#de Kitsch Kitchen

[micheltaanman-blog]

Amsterdam - vrolijk makende winkel Kitsch Kitchen

[beechersnope]

short preview of a thing that's in itself a small part of a longer thing

***

They'd decided to do fully matching costumes this year instead of contrasting costumes with a similar theme. Lando had splurged on them, hiring someone on Etsy to handmake shimmering metallic bodysuits with glow-in-the-dark circuitry and fully functional LED buttons that littered the colored panels of both the front and back of the suit, along the breastplate and hips, down each arm, and along the length of the spine. The only difference between the two is the color: Lando’s bodysuit is a pearlescent fuchsia while Oscar’s is a shimmering teal.

The silvery face paint and white iris contact lenses pushes it over the top—in Oscar’s opinion, Lando has gone so far that even with the skintight bodysuits, they are firmly in the realm of scary versus sexy.

“I don’t think you’re going to get laid this year,” Oscar tells Lando honestly, turning to find a matching cyborg face staring back at her.

“There’s a zipper in the crotch,” Lando counters, the implication going miles over her head. “Easy access. I planned ahead.”

Oscar just turns back to Lando’s vanity and lets out a soft sigh.

The party is in full swing by the time they arrive at Daniel’s mountainside—well, Oscar still doesn’t like calling it a mansion, but calling it a McMansion seems worse, even if that’s exactly what it is. Regardless, they have to park halfway down the narrow street at the very end of a line of cars that spills out of Daniel’s already outrageously expansive driveway.

Oscar eyes Lando’s beat-up Toyota with a dubious frown, slightly worried that the parking brake won’t hold its own against a seven-percent incline.

Lando doesn’t seem similarly concerned, locking the doors with a carefree whistle and then tossing her keys as well as both their cellphones into her purse. Their bodysuits might have crotch access, but they sure as hell don’t have pockets.

By the time they ascend the foothill Daniel’s house sits atop, where it overlooks the tiny city in the valley below, Oscar is somehow sweating from exertion and yet freezing all at the same time.

The front door is wide open, and inside, the soft orange overhead lights that Oscar remembers from her previous visits have all been switched out with black light bulbs instead. The décor is different, too. It looks like Daniel plundered an entire warehouse full of Halloween kitsch to achieve the effect he’s gone for, which seems to be turning his entire house into a walk-through haunted house experience.

Oscar follows Lando closely as they move from the foyer—which has ghoulish portraits that shift between scenes, reminiscent of the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland—into the living room—which is now a museum of cryptid taxidermy, around which partygoers converse with glowing concoctions in their hands, though Oscar spies more than one couple with their hands down each other’s pants as she and Lando traverse the room.

They finally find Daniel in the kitchen: presently, a mad scientist’s laboratory, complete with bubbling potions and blinking machinery lining the walls. And of course, Daniel, as the host and de facto bartender, is dressed as none other than the mad scientist himself.

He looks elated when he glances up to find Lando and Oscar standing in front of him at the island in the middle of the room after waiting for the half-dozen people in front of them to be served first.

“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” he asks with a broad grin. “I don’t mean to brag, but I make a mean mojito.”

Oscar’s heart jumps a beat. It’s impossible to tell from Daniel’s expression or tone whether he meant to use the phrase they agreed upon previously, but just in case he had— “Yes,” Oscar says emphatically as she scoots a bit closer to the bar. “I’d love something to drink.” She’s aware of Lando giving her a strange look, but Oscar ignores it, focused entirely on the brief flash of recognition that crosses Daniel’s face. Even if he hadn’t intended to ask her permission, he now knows he has it.

[thesinglesjukebox]

ERIKA DE CASIER - LUCKY

Yeah, she’s lucky, but is she a star?

[7.38]

Katherine St. Asaph: I too enjoy "Boy's a liar Pt. 2" and Des'ree's "You Gotta Be." [6]

Nortey Dowuona: Apparently, this samples both "Sailing" by Christopher Cross and "Can't Let Go" by Linda Király. It's also liquid drum and bass. Excuse me... *leaves blurb to listen underneath an oil drum, waits for 5 minutes before realizing it is empty, thinks of actually analyzing the song, remembers the 2nd line of the chorus, shrugs awkwardly, keeps listening* [8]

Ian Mathers: YouTube comments section absolutely undefeated: I scroll down and the first thing I see is "Love the Chistopher [sp] Cross vibe going." I do get where they're coming from (WhoSampled tells me it's Linda Király instead), but if I didn't like "Lucky" what a weirdly specific diss that could be. The song always seems to be a step away from going full depressive breakcore to me, and I mean that as a compliment. [8]

Hannah Jocelyn: "Can't Let Go" is a lost gem from the late 2000s: too sparse to stand among Darkchild's best productions (unless you're listening to the Radio Edit W/ Guitars [sic]), but Linda Király sings the fuck out of it. Elementary-school Hannah was obsessed with the song: melodrama perfect for a 4th grader grieving her first unrequited crush. I smiled big when I heard that piano show up in "Lucky", but I kept waiting for this song to explode the way "Can't Let Go" does in its chorus and it just... doesn't. Instead, it stays in a quiet register, de Casier not even phased by the breakbeats skittering around her. The production is excellent, even if I'm already getting a bit sick of the drum and bass revival, but there's no catharsis beneath the smooth synth pads and frenzied percussion. The actual song's sophistication is captivating in its own right, but the blunt force melodrama of the original is missed. [7]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Erika de Casier throws the entire kitchen at us on “Lucky.” Between the Linda Király sample, the stuttering drums, the bass hits, the synths, and the laughs, her vocals are often overpowered. There’s logic to contrasting the busy production with her serene vocal performance, and it does prove very effective when the waves break in the chorus. However, when every element is bouncing off the walls at once in a drum and bass-inflected surge, it’s easy to lose track of the main melodic line. [5]

Jacob Satter: de Casier's wrapped-in-velvet vocal style brings to mind pop stars who have found ways to repurpose their delicacy as stridency (Nelly Furtado), as a firm corset of gossamer support (Coco O), as an internal monologue set free (Cleo Sol), as coyly kitsch confessional (Clairo). de Casier checks a few of these boxes -- she seems content to hold the center, to be simply present in "Lucky's" swirl of juddering trap, SOPHIE-esque squeaks, and music-box nostalgia. Her patience and clarity elevate near-house muzak into something distinctly, warmly human. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Somehow even more gloriously energized than the singles off Sensational – the drums feel like hail falling on a sunny day, melting immediately on contact with the song's surface. Thanks to the great NewJeans convergence event we talked a lot last year about de Casier as a songwriter, but "Lucky" is a fine reintroduction to her power as a performer: that opening laugh, the way she says "Whoa," even the slight lift as she sings "lucky" for the second time on the chorus. It's all finesse, a highlight reel of perfectly struck moments that make the ordinary trappings of "Lucky" into something sublime. [8]

Dorian Sinclair: There's a tedious kind of social media post I'm sure we've all seen, where someone posts a lyric sheet from the '70s or '80s next to a modern one (I've most often seen it with Beyoncé's "Run the World (Girls)") to make some point about The Decline of Music Today. The lyrics for "Lucky" could make an appearance in one of those posts, but the song itself makes clear why the core argument the posts are making is nonsense. Sure, repeating the line "another night" 23 times in a 3 1/2-minute song looks lazy on paper, but in practice? Hearing de Casier's intonation changing, the piano shifting under her, the backing vocals slipping in and out of the mix? It's beautiful! And it's not beautiful in spite of the repetition of the lyrics, but because of them. "Lucky" is swoonily, overwhelmingly romantic, and getting that impact with such a deliberately restrictive set of tools takes a hell of a lot of skill. [8]

Isabel Cole: Retro vibes — not just the tinkling piano of the sample, but a particular unabashed sweetness in both content and melody that seems less in fashion than it once was — run through just the right amount of champagne-bubble glitchiness to make it feel up to date, but not in an ostentatious way. More love songs should draw attention to the erotic potential of being a good listener. [8]

Kayla Beardslee: “Lucky” is so delicate and conversational that at times you almost forget you’re listening to a song. Erika de Casier is one of few artists who can turn that into a good thing -- embraced by the glimmering piano line (even as it shifts focus away from the lyrics), she concentrates on feelings forming and drifting by like clouds in the sky so the rest of us don't have to, so that we can lay back instead and just feel. [8]

Will Adams: The liquid drum and bass revival of recent tends to have a winking cutesyness about it (see the de Casier-penned "Super Shy" as but one example). It's fun to listen to, but "Lucky" pushes beyond that to reveal something darker. The arrangement is in standard skitter mode with twinkling pianos, but throughout are throbbing beat rolls, glitches, and haunting exhalations, as if the song is threatening to crumble at any moment. Even the outro -- an emotional tug of war between repeated lines "another night" and "too fast" -- forgoes a standard fade out in favor of increased distortion and tactile whispers. Behind the timid smile, a more raw emotion bubbles up to the surface. [8]

Leah Isobel: Last year, I ended a friendship that I'd had for almost a decade. I had always known it would happen one way or another: either by the slow drift that accompanies physical or emotional distance, or by sharper, more sudden means. I chose the latter option, releasing myself from what would have been years of confused and angry longing. I'm proud of that choice. Yet, I still reminisce about what I thought our relationship was, and who I thought we both were -- to each other, to ourselves. The intensity of feeling that characterized my experience of the relationship made me feel fragile, girlish. Of course it wasn't sustainable. But it was thrilling to see how long we could sustain it; how much I could take from them while minimizing myself; how much I could give to them without them asking for any of it. How many times we could go out together, dancing, drinking, smoking, laughing on the street. On "Lucky," Erika repeats "Another night" over and over and over, each repetition surprising for the sheer fact of its existence. It's not about what's in the future, but the shock of the present staying present: day after day morphing into a zoetroped sequence of images, cycling but not moving, time itself standing still due to the horrible electricity of one-sided love. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: A lot of people in my close friend group shit on Erika de Casier, constantly pointing out that she’s a mediocre singer with unimaginative toplines. And yes, they were not slow to mention that this sounds like Des’ree’s ���You Gotta Be” over a skittering beat that wouldn’t even turn heads a couple decades ago. But even though I can recognize their disdain, what keeps me coming back to de Casier’s work is the way her productions are integral to the emotional trajectory of her lyrics. You don’t understand this song without hearing that cackle and those sci-fi synths, which capture the anxiety and blissed-out possibilities of lasting romance. Indeed, this is the same artist who wrote NewJeans’ “Super Shy,” eager to define the complexities of a crush with a polysemic phrase. “I need ya another night” is repeated so often that it becomes a musical Rorschach test. Is it sweet and honest? Too forward and desperate? A sign of confidence? Of insecurity? Love will make your head spin, making you feel like all these things could be true. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[hannatyranna]

Brief 5 – Prosess 

Jeg fikk tildelt kaker som utgangspunkt for en ikke-kommersiell delingsapp. Med min ikke-eksisterende kunnskap og interesse for baking generelt, og kaker spesielt, gikk jeg til verks. Det hele begynte med litt drodling om vinkling, navn og uttrykk, samt testing i Marvel. Jeg var fortsatt i koronatåka, som de så fint kaller det, så arbeidet med Figma lot vente på seg. I mellomtiden tok jeg kontakt med noen ivrige kakebakere på Facebook. Først uten hell på Facebookgruppa kakebakere, men så med høy svarprosent på kakegruppa for veganere <3 Etter tips fra Hans Gerhard om at vi burde snevre inn målgruppen/vinklingen, bestemte jeg meg til slutt for å gå for en app tiltenkt veganere. Betimelig kanskje, siden jeg selv er en sånn vanskelig veganer, og vet hvor stort behov vi har for å snakke sammen. 

Så bar det hele over i Figma. Det hele startet med en introduksjon til programmet, og vi startet med å kopiere Snapchat-estetikken. Det var overraskende intuitivt og brukervennlig, syns jeg.

Jeg prøvde meg frem med ulike fonter og farger først. Kaker er jo litt kitsch, så jeg gikk for seriffer og duse farger. Helt til jeg fant en bakgrunn som jeg selv syntes skrek kakefest. Jeg forsøkte også å lage en helt egen hjemknapp (et minimalistisk kakestykke), men etter noen tilbakemeldinger fra klassekamerater og dyktige Figma-connoisseurs, gikk jeg bort ifra både bakgrunnen og hjemknappen. Bakgrunnen ble et forstyrrende element, og jeg ville heller ha gjenkjennbare og mindre dominerende knapper.

Appen er delvis inspirert av Nabohjelp og Kitchen Stories, dvs. med hensyn til funksjonalitet. I Nabohjelp kan man sende ulike forespørsler, og dette ønsket jeg å implementere i Piece of Vegan Cake. Nabohjelp syns jeg imidlertid var en uhyre lite brukervennlig app, med altfor mange funksjoner og et rotete layout. Kitchen Stories er en app for deling av oppskrifter, og her kunne jeg hente litt inspirasjon til layout. Jeg gikk imidlertid litt bort fra oppsettet (horisontal scrolling), siden jeg selv opplever at en vertikal scrolling gir en bedre oversikt over alle oppskriftene. Fargepaletten nedenfor viser hvilke farger jeg til slutt endte opp med å bruke, samt logo og ikoner.

[jtsfavslut]

Stages[2/6]

Description: In which a girl goes through six stages to realize and accept the fact that her marriage is going downhill.

Stage Two: Anger

- Stages 1 

- Stages 3

Description: Yeimy is upset, but only at herself. All she’s feeling is anger for being blind, and letting Grayson step all over her. 

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.2k+

You clenched your fists as you looked at time that was displayed on the stainless steel stove in your kitchen.  He was three hours late, yet you hadn’t received a single phone call during the entire day. Usually, if he was staying late he would’ve called you to let you know, but he didn’t so you busted your ass in the kitchen to make him dinner only to have it placed in a tupperware container and placed in the fridge until he decided to come home. 

You’ve been feeling like that all day. After getting woken up by his loud voice because he couldn’t find his belt, you wondered why he was going to work almost two hours early and coming home three hours late. 

The thoughts and questions angered you. Maybe because you knew the answer, but that wasn’t the answer you were looking for so you decided to push it away. It angered you that you’ve been feeling sick and throwing up all day, yet you pushed through and made him his favorite dinner only for him to not come home on time.

It angered you that the only thing you could think about was Grayson being unfaithful to you. 

And it angered you that you knew he was staying loyal to her. He won’t kiss you on the lips anymore, he’ll sometimes kiss you cheek before he goes to work, or on the forehead when he comes back. Or when he says an ‘I love you’ that you know doesn’t mean shit to him anymore. 

You slammed the fridge’s door and made your way to the couch where you watched TV until you heard the gates unlock and the sound of his Tesla make its way inside the garage. 

“Hi angel,” he said, walking inside and throwing his keys on a smile table next to the front door. 

“Hi, dinner is on the table. I think you know how to heat it up don't you?” you spat turning off the tv and making your way upstairs to your room. 

You noticed how cold and strange the room felt. The bed was perfectly made from the morning, and your night stand was dust free. Your wedding picture catches your eye. It was your favorite out of all the pictures. Grayson’s hands were tightly wrapped around your waist, while yours were wrapped around his shoulder, and you looked into eachothers eyes. It was taken right before you threw your bouquet into the air, which Karina managed to catch.

“Angel are you ok?” Grayson said standing on the doorway. His voice caught you by surprise making you drop the frame on the floor and the glass to shatter all over the floor. 

“I’m fine, just a tad sick. Now if you excuse me, I have to clean this up,” you said signaling to the broken picture frame. You angrily pushed past him and made your way to the kitsch to get the broom. 

You angrily sweep the glass up, taking out the picture and placing it on your nightstand, until you could find another frame. That was if it was even worth it putting it up. 

“Hey angel, have you seen my black louis shoes? I can’t find them anywhere.” Grayson asked standing infront of you while you were laying on the couch watching How To Get Away With Murder, the only thing you’ve been doing for the past two hours or so. 

“I haven’t seen them ever since you went on that weekend business trip last month,” you carelessly replied emphasizing on the business trip part. Mainly because you knew it was yet another lie. 

“Are you upset? Did I do something?” he asked you, making you roll your eyes and scoff. 

“The question is what haven’t you done Grayson.” You spat and rolled your eyes yet again at his confused state. 

“You go to work two hours early but then come back home three hours late, which I don’t understand how but then again who the fuck knows what you do in that office. I stay here, como una puta idiota, waiting for you to come home, I cook, I clean, I do everything and lately I’ve been by myself. You’re constantly telling me lies but when I say something you pull the ‘are you questioning me card’ and I'm sick and tired of it,” you said getting p from the couch and walking towards the kitchen while he stood in the living room like an idiot. 

“You forgot our anniversary last week, Grayson. And honestly I don’t know what’s going on with you or what you’re going through, but I hope you can get your shit straight and not waist my fucking time.” You added while aggressively opening the kitchen cabinets looking for your coffee cup. 

“And don’t bother waiting for me tonight, I’ll be with Karina and Ethan. Maybe you can hang out with the boys since you haven’t done that in a while,” you sarcastically said before giving up on looking for your cup and going to your room to get ready. 

If you weren’t mad before, then Grayson not replying and letting you go like that was sending you through the roof. Did he not care anymore? Or was he just letting you get space? 

Whatever it was you couldn’t continue to think about it because Karina snapped her fingers in your face multiple times. 

“Nena, we’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes,” she said while Ethan nodded his head in agreement. 

“Are you ok? You seem too deep in your brain, and you look extremely upset.” Ethan pointed out, making you sigh. 

“I’m fine trust, Grayson’s acting weird but I guess it’s because he’s under a lot of pressure.” You sighed as Ethan sent you a confused look. 

“Yeah, he said you guys are really busy with the new projects and launches, and that there’s a lot of meetings he has to go to which stresses him out,” you said making Ethan’s heart ache for you. He knew there weren’t any launches for his and his brother’s company, and they definitely haven’t attended any meetings in the past few weeks. 

“Oh yeah. The meetings he always gets stressed out by those. Always wanting to impress everyone, you know how he is.” he said, trying to sound as honest as possible, yet something felt a bit weird to you, but you decided to let that slide. 

“This one is like that too. Always trying to please everyone, when he knows he can’t” Karina replied while playfully smacking the back of his head making you laugh. 

Karina always found a way to make you laugh, that’s just one of the reasons why you’re best friends. And the fact that she’s also hispanic and you can talk shit about others without them understanding. 

You decided to go back home around ten pm, since you were feeling a bit calmed down and you were starting to get tired. But that moment was caught short once you entered the house and Grayson started questioning you. 

“You do the same thing tho, so I don’t get how it bothers you,” you shrugged, getting a bottle of water and sipping on it. 

“But I-,” he began saying before you cut him off.

“But I, nothing. I’m going to bed, this conversation is done. Bye.” you replied deciding to be the bigger adult and left the kitchen, took a shower and went to bed.

The next morning you woke up in the same mood as yesterday, if not worse, Grayson asked if you were on your period, which you weren’t since you had it two weeks ago. 

Honestly, you didn’t know what was getting you so upset. In the back of your head you did know tho, you simply did not want to accept it, so you just let it go, and that was starting to bother you. 

On the other hand, you were angry at yourself for being so stupid and for putting Grayson in a pedestal letting him step all over you. 

But you had enough of that. You decided that you needed a day for yourself so you went to the hair salon, cutting your long black hair up to your shoulders, you went to the nail salon and your nails and toes done, you went shopping and spent an unnecessarily amount of money on clothes you did not need, but who gives a fuck? You certainly did not.

After you did whatever that was, you went back home and put everything away, cleaned around the house a bit and decided to meet Karina and another friend of yours for dinner. 

“Alright Yeimy, what’s going on with you?” Ambar your other friend asked you, you mentally rolled your eyes getting annoyed but trying to not be rude. 

“I’m ok, Grayson’s just acting a tad weird,” you sighed and she nodded her head while Karina sent you a ‘what’s wrong’ look. 

“Is he cheating on you?” she asked, making you snap. 

“I don’t fucking know Ambar. I don’t. I think he is. But I don’t know. And I’m upset because deep inside my heart I know he is, and I know he doesn’t love me anymore. And what’s even more fucked up is that I can’t confront him because I don’t have fucking prove.” You slightly shouted, dragging attention to your table. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I just, I-,” you apologized feeling bad for letting out your anger on her, when she didn���t do anything wrong. “I just don’t what to do, and I feel like a fucking pendeja,” you added while they’re faces showed they felt sad for you. 

“Mami, is ok. Relax you’re going to get through this. Vos es fuerte y averiguaras todo. Por ahora, olvídate de eso y sigue actuando como si vos no supieras nada hasta que encuentres algo,” (You’re strong and you’ll find everything out. But for now, keep acting clueless until you find something) Karina spoke in her colombian accent making you smile. Everytime she spoke spanish her accent always made you feel better, or just her in general. (A/N is it just me or is speaking in accents that are not yours fun. One second I’m british and the second I’m Columbian) 

“Whatever she said. Just make sure you confront him when you’re certain and have proof, because he’s going to deny it, even tho he is babe,” Ambar replied and you nodded your head smiling. 

“What would I do without you white ass and Colombian ass,” you replied, making them laugh. 

“Probably die, who knows?” Karina jokingly shrugged making you laugh. 

“I guess so,” you shrugged with a smile. Your mood completely changes after ranting to your best friends. “What do we do now?” you asked. You didn’t want to go home yet, and it was early anyways. 

“How about we go to the beach, and blast music?” Ambar asked and you nodded your head. 

“Yes, just like when we were 18, listening to Yeimy’s indie playlist,” Karina said, making you playfully smack her arm. 

“Shut up. You know you like it,” you joked leaving a $20 bill on the table as tips and leaving the restaurant. (Y'all always tip your waiters well, they get paid shit)

“I do love my baby Clairo,” she laughed causing all of you to laugh. 

You spent the rest of the day at the beach with your old playlist on shuffle, thank god the area you were at was empty allowing all three of you to sing your hearts out until Ambar left, even if your voices would have probably gotten Simon Cowell pretty upset. 

“Remember, after we both got that internship at WakeHeart we came here and celebrated with Ambar?” Karina asked, making you nod your head with a smile. 

“Yeah, we were 18 right? Just starting college.” You replied and she nodded her head. 

“Those were some good times. Now 24 and boring as fuck,” you sighed and you nodded your head agreeing. 

“I guess that’s what happens when you get married young,” you replied, laying down on your car’s roof. You were sitting on the roof of your Jeep just looking at the ocean while music softly plaid in the background. 

“I just realized, I rushed my entire life for what? I started dating Grayson six months into knowing him, he was what 22? Got married 2 years later when I was 21, Graduated college and started working for him. Stopped working at the office last year, and now I stay at home while he’s out putting his dick inside who knows,” you sighed looking at the stars above you while your mind raced at twenty five thoughts per second. 

“Everything happens for a reason Yeimy. And you’ll figure everything out, just take it easy on your mental health. And I can’t really give you any other piece of advice because I’m not going through that,” she reassured said, grabbing your hand. 

“I hope what you’re saying is true, otherwise I don’t know what to do.” You sighed squeezing her hand back. 

“Everything happens for reason babe. Everything,” she said, you nodded your head and continued looking out into space.

Stages 3

Tags:  @angelgrayson @rhyrhy462 @333dolans @vinylhazza @foxglovedolan @dolanissues @mercurygrant @persistence-ofmemories @dolansficsandpics @blindedbythelightt @kinkygrays @pineappledols @the-evolution-of-stupidity @evergreendolan

[joostjongepier]

Wat?   There will be no miracles here door Nathan Coley, Toverstaf door Maria Roosen, De profeet Elisa wekt de zoon van de vrouw uit Sunem tot leven door Jan Sluijters, Levitation of Saint Theresia door Marina Abramović en Trial door Bill Viola

Waar?   Tentoonstelling ‘Allemaal wonderen’ in Museum Catharijneconvent, Utrecht

Wanneer?   7 juli 2020

Wie een al te zweverige verwachting heeft van de tentoonstelling ‘Allemaal wonderen’ in het Catharijneconvent in Utrecht, wordt al gelijk in de eerste zaal met beide benen op de grond gezet. Aan de wand zien we een tekst in lichtletters: “There will be no miracles here”, een kunstwerk van Nathan Coley (2016), een verkleinde versie van een 6 meter hoog werk in de Schotse plaats Stirling. De tekst is ontleend aan een koninklijk bevel uit de achttiende eeuw, als reactie op een golf aan wonderen in Parijs. De toverstaf van Maria Roosen ziet er uit alsof je er wel een wondertje mee zou kunnen bewerkstelligen, ware het niet dat het materiaal het instrument totaal ongeschikt maakt voor zijn functie. De glazen staf is uiterst kwetsbaar en tenzij je gelooft dat scherven een wondertje kunnen bewerkstelligen, kan de toverstaf maar beter een object blijven om naar te kijken.

De tentoonstelling laat zien hoe mensen door alle tijden, culturen en godsdiensten heen in wonderen geloven. Motivaction verrichte in opdracht van het museum en KRO-NCRV een grootschalig onderzoek naar de vraag hoe het in Nederland is gesteld met het geloof in wonderen. De uitkomsten van dit onderzoek hangen verspreid over de tentoonstelling.

Zelf sta ik nogal sceptisch tegenover het verschijnsel ‘wonder’. Dat heeft ongetwijfeld te maken met hoe ik een wonder definieer. Muzikant Jon Bon Jovi stelt: “Miracles happen. Change your perception of what a miracle is and you’ll see them all around you.” En daar kan ik natuurlijk weinig tegenin brengen.

Of iets als een wonder wordt ervaren, heeft ook alles te maken met de omstandigheden. In een altaarkast liggen een aantal voorwerpen die met wonderen worden geassocieerd. Een moersleutel lijkt in deze collectie een wat merkwaardig object. Tot je het verhaal achter de sleutel leest: Een team van zeven mensen reed in de woestijn in Saudi-Arabië toen de auto een lekke band kreeg. Het wiel verwisselen ging niet omdat ze geen passende moersleutel hadden. Toen er paniek begon te ontstaan ging één van de teamleden op een heuveltje zitten om na te denken. In het zand bij zijn voeten lag een voorwerp: een ouderwetse Britse moersleutel. Hij paste. Als dit alles zich had afgespeeld op de vluchtstrook van de A4, zou de sleutel dan ook gezien zijn als een wonder of als een gelukkig toeval?

Een schilderij van Jan Sluijters dient als beeldmerk van de tentoonstelling: ‘De profeet Elisa wekt de zoon van de vrouw uit Sunem tot leven’. Een beetje kitsch is het wel. Het heeft iets van het zigeunerjongetje met de traan. Toch kreeg Sluijters voor dit werk in 1902 de Prix de Rome. En eerlijk is eerlijk: het is niet slecht geschilderd. De verbaasde blik van het jongetje en de liefdevolle omarming door de moeder zijn realistisch genoeg.

Op de tentoonstelling ‘Allemaal wonderen’ hangen ook kunstwerken van hedendaagse kunstenaars. Marina Abramović is een Servische kunstenares die veel opzien baarde met haar performances. Daarnaast is ze ook actief als videokunstenares. In Utrecht is ‘Levitation of Saint Theresia’ te zien uit de serie ‘The Kitchen. Homage to Saint Therese’. Abramovic is te zien als non zwevend boven de pannen in de keuken van een verlaten clarissenklooster.

Een andere hedendaagse videokunstenaar is Bill Viola. Zijn werken zijn vaak verstild en meditatief. Eerder zag ik in De Pont in Tilburg een ander werk van Viola: ‘Catherine’s room’, een video-vijfluik, waarin elk scherm een scène toont uit het leven van Catherine. De verstilde beelden deden mij mediteren over de vergankelijkheid van het menselijk leven. Het werk ‘The Trial’, dat hier in Utrecht te zien is, toont een halfnaakte man en vrouw. Beide ondergaan een stortbad van gekleurde vloeistof: eerst zwart, vervolgens rood, dan wit en tenslotte helder water. De zichtbare emoties die beide personen ondergaan zijn fascinerend om naar te kijken. Viola omschrijft het kunstwerk als: “vijf fases van ontwaken door een reeks van intense transformaties”.

[nachojfoster]

LA COCINA VA A SER MI MAYOR ENTRETENIMIENTO ESTOS DÍAS #yomequedoencasa #davenportpalace #mint #moreismore #kitsch #decokitsch #kitchen #greenkitchen #mimundo #mintobsesion #hellokitty #joancollins #virgendemalasaña #tequedasmuerta (en Matadero De Madrid) https://www.instagram.com/p/B9rxmsdn3fH/?igshid=152h05r2f7xsv

[madpanda75]

“Fifties Fantasy”

I’ve had this idea for awhile about my favorite dirty trashcan, Trujillo. What if Nevada had a secret guilty pleasure for wholesome cheesy tv shows and the reader catches him.

Warning: NSFW Rough sex, Knife play

You and Nevada hadn’t been together long. In fact, you were the first person in years to be given the title of “girlfriend” by the powerful drug lord. It was a whirlwind relationship and soon Trujillo was asking you to move in with him. Boundaries having been crossed, you both were able to open up to each other in a way you had never experienced before.

Living with Nevada was different than just dating him. The drug lord was more relaxed at home, his sanctuary away from his life of crime. He would dance with you in the kitchen while you were cooking and sing to himself in the shower. He would also never hang up his leather jacket, which led to a bit of a tiff between you both.

Finding out each other’s quirks was expected in a relationship, but what you didn’t expect was to come home early from work one day to find Nevada lounging on the couch, watching an episode of Leave It To Beaver. He was cracking up at a corny joke Mr. Cleaver was telling Beaver when he noticed your presence and immediately tried to change the channel. But it was too late, you had caught him red-handed.

He mumbled some excuse about channel surfing before heading out to meet with his men. After he left, you sat down and watched the wholesome show, your mind boggled over what the appeal was to your drug dealing murderous boyfriend when you had a light bulb moment.

A week after the incident, you stood in front of the mirror, tightening the strings of your apron before swiping the cherry red lipstick across your lips. Turning from side to side, you looked yourself over one final time, admiring the way the crinoline slip rustled under your polka dotted full skirt swing dress.

A timer going off in the background brought you back to reality, Nevada would be home any minute and you still had to put the finishing touches on your dinner. Your heels clacked against the floor as you ran back to the kitchen to pull the meatloaf out of the oven and scoop the potatoes into a serving dish. Placing all the food on the table, you lit some candles and turned on some 50s kitsch lounge music.

You ran to stand in the foyer when you heard movements outside the apartment and a key unlocking the door. Waiting for Nevada with a dirty martini in your hand, you let out a nervous sigh, hoping this would be a fun fantasy for your boyfriend.

“Y/N? I’m home,” Nevada announced, opening the door only to stop in his tracks when he saw you standing there dressed like a housewife from the 1950s. His jaw dropped, eyes widening as he took in your appearance. You had accomplished what many men didn’t think was possible. You shocked Nevada Ramirez. Shock soon turned into laughter and the drug lord was bent over, holding his side as he laughed harder than he had in years. “Y/N!  What the actual fuck?”

A blush formed on the apples of your cheeks. You straightened up a bit and smiled, continuing with your act. “Welcome home, my darling. How was your day at the office?” You helped Nevada shed his leather jacket and handed him the martini.

“Office?” he exclaimed. “Oye, pero estas loca? You been dipping into my stash?

“It’s a surprise! Now go wash your hands, dinner’s ready,” you replied, pushing your boyfriend to the bathroom

Nevada cleaned up for dinner and went to sit at the table just as you were slicing meatloaf to put on his plate. He scanned the room, studying the ambiance you had created. The music, the food, the outfit, it all suddenly clicked into place.

“I know what this is.” He narrowed his eyes at you. “This is about last week when you caught me watching Leave It To Beaver. Isn’t it?”

You feigned innocence, simply shrugging your shoulders. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.” He quirked his eyebrow, staring you down, knowing you would eventually crack. “Ok...yes, you caught me. It is because of the show but I just wanted to do something special for you. You’re el hombre de la casa y el rey de mi corazón. I love you so much.” You smiled at him and placed your hand in his.

“I love you too, mi reina,” he replied, bringing your hand up to his lips, placing a kiss on your fingers before digging into his meal.

Nevada leaned back in his chair, scratching his stomach when he finished his dinner. “That was delicious, baby.”

“Gracias, mi amor. I’m so glad you liked it.” You kissed his cheek, getting up from the table. “I hope you saved room for dessert. I made an apple pie.” He watched your ass as you strutted into the kitchen, your hips swaying from side to side. His cock was already half hard thinking of all the dirty, lust filled acts he wanted to do, how badly he wanted to defile you and strip you of your squeaky clean facade.

When you came back to the table, Nevada grabbed your hand, pulling you down on his lap, nearly causing you to drop the pie. “Nevada! What are you doing?”

“Forget the fucking pie,” he growled, taking the pie plate from your hands and placing it on the table. “I know what I want for dessert, Mami.” He arched his hips upward, kissing along your neck, his teeth grazing against your pulse point. The vein practically throbbing underneath your soft skin. He sucked a deep purple bruise and moved back to trace it with his finger, admiring his handiwork.

Leaning forward, he stuck his finger in the pie, gathering some of the fruit filling and dragging it across your lips. He cupped your face, kissing you hungrily, running his tongue against your own. “Mmmm, you taste so much sweeter than any pie,” he purred.

You softly moaned and grinded down against him, the rough denim from his jeans creating a delicious friction against your center. “But...what if Wally and the Beaver hear us?” You batted your lashes at him, accentuating your sensual pout.

Nevada smirked against your skin. “Let them. I want everyone to hear you scream my name when I fuck you.”

“Take me, Nevada. I’m yours,” you whispered against his lips. He cupped your ass and stood from the table. You wrapped your legs around his waist to assist him, your mouth never leaving his as he carried you into the bedroom.

He set you down on your feet near the end of the bed. His hands roaming your form until they wrapped around the pearl necklace you were wearing and tugged you closer to him. “Get on your knees,” he said, unzipping his jeans and freeing his erection. “You’re gonna suck my cock wearing your pearls.”

You didn’t hesitate to obey. Kneeling in front of him, you wrapped your delicate hand around his hard cock and began to place soft kisses along his shaft. You ran your tongue up the underside of him, tracing his vein before flicking against his weeping crown.

Nevada’s green eyes bore into yours. Just as you were about to take more of him into your mouth, he pulled away, holding his cock just out of reach. You whined, trying to wrap your lips around him as he continued to tease you. “What’s the matter, mi amor? You want my cock?” he cooed.

You eagerly nodded your head, looking up him with doe eyes and an open mouth.

He smirked. “You gotta beg for it. Tell me how much you want it.”

“Please Nevada, mi rey. Dame tu pinga. Fuck my mouth, Papi,” you whimpered, running your hands up his thighs.

“Well….since you asked so nicely.” He traced your lips with the head of his cock before guiding himself into your mouth. You moaned, his salty precum flooded your tongue. Taking him down to the base, you gagged as he pushed back past your throat.

Nevada threw his head back and groaned, threading his fingers in your hair and holding your head down for several seconds, relishing the sensation of your throat tightening around his cock. “Oh yeah. That’s it, baby. Take it all,” he growled, pulling you back up. Once you caught your breath, you eagerly took him down again, bobbing up and down.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned, watching himself disappear between your lips as he thrusted into your mouth. Tears began to pool in your eyes and drool was dribbling down your chin onto the front of your dress while you continued to deep throat him, but you didn’t care. All you could focus on was the pleasure you were giving Nevada, his grunts and groans leaving you dripping with desire.

“You love sucking my cock. Don’t you?” he panted. You whined around him in response and moved your hand up to gently massage his balls. He tightened his hold on your hair, his hips bucking forward while you swallowed him down again and again. You hummed, licking and sucking, your tongue paying close attention to the “v” on the underside of his throbbing organ, gently squeezing his balls.

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna come!” he warned in a strained voice, taking his hand off the back of your head. Feeling his cock twitch, you sank him deeper into your mouth, your nose brushing against his pubic hair. His hips stuttered forward as he came with a loud groan, shooting his ejaculate down your throat.

“Holy fuck! Oh God.” He shuddered, watching you swallow everything he gave you.

You pulled off him with a pop, your chest heaving, tears streaming down your cheeks and a smile firmly planted on your face. “I didn’t spill a single drop, Papi.”

“That’s my good little slut.” Nevada grinned and helped you up to your feet. “Now take off your dress. I’m gonna fuck you into next week.”

You gifted Nevada a passion fueled kiss, allowing him to taste himself on your tongue before stepping away to strip. Your dress fell off your body, pooling at your feet only to reveal the bondage lingerie you had purchased from Bordelle. Your breasts and throbbing wet sex were covered by black satin straps and not much else. You loved wearing the kinky undergarments underneath your modest dress.

“Like what you see,” you softly said.

Nevada smirked and gave you a look of pure sin as he walked around you, drinking you in from head to toe, humming in appreciation. He stood behind you, your back flush against his chest, licking the shell of your ear, biting on the lobe. “Mmhmm, you look good enough to eat.”

A shiver ran down your spine as he moved to stand in front of you, pulling a switchblade knife out of his pocket. He licked the blade and inched closer to you. “Do you trust me?” he asked, his face softening a bit. No matter hard you both played in the bedroom, Nevada always wanted to make sure that you felt safe and secure.

“Of course, baby.” You smiled.

As soon as he heard your confirmation, his eyes became dark again, running the tip of the blade down your sternum before circling your nipple. Your breath hitched, feeling the cold sharp metal drag to the center of your chest. With one swift movement, Nevada sliced the fabric to shreds, exposing your breasts causing you to gasp in surprise.

“I’ll buy you a new set,” he purred, inching the knife down your stomach. Tracing your bikini line, he moved over to your hip cutting the satin straps off your panties. You bit back a moan. Your juices were practically running down your leg as you stood there completely naked, wearing only your pearl necklace. Silk and lace littered the floor like confetti.

Tossing his knife to the side, Nevada’s fingers ghosted down your body. He roughly squeezed your breast. Dipping his head, he swirled his tongue around your nipple before biting down on it hard while he moved his hand to your other breast pinching and rolling the hardened bug between his fingers. You let your head fall back and whined, arching into his touch as he dragged his tongue across the valley between your breasts and repeating his actions.

“Oh God! Please! Cogeme fuerte, mi amor,” you whimpered.

Nevada moved his hand down to your cup your pussy, tracing your seam with a single digit. “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you so hard, you forget your own name?”

“Si, Papi,” you replied, shamelessly spreading your legs wider. “Te necesito.” In one swift movement, he turned you around to face the bed, planting your hands on the mattress to brace yourself, plunging two fingers inside you without warning. You moaned loudly, pushing back against him. Having been so worked up earlier, your body already teetering towards an orgasm.

He continued to thrust into you, abruptly stopping when he felt your walls begin to flutter against his fingers. Gripping your hair tight, he tilted your head back. “Don’t you dare fucking come,” he growled in your ear. “You’re my dirty little slut and I decide when you come. Me entiendes?”

“Y-y-yes, Nevada. I’ll only come when you tell me to.” You shivered, his rough tone turning you on even more.

“Good girl.” He kissed your cheek, slowly pumping his fingers again, his lips leaving a scorching trail of kisses down your spine that set your skin on fire. Kneeling down, he removed his fingers, sucking them clean before biting down on your ass cheek. He smacked the other cheek causing you to yelp in surprise, grinning at the red handprint beginning to form.

Switching sides, he smacked you again just as hard, running his fingers up your thighs and spreading open your wet folds. The pink luscious flesh quivered under his touch. “Look at the mess you’re making. You’re dripping.”

He didn’t hesitate to bury his face in your center. Groaning at your taste, he noisily licked and sucked at your sensitive feminine parts, gently tugging your labia.

“Oh Nevada! Fuck!” you moaned as he pushed his tongue inside you as far as it would go, lapping up your sweet nectar. He thrusted into your sheath, flicking over your entrance and moving his mouth up to suck on your clit.

“Mmmm your pussy is so sweet. I’m getting hard all over again just from tasting you,” he purred, biting your inner thigh and moving back up to run his teeth over your glistening pink pearl.

You grinded down against his mouth, half sobbing, feeling a spring tighten in the pit of your stomach. He held your thighs in place, his lips smacking against your wetness as he increased his suction on your clit.

“Nevada! Please, baby!” Tears threatened your eyes, fighting back the urge to come.

Just as you were at the brink, he ceased his efforts, kissing up your back, leaving wet spots on your spine. He tilted his face towards you, running his thumb against your bottom lip. “Awwww pobrecita,” he cooed, taunting you. “Do you want to come?”

You fervently nodded your head and crawled on the bed, getting on all fours. You whimpered a bit, looking back at him with pleading eyes. “Fuck me, Papi. Let me feel that big cock pound into me.”

Nevada groaned around a smirk at the sight of your pulsating wet sex, waiting and ready for him. He was still completely dressed, only taking his cock out. There was something so erotic about him being fully clothed while you were naked, exposed, vulnerable, spread out for him to do what he pleased with. Nevada may have been a dangerous man to others, but not with you. You trusted him with all your heart.

He licked his palm and stroked himself before aligning himself with your entrance and plunging into your folds, groaning when your hips made contact. You moaned loudly, your eyes rolling back into your head, feeling a deep burn as your inner walls enclosed around him.

Grabbing your hips, he rammed into you at a bruising pace, grunting with every hard thrust. “You like being fucked hard, Mami?” he purred.

“Yes! I love how your big cock fills me up!” you cried, gripping onto the bed sheets so hard your knuckles were white.

He moaned and slapped your ass hard, continuing to piston into you causing the headboard to repeatedly strike the wall.

“Please more! Give it to me!” you practically screamed, moaning so loudly you felt like a porn star.

Your body propelled forward as he slammed into you within an inch of your life.  “Coño, I’m not going to able to sit down tomorrow,” you thought. The strong steady sound of flesh slapping against each other echoed around the room.

“Oh God! I’m going to come! Please let me come for you! Please!” you begged, tears falling down your face. Your whole body trembling, about to tumble over the edge.

Nevada leaned forward, biting into your shoulder. “Come my little slut. Come for Papi”

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Unable to hold your arms up any longer, you collapsed onto the bed, screaming into a pillow, coming harder than you ever had before.

He continued to stimulate you through your release before pulling out and flipping you on your back, plunging back into your sheath. You whimpered as he snapped his hips forward, your body oversensitive. “It’s too much.”

“One and done?” Nevada said in an amused tone. “I don’t think so. I want another one from you, my little slut.” He threw your legs over his shoulders, watching your breasts bounce while he pounded you into the mattress.

The pain crossed over into absolute pleasure and soon you were lifting your hips to match his movements. You were thoroughly soaked. Nevada could feel his cock getting wetter with every thrust. Another steady stream of slapping noises coming back with a vengeance.

He groaned, looking down to where he split you open, his cock coated in your arousal as it disappeared inside you. “Oh yeah. I love feeling you cream on my cock,” he growled. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“It’s yours, Papi! Take it!” you sobbed as he moved harder and faster, slamming into you. Your carnal noises became louder, the grunts and moans you both were making drowned out everything else.

Arching his hips, Nevada changed the angle of his thrusts to hit your g-spot while taking two fingers and furiously rubbing your red swollen clit.

You gasped, “Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Please don’t stop!”

“I’m not gonna stop, Mami. I want you to come for me again. Come on….come for me!” he demanded.

You arched your back and nearly blacked out as he ripped another orgasm from you. Your walls clenching tight around him while you rode out wave after wave of pleasure.

“Mmmm, good girl. Let go for me, baby.” He smiled, watching you fall apart. He rolled his hips to prolong your orgasm, feeling his own quickly approaching. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead, his breath coming in short pants. Biting his bottom lip, he pulled out and stroked himself until he shot his release. Grunting and groaning as streaks of his hot cum painted your stomach and chest.

You came down from your high and looked down at your body, swirling your finger around the white sticky mess. You smiled and licked it off your finger. “Mmmm so good, Papi.”

He grinned, trying to catch his breath. “Don’t move. Let me get you a towel.” Nevada came back from the bathroom with both a wet towel and dry towel, wiping your body clean before drying you off. Tossing the soiled towels in the hamper, he shed his clothes and got into bed with you, pulling you close to him.

You hugged him tight, needing to be held after such a hard rough fuck. His fingers danced up and down your arm while he bestowed sweet, gentle kisses on your face. The two of you lay there completely sated and exhausted, until you broke the silence. “Nevada?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why do you like Leave It to Beaver?” you asked while absentmindedly stroking his hair.

He let out a long sigh. “ A couple years ago, I got shot in the stomach. It was real bad. I was laid up for two months. I couldn’t leave the apartment or anything. One day, I was in bed, bored out of mind, flipping channels and I came across Leave It to Beaver.” He softly chuckled as he thought back to the memory, “I actually enjoyed it. It was like an escape, ya know? A chance to forget about my troubles. Now everytime I need to just get away or clear my head, I put on that show and stop worrying about the world. It’s stupid, I know.”

Nevada was more than just a hardened criminal, he was a man and just like everyone else, he too needed to breakaway from the harsh realities of life and you were honored to be one of the few people that got to see that side of him.

“It’s not stupid. It’s sweet.” You traced one of the healed bullet holes on his chest with your finger, kissing it gently before placing a tender kiss on his lips, resting your forehead against his. “I love you.”

“I love you too. Thank you for tonight,” he whispered. “You know, if you have any fantasies or anything, you can always let me know.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively while playfully pinching your hip.

You giggled and played with his fingers. “Well…. I’ve always had a thing for pirates. You know like Jack Sparrow from Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Oye, I love you but I don’t know how I feel about dressing up like a fucking pirate.”

“I have you, that’s fantasy enough.” You lazily kissed his chest, snuggling closer to him. “Although you would look so hot in that tricorn hat and leather boots.”

Nevada snorted a laugh and kissed the top of your head. “Good night, mi amor.”

“Good Night,” you softly said as your eyes began to close, the sound of his heartbeat lulling you to sleep.

After your “fifties housewife fantasy” evening, you had forgotten about even mentioning your pirate fantasy to Nevada until one day at work. You were typing away on your laptop when your coworker stopped by your desk with a black velvet box and rolled up note that was stuck in a glass bottle. “Hey, a messenger stopped by and left this for you while you were away at lunch.”

You knitted your eyebrows in confusion at the cryptic present. Taking the paper out of the bottle, you unscrolled it to reveal a simple message:

“Wear this when I plunder your booty” -Captain Nevada

Turning towards the box that accompanied the bottle, you opened it to find a beautiful diamond necklace staring up at you. The jewels reflected against the afternoon sunlight streaming through your office window causing tiny prisms to dance across your skin. You fingered the piece gently and shivered a bit, thinking about your boyfriend and what you would come home to this evening. Nevada truly was a man full of surprises.

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @melsquared79 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone @scarlettsoldier @amirightcounselor @yeah-boiiiiiiiiiii @imagine-all-the-imagines @imjustreallynosy @graniairish @ashley-chi @lolacolaempath @cocomel0613​

[susannessmartin-blog]

A Fast Food Meal Turns Two Years Old

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[madeslots56]

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Coolidge started his dog-depicting kick by painting dogs for cigar boxes in the late 1800s. Then, on a pivotal day in 1903, Brown & Bigelow hired Coolidge to head up advertising images. That's when the artist's passion and penchant for painting dogs really took off. In his series of paintings of dogs playing poker, Coolidge created A Bold. Brown & Bigelow's Role in the Poker Paintings. Brown & Bigelow, established in Saint Paul, Minnesota, is a publishing company that sells branded apparel and promotional merchandise. Brown & Bigelow authorized the production of 16 oil paintings from the Dogs Playing Poker series. The company used these famous paintings to promote cigars and as. A Friend in Need, 1903, by C. M. Coolidge from his Dogs Playing Poker series. Beyond the Easel, Norman Rockwell's self-portrait with five Boy Scouts for Brown & Bigelow's 1969 Boy Scouts of America calendar.... In 1925 Brown & Bigelow (B&B) inaugurated a tradition of publishing calendars for the Boy Scouts of America (BSA).

Brown Bigelow Dog - Etsy.

Dogs Playing Poker refers collectively to a series of sixteen oil paintings by C. M. Coolidge, commissioned in 1903 by Brown & Bigelow to advertise cigars. All the paintings in the series feature anthropomorphized dogs, but the nine in which dogs are seated around a card table are the most reproduced.

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His earliest paintings of dogs playing poker, dating back to the 1870s, decorated cigar boxes and served as a way for tobacco companies to distinguish themselves from their near-identical competitors. But it wasn't until 1903, when Coolidge signed a contract with the Minnesota-based promotional firm Brown & Bigelow, that his success was assured. So when you think of the kitchy dogs playing poker paintings,... ("Dogs Playing Poker" series) featuring anthropomorphized dogs commissioned by the Brown & Bigelow cigar company in 1903 for a. Brown & Bigelow, a promotional marketing firm, first commissioned Coolidge in 1906 for its calendar art series. At first glance, the idea of dogs playing poker garners a sense of humor and wit, perfect for Brown & Bigelow's "remembrance advertising" campaign used to create brand loyalty among customers. Long depicted in various art forms.

Set of 5 Dogs Playing Poker Brown and Bigelow Lithographs | Etsy.

The original dogs playing poker painting, entitled simply "Poker Game", as painted by artist Cassius Coolidge in 1894. Koolidge, who often signed his work as Kash Koolidge, was a great contributor to what would later be labelled "kitsch" art. His greatest innovation was the "Comic Foreground". Kash would paint a comedic caricature.

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The paper is excellent quality, not thin and not card stock like current reproductions. The bottom of the print shows the title of the actual painting and then at the very bottom in tiny print (which we had to de-frame to discover) it reads: PUBLISHED BY ARTHUR A. KAPLAN CO.. NYC. NO. PD 8 PRINTED BY BROWN & BIGELOW DIV.

The Story Behind the Iconic Paintings of Dogs Playing Poker.

Dogs Playing Poker refers collectively to an 1894 painting, a series of sixteen oil paintings, and a 1910 painting by Cassius Marcellus Coolidge. Brown & Bigelow commissioned the 16 painting series in 1903 to advertise cigars. Their precursor painting, Coolidge's 1894 Poker Game, realized $658,000 at a Sotheby's New York sale on 18 November 2015. Brown’s centralized IT department provides more than 120 services for faculty, staff, students and alumni. Get Help (401) 863-4357;.

A Friend in Need: visuanimal — LiveJournal.

The painting everybody recognizes as Dogs Playing Poker is actually called " A Friend in Need " (shown above) and is a part of a series of 16 paintings. Coolidge painted this series for an advertising agency called Brown & Bigelow, as a part of their campaign for cigars. This famous painting, together with the others (Poker Sympathy.

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A Friend in Need (1903) Source- Wikipedia. C assius Marcellus Coolidge's Dogs Playing Poker is a series of around sixteen oil paintings created between 1903 and 1910. Sure, these paintings might. The dogs playing poker series refers to the collective group of coolidge's dog paintings, including his original 1894 painting, the 16 oil paintings that were commissioned in 1903 by brown & bigelow, and an additional 1910 painting he did. Dogs playing poker is the collective title for a series of 18 paintings. Dogs Playing Poker is a series of 18 oil paintings of dogs engaging in human activities, mostly of dogs playing poker. The first painting from this series was created in 1894, titled Poker Game and then 16 were commissioned by the Brown & Bigelow company, and in 1910 Coolidge created another painting, which totals 18 paintings.

9 Coolidge Prints of Dogs Playing Poker.

Brown wins senior championship. Golfer Andrea Brown reacts after sinking a long putt during a tournament several years ago. BENNINGTON — Champlain Country Club's Andrea Brown repeated as the Vermont State Women's Golf Association's Senior Champion, winning the 2022 tournament that wrapped Tuesday afternoon at Mount Anthony Country Club.

Dogs Playing Poker Series Original Painting Fetches $658,000 at Auction.

It's not commonly known, but Dogs Playing Poker by Cassius Marcellus Coolidge refers to not just one painting, but 18 of them! The series includes the artist's original Poker Game (1894) painting, along with 16 other oil paintings commissioned in 1903 by Brown & Bigelow to advertise cigars, and an additional 1910 painting. All eighteen of these paintings feature comical, humanized dogs. The CM Coolidge was an American artist most famous for his paintings involving dogs playing poker. He painted a series of 16 pieces, all with dogs, well, playing poker! The paintings have an almost cult following and were one of the very first examples of kitsch! When I was a child, my aunt. Dogs Playing Poker refers collectively to an 1894 painting, a series of sixteen oil paintings, and a 1910 painting by Cassius Marcellus Coolidge. Brown & Bigelow commissioned the 16 painting series in 1903 to advertise cigars. (1) All eighteen paintings in the series feature anthropomorphized dogs, but the eleven in which dogs are seated around a card table have become well known in the United.

A History of the Famous Dogs Playing Poker Painting | GambleO.

Dogs Playing Poker refers collectively to an 1894 painting, a series of sixteen oil paintings, and a 1910 painting by Cassius Marcellus Coolidge. Brown & Bigelow commissioned the 16 painting series in 1903 to advertise cigars. All eighteen paintings in the series feature anthropomorphized dogs, but the eleven in which dogs are seated around a card table have become well known in the United.

CW News - CigarWeekly.

POKER DOGS Prints Coolidge set of 4 GC c.1910. Pricing & History. Artist and are published by Arthur A. Kaplan CO., Inc. Who published this series of prints in the 1910 and were printed by Brown & Bigelow Div of Standard Packaging Corpl, USA. 'Poker Sympathy' Depicting a group of dogs playing poker and a dog with 4 aces, all in.

The Story Behind The Iconic "Dogs Playing Poker" Painting.

At Brown you are an active participant in framing your own education, drawing on your intellectual creativity to challenge yourself in a community of shared learning. This approach to learning and inquiry will help you to develop as a critical thinker and communicator, and as a partner with other students, faculty and staff in a journey of. Find many great new & used options and get the best deals for Vintage CM Coolidge Poker Dogs Print "A Friend in Need" Brown & Bigelow at the best online prices at eBay! Free shipping for many products!.

What is the painting of dogs playing poker about? - Quora.

Dogs Playing Poker refers collectively to an 1894 painting, a series of sixteen oil paintings, and a 1910 painting by Cassius Marcellus Coolidge. Brown & Bigelow commissioned the 16 painting series in 1903 to advertise cigars. All eighteen paintings in the series feature personified dogs, but the eleven in which dogs are seated around a card. A look at the many paintings by American artist Cassius M. Coolidge known as "Dogs Playing Poker," among the most famous pop culture depictions of the game. Live Events 2 2022 World Series of.

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Miami Beach Bling

When life gives you lemons, lemonade, it is. I thought about making OJ instead and headed to Miami to joined my friend Belu on her journey, and be together while both of us discover the next steps lying ahead of us. Im very happy to know that regardless of what’s around the corner, it will find us together, either with a rented Navajito, a Palm Tree or a Newyorker rooftop. Gracias amiga <3 

This time I stayed in SOBE, and we pretty much ate the hell out of it, and later on, walked all the calories off. So, let me share the updates when it comes to gourmet places you should check out during your visit to Miami 

Pura Vida (multiple locations) A beautiful, fresh and natural-first restaurant, affordable and perfect to refresh yourself in the heat of Miami. 

Gitano  3500 Collins Ave, Miami Beach, FL 33140

Imagine a tropical oasis of lush greenery and bohemian brio, Gitano Miami brings an air of Tulum without ever leaving Miami Beach and includes a dining room, outdoor terraces, a bar and a lounge.

Staff’s pick: Queso con chorizo, baked mushrooms and beets, and the unforgettable banana leaf, baked branzino. 

Lucali Miami 1930 Bay Rd, Miami Beach, FL 33139

A brand new addition after 2020 is the opening of Lucali, a Brooklyn staple in the heart of South Beach. This pizzeria has a special place in my heart already, but visiting it without a line, no waiting list and with Belu, took it to another level. A traditional pie with extra peperoni, artichoke and mushroom with a cold and delicious Peroni was key to lift up a night after intense walking and shopping by Lincoln Ave.

Caffe Umbria 959 West Ave Suite 1, Miami Beach, FL 33139

It is tough to kick off a working day while the sunshine tans your skin and invites you to do nothing. So it was really an effort to get up and either head to the gym, the pool or the beach without some breakfast. Umbria was our cafecito of choice, with delicious croissants, affogatos and cappuccinos. 

Panizza  1229 Lincoln Road. Miami Beach, FL Another great hidden gem for whenever you are homesick is Panizza. This Argentinean place is a typical corner cafe which resembles to the one you can easily locate in either Buenos Aires or Montevideo, with medialunas, pascualinas y tortas de fiambre. The H&C medialuna was something out of this world, I got two. 

F10rito 5555 NE 2nd Ave, Miami, FL 33137 Continuing with the homesickness, F10rito is a must between soccer fans, meat lovers and SouthAmericans. Get the provoletta, dont worry about the non-stop bread trays with chimi and criolla sauce, and dig in your favorite meat cut. 

Hotel Faena 3201 Collins Ave, Miami Beach, FL 33140 

Well, and last but not least, when we think about the Argentinean crew located in Miami, we cant stop thinking about the Faena Entretainment and Leisure Empire. I was blind and completely unaware of this major resort where good times, live music, extreme and borderline kitsch design, and a full assorted bar is there to delight you and bring your Miami nights into the next level. Add it to your must list while visiting Miami. Check out their delicious restaurants (Francis Malman’s Los Fuegos is there as well as Pao by Pao Qui ), its spa Tierra Santa and the never disappointing, always good fun The Living Room bar and Saxony speakeasy. Ask Richard to get in, and be sure to be mesmerized by the Latinoamerican jet set scene. 

Abbalé Telavivian Kitchen 864 Commerce St, Miami Beach, FL 33139

What a great place for my Miami Farewell in Israeli style. This awesome venue is honoring dads around the world and the taste and home-style of their cooking really achieves that. From a delicious and signature Shashuska, to an awesome, unique intake of the Cali Avo Toast, Florida Style to the nutella baclava, this restaurant is unique and delicious. 

[nachojfoster]

HORA DE PREPARAR LA CENA #davenportpalace #dinner #mint #mintobsession #kitchen #retro #retrostyle #mimundo #moreismore #kitsch #verykitsch #kitschdecor #decokitsch #vintage #vintagedecor #tequedasmuerta (en Davenport Palace) https://www.instagram.com/p/CE93WOjD5Of/?igshid=1n2hq7creymtq

[jeremystrele]

A European-Style, Beachside Melbourne Apartment!

A European-Style, Beachside Melbourne Apartment!

Homes

by Lucy Feagins, Editor

The entrance vestibule is filled with an oil painting from the ’70s bought by Peter at a St Kilda second hand dealer more than 20 years ago. Royal Copenhagen vase from Leonard Joel. Volta ‘Paris’ stabile from Mr Wares. Reproduction of a Tang lady figurine purchased from Shanghai airport. ‘Always say yes to the souvenir – they may feel kitsch at the time but they never fail to transport you back to that happy holiday,’ says John. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

John Ware in his sitting room. Diptych ‘Red Houses’ by Scottish/Australian artist Yvonne Boag. 1940’s Italian button back sofa from Geoffrey Hatty. Jindrich Halbala Model H-269 chairs from Geoffrey Hatty. Belgian Brutalist copper, brass and travertine coffee table from Geoffrey Hatty. Tuareg reed and leather mat Jason Mowen. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Diptych ‘Red Houses’ by Scottish/Australian artist Yvonne Boag. 1940s Italian button back sofa and 1950s sconce from Geoffrey Hatty. Chiavari chair from Angelucci. Tuareg reed and leather mat Jason Mowen. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

‘Red Houses’ diptych by Scottish/Australian artist Yvonne Boag. 1940s Italian button back sofa and Jindrich Halbala Model H-269 chairs from Geoffrey Hatty. Cesare Lacca drinks trolley from Angelucci. ‘Desert Plant’ tumblers from Mr Wares. Ashanti stool from Leonard Joel. Brass chandelier, sconces and Osvaldo Borsani mirror from Geoffrey Hatty. Custom brutalist fire place by Mitty & Price. Josef Frank brass candlestick from Svenkst Tenn. Royal Copenhagen covered bowl by Leonard Joel. Belgian Brutalist copper, brass and travertine coffee table by Geoffrey Hatty. Tuareg reed and leather mat by Jason Mowen. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

‘The view to Catani Gardens and Port Phillip Bay is reflected in Osvaldo Borsani mirror from Geoffrey Hatty,’ says John. Covered bowl by Royal Copenhagen from Leonard Joel. Custom brutalist fire place by Mitty & Price. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Custom brutalist fire place by Mitty & Price. Josef Frank brass candlestick from Svenkst Tenn. Osvaldo Borsani mirror from Geoffrey Hatty. Covered bowl by Royal Copenhagen from Leonard Joel. The Chinese cabinet heavily carved with dragons, clouds and flaming pearls is also from Leonard Joel! ‘The Mexican ceramics were smashed on their way back from Tulum but skilfully repaired by the magicians at Tyson.’ Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

‘We never tire of watching the sunset and experiencing its trek across the horizon from Station Pier to the You Yangs and back again! This is also the scene of our yearly party to celebrate the Pride Parade as it marches down Fitzroy Street,’ says John. French outdoor chairs by Tamsin Johnson. ‘Red Houses’ diptych by Scottish/Australian artist Yvonne Boag. 1940s Italian button back sofa and Jindrich Halbala Model H-269 chairs from Geoffrey Hatty. Belgian brutalist copper, brass and travertine coffee table by Geoffrey Hatty. Tuareg reed and leather mat from Jason Mowen. Norwegian Bunad blanket from Mr Wares. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Belgian Brutalist copper, brass and travertine coffee table by Geoffrey Hatty. Walnut trays from Design House Stockholm. Pots and brass tray from Svenskt Tenn. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Master bedroom is painted with Dulux ‘Harpoon’. Bruno Mathsson ‘Pernilla’ chair from Modern Times. Blanket from Mexico. Custom pendant by Volker Haug. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

The master bedroom was originally the formal dining room. Dipped walls painted with Dulux ‘Harpoon’. 1940s French cerused oak wardrobe from Geoffrey Hatty. ‘Tufty-Time’ bed by Patricia Urquiola and Isamu Noguchi pendant from Space Furniture. Mexican blanket from a flea market in Puebla. Bruno Mathsson ‘Pernilla” chair from Modern Times. Custom shutters from Mitty & Price. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Lady Onyx green marble bench from Pazstone. Aged brass fittings from Astra Walker. Brass and pink onyx sconce from Christopher Boots. Abbeyhorn beaker from Mr Wares. Loom Towels hand loomed Turkish towel from Mr Wares. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

The cabinet was a gift from Peter’s parents on his thirteenth birthday and has found a spot in every one of his homes! Dipped walls painted in Dulux ‘Harpoon’. Carafe and glass by Maison Balzac. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Wallace Sewell throw from Mr Wares. Josef Frank “Mirakel” cushion from Svenskt Tenn. 1940s chinoiserie chest from Nicholas & Alistair. John found the 1960s map at a garage sale. 1970s steel and chrome lamp from Brotherhood of St Laurence. Marshall Stanhope speaker from Marshall. Abbeyhorn shoehorn from Mr Wares. Custom shutters from Mitty & Price. Kokeshi from Journey Japan. No.811 “Hoffmann” armchair from Thonet. Cristal Arte pendant light by Geoffrey Hatty. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Wallace Sewell throw and Abbeyhorn shoehorn from Mr Wares. 1940s chinoiserie chest from Nicholas & Alistair. 1960s map found in a garage sale. 1970s steel and chrome lamp found at Brotherhood of St Laurence. Marshall Stanhope speaker. Pot and brass tray from Svenskt Tenn. No.811 “Hoffmann” armchair by Thonet. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

AGA cooker. No.B9 “Le Corbusier” armchair by Thonet. Vintage Italian dining table base from Nicholas & Alistair. Custom marble table top and 1950s pendant in custom colour by Geoffrey Hatty. Royal Copenhagen candlesticks by Leonard Joel. Raawii Denmark jug from Mr Wares. Glass vase from Marimekko. Lady onyx green marble bench from Pazstone. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Lady onyx green marble bench from Pazstone. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

‘Lady onyx’ green marble bench from Pazstone. Pots and brass trays from Svenskt Tenn. Haws brass mist spray and copper watering can from Mr Wares. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Lady onyx green marble bench from Pazstone. Vintage Italian dining table base from Nicholas & Alistair. Murano sconce from Geoffrey Hatty. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

This No.B9 ‘Le Corbusier’ armchair by Thonet is where John sits every morning enjoying the morning sun and treetop views. Vintage Italian dining table base from Nicholas & Alistair. Custom marble table top and 1950s pendant in custom colour from Geoffrey Hatty. Royal Copenhagen candlesticks from Leonard Joel. Raawii Denmark jug from Mr Wares. Glass vase by Marimekko. Lady onyx green marble bench from Pazstone. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Lady onyx green marble bench from Pazstone. Glass vase by Marrimekko. Richard Sapper 9090 coffee makers from Alessi. English copper kettle from Mr Wares. AGA cooktop. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

The wooden vestibule is a one of the most grand features of the house, and can be viewed from the hall ‘The stairs retain original skylights, arts and crafts-style timber work, hardware and hand painted flat numbers,’ says John. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

‘There are only 12 flats spread between two buildings. The new kitchen has windows on three sides that overlook a communal garden,’ says John. Photo – Eve Wilson for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

When friends John Wares and Peter Papadopoulos began searching for a Melbourne property to call home, they knew exactly what they were looking for. ‘We wanted something with historic charm, good light, and preferably not a terrace house – not easy to find in inner-city Melbourne,’ John says. 

One building that came to mind was a 1920s apartment block in St Kilda that John had long admired. Designed by architect Christopher Cowper, the highly distinctive building features a sophisticated mix of inter-war, classical arts and crafts architecture, with large flats built to the street edge, and shops at the ground level in a European manner.

Several renovated flats in the St Kilda building came up during John and Peter’s 12 month search, but none were quite right… except for one that wasn’t on the market. Peter and John managed to track down the owner, and with ‘good timing, Peter’s negotiating skills, and a strong Australian dollar’ they managed to strike a deal. 

1920s apartments often feature generous proportions, enabling a potential reconfiguration of the floor plan to include additional bedrooms and bathrooms. When John and Peter took possession in 2015, they set about doing exactly that, with the help of interior designer Tamsin Johnson, architect Fitt De Felice (responsible for the permits and documentation), and builder Mitty & Price. John also has an architecture degree, so he was able to work closely with the design team.

The apartment had previously been renovated, and some redesigned elements called for major jackhammering! While this is typically a nightmare for apartment owners, John says their needs, as well as those of the other 11 home owners in the building, were fantastically managed with patience, consideration and professionalism by their great builder.

Initially a two bedroom, one-bathroom apartment, this property now contains three bedrooms and two bathrooms. A formal dining room was converted to the main bedroom, the former kitchen became an en suite, the main bathroom was relocated, and a new kitchen replaced the former laundry in the enclosed balcony space. 

The new kitchen is the crowning jewel of the entire space, where lady onyx Marble, green cabinetry, and garden views harmoniously come together, and Peter and John’s usually at-odds tastes perfectly converge. ‘John can go a little too baroque and Peter a little too brutalist – we hope they balance each other out,’ they explain. 

The restrained yet impactful use of colour is also a highlight of this home, and a driving force of the entire interior scheme. ‘Colour came first. We wanted grey walls, a green kitchen and a ‘dipped’ master bedroom,’ says John. The two-tone main bedroom walls are painted with Dulux ‘Harpoon’ – a particularly striking, moody shade of blue.

As the owner of gift and homewares shop Mr Wares in the Block Arcade, and one half of Hall & Wares, John has furnished the apartment in his brand of classic, well designed pieces. There’s a celebration of hardworking materials such as solid timber, brass, leather and stone, alongside a collection of vintage European furniture and lighting sourced over many years. 

Today this apartment is now shared by John, housemate Michael Burke, and Peter when he’s in town from Sydney where he works. Together, these three friends have created a wonderful space to be in, combining elements of several architectural styles, and in a rare setting where city, garden and beach meet. 

[wallpaperpainter]

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Her column went bottomward able-bodied with adolescent accumulation associates who larboard dozens of ‘likes’.

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CAN YOU HANDLE THIS?Mum uses bolt softener to apple-pie DOORS & the aberration is stunning

KITSCH NEW LOOKMum makes ambrosial alfresco kitchen set for son for aloof £10 in lockdown

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WORD UPTricky spelling analysis asks you to accept appropriate bloom appellation – how able-bodied will YOU do?

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In added homeware news, we told you how a woman created a beauteous bar in the garden with her bedmate application “tatty old pallets” and Wilko lights.

We additionally appear a mum acclimated sticks and pizza boxes to actualize cobweb belletrist for children’s bedchamber doors.

And Mrs Hinch transforms an

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❝ your expectations for me have been set way too high. ❞ [ nott sibs ]

Two thumbs stroked the rim of thepainted cup in studied interest, if such a thing were indeed possible, thecorresponding fingers cupped around the warm ceramic. There weren’t manyutensils that could be used so neatly as a prop, but – as evidenced by the coolmanner she regarded her partner in over the rim – teacups had been mastered bythe woman in question at a young age, who had schooled herself into using themas a tool in confrontation as easily as her mother did to avoid it.

She wasn’t irate exactly, but she didn’t know what shewas either. All she knew for certain was that the last time they had met, she hadended their conversation with a slam of her mug on the antique stone counterand nary a backwards glance as she had stormed out of the family estate’skitchen and into the sun room she had originally been targeting. Communicationhad been limited since.

Valentina knew it would remain sounless she fought him on it.

Brent had never been once who gave ineasily to the softer side of human emotions. To him, it was the logical thatwas an obvious choice; the sensible choice that was rational. She could neitherfault nor resent him for that: certain things just came easier to certainpeople, and while the reasons for him being so interpersonally detached and hermost co-dependently attached were almost the same, they were legitimate reasons all the same, ones sheunderstood above all. Besides, it was only in their last meeting that she hadrealised how skewed his perspective could be, even if it was entirely sensible to him. And, she could acknowledge, it wasentirely possible that she was being just as stubborn and myopic as he was,even if she couldn’t see it. Thepoint remained that the whole situation at hand was wholly unnecessary and entirelyavoidable, if only a little common sense and communication and faith could be employed.

Since it seemingly couldn’t,though, Valentina turned to her best defence: a good offence. “Yes, you couldsay that,” she readily agreed, the downturned moue of her mouth asserting herdispleasure as she put down her tea and dug two thin slivers of cardboard outof the inside pocket of her bag. “You missed The Merchant of Venice. Ireally was expecting more of youthan that, especially seeing as how much I thought you enjoy a goodsocio-economic debate based on racial diversity and discrimination and whatnot.But whatever, there’s no use crying over spilled milk. I did get your ticket for this year, see? It’s Julius Caesar, and you’recoming. No arguments.”

A careful slice of her cakefollowed, the tines of her silver fork sinking easily into the lush pillowy cloudof pastry. Good cake, she idlythought as she swallowed a forkful of red velvet and cream cheese icing, usingthe moment after to gather her thoughts again. The restaurant they dined at wasan upscale establishment, serving an afternoon tea to rival the best of thepureblood society’s crème de la crème. She had chosen it herself, based on thestark contrast between the greasy takeaways and kitsch diners she was used todragging him to. Her stupid brother.Even if he did seem hell-bent ondisturbing the dynamic.

But if he was determined to ignorethe bond it had taken years and years of hard work to build, she was fineplaying along, if only to prove a point. Besides, it was such fun to step intothe rink she hadn’t ever been able to truly call hers and steal some crucial points from the match. The high of thefight – and it was one, there was nomistaking that between the two siblings could rage a fearsome battle of wills –had her confidence soaring.

An arrogant wave of her handgestured to halt his response before it came and she took her time swallowingbefore she spoke again, the words that followed firm and brokering no argument.This time, the levity her tone had held earlier when mocking his statement wasentirely gone.

“Now if you were talking about the topic we abandoned theother day, I have no expectations. I have faith – and not blind faith, mind – because it is a fully informed and well-foundedsort of faith: I know you are betterthan this. You are a good father, brother, partner, human, and we both know it. And there’s not any sort of expectation that fuels this belief. Frankly,that might be the stupidest thing I’ve heard from you this year, and there havebeen a LOT of stupid things you’ve spouted in just two meetings. We both knowyou’re good, especially with Beau. You’re good for him and good to himand not a damn bit like the waste of space that was our parents. And you knowexactly why not. It’s because you love us, as implicit as the sentiment hasbeen for most of us all along. Beau, Barbs, Seph, Adara, Uncle Henry, me, even Mor. We’re human beings you care about,and you know neither Richard nor Adolina have a single affectionate bone in theirbody. Even I know that, and I knowyou know that, but beyond some misplaced fear of turning into a sick monsterlike them, I don’t what else could possibly have motivated you to abandon yourfamily and fuck off like this. And you’retoo smart to ever believe you could be anything like them.”

Valentina halted — half catching her breath, half dramatic pause.And then, she enunciated clearly, like a fuckinglady: “So what, in the of Merlin’s bloody fucking ballsack, is your reason?”