taken back to Kettering and lay in state in the Art Gallery, where it was surrounded by the pictures he had presented to the town, and attracted crowds of several thousands.

[arrowstothehearts]

From the beginning of its existence, Alaska knew it could do significant things.

James Baudelaire, who in his early twenties was part of an influential family of founders of British high society in Birmingham, UK. The man in his youth was determined to explore the beauty of the world, where he was first captivated by North America, as soon as he set his eyes on the majestic glaciers of Alaska, US. His adventures and spirit attracted Elizabeth Brown, an aspiring actress who was known for her beauty and almost unearthly resemblance to Elizabeth Taylor. She was the next promise of Broadway as soon as she managed to go to New York City, but with her angelic face, it didn't take long for James to notice the woman in her various shows.

It didn't take long for her to be conceived from such love, a girl with almost celestial blue eyes, golden hair and rosy cheeks. James knew the very moment he saw his daughter, he remembered the first time he was swept away. Alaska Baudelaire. Born on April 16th.

Elizabeth, in fact, did not have such devotion to her daughter, the replica of Marilyn Monroe that grew around her reminded her of the life she had left behind, and even though she knew it was unfair and self-centered, she blamed the girl for the end of her career, but after all, she chose that. So, Elizabeth Brown transformed herself into Elizabeth Baudelaire, erased her glorious past and swore to herself that her career would be her family, she would raise a prodigy daughter. James put aside his adventures around the world, despite remaining true to his spirit, he followed the family business, which led to him becoming an important judge.

During her childhood, Alaska's every step was scripted to make her stand out, from ballet, painting and piano classes. The girl was dedicated and even with her mother's demand for perfection, in the name of her unconditional love, Alaska wanted to be a source of pride for her mother and did everything she could to impress her.

At the beginning of her pre-adolescence, “unconditional love” sent her away from her family, friends, everything she knew and loved, where Alaska spent long years at a boarding school in Germany, where luckily for the girl, she had the chance of making friends who helped her discover her real personality, dreaming her own dreams and inheriting from her father the same passion and desire to see the world as it really was.

She always had a camera in her hand, capturing moments around her. The girl captured every feeling, curiosity that surrounded her, from colleagues, landscapes, everything became beautiful in her lenses. In addition to using her beauty naturally given by her parents to venture as a photographic model, as she loved how each photograph could capture fragments of her identity, she felt as if they were pieces of her soul that were spread through each capture.

At the end of her stay in Germany, the girl, now almost a woman, felt that her heart was calling her to see the world, so with the help of her beloved father, she went to the United States, leaving behind the cloudy weather of Birmingham and being welcomed by the warm Miami sun.

The city was exotic and new, everything she needed to follow her new steps, the woman managed to find her peace in the midst of American chaos. Her greatest find in the city, Andrew Rockefeller, a man who reminded her of her father, was successful, restrained, a true German with his strong and imposing accent, had his air of mystery and that intrigued her from the first day.

Over the course of a short time, they developed a connection that transcended all rules of time, it was instant like a meeting of souls that led to the most genuine and purest friendship Alaska had ever experienced. The man was of great influence in her maturation and growth to become who she’s today. Luckily for both of them, after four years of living, loving each other as a family and overcoming the most diverse obstacles, they both found love in each other. For many it was simply destiny, Alaska deep down always knew that all the paths she took would lead her there.

Their new lives called for new air, and her mother's old passion for New York City returned to her memory, as if that concrete jungle now called Alaska too.

Upon arriving in the new city with her lover and dogs and cat, she instantly fell in love with the energy. The streets pulsed with life, skyscrapers touched the sky and cultural diversity fascinated. Every corner presented a new scene, a new story to be told. The soft night light reflecting off the buildings, the people running, every expression captured by the lens became a masterpiece. New York developed to explore its creativity, experiment with different techniques and understand the beauty of urban imperfections. The city, with its parks, street art and variety of cultures, has become her personal museum.

For her, each photo was a window into the soul of the city, and photography became a way to bring her passion for photography to life. Now feeling truly at home.

[galleryofart]

Conversation in a Park

Artist: Thomas Gainsborough (English, 1727–1788)

Date: c.1740

Material: Oil on Canvas

Genre: Conversation Piece

Location: Department of Paintings of the Louvre

Thomas Gainsborough

Thomas Gainsborough (14 May 1727 (baptised) – 2 August 1788) was an English portrait and landscape painter, draughtsman, and printmaker. Along with his rival Sir Joshua Reynolds, he is considered one of the most important British artists of the second half of the 18th century. He painted quickly, and the works of his maturity are characterised by a light palette and easy strokes. Despite being a prolific portrait painter, Gainsborough gained greater satisfaction from his landscapes. He is credited (with Richard Wilson) as the originator of the 18th-century British landscape school. Gainsborough was a founding member of the Royal Academy.

[art-allegory]

Prudence

Artist: British (English) School

Date: circa 1674

Medium: OIl Paint and Wood

Collection: National Trust Collections, United Kingdom

DESCRIPTION

An oil painting on panel, full-length standing allegorical female figure of Prudence (after Quellinus), wearing an orange dress with red robe, British (English) School, c1674. Prudence (one of the four Cardinal Virtues) stands, in a landscape, holding a snake, symbolic of wisdom, in her left hand and a mirror in her right, so that she can see herself as she really is. After an engraving by Hubertus Quellinus (Antwerp 1619 - Antwerp 1687), published in 1665-1668, after sculptural figures by his brother, Artus II Quellinus (Antwerp 1609 - Antwerp 1688) in the Vierschaar (High Court) in Amsterdam Town Hall.

[illustratedvancouver]

A rare dozen of original works by E.J. Hughes is coming up for auction at Heffel, works by E.J. Hughes from the Barbeau Owen Foundation.

Anticipated closing time: Thursday, September 26, 2024 | 02:00 PM ET

Barbeau has probably assembled the single most important collection of Hughes' work to date. Opportunities to acquire works by Hughes are rare to begin with, from a prestigious collection such as this, all the more-so.

From Heffel: E.J. Hughes is renowned for his BC coastal and interior landscapes, rendered in oil, acrylic, and watercolour. His work in the medium of printmaking is less well known. Ian Thom wrote, “Although his print oeuvre is small—only twenty or so—he is one of the most significant printmakers to have worked in British Columbia.” In 1937, E.J. Hughes was working in a partnership with Orville Fisher and Paul Goranson. The trio, fellow graduates of the Vancouver School of Decorative and Applied Arts, produced a number of prints and murals together. This work may have been intended as a study for a woodblock print, linocut or mural. Totem Poles at Stanley Park was reproduced in Ian Thom’s 2002 monograph on the artist, and Thom described the work as follows: “A tonal study that uses only black and a series of yellows, it is a striking example of foreshortening and arbitrary cropping. The work recalls, albeit in different form, Emily Carr’s Totem and Forest (1931) in the abrupt conjunction of the poles and the forest behind.” He concluded, “This image is one of the most remarkable of Hughes’s early works.” Revisiting past subject matter later in his career, in 1985, Hughes painted a similar, larger work in watercolour, also titled Totem Poles at Stanley Park. Angling for commercial success in the Depression years, Hughes produced a small suite of linocuts depicting Stanley Park in the mid-1930s, including this pleasing view of Second Beach. Dating from 1936, this early work predates the building of Second Beach Pool in 1940. It brings to mind the fine block prints of Walter J. Phillips, whose work Hughes admired. Of special interest, Robert Amos relates that it was while sketching in Stanley Park that Hughes met his future wife, Fern Smith. Jacques Barbeau wrote about this print, “The mood is tranquil and serene. Yet it illustrates Hughes’ subtle ability to suggest less to achieve more.” With very few colours and sure, sinuous lines, Hughes generates interest in the foreshore rocks, the ocean waves and the dark evergreens beyond. Near Second Beach telegraphs Hughes’s graphic design skills and is one of his rare print works. This same image, with a slightly different tonal range, is in the National Gallery of Canada’s Prints and Drawings collection (acc. no. 29253). Collector Jacques Barbeau said his interest in the art of Hughes was first sparked when he saw one of the artist’s paintings reproduced on the front cover of a 1958 Vancouver telephone directory. More than a decade later, in 1969, Barbeau acquired his first work by Hughes after paying a visit to the Dominion Gallery in Montreal, which had represented Hughes since 1951. Barbeau purchased several “cartoons,” the detailed graphite drawings that the artist, a meticulous draughtsman, would prepare leading up to an oil painting. Over the years, as Hughes transitioned from oils to acrylics and watercolours, the collection of Barbeau and his wife Margaret Ann (née Owen) grew to 80 works, encompassing sketches, prints and paintings from all phases of the artist’s lengthy career. Fifteen masterpieces from this prominent collection have been on loan to the Audain Art Museum in Whistler since 2016, on public display in the Barbeau–Owen Gallery.

[themuseumwithoutwalls]

MWW Artwork of the Day (4/4/24) Henry Holiday (British, 1839-1927) Dante and Beatrice (c. 1882-84) Oil on canvas, 142.2 x 203.2 cm. Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool UK

Henry Holiday was an English historical genre and landscape painter, stained-glass designer, illustrator and sculptor. He is considered to be a member of the Pre-Raphaelite school of art. This is considered to be his most important painting. It depicts an incident when Beatrice, having heard gossip relating to this, refuses to speak to him. The event is shown as Beatrice and two other women walk past the Santa Trinita Bridge in Florence. Beatrice wears a white dress and walks beside her friend Monna Vanna, with Beatrice's maidservant slightly behind.

[portraituresque]

Raymond Coxon - self-portrait - 1921

Raymond James Coxon (18 August 1896 – 31 January 1997) was a British artist. He enrolled at the Leeds School of Art, the Royal College of Art, and became a teacher in the Richmond School of Art. The creative work of his long and successful career—singly and in various art groups—included landscape and portrait painting, abstract works, creating church murals and serving as a war artist during World War II. In particular he was known for the bold style of his figure and portrait work. After  World War Two his paintings became more abstract.

[barkingbonzo]

Philip Hermogenes Calderon, RA The Orphans 1870. Oil on canvas

Philip Hermogenes Calderon RA (Poitiers 3 May 1833 – 30 April 1898 London) was a British painter of French birth (mother) and Spanish (father) ancestry, who initially worked in the Pre-Raphaelite style before moving towards historical genre painting. He was Keeper of the Royal Academy in London.

Calderon was born in Poitiers, France. His father, the Reverend Juan Calderón (* 19 April 1791 in Villafranca de los Caballeros; † 28 January 1854 in London) was a professor of Spanish literature and a former Roman Catholic priest who had converted to Anglicanism. Calderon planned to study engineering, but he became so interested in drawing technical figures and diagrams that he changed his mind and devoted his time to art. In 1850, he trained at Leigh's art school, London, then went to Paris to study under François-Édouard Picot in 1851. His first successful painting was called By the waters of Babylon (1852), which was followed by a much more popular one called Broken Vows (1856). From the beginning he was inspired by the Pre-Raphaelites, and some of his work showed the detail, deep colors, and realistic forms that characterize the style. The artist��Henry Stacy Marks was his friend and brother-in-law, and Calderon exhibited his portrait at the Royal Academy in 1872.

Calderon became a leading member of the St John's Wood Clique, a group of artists interested in modern genre and historical subjects who were inspired, both artistically and socially by the Pre-Raphaelites. Historical, biblical, and literary themes were common in Calderon's later work. Many of his pieces show women wearing rich, silky clothing in gently colored landscapes. His Morning (1884) features a copper-haired maiden watching a sunrise.

His Juliet (1888) shows Shakespeare's Juliet seated on her balcony gazing at the stars. His later paintings adopt a more classical style, comparable to Edward Poynter, which resulted from his close relationship with Frederic Leighton, then-President of the Royal Academy. Calderon became Keeper of the Royal Academy in 1887, and from then on worked to support the teaching of anatomy based on nude models at the Royal Academy Schools. His 1891 painting St Elizabeth of Hungary's great act of renunciation was secured by the Chantrey bequest for the national collection, and is now located in Tate Britain, but caused considerable controversy because of its perceived anti-Catholic message. It depicted the saint bending nude over an altar watched by monks.

[finishinglinepress]

NEW FROM FINISHING LINE PRESS: The Residents by Matthew J. Friday

On SALE now! Pre-order Price Guarantee: https://www.finishinglinepress.com/product/the-residents-by-matthew-j-friday/

The Residents begins with the author’s arrival at the height of the COVID pandemic and explores his new #life as a US resident. The #poems reflect on this new journey and study what being a resident means for other people, flora and fauna. While #Oregon’s inhabitants and #landscape form the basis of many poems, others explore residency in a wider sense, crossing borders near and far away.

Matthew James Friday is a British born writer and teacher. He has an MA in Creative Writing from Goldsmith College, University of London. He has had many poems published in US and international journals from all corners of the world. He has published numerous micro-chapbooks with the Origami Poems Project (US). Matthew is a Pushcart Prize nominated poet. The Residents is his first chapbook. More of his writing can be found at: http://matthewfriday.weebly.com

PRAISE FOR The Residents by Matthew J. Friday

We have been honored to publish Matthew Friday‘s poetry. So I am delighted to celebrate this chapbook of his poems—rich in imagery, voice, and a delightful playfulness with language. The poems connect the conscious mind with the heart ( what Mary Oliver says poetry can do).

–Kimberly Hill Campbell, Editor of Oregon English Journal

The Residents challenges me to look into the world and to realize that I’m connected to it. With depth and weight, Friday’s lyrics exalt the ordinary natural world into something I can grapple and hum with. The Residents is a subtle hurricane of poems that illuminate the mysteries and paradoxes we all might experience while getting a haircut or visiting a pumpkin field, wondering why. Friday writes from a place high above, encompassing all that the land has to offer, yet not so high that he misses pumpkin seeds, hummingbirds, and Easter eggs. These poems are offerings my soul gladly accepts. In the Residents, Friday brings the reader through a glorious expedition of the natural world and that which transcends it. His poems paint lucid images of the natural, while inviting the reader to contemplate the unknown. These poems are a call for awareness in a world that might be too sleepy to wake up. I’ve been a reader of Matthew’s poetry for years, and this collection is his best yet.

–Mike Leyland, School Library Media coordinator, Craven County Schools.

Matthew’s collection of poetry, The Residents, connects the reader with the beauty and power of the natural world, the strangeness of modern life and our alternately sweet or disconnected fellow human beings. He writes with empathy and self-awareness of all he encounters, finding poetic elements in the smallest gestures and actions, as well as the ancient forces of the planet that will outlast us and our temporary dramas. Desperate migrants, unfair privilege, flying birds, rushing water, random hardship, bureaucratic paperwork, a child’s joy in jumping in puddles, unexpected connections between people from different parts of the world—all combine to capture the imagination and stimulate recognition of our shared humanity. Classical literary and mythological references flow through the observations of physics and earth science juxtaposed with human actions, both positive and negative, that in the end are only momentary. Above all, Matthew’s words capture fleeting moments that make life more beautiful in the midst of our current world.

–Vivienne Blake,Librarian, EF Academy New York

Please share/repost #flpauthor #preorder #AwesomeCoverArt #read #poems #literature #poetry

[mybeingthere]

Pamela Burns (b 1938) is a British painter.

Burns was born in London and now lives in Pembrokeshire. She studied at the Royal Academy Schools until 1963 and later taught at St Martins and Chelsea College of Art, London.

The technique Burns uses is engrossing and it is hard not to wonder at how these paintings are made. The marks, as if enchased, in their repeated lines, have an almost hallucinogenic quality - one is fixated by their minute scale. Some have been painstakingly created in reverse, with the background colour revealing the contrasting lines. It is a technique with its own mystery, delicately matching the mysteries of her compositions.

Burns paintings from the 1970s and '80s were inspired by the neolithic landscapes of the South West and the deep-rutted fields that lie in the shadows of the Malvern Hills, drenched in the warm greys, endlessly variant greens and deep browns of England's mud-bound cores. In particular, she looked to Maiden Castle, Dorset, and Cherhill in Wiltshire, both sites where the chalky soil had slipped to form narrow parallel ridges along the contours of the landscape.

https://www.jennaburlingham.com/.../197-pamela.../biography/

[love-for-carnation]

Carnations in a glass vase on a draped marble ledge Eloise Harriet Stannard (1829–1915, British)

Eloise Harriet was one of the fourteen children of landscape painter and drawing teacher Alfred Stannard and Martha Stannard (née Sparks). She was probably trained as an artist by her father, and her style was influenced by traditional Dutch still life painting, especially the artist Jan van Huysum. Eloise Harriet is today considered one of Britain's most gifted still life painters. She suffered from poor health but still maintained an active career as a painter, exhibiting regularly and becoming so successful that she never needed to take in pupils, as was often the case for women artists in the 19th century. In 1871 Eloise Stannard received an invitation from the Committee of the Female School of Arts, which asked her to be a judge for the school. Her poor health prevented her from accepting the invitation. She became a member of the Society of Women Artists in 1871.