#he is honing his photography skills against his will | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

clamorbelli · 5 years ago

Text

whaddup . it’s ya boy , skinny penis . ok so there’s not much to put here except hi to any new people that might’ve not seen my intro for noelle & angelo ( CLICK HERE ). i’m jaz, & this here is my newest babe, sebastian higgings. i’ve definitely missed stuff, but underneath the cut u’ll find plenty of fun stuff abt him. and by fun i mean tragic , bc sebastian is a piece of shit. ; )

‹ LIKE THIS OR HMU IF YOU’D LIKE TO PLOT WITH SEB. ›

TRIGGER WARNINGS : death, drugs, alcohol, emotional instability, therapy mentions, unhealthy habits, blood mention.

◟ * ◊ ─ keith powers + cismale + he/him » * believe it or not sebastian belongs to the higgings family. they are 26 years of age and are known to usually spend their time around buena vista apartments. the photographer has been living in victoria for 22 years. the people closest to them describe the bisexual + aquarius to be +inspired and +autonomous as well as -callous and -debauched.

sebastian is the ( current ) eldest son of the late johnathan and sasha higgings, born to the couple when they were happy, in love, and a shining example of what marriage should be. sebastian was a momma’s boy through and through from the day he was born, severe separation issues plaguing his infantdom, only rectified through intense therapy. his bond with his mother, even after finally being convinced she wasn’t the only nice person in the world, never wavered however. they were thick as thieves.

there was never anything remarkable about seb’s childhood except his fondness for the family camera whenever they went on holiday. his parents first believed it was a desire to model, but they soon came to understand it wasn’t being in front of it that seb wanted, he wished to be behind it. from then on they gave him a disposable on every trip, and before long the house was full of his amateur photography.

when he was ten, the unthinkable and unfathomable happened. his mother died. seb had been an entirely normal, average kid up until that point, but part of him died the day his mother slipped away forever. it was impossible for it not too, with the amount of time they’d spent together, his dependency on her at birth, the fact she was his best friend and it didn’t matter what the kids at school thought. as a child, he was ruined, affected for the rest of his life in ways he didn’t quite understand yet.

seb was sixteen by the time victoria was adopted into the family, and his reign of terror on victoria had long since begun. he came home with bloody noses and bruises more times than he could count, he sneered and spat at other kids in the playground, knowing they could do little except beat him to a pulp and have their parents foot the bill. he started drinking all too early, dabbled in drugs no sixteen year old should’ve touched, spent nights away from home, uninterested in the new woman in his father’s life.

victoria, however, was a different story. the pair got on like a house on fire, likely because of their bratty, conniving ways. at that age sebastian was like gasoline and his newfound sister was the match. natalya still had seb’s heart from when they were kids, his sister being the one thing in life he still felt warmth for, but victoria had managed to form a relationship of her own with him. for a while it was them against the world, until cassandra stepped in, pitted the girls against each other, and made life infinitely harder for a boy already on the brink.

he and his father argued daily. blazing rows that ended in smashed kitchenware. seb was losing it but the higgings patriarch failed to see his behaviour as anything more than childish cries for attention. seb didn’t know the empty feeling in his chest wasn’t normal. he didn’t know he shouldn’t play with girls emotions until they cried. he didn’t understand why he only felt things when he was getting into schoolyard fights or looking through the lens of a camera.

seb graduated high school and chose to do an online course for photography, honing his skills whilst remaining close by until his sisters graduated. when they did, he only managed a year without natalya before leaving the city himself, he would miss victoria dearly, but they facetimed every day and skyped properly at the weekends. before he left he told his father to stick his businesses up his ass. he was disconnecting from his legacy. his final words to his father were full of toxicity and rage, as they had been for 12 years now.

he went to new york, cliché and crazy as it may have been, and found a surprisingly immense amount of success. through some ridiculous means, his shots were picked up by a local, renowned photography blog, the owner of the blog also owning a gallery, wishing to display his work. from then on it was up and up. seb travelled the globe, was able to shoot the most incredible places, spent his weeks on planes and trains and on his feet. he had his dream, he made a name for himself, he didn’t need his father.

seb may have had the career of his dreams, but his personal life was a shambles. full of one night stands with no substance, exes that hated his guts, friends who’d found it too unbearable to be around him. he was arrogant, confident in himself to a fault, unable to connect with passion on any level except with his work. he was a riot, a fun guy to be around who was willing to try anything once, but he lacked the ability to form meaningful relationships. people came and went and seb was left, alone, in his fancy apartment somewhere in manhattan. he was as lonely as he was the day his mother had died, things in that regard had never changed.

the phone call he received when victoria died shook him to his core, the male feeling something other than debauchery for the first time in a long time. his father? a fucking waste of space who failed to keep his children safe, but victoria? he flew home just days ago, having one emotional instinct left in him – his brotherly instinct. natalya was still alive and god knows seb was going to lose another member of his family.

PERSONALITY :

ok so yeah, seb’s an dick. when i say emotionally unavailable i mean . . . highly, on an unhealthy level that requires some serious therapy. seb lost himself when his mother died and since then he’s been trying to find some solace in these flings he always has but, of course, he never will. he’s apathetic when it comes to people becoming attached to him so tends to be particularly cruel with ppl who get involved w him.

asshole . like, just not . .. a nice person . will point out someone’s faults, will tell u if ur skirt is ugly as fuck, willing to laugh in your face if he thinks what you said is stupid. just doesn’t . . give a f. needs to grow up.

hOWEVERRRR R rr. ofc if he was like that 24/7 he’d never even get people into bed in the first place so he can, of course, turn on the charm. he’s very flirtatious, loves sex and sexually charged conversations. flirting is a hobby for him and it’s one he has fun with. if ur not looking for anything deeper, seb isn’t too bad ig . if you can engage him on things he wants to talk about, keep things chill, not take his dickheadedness to heart, etc, he can be manageable. sort of.

massively confident, but unfortunately it’s justified. he’s beautiful, he’s talented, he’s rich of his own accord, and he’s successful. he’s massively independent, but finds it hard to work in a team.

he’s ! lowkey ! a visionary !!! when it comes to photography he really is that bitch and is genuinely incredible at his job because it’s something he’s actually passionate about. he never turns down the opportunity to photograph, so even though usually he loves money, he’d be willing to do a lot of photography for free whilst he’s back bc ? he just loves doing it, and it reminds him of his mom and how she encouraged him.

uHhh bad habits to the max. the only one of my charas who regularly takes hard drugs and drinks, has a penchant for mdma and is looking into microdosing to help his artistic ability.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

exes from before he moved away

fwbs

best friend, probably only 1 bc . . . intolerable

any kind of connection from before he moved, bc it’s always exciting to see someone again after four years right

enemies lmao

people he knew in new york, if anyone has charas who’ve been there recently

people that were friends with vic

i dunno i’m not good at these y’aLL KNO I LIKE BRAINSTORMING DOMFDOD

give me some angsty shit too

#victoireintro #❛ · ˚ . — 𝒗𝒊. casey frey fan club! › out of character.#finishing off memes and getting to ims now ! finally odmfksds

10 notes · View notes

nanowrimo · 6 years ago

Text

30 Covers, 30 Days 2018: Day One

Every November, during National Novel Writing Month, thirty professional designers volunteer to create book cover art inspired by novels being written by aspiring authors from around the globe. Why? To encourage new, diverse voices, and help build a more creative world.

30 Covers, 30 Days is presented in partnership with designer and author Debbie Millman. Read more about these NaNoWriMo 2018 novels-in-progress, and the cover designers, below.

Enemy Music

A Historical novel being written this November by NaNo participant J. Ducusin Hay in Canada.

Two siblings, one driven by anger and the other driven by his passions, find themselves on opposite sides of the same war. While rival jazz musicians meet racism and fascism in their pursuit of success and artistic freedom in 1930s Osaka and struggle to survive the battlefields of Okinawa, a girl seeking revenge joins the guerrillas against the Japanese occupation of the Philippines.

Cover designer John Hamilton had this to share about the design process:

I usually start with a list of words that will be springboards. For this title, "Enemy Music," those words were jazz, 1930s, Japan, Filipino, conflict, culture, invasion, anger, peacetime, resolve, modern art, the Jazz Age, influence, and some others. Some of the design elements could be contrast between music, art, and war; contrast of cultures; symbols for Japan; symbols for the Philippines; 1930s Japanese photography or art. I also found out that jazz music was introduced to Japan in the 1920s, and as a result jazz clubs started popping up.

John shared several alternate cover versions:

Stay tuned for more covers every day of the month!

Cover Designed by John Hamilton

John Hamilton Design is a Fort Collins, Colorado graphic design studio specializing in book cover design with clients nationwide. John began his publishing career more than twenty years ago as the Art Director of Wycliffe Associates in Orange County, California. Prior to working with Wycliffe, John honed his skills with Ampersand in Pasadena, then led the design direction of Virtue magazine for three years. He has worked with many publishers since going out on his own in 2006, and his work has been featured several times in Communication Arts.

You can follow John on Twitter @johnhamiltondzn.

#nanowrimo #writing #30 covers 30 days #30c30d #book covers #by designer #john hamilton

113 notes · View notes

nomanwalksalone · 6 years ago

Photo

BOOK REVIEW: BILL CUNNINGHAM’S FASHION CLIMBING

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

The late fashion snapper Bill Cunningham left nothing if not good will with his passing. Long before his death, the originator of street style photography was already a wraith in a blue work coat, haunting a few preferred corners of Manhattan to touch, through his camera lens, the favored of his eyes, elevating them as if he really was some supernatural being to the pages of The New York Times. His spritely or sprightly touch seemed even more magical in that his eye and philosophy – contrary to those of the many who followed him – were waspishly anti-commercial. He favored those who dressed for themselves, following their own tastes and spending their own money.

Fashion Climbing, Cunningham’s posthumously published memoir, shows that Cunningham had crafted that philosophy and honed his sharp views many decades before becoming the sunny, silent sprite of the NYT. In fact, a reader expecting to learn more about Cunningham’s experience as the camera-toting street style photographer will be left wondering and waiting as the pages turn all the way to the end. Instead, Fashion Climbing is the origin story of Cunningham the groundbreaking style photojournalist, setting out the traumas, deeply rooted motivations, unusually helpful character traits and formative influences – both mentors and early nemeses – that formed the Cunningham today’s pop culture remembers and informed his eye and pen. While this origin story, in its way, is as eventful as today’s portentous cinematic comic book adaptations, I hope Zach Snyder won’t be directing.

Fashion Climbing opens with a vividly described formative cataclysm that, like those in comic book movies, involves the explosive combination of all those elements. Young Bill’s first memory, wearing his sister’s dress because he was driven to find something of beauty and flamboyant splendor, followed by his mother’s violent punishment for such a transgressive act in a post-World War II middle-class Boston Catholic household, each last word a brutal conformist clobber. What follows are young Bill’s continued transgressions against norms of gender conformity, of drabness, of class ambition: childhood jobs whose earnings he channels into buying clothes for his mother and sister, the only ways to introduce beauty, even glamor, into the house. Jobs at Boston department store Jordan Marsh and New York interloper Bonwit Teller, where he thrived so much that Bonwit’s actually gave him a scholarship to Harvard University (imagine the days when an employer would pay for an employee’s Ivy League liberal arts degree…).

Dropping out of Harvard, Cunningham made his way to New York, where he did not yet become the flitting photographer the reader is expecting to see emerge at any moment from these pages, but instead devoted himself to… millinery. The word is Cunningham’s, not mine; its meaning, women’s hatmaking, as forgotten as that craft itself. His creative talents, his inspirations, nay, urges for glamor and theatricality flowered, festooned, cascaded in sculptural, even architectural headgear madness, rendered out of found items, remainder cloth, and other often humble materials. Madcap adventures, no pun intended, followed the young designer that do indeed recall the parties and tenants of the building in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, as Hilton Als notes in his introduction to this book. Cunningham encounters a New York demimonde of chancers and pretenders, of shameless clothing industry pirates who would place small orders simply to steal all his ideas, and of hidden, uninhibited splendors and debauchery behind doors closed to all but an entitled upper class... and to a resourceful Boston boy and his beautiful (platonic?) “girlfriends” who would crash them, not for sordid sex, but for the opportunity to dress up in the most outlandish costumes and to observe the small number of people who shopped and dressed only for themselves…

An observer almost like a thief, Cunningham reminisces that he knew dozens of illicit ways into certain elegant venues he’d never entered through the front door, all for the sake of viewing others in their outfits, often, in his words, from behind a curtain. Drafted during the Korean War, he somehow finds himself assigned to the French backwoods, where the same resourceful pluck he used to finagle his way into New York venues serves to organize tours all over Europe with his fellow GIs, including and especially to Paris. Paris was the center of couture, in Cunningham’s view because it alone among London, New York or Los Angeles had the craftspeople who could devote time and skill to the many, many individual tasks and trades involved in haute couture.

Today, as I've learned and written, that may still be the case in Paris, but it’s certainly not easy to find. The old customers who maintained the enormously complicated, enormously expensive craft industry of haute couture are gone, as are the customers who had kept millinery barely going along in Cunningham’s era. He notes he saw the business die by 1960. That step, too, still does not bring us Cunningham the iconic photographer. Instead, Fashion Climbing describes Bill’s recruitment to fashion writer for Women’s Wear Daily, among others, and provides several of his contemporary writeups from the couture shows of Chanel, Molyneux, Balenciaga, Galanos and others. Cunningham punctuates each with what is ferocious, career-threatening anti-commerciality for the fashion press: he refuses to follow the accepted conventional wisdom about the reigning couturiers du jour, threatening his publications’ access to those designers’ shows and the lucrative advertising buys those labels and their backers and associates were responsible for. Going further, he criticizes acidly the airs of the fashion press itself, the folk who dictate to the rest of the world what to wear in every situation while horribly dressed and horribly unprepared themselves.

Fashion Climbing ends without Bill ever shouldering his famous bleu de travail to haunt Fifth Avenue. However, like the best origin stories, it shows us the organic and natural assembly of the qualities and conditions that create an icon: the love of beauty for its own sake, not for what it supposedly signals about power, wealth, or sex; the stubborn sincerity to pursue the expression of that beauty and criticize its absence; the remarkable persistence even in the face of starvation (and the resourcefulness to survive those deprivations); the unique eye for the exotic and the whimsical that make beauty personal; and perhaps most amazingly, a sunniness that never seemed to fade or set.

#bill cunningham #rjman #reginaldjeromedemans #bookreview #nomanwalksalone #features

30 notes · View notes

hollandtomholland · 7 years ago

Text

Something More

- A Tom Holland oneshot.

(A/N): Happy Valentines day, loves! Technically it’s over where I’m from (it’s 4:05 am) but I might just get there in time for all of you guys in the US. I thought I’d celebrate today and christen this blog with a not-so-little something I’ve been working on for the past week. It clocks in at just under 6k, twice as much as I’d intended, but you know what it’s like when you really get into something. I haven’t written anything like this in about three and a half years, so I’m a little rusty - bear with me! I hope you enjoy and I’d really appreciate any feedback if you’re willing. Also - my formatting keeps messing up in the mobile app and removing the read more, so sorry to everyone who has to scroll through this massive wall of text. Much love xo

Summary: Everyone has that one person who seems to dip in and out of their lives, reappearing when they least expect it , and for you that was Tom. He was as mysterious as he was charming, and the chemistry between you was electric - but he was never around for very long. When he appears on one of the most important nights of your life, nothing is certain. Is this just another fleeting chapter in your shared history? Or is it something more?

Warnings: Very mild angst, but mostly pure fluff.

There was something thoroughly magical about a gallery opening that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Perhaps it was the sheer amount of creative talent gathered in one space, sharing ideas and murmuring their appreciation, or the powerful energy of never-before-seen artworks that were finally able to inspire and move those who looked upon them. Or maybe, you thought, it was just the champagne. Whatever it was, you were grateful to be there.

Tonight, you were finally able to stand in that space and feel proud of yourself. Three of your portraits hung on the wall before you, beautifully framed and looking way more professional than they’d ever done before. Many people would consider photography to require less skill, less artistry than painting, but you wholeheartedly disagreed. Even after years of experience, you still marvelled at how even the tiniest change in angle, the most imperceptible shift in lighting, or the most minor adjustment of focus could produce the greatest of results. Every single person you photographed was different, and so was your approach to photographing each one. You put the utmost effort into creating something that would reflect their personality in a single shot; soft lighting to bring out someone’s warmth, a low angle to convey their confidence, blue tones to communicate some inner melancholy. Each little detail you tweaked was like the stroke of a painter’s brush, and you’d honed your craft to perfection.

Appearing behind you with a glass of champagne in each hand, Jocelyn regarded you warmly. “How are you feeling?” she asked, handing you the fuller of the two glasses. You took a long sip, feeling the bubbles fizzing against the roof of your mouth. “Kinda like this” you remarked, holding up your glass with a wry smile. She laughed. “Is that because you’re nervous? Or because you’ve seen him?”

You followed her pointed gaze to the far corner of the room. A well dressed man was stood by the coat check, handing his coat to the attendant. As he turned to survey the room, you caught sight of his face.

Ah, you thought.

Him.

Everyone has that one person who seems to dip in and out of their lives, reappearing when they least expect it , and for you that was Tom. The first time you’d met him was five years ago, at a friend’s housewarming party. He was charismatic, strikingly polite, and full of sparkling conversation that charmed everyone around him in an instant - including you. You’d barely had the chance to speak to him properly that night, exchanging one or two words across group discussions, but from that moment on he was to become something of a recurring character in your life. This second time you met, several months later, he appeared as the friend of a work colleague, joining your team for the weekly pub quiz. This time the two of you were able to engage one on one, and you were struck by how this near-stranger could make you feel like the only person in what was a very crowded room. Maybe it was the way he made intense eye contact when he listened, or maybe it was the warmth in his voice as he spoke to you. Whatever it was that he had, you missed it very much when he failed to return the following week… and the week after that. “He’s a busy guy” your colleague had told you, when you finally brought up the subject of his absence, “We were lucky to get him just the once”

The following year, you saw him several times, including once in a restaurant where you both happened to be on a first date set up by the same person. You acknowledged each other politely from across the room, and you found yourself much more interested in him than in the guy sitting in front of you. His name still escapes you… Kevin, was it? Or maybe Scott… Regardless, the date was not a success. You had excused yourself to the ladies’ after the main course, bumping into a slightly frazzled looking Tom on the way out. “Everything okay?” you had asked him, and he’d glanced furtively back into the dining room. “Never go on a blind date” he’d told you earnestly as his eyes met yours, “This girl… she doesn’t like dogs”.

“I know the feeling” you’d replied, gesturing towards your table where what’s his name was currently picking his teeth with a knife. Tom had taken one look at him and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, eyes fixed onto yours once again. “May we both escape this alive” he’d said solemnly, before a broad grin lit up his face. With that he turned and walked away, fingertips brushing down your arm as you parted. You’d watched him for a moment, and were about to return to your own table when he suddenly looked back at you. The conspiratorial wink he’d proceeded to give you sent a delicious shiver down your spine, and for the rest of the night all you could think about was him.

And so it went on, the two of you bumping into each other every so often and never in the same place twice. He was never with the same people either, but the two of you had a mutual friend so often that you wondered if everyone in the city knew him. There was the time you met by the stage door of a theatre, both knowing the lead actress in the play. Once he was at a birthday party of an old school friend, having worked with them a few years back. Only last year he’d turned up at your college friend’s wedding, having known the groom since they were children. The last time you’d seen him, he’d appeared at a garden party with a friend of a friend, introduced as the guy she’d been seeing for a few weeks. You’d watched him sitting close to this girl you vaguely knew, laughing and sharing in-jokes you didn’t quite understand as a tight knot formed in your stomach. The burning stare he’d given you across the table, however, was the same as it had always been, as was the warmth in his voice as he said your name. You left early that night, excusing yourself over a fictional headache. By the following week the girl was seeing a different guy, and you hadn’t seen him since.

No matter how many times you met him, though, you never seemed to make any sort of progress. You got on like a house on fire when you were together, the chemistry electric, but as soon as you parted it was like he’d never existed. No way of contacting him, and no idea of when you’d see him again. On many occasions you’d berated yourself for not asking for his number, something which seemed so easy and yet proved so hard. It seemed you were stuck in this awkward ‘more than acquaintances but less than friends’ position permanently, unable to make a break through. The only exception to this was the night of the wedding, but you’d done your best to never think about that again.

Jocelyn was one of the few people who you’d mentioned Tom to. You’d tried to keep it as casual as possible, telling the tale of your many meetings as if it was just a funny story that meant very little - she’d seen right through you. After that, she’d pressed you for details every time you saw him, treating the whole situation like the most exciting thing she’d ever heard. Last year, he’d appeared at the opening of her husband’s last business venture, and she could barely contain her excitement at finally getting to see the Mysterious Tom. She greeted him with the same polite interest she offered everyone else, but as soon as he was gone she’d sidled up to you with a knowing glint in her eye; “I get it” she’d told you. “He’s cute, charming, and a little bit mysterious. No wonder you’re so hooked”.

So here he was now, at one of the most important events in your life so far. It made a strange kind of sense, if you really thought about it. Jocelyn watched you with interest, trying to decipher the expression you were just about managing to keep neutral. “You weren’t expecting him” she surmised, as you took another long sip of champagne. You shrugged nonchalantly, feeling more bemused than anything else. A small part of you had actually wondered if he’d be there, but a bigger part of you had brushed that off as wishful thinking. “Who invited him?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, “Could be any number of people”. A moment of silence passed as you both watched him, before Jocelyn turned to you again. “You should go say hi” she suggested, earning a vigorous shake of the head from you. “What would difference would it make” you sighed, before turning back to your portraits. “Besides, I don’t want to ruin tonight by making it all about him. I want to enjoy this moment fully and properly”

This was true. Every time you saw Tom, you were left feeling disappointed regardless of anything else that had happened. You could be at the most amazing party and have the greatest time, but the rush of warmth and excitement you felt in his presence left everything feeling cold and dull as soon as he was gone. It led to you resenting yourself, hating how one person could have such a strong effect on you when you probably meant nothing to them. Just this once, you wanted to avoid all of that. Everything had been perfect thus far, so why would you want to risk ruining it?

“That’s fair enough” Jocelyn commented, unable to argue with your sound logic. “It’s a big enough space, you should be able to avoid him without too much difficulty”.

And she was right. The following hours passed by without incident, though the thought of him still lingered at the back of your mind. A few brief glances in his direction were all you allowed yourself, unable to stop yourself from indulging no matter how strong your resolve was. He still had the same intense effect on you, even from afar. Jocelyn acted as a lookout, barely leaving your side and hurrying you away to another area once or twice when she spotted him rounding the corner. Still, you managed to make it effortless, mingling with everyone in a way which made you feel like you fitted in for once. To your surprise and delight your work had attracted much praise from artists and patrons alike. Even more encouraging, by the end of the night a ‘sold’ sticker had appeared on one of your portraits: a self portrait you’d taken last year, something very personal that you’d been hesitant to show.

“What did I tell you,” Jocelyn reminded you, as the two of you stood by the coat check. “It’s some of your best work”. It was late in the evening, and she was preparing to leave. Only a handful of people remained in the gallery, and Tom had not been sighted for at least the past half hour. “Are you sure you don’t want us to drop you back?” she asked you, and you shook your head.

“It’s a kind offer, but I want to stay here just a little while longer. Really make the most of it, you know?”

“Of course. You’ve earned it”

She gave you a parting hug before exiting the gallery, joining her husband who was waiting outside. You gave them a wave as they left, noticing for the first time that snow had begun to settle on the pavement. It snowed every winter in the city, but tonight it seemed even more magical than usual. The ‘sold’ sticker on your portrait drew your eyes again, and you walked over to fully take it in. Your first show, and you’d already sold something. It wasn’t the money that excited you, in fact that hadn’t even crossed you mind. Just the knowledge that someone liked your work enough to purchase it for themselves was reward enough, and you couldn’t stop the enormous smile from taking over your face.

“You should be incredibly proud of yourself”

You knew exactly who that voice belonged to. Slowly, you turned to face the speaker, face fixed with an expression that you hoped conveyed pleasant surprise rather the strange mix of emotions you were currently feeling.

“Tom! I didn’t expect to see you here” you addressed him casually, as he stepped forward to greet you with a kiss on the cheek. His lips were warm against your skin, his hand resting on your bare arm, and you tried to ignore the sensation this stirred up in your stomach. “Wouldn’t miss it” he replied softly, his eyes meeting yours as you parted. In that moment you wished it was possible to suppress a blush, feeling the scarlet heat creeping onto your cheeks. Hopefully, he wouldn’t notice.

You took his words to mean that he was here by the invitation of one of the other artists. “Who did you come for?” you asked him. Who was your mutual friend this time? Who was the lucky person who’d earned his support, whose presence had drawn him there tonight?

“You”.

He spoke the word so casually, as if it should’ve been completely obvious. This was clearly no big deal to him, but you, on the other hand, were slightly thrown. You looked at him with genuine surprise this time. “Really?”

“Of course. I passed by earlier this week and your name on the poster caught my eye. I knew I had to come, I’ve been wanting to see your work ever since you mentioned you were a photographer”

This was new territory. For once, Tom was not here as someone’s friend, or someone’s colleague. He was here for you and you alone, a situation you had never dared imagine would occur.

“And I must say, it was worth the wait. These are simply magical” he said earnestly, turning his attention to your portraits. “The way you capture your subjects… it’s beautiful”.

You were momentarily lost for words. Tom looked at your work the way no one else ever had, with such intense wonder and fascination. You could tell that he really meant what he said.

“Thank you. Really, thank you, that means a lot to me”

He shrugged his shoulders as if it was nothing. “I suspect you’ve heard that a lot tonight, though” he added, seemingly unaware of the effect his words were having on you. “People have certainly been very kind” you admitted.

“I’m not surprised, talent like yours is hard to ignore” he enthused. “You’ve really blown me away”

He turned his gaze back to you as he said this, his eyes bright and intense as they locked on to yours. His voice was soft and low, the last sentence laced with an undertone that hinted at a deeper meaning. Part of you wished he’d stop doing that; you were trying to keep your feelings out of this, and the fire he ignited in your stomach betrayed you entirely. Another part of you craved the familiar thrill. This was not what you’d intended to happen at all, but you should’ve known it was inevitable. Silently you berated yourself for letting him get to you so easily, just like you did every time. You decided then that you should take your leave, whilst it was still early enough to avoid that dreaded crash from a Tom-induced high.

“Well, it’s getting late, isn’t it? I suppose I should be heading home for some rest after all the excitement of tonight” you began, fixing a smile onto your face. Conversely, Tom’s smile faltered at your words. “Oh, that’s shame”. His voice was less sure than usual, and this sparked your curiosity. “How so?”

“I was hoping that you’d let me take you out for a drink or two, perhaps, to celebrate your achievements” he confessed. The intensity in his eyes gave way to a hopeful softness, before his gaze dropped from yours. Suddenly his confidence was replaced with a vulnerability that you’d never seen before, a whole new side of Tom revealed to you that you’d never expected. “I found a great little bar that I thought you might like, but I wouldn’t want to keep you from anything”

In that moment, your resolve crumbled. He had you entirely.

“I’m sure I have a couple more hours left in me” you said softly, any previous hesitations forgotten. Tom looked up at you, his eyes full of hope. “Are you sure?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Of course. It’s a lovely idea, thank you for thinking of me”.

His whole face lit up at your words, that familiar confidence and cool composure restored. “It’s my pleasure. I’ll just go get my coat then, shall I? Oh, and let me get yours too”.

With that he was off, striding through the gallery to the coat check. You watched him, very aware that you should be angry at yourself right now. You’d intended to avoid Tom at all costs, and yet here you were, agreeing to go out for a drink with him. Somehow, though, you didn’t mind. Something about tonight felt different, it was undeniable. Unlike every other time you were with him, this time, it was just you and Tom. More than that, he’d expressed explicit interest in spending time with you, all of the effort coming from his own free will. This wasn’t just another coincidental crossing of paths - this was deliberate, and filled with potential that both excited and intimidated you. Part of you knew that you were opening yourself up possible disappointment, but a bigger part couldn’t bear to cut the evening short.

You met Tom at the door, where he helped you on with your coat. His fingertips brushed across your neck as he pulled it over your shoulders, causing your breath to hitch in your throat. He turned to you with a smile as he opened the door. “It’s barely a five minute walk away, we should be back in the warm in no time”.

Five minutes or fifty, you wouldn’t have cared either way. You barely noticed the cold as you walked, as swept up as you were in Tom’s sparkling conversation. He had this way of making you feel as if you’d never been apart, picking things up where you left off no matter how long it had been since you last saw each other. “It’s just here” Tom said as you approached the bar, holding the door open and gesturing for you to step inside. It was a beautiful little place, decorated with 1920’s style flair and softly lit with elegant chandeliers. It wasn’t as busy as most bars in this part of the city, with just a gentle hum of conversation and plenty of space to sit; he’d chosen well.

“This is lovely” you told him, as he led you over to a table tucked away in the corner.

“A friend of mine had his birthday drinks here a few weeks ago,” Tom replied, “And for some reason it made me think of you”. He spoke so casually, unaware of flutter this drew from your stomach. The very idea that you were on his mind when you were apart had never occurred to you until he’d mentioned seeing your name on the poster earlier, and now this… perhaps you’d underestimated his perception of your connection.

Tom pulled out your chair for you, and then went up to the bar to order some drinks. “I remember your usual: double whiskey, neat” he assured you, and moments later he was back with a glass for each of you. He waited until you’d had a sip before he spoke again, gaze fixed onto yours. “So,” he began, “Are you going to tell me why you were avoiding me earlier?”

The whiskey burned in your throat as you swallowed suddenly. Up to this point you thought you’d got away with it, but it appeared you weren’t as subtle as you thought. He didn’t seem annoyed, though – just curious. “Avoiding you?” you weakly replied, willing your mind to formulate a convincing excuse that never seemed to come. “It certainly seemed like it. Every time I tried to approach you, your friend – Jocelyn, isn’t it – hurried you away. At first I thought it was her who was trying to keep us apart, so I stopped trying and waited until you were alone. It was the expression on your face when you turned around that told me you’d known I was here the whole time. You weren’t unhappy, I think, just… uncomfortable”.

He looked at you earnestly, searching for answers in your face that you were trying to hide. It was no good; something about him made it impossible for you to lie. You let out a deep sigh and hid your face in your hands. “I’m sorry, it was… yeah, I just… ughhh”. You let your voice trail off, words failing you entirely. You didn’t dare look at him, feeling completely and utterly ashamed of yourself. How could you possibly explain away this one without sounding thoroughly pathetic?

“Hey, hey…”

A gentle hand reached out and took hold of your wrist, drawing your own hand away from your face. “Look at me”.

Reluctantly you shifted your gaze upwards. Tom’s expression was one of sympathy and reassurance, which only served to make you feel worse somehow. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, I’m sorry” he said softly, his fingertips lingering on your skin for a moment before he let your hand rest on the table. And then, even softer still - “I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable”.

Sitting up a little straighter, you gathered together the little composure you had left and chose your words carefully. “No, you don’t need to be sorry for anything. You were right, I was avoiding you, which was a childish thing to do”.

“Can I ask why?”

Honesty was, scarily, the best policy in this case. Time to put your feelings into coherent sentences, whether you felt ready or not.

“It’s just that… look, tonight has been great. And we’ve met at lots of other great nights, right? But sometimes when you’re around, and I can’t explain why… I overthink, and suddenly things aren’t so great”

You chanced a look at him, hoping that your words made some sort of sense. It appeared they did; Tom nodded. “And you wanted tonight to stay great. I understand that” he said calmly, his brow furrowed slightly.

Both of you were silent for a moment. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking underneath that cool exterior, and suddenly the atmosphere felt unbearably heavy. You missed the fun, amiable repartee that you usually shared with Tom, and you scrambled to return to it’s familiarity. “And look at how things have turned out now, still great! I was just being silly, classic me” you babbled, taking on a tone that you hoped was convincingly light.

“I made it weird, didn’t I” Tom murmured, still unreadable.

“What? When?”

“At the wedding”

“Oh, well we don’t need to -”

“When I kissed you”

And there it was.

The one topic that you’d banished from your mind, the one thing that you refused to dwell on, was out in the open. Tom’s voice was thick with emotion, but exactly which emotion it was you could not tell. Longing, maybe? Perhaps that was too far. Or was it regret? You hoped not. Your best tactic, you decided, was to play it as cool as possible. “These things happen, people make mistakes -”

“It wasn’t a mistake” he interjected, his eyes suddenly burning into yours. “Kissing you was not a mistake, I don’t regret it. Do you regret kissing me back?”

Although it was true that you’d tried to forget the kiss, the one thing you could never do was regret it. It was, without a doubt, the best kiss of your life. It was a warm summer’s evening, on a balcony looking out onto the lush gardens of a stately home. One minute the two of you had been talking, and the next his hands were on your waist and his lips were on yours. You could still remember the raw energy between you, how nothing had ever felt more natural or instinctive than to kiss him and be kissed back. No, you could never regret that.

You did, however, regret the way you’d sprung back inside without another word, the second you heard someone calling your name. You regretted that when someone later mentioned that Tom was looking for you, you’d spent the rest of the night holed up in your hotel room overthinking. And you regretted the immediate shut down you went into after convincing yourself that he hadn’t meant it, that you were nothing more than a potential fling to him. That was the easy option, you realised. You hadn’t needed to confront your own feelings, you could remain in denial and avoid reality.

“No, I don’t regret it” you asserted, watching as Tom’s gaze softened almost imperceptibly. He took a sip of his drink, swallowing hard. “I tried to find you afterwards, but no one had seen you. I asked your friend for your number, but I guess it was outdated cause when I tried to call it, it was disconnected. We seem to have so many friends in common, and yet when I wanted to reach you I couldn’t find a single person who could help me do that”.

“You tried to find me?”

“Of course, but nothing seemed to work out. It was as if I had to wait for pure luck to put us in the same place again, just like every other time we’d met” he explained. “I held out hope that we’d cross paths again soon and the next time would be different”.

You couldn’t suppress the bitter laugh that bubbled up from your throat. “It was different” you reminded him, taking another sip of whiskey to dull the uncomfortable memories that were resurfacing. The look on his face told you that he knew exactly what you were talking about. “I know,” he began, rubbing his cheek self- consciously, “I was with another girl”.

Back then, you’d expected the next time you saw Tom to be full of unspoken awkwardness - the fact that he turned up with a date was a full on gut punch that confirmed your worst suspicions. The night of the garden party, you’d told yourself that you truly meant nothing to Tom. Any feelings you had for him were one sided, you’d determined, and it was stupid to hope for anything more. “That was… not a great evening” you admitted, with a wry smile.

Tom let out a gentle chuckle. “Not for me either. I’d spent so long thinking of what I was going to say to you, making up my mind to do things properly, and the minute I gave up hope and tried to move on, there you were”.

“I hope you didn’t break up with her on my account” was all you could say, more than a little overwhelmed by everything you were hearing.

“She broke up with me. It was fairly amicable, she sensed something was off and cut it short before I could” he recounted, running a hand through his hair.

“I guess that’s a good thing”

“It was. It wasn’t right for me to be with her when I was…”

He trailed off, letting out a deep sigh. He let his gaze drop, rubbing his cheek again in a gesture that betrayed his usual self-assurance. You watched him, unsure of what to say, as he stared into the bottom of his whiskey glass. The stare turned into a wistful smile, and his eyes met yours once more. When he spoke again, his voice was full of conviction and raw emotion:

“When I was in love with someone else”.

You felt like the breath had been knocked out of you. Your mind reeled at this statement, so plain and simple and yet so full of complex implications.

“You were in love with me?” you asked, your hand gripping tightly around your whiskey glass.

“I still am”

His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the intensity in his brown eyes revealed the passion behind his words. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? All you could do was stare at him in stunned silence, and he seemed to appreciate the effect his declaration had on you.

“When I saw your name on that poster, I knew that I had one more chance to do this properly… to tell you how I felt. I came to terms with my feelings a long time ago, and I’m not going to apologise for them, but if you don’t feel the same I will respect that and walk away”.

The look in his eyes cut you to the core; vulnerability, with a tinge of hope.

“Just please, say something,” he implored, “Anything”.

There was only one thing you could say: “I’m in love with you too”.

Because after all, you were in love with Tom. You’d never said it out loud before, not to yourself, not even to Jocelyn, but it was the undeniable truth. You were in love with the man sitting in front of you, the man who had poured out his feelings and confirmed that that two of you felt exactly the same way. You had been wrong all along; your connection was than more than just acquaintances, much more than friendship, and went far beyond anything you’d ever imagined.

The sheer joy and relief on Tom’s face was immediately apparent.“That’s… more than I ever could’ve hoped for” he breathed. You sat in silence for a short while, just smiling at each other and basking in the pure exhilaration of the moment. Your bubble was burst by a pointed cough from the bartender; it was only then that you realised you were the only customers left, chairs stacked onto the tables around you.

“Whoops” Tom chuckled, flashing the guy an apologetic smile.

“We should probably go” you added, and the pair of you stood up hurriedly. Tom helped you on with your coat, before offering you his arm. “Shall we?” he asked, that familiar glint of confidence back in his eyes. You slipped your arm into his, and he led you out into the street. For a while you walked along in comfortable silence, sharing a euphoric high. It was Tom who spoke first.

“By the way, I hope it didn’t seem too forward that I bought the portrait of you” he said warily, shooting you a sideways glance.

“I didn’t even realise that was you”

“Part of me thought it was a strange thing to do, but the other part… well, it was just enchanting. You looked beautiful, ethereal, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. I was going to give it back to you, see. I remembered you saying that it was a shame you had to sell all your work to make money, because you’d love to keep some pieces, and that one is definitely worth keeping”.

You felt the hot blush creeping in as he spoke, overwhelmed yet again by his kind words. “Thank you” you mumbled, marvelling at how he still had the power to surprise even after everything that had already been said. Tom turned to look at you, and a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Are you blushing?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the pavement. Stepping in front of you, he brushed a hand across your cheek. “You are! Is this because I told you that you looked beautiful? You always do, I thought that the first time we met. You look even more beautiful now”. He gently cupped your face with one hand as the other came to rest on your waist, and then his lips were on yours.

Up until this point, you’d considered the kiss at the wedding to be the best kiss of your life; this one blew it out of the water. His lips moved fervently against your own, warm and soft but more and more urgent as the kiss deepened. Your hands were in his hair, and the hand on your waist pulled you into him, your bodies pressed close together. Breathing became irrelevant; to kiss and only to kiss was the all consuming thought. You’d both been waiting for this moment, and were making the most of every single second. It didn’t matter that you were in the middle of the street, in full view of every passer by. This kiss was intimate, euphoric, everything you felt for each conveyed better in actions than in words. This was the type of kiss that took over your mind, your body, and it couldn’t have been more perfect,

You don’t know how long you kissed for, and you didn’t care. When your lips finally parted, Tom held you close to him, unwilling to let you go just yet. “Wow” he whispered, his breath ghosting across your lips.

“Wow” you agreed, as you smiled up at him. He looked perfect, softly lit by the streetlamps with tiny wisps of snow settling in his hair and eyelashes. “I’ve been invited to a housewarming party tomorrow night, and I want you to come with me” he began, and you couldn’t help but let out a gentle laugh.

“What?” he asked, his nose wrinkling adorably.

“Is it Allie and Connor’s party, by any chance?”

It was Tom’s turn to laugh. “Don’t tell me, you’re invited too”.

You nodded, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit” he added, shaking his head in wonder. “But would you like to go together? As a couple?”

“Of course I would” you assured him, “It would be a welcome change”

“I wholeheartedly agree with that”

The two of you began walking again, arms interlinked as the snow sparkled around you. Tom grinned charmingly at you. “Just one thing, though”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to need your number”.

#Tom Holland #tom holland oneshot #tom holland x reader #tom holland fluff #file under my stuff

212 notes · View notes

glaivenoct · 7 years ago

Text

string lights

For the winter theme of HellionHolidays from @nyxnoctocalypse

Title: String Lights

Rating: Gen

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Relationship: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric

Additional tags: Established Relationship, Fluff

Words: 1543

read on ao3. Also here’s to my first contribution to this pairing! Bear with me? Still trying to get a grasp on writing these two. Mostly testing the waters with this~

Summary: Nyx always knows what to expect when he comes home to Noctis. At least he thought he did. Noctis has some fun with lights.

At this point in their relationship, it’s not abnormal for Nyx to come home and find Noctis already there. If he’s not watching TV, then he’s usually playing games on his phone or trying to focus on some report he needs to look over. Nyx’s personal favorite is when he comes home and finds Noctis lying in bed pretending he didn’t just rouse from a nap. Typical, normal Noct things. The most abnormal thing Nyx ever came home to was the time he found Noctis poking around in the kitchen for a pot.

“I’m not hopeless, asshole. I know how to boil an egg,” the prince had said after Nyx did an overexaggerated double take to tease him. Granted, Noctis ended up overcooking the egg but Nyx isn’t allowed to mention that ever again.

Noctis never stops by without telling Nyx prior. The few times Nyx came home surprised at the company were times he was stuck with late night guard duty. Times where Noctis was too caught up in his own head. Times where he was drowning in crippling thoughts and anxiety that made it hard for him to sleep. Otherwise, Nyx is never surprised and always knows what to expect.

At least he thought he did.

“Um, Noct?”

Noctis looks up at him from his spot on the floor with all the clueless innocence of a child. He’s sat in the center of Nyx’s apartment, legs bunched to his chest, phone in hand. Typical, normal Noct things. Except for the mess of glittering white lights he’s tangled in.

Wait, Nyx quickly realizes it’s not a mess of lights per se. It’s a deliberate mess. One string drapes over his shoulders, wrapping neat around his arms all the way down to his wrists. More are around his torso and legs, from his knees to his ankles till the rest piles at his feet. Not the oddest thing. Yet, also one of the last things he expects to come home to. Nyx closes the door behind him and tilts his head. A brow arches as he waits for an explanation, but he can’t help grinning at his—quite literally—shining prince.

“Hi.” Noctis cracks a sheepish smile. The glow of lights isn’t enough to hide the subtle blush in his cheeks.

“Hi. Watcha doing there?”

“You know… just hanging out.”

“Uh-huh,” Nyx nods, “and the lights?”

“It looked like it’d make a good aesthetic shot.” Noctis looks down to his socks and curls his toes among the clutter of lights. Nyx notices the camera open on his phone. “Thought about sending it to Prompto.”

Nyx recalls that the socks themselves happened to be a gift from Prompto. Black with red at the heel and toes. Adorned with snowflakes around the head of a cartoon Chocobo that wears a holiday scarf.

“You wrapped more than half of your body in lights for an aesthetically pleasing picture of your socks?”

“Yep.”

Nyx chuckles and shrugs off the coat of his uniform to toss it onto the couch, stepping around Noctis to sit next to him. “Alright then. Don’t let me stop you from honing your photography skills.”

“I have none.” Noctis readies his phone and hunches over his knees again.

Nyx leans in close to rest his head on Noct’s shoulders, watching him fiddle with camera for the perfect focus. “Don’t be modest. You’re taking this shot so seriously. Prompto would be proud of you.”

Noctis laughs as he takes the photo and prods an elbow into Nyx’s side. “Shut up.”

“You never fully answered my question, by the way. Pictures and aesthetic aside, what’s with the lights?”

Noctis sets his phone down and rests his head against Nyx’s. “Just extras from my place. I put them up every winter. My dad used to help me with it when I was a kid. When he couldn’t anymore, Iggy or Gladio did… but, um, I was putting them up earlier and I thought they’d look nice in here.”

Nyx lifts his head to look over the lights again. The warm, flickering glow reminds him a little of home. Selena was always eager to decorate around the winter holidays and he was the one she pestered about putting up lights. He remembers her mentioning every year she loved how cozy they made their home feel. Though, Nyx never expected to feel a similar coziness again once he left Galahd. Certainly not around this time of year.

Nyx pinches at one of the small bulbs from Noct’s arm with a thoughtful hum. “They do add a nice touch to the place.”

“I know you never really decorate for any holidays, but-”

“First time for everything, right?”

There’s uncertainty in the Prince’s eyes when they meet his own. Nyx has seen it so many times before. He knows it means Noctis is regretting bringing the idea up. Fearing it was stupid or pointless to in the first place. So, Nyx smiles to reassure him it isn't, bright and warm as the lights Noctis wrapped himself in. True, he never bothered to decorate for anything in all his years residing in Insomnia. Not even when it was his turn to host the small holiday get togethers for the glaives. It’s not that he minds the idea or purposely abstains from it.

In truth, Nyx never gets around to it because no one pushes him to anymore. Selena isn’t here to urge him about lights. His mother isn’t here to ask him to pull out handmade, Galahdian styled wreaths from the top shelf of a small storage closet. Libertus and Crowe haven’t waged their classic tinsel war in years. Decorating for the holidays just didn’t hold any significance. Not in the city that would toss him out if he wasn’t such a key asset to its peace.

This time it feels different, though. This time there’s Noctis. Noctis, who Nyx has surrendered his hear to in the past year they’ve been together. Noctis, who’s somehow made this less-than-mediocre apartment feel like their own little haven. Noctis, who’s now the next person in Nyx’s life to make something as simple as decorating significant. There’s no reason not to. Especially since Noctis fucking wrapped himself in string lights for aesthetic.

Noctis averts his eyes down to his lap and tries to hide an embarrassed smile. “I should’ve asked before I brought these over. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Nyx rolls his eyes and traps Noctis in his arms, getting a yelp out of him as he pulls them both down to the floor. Nyx lies flat on his back, squeezing Noctis close to his chest while he kisses the side of his head.

“Babe.” he runs his hands down Noct’s sides to mess with the tiny light bulbs. “I can’t get these lights up if you don’t stop wearing them.”

Noctis bites back a fit of giggles under Nyx’s wandering hands, reaching to grab them. “In my defense…” he tilts his head against Nyx’s chest and looks up at him, “you were never supposed to see me like this.”

“Add more lights and I won’t. You’ll blind me.”

Noctis wriggles in Nyx’s hold, maneuvering onto his stomach to properly face him. That sight right there, the twinkle in the Prince’s eyes framed by the shadow of his bangs. The slow curve of his lips highlighted by the glow between them. Nyx swears that could blind him, too.

“Do you think… while we put these up you could tell me what the winter holidays are like back in Galahd? I liked hearing all those stories about the fall traditions. The festivals, the bonfires… and gods the food at the markets! And-” He blushes as soon as he notices Nyx’s amused smirk and hides his face in the glaive’s chest, peeking at him with one eye. “Sorry. I-”

Nyx shakes his head and brushes a thumb along Noct’s illuminated cheek. “Don’t be. I’m chalk full of stories for you.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Never.” He gives Noct’s back a pat and starts to sit up. “Come on. As much as I like this new look of yours, we need these. Then I’ll enlighten you all on my own.”

Noctis snorts at the pun and starts slipping off the lights around his shoulders.

And for the rest of the night, they talk. Nyx does most of it at first while Noctis listens and asks him questions about Galahd. Once the lights are up, Nyx drags his prince into a dopey, clumsy slow dance with nothing but the hum of his voice. It’s for no real reason other than how gorgeous he claims Noctis looks beneath the tinge of lights around them.

Later, they warm themselves from the drafty chill of the apartment with steaming mugs cocoa. The night ends with Noctis curling close to his glaive’s side in bed.

“Thank you,” Nyx whispers to him, placing a tender kiss to his forehead as he pulls a blanket over them both. Thank you for making this place feel a little homier. Thank you for coming into my life. I love you. Gods, I love you so much.

He gets nothing but a sleepy hum in response, but Nyx still smiles like a lovesick idiot.

#hellionholidays #nyxnoctocalypse #nyxnoct #noctis lucis caelum #nyx ulric #author entries: fics

22 notes · View notes

wherespacepooh · 7 years ago

Text

Yuzuru Hanyu Interview at 2017-18 Media Day (Kiss&Cry): On SEIMEI, goals, and shortcoming

An exclusive interview from Kiss&Cry (TOKYO NEWS MOOK #639). On SEIMEI, goals, and shortcoming.

What else can I say? I remember the title of another piece, “Confidence without Conceit.” That describes Hanyu perfectly, and I think we’re in for a feast this season. - gladi

Translated by gladi. Please do not repost without permission. Images belong to Kiss & Cry (Tokyo News Mook) - ideally don’t cut out credits from the pictures :)

Text by Satoko Sawada. Photography by Nobuaki Tanaki (SHUTTERZ)

(Introduction skipped––same old, same old)

I would like to show a “Japanese Yuzuru Hanyu”

SEIMEI uses music from Onmyoji, a movie set in the Heian period. Last season’s free skate, Hope & Legacy, was also said to have been chosen due to [Hanyu’s] desire to “go wa style” (t/n - Wa is Japan, Japanese-style. But also harmony, peace, soften). Why is Hanyu insistent upon “programs of wa”?

“Well first, number one is the great feedback when I tried SEIMEI. Before I did SEIMEI, I didn’t have the sense that ‘wa’ would absolutely be a good fit for me. But when I did SEIMEI, a program that is faithful to ‘wa', I received excellent evaluations, and for sure, the program also felt good to me. Now, I see 'wa' as [my] weapon."

According to Hanyu, he and “programs of wa” are on the same wavelength.

“Of course, there is a somewhat retrospective aspect in ‘evaluations,’ but more than anything, I personally was immensely interested in traditional performance arts. And then, there was also the meeting with Mr. Mansai Nomura. So first, my interest towards “wa”, followed by the feeling that “programs of wa” and I have come to be a good fit.”

All eyes are on the Olympics, so what is he like––the Yuzuru Hanyu he intends to show there?

“Since Ballade No.1, my short program, is classical music and has nothing to do with ‘wa,’ with SEIMEI, I hope to bring out its contrast to that. To add to that, SEIMEI’s protagonist, Abe no Seimei, is a character who existed in reality and is also widely known through movies, et cetera. Not only do I want to be true to that, I would also like to show a ‘Japanese Yuzuru Hanyu’ through my performance.”

(Skipping paragraph on thoughts about SP choice. More details in Kateigaho interview here)

(Photo below: I already see SEIMEI in this, actually.)

I want to show greater depth in both programs

As a milestone event, [results from] the Japanese Nationals in December will greatly influence the selection of Japanese representatives for the Olympics. What are some goals he would like to accomplish by then?

“I would like to finish [my programs] sooner, and lessen the time I take to arrive at a high level of completion, such as during the free skate at last season’s World Championships. That’s what I see as my biggest goal right now. And then, performance that is polished and infused into the skating, in both the short and the free… To be able to pull that off no matter where I am––I think that’s yet another goal.”

Were past programs chosen for this season due to “wanting to finish [the programs] sooner”?

“Well that, is not quite right. Not only do I want to finish [the programs] more quickly, I also want to show greater depth. I think, it’s quite a waste for both of these programs to end here (without having had everything teased out). That is why, I chose Ballade No.1 and SEIMEI.”

(Skipping author description about Hanyu’s confidence in surpassing records, as they have been widely reported.)

The important thing this season––to be rid of weaknesses

Hanyu. He will be contending for a second Olympic victory in the Men’s Singles, a first in 66 years since Dick Button of USA pulled it off in 1948 and 1952. What would his thoughts be like should he accomplish this feat?

“I don’t know. But the process of getting there––to do each and every bit with care, well I think that’s my stance at the moment.”

Recent years have seen an explosion in the type and count of quads in the hyper-competitive field of men’s singles. [Quads] aside, in skating skills, expressive capability, the performances’ level of completion, too, skaters continue to explore avenues to leverage their own, respective strengths.

Against [such competition], when asked about his strength, Hanyu’s immediate reply was “Everything.” Not only in jumps, which command considerable attention, Hanyu aims to hone his skills in all aspects for a “perfect performance.” In order to reach such lofty heights, what are the tasks and challenges he hopes the overcome from hereon?

“Still, jumps. It’s not about being able to land a jump or not, rather, it’s most important to jump beautifully. In that sense, I want to keep refining the quality of my jumps. There is still some way to go in terms of stability, and amongst everything, that is my biggest shortcoming on my mind––How much, to what degree, can I crush and obliterate that weakness? I think that’s the most critical this season.”

(The rest skipped. Fin.)

Link to this issue of Kiss&Cry at Amazon.co.jp. Kiss&Cry has traditionally been light on text and heavy on photos. This time, they teamed up with Nobuaki Tanaka, who did a beautiful job here (as you can see) + takes my favorite photos of Yuzuru + is the photographer for the two Season Photobooks. The exclusive interview was quite interesting and well done as well, by Satoko Sawada. I highly recommend when they come back in stock ;)

(Look at Yuzuru reaching out to grasp Briand’s hand :))

#hanyu yuzuru #yuzuru hanyu #羽生結弦 #2017-18 media day #2017 media day #2017 #his own words #kiss&cry

387 notes · View notes

tmbacorbett · 6 years ago

Text

Audio Blitz: Maggie by Mya O’Malley

Title: Maggie

Author: Mya O’Malley

Narrator: Emily Ember

Genre: Paranormal Mystery/ Romance

Cover Designer: Jena Brignola

Producer: The Audio Flow, LLC

Hosted by: Lady Amber's Reviews & PR

Blurb:

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to share your home with an unearthly spirit who can’t find closure? Living on the edge of a cemetery with souls dating back to the 1700s would be enough to spook anyone, but Naomi finds it oddly romantic, and becomes inspired to write her next novel. Why not, when her muse, Maggie, calls to her from beyond her own window?

After all, the story couldn't possibly be as complicated as Naomi's own love life. Torn between Ryan, the mysterious and seemingly perfect man she just started dating, and Bryce, the sexy single dad who recently moved in next door, Naomi must navigate the tangled web of dating—all while trying to solve the mystery of Maggie's death.

When things turn dangerous, Naomi quickly learns whom she can trust and, more importantly, whom she can’t. Will she be able to write Maggie’s story and finally give Maggie the peace she deserves?

youtube

Mya O'Malley was born and raised in the suburbs of New York City, where she currently resides with her family.

Mya's passion is writing; she has been creating stories and poetry since she was a child. She earned her undergraduate degree in special education and a graduate degree in reading and literacy.

Mya is a published writer of contemporary romance,young adult, and paranormal romance/mysteries. Presently, Mya's novels have been published by Solstice Publishing, Clean Reads, TouchPoint Press, and Blue Tulip Publishing.

Mya spends her free time honing her skills in photography, painting, and reading just about anything she can get her hands on. Mya loves to travel; she has visited several amazing locations such as Aruba, St. Lucia, Puerto Rico, Mexico, Costa Rica, Canada, and Australia. Mya is currently working on her twelfth novel.

Author Links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2CJ20ri

Facebook: www.facebook.com/myaomalley

Twitter: https://twitter.com/MyaOMalley

Web: www.myaomalley.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8432603.Mya_O_Malley

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/myaomalley/

Audio Buy Links:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2CJ1Jog

Sky high cliffs, the serene Hudson River, and blue skies

surrounded them. Seagulls screeched overhead as they made their

way up the wide, winding path. Maggie jumped out of the way as

a cyclist whizzed past.

“Oh!”

He grabbed her waist, holding her tight. “You need to watch

out for those guys. They can be relentless around here.”

Didn’t she know it. The local roads were dominated by the

cyclists in the warm weather. More than once in the past few

weeks, Maggie had to pull over to the side of the road to allow

them to pass.

“This is nice.” Maggie followed the sound of the gulls’ cries

overhead. Not a cloud in the sky.

“It is, but then again, anything would be nice with you by

my side.”

“Thanks.” She snuggled her head against his shoulder for a

moment as they walked hand in hand further up the path.

Walking in a companionable silence, Maggie was happy. This

was nice, being here with him.

“Would you look at that?” He pointed up toward the edge of

the cliff. Maggie could just about make out the tiny figures of two

people. She swayed slightly. They had to be nuts to get that close

to the edge. They had to be nuts period.

“Yeah, well if you ask me, they’re crazy.”

“Crazy? How do you figure?” His eyes bore into hers.

“Going way up there? They must have a death wish.” Maggie

nearly shivered even though the temperature was mild.

He stopped her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You’re

afraid of heights?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are, aren’t you?” His eyes lit up.

“If I’m not mistaken, it seems as if you’re deriving some kind

of sick pleasure from this,” Maggie mumbled, head down.

“No, honey. No.” He wrapped his arms around her as more

cyclists scurried by. “I didn’t mean to react that way. It’s just that

in my eyes you’re perfect. I didn’t imagine you’d have a fear in

the world.”

If only he knew. She had plenty of fears, but Maggie figured

most people did.

“Really? That’s nice of you to say. Untrue, but nice.”

“Come on. Say, what’s your greatest fear? Top fear of all

time?”

Strange turn in conversation. “Where are you going with this

line of questioning?”

He blew out a hearty chuckle. “Come on, it’s all in good fun.

I’m just trying to get to know you.”

“Okay. Heights. My top fear is heights.” She wished to change

the subject but wondered what his own fears were now that the

topic was on the table.

“What about you? What are you afraid of?”

“I guess it would be drowning.” Yes, drowning was also high

on her list.

He was uncharacteristically quiet. Now would be a good time

to lighten the mood.

“Enough of this macabre talk. Back to the beautiful day before

us.” Maggie stepped away from him to spread her arms wide. His

face remained serious.

“Yes, it would be drowning.”

A dark look passed over his brown eyes. He had already

mentioned the fact.

“Okay. Can we move on? Maybe talk about something else?”

“Since you’re the one who brought it up, I guess so.”

“I didn’t…” He was the one who had pointed out the hikers

up high on the cliff.

“Yes, you actually did. But I suppose that’s neither here nor

there. I never learned how to swim, did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.” Maggie took a step away from his reach. She

felt uncomfortable with the vibe he was creating. More than

anything, Maggie wished he would just stop talking about his

fears, her fears.

“Can you imagine that? Being raised without swimming

lessons?”

Maggie could almost taste the hostility that was radiating off

him. Someone had unresolved issues from his childhood, it seemed.

Now wasn’t the time to inquire about his past, though. Maggie

slipped her hands into her light sweatshirt, wondering if it was

time they should be heading back.

“It’s getting late. What do you say we head back?”

It was as if a switch had been flipped. There was no other

way to describe it. As suddenly as his mood had become dark and

brooding, he was now light and charming once more.

“What? And miss out on sharing this spectacular day with

you?” He leaned over and kissed her. Hard.

It was a bit uncomfortable, standing there in the middle of the

path, in plain view, being kissed with such intensity.

“Come.” He led her off the path and into the thick of the woods.

She had no choice but to follow.

He chuckled as he led her to a large boulder. “Here.”

He scooped her up and placed her on top of the large rock.

Following suit, he climbed up the slight incline and joined Maggie.

Kissing her again, he cupped her head in his hands. Moments

later, his hands smoothed over her body.

Maggie stiffened, pulling away. He sat back, eyes wide. “What

is it, Maggie? What the hell is the problem now?”

“I’m just not ready.”

Placing his head in his hands, he sighed dramatically. “You’re

not ready.” His laugh was sharp.

“Why not? Didn’t I just tell you I love you?” His tone rose

in agitation.

Was that why he had declared his love for her? Her face must

have given away her thoughts.

“Are you kidding me? You think that’s why I shared my

feelings with you?” He stood and paced on the boulder. “Let’s go.

Time to go.”

What had just happened here? How had everything

deteriorated in a matter of mere minutes? And how much of it

was her fault?

“No. Don’t. Sit down. Please.” Her eyes looked up at his

height, pleading for him to stay.

“I don’t get you, Maggie. I have to be honest here with you.

You’re kind of driving me crazy. Pushing my limits, you know?”

His face flushed red as he paced.

How was she pushing him? “Sit, please just come back and sit

beside me.” Maggie patted the spot beside her, her lip trembling.

She didn’t know why he was so upset, only that she wanted things

to return to how they were prior to this walk by the river.

“Fine.” He plopped himself beside her, leaving at least a foot

between them.

Maggie reached over for him, taking his hand in hers. He

didn’t move closer but didn’t pull away either.

“Maggie. You’re killing me. I love you. I freaking love you,

and I feel you not returning my feelings.”

“I…”

“Let me finish. I open up to you, try to show you how much I

love you and I’m met with a slam of the door.” His hands moved

dramatically. Maggie leaned back so that he wouldn’t swipe her

as he spoke.

“No response from you, telling me that you love me back, and

now I can’t even show you how I feel.” He was upon her, grabbing

her face, his eyes intense.

It was true. She hadn’t said she loved him back. She hadn’t

been ready. What she definitely wasn’t ready for was showing

him. The words slipped out of her mouth before she could think.

source https://www.tmbacorbett.com/2018/10/audio-blitz-maggie-by-mya-omalley.html

#booklove books read tmbacorbett

0 notes

recentanimenews · 5 years ago

Text

Food Wars! The Fifth Plate - Crunchyroll Spring 2020 Spotlight

Crunchyroll is serving up more delicious culinary action as part of its Spring 2020 Simulcast Lineup. Spicing up the new season is none other than Food Wars! The Fifth Plate, which kicks off this April to adapt more of the hit manga written by Yūto Tsukuda and illustrated by Shun Saeki. Read on for an overview of the upcoming return!

Official website

Twitter

Navigation

Launch Info

Official Trailers

Synopsis

Characters and Cast

Staff

Additional Info

Launch Info

Launch Time: TBA

Territories: North America, Central America, South America, Europe, Africa, Oceania, the Middle East, and CIS

Show Page

Official Trailers

Is there any better way to get ready for the new season than watching Crunchyroll's documentary on the making of Food Wars!? Nope!

youtube

Synopsis

Soma Yukihira has been helping out his family diner, honing his skills.

With his father’s recommendation, he decides to enroll into “Totsuki Saryo Culinary Institute”, a school for the most elites of the culinary world.

During his time there, he has grown so much as a chef through studying hard with friends and competing against rivals in shokugeki battles.

Soma has now moved up a grade and he has finally grasped what he has always hoped for; the first seat at the Totsuki Ten Masters Council.

In the meantime, an invitation to a world-class cooking competition known as “BLUE” arrives to Totsuki. “BLUE” is one of the most authentic gastronomic tournaments for young chefs seeking fame.

However, there’s been a change to this year’s system and themes are all out of ordinary!

There’s spark in the air as the new rivals appears from the shadow!

Where will the “BLUE” lead them!?

The shokugeki to determine the new bearers of culinary world is about to begin!

Characters and Cast

Soma Yukihira

VA: Yoshitsugu Matsuoka (Bell in Is It Wrong to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon?)

Erina Nakiri

VA: Hisako Kanemoto (Sailor Mercury in Sailor Moon Crystal)

Megumi Tadokoro

VA: Minami Takahashi (Sora in Aikatsu!)

Staff

Director

Yoshitomo Yonetani (Brigadoon, Food Wars! seasons 1-3)

Series Composition

Shogo Yasukawa (Mitsuboshi Colors)

Music

Tatsuya Katō (Dr. STONE)

Character Design

Tomoyuki Shitaya (Bakuman.)

Art Director

Kōichirō Bizen (DATE A LIVE III)

Sound Director

Jin Aketagawa (Golden Kamuy)

Director of Photography

Yutaka Kurosawa (Hayate the Combat Butler!)

Assistant Director

Youhei Suzuki

Color design

Yukiko Itou

Editor

Yūji Kondō

OP Theme Performer

nano.RIPE

ED Theme Performer

Mai Fuchigami

Animation Production

J.C.STAFF

Additional Info

The cooking battle manga started its serialization in the magazine’s 52nd issue of 2012, and its 36th tankobon volume was released in Japan in October of 2019. The series’ total print run reached 15 million copies by July 2018. Its TV anime adaptation produced by J.C.STAFF was aired for four seasons in Japan from 2015 to 2019, with the fifth kicking off in April of 2020.

1st and 35th volume covers of the Japanese tankobon releases:

Viz Media publishes the manga in North America.

-------

Joseph Luster is the Games and Web editor at Otaku USA Magazine. You can read his webcomic, BIG DUMB FIGHTING IDIOTS at subhumanzoids. Follow him on Twitter @Moldilox.

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

0 notes

solenne730-blog · 6 years ago

Text

Lucas Foglia - Blog №3

For my third blog, I have chosen to examine the work of contemporary artist Lucas Foglia. He is a photographer whose work is currently being featured at the Museum of Contemporary Photography. On his website, Foglia’s work is described as challenging the idea that humans and nature work in opposition to one another. He is also illustrating the interesting, and sometimes humorous ways in our technological pursuits come into contact with the natural world. One of the first sections of the exhibit that caught my attention was Foglia’s images of two Rikers Island inmates, Jonathan and Troy, that are part of a project at the prison called GreenHouse. The program teaches the inmates how to grow flowers, fruits, and vegetables.

Benefits of the program include improving team-building skills and earning a certification in horticulture that can help them with future employment. Furthermore, individuals in the program are encouraged to provide care for a variety of plants that require gentle handling. The poses Foglia chooses for the men in the pictures are very innocent and childlike. This helps to reinforce the layered nature of the people in the photos and remind the viewer of their youth, vulnerability, and capacity for tenderness.

Another purpose served by the Rikers pieces is as a link to other works in Foglia’s collection that emphasize nature as rehabilitative force. The following piece captures both the analysis of the effects of nature on human beings as well as showing advanced human technology against a natural and ancient backdrop.

In this piece, the subject, Kate, is wearing an EEG cap designed to measure the cognitive effects of her experience in a fully natural environment. The work is being carried out by Dr. David Strayer of the University of Utah, who is working to assess the effect of experiences in nature on the human attention span. He is one of several scientists Lucas Foglia sought out in an effort to understand and document the study of climate change in our world. This next piece is an example of a win for sustainable urban design. It showcases the Parkroyal on Pickering building in Singapore.

The entire population of Singapore lives in an urban environment, and they have made great strides in blending wild and natural spaces into their lives. The tiny figure in the lower right center of the photo is Esme, seen floating peacefully in a pool amid serene greenery, while the traffic of the city moves on far below. I appreciate Foglia’s decision to highlight positive and scalable changes that are being made in our world to address the reality of climate change. Singapore is a model for the world on how to transform an urban environment from one of overcrowded slums with sanitation concerns, to one of clean, healthy spaces for its citizens to thrive in, all in a span of fifty years. Their work is so commendable, and it is great to see an artist perfectly capture this marvelous transformation in a photograph.

In an interview for itsnicethat.com, Foglia describes how his recollections of his childhood home on a Long Island farm, and the later damage done to the area by Hurricane Sandy, influenced his creation of the Human Nature exhibition. He points out that, despite humans spending “93% of their time indoors,” they are affecting the world and climate around them, which is adversely affecting the impact of nature on humans as well as threatening the positive experiences they are able to have out in the wild. He says we have both a human right and a responsibility to a healthy environment, and adds that, while our technology can help us to a degree, it cannot save us if we don’t demonstrate that we care.

An earlier collection of work by Lucas Foglia is called A Natural Order, and features photos that he had taken from 2006-2010 of individuals who had chosen to live off the grid. He spoke of the various motivations of the people he photographed and of their desire to not fully reject the modern world, but step away from it and choose the parts that they wished to hold onto in their lives. This sentiment reminded me of the excerpt we read in class by Roy Stanton, where he quoted philosopher Peter Sloterdijk as saying, “ ..I am free only to the extent that I interrupt escalations and that I am able to immunize myself against infections of opinion.” By removing themselves from the modern societal stream and assessing what they wish to retain from that flow of experience, the individuals in this series have attained a degree of this freedom Sloterdijk speaks of.

I think that in comparing the two collections to one another, one shift in focus that Foglia seemed to make was in panning out to a broader theme in Human Nature and highlighting the balance between larger concepts. Nature and technology balance in the EEG photo, destruction and rehabilitation in the Rikers Island photos, and urban and wild environments balance in the Singapore photo. In A Natural Order, Foglia seems to hone in more on individuals and families and the personal effects the natural and modern worlds have had on their lives and decisions.

What I find most interesting about his work and the interdisciplinary connections that I see are actually bound together in a sense. As a science major in a fine arts course, I was initially hopeful, but also uncertain about where I would be able to find overlapping points between the two areas of study. Through Lucas Foglia’s work on documenting climate change, the interface between nature and technology, and the primal connection between man and the wild, I can see the bonds formed with the study of life and behavioral sciences. Any criticism likely to be found with regard to his work would likely originate within the same body of thought that doubts the existence of climate change and man’s effect on the natural world.

Bibliography:

http://lucasfoglia.com/

https://www.itsnicethat.com/articles/lucas-foglia-human-nature-photography-050418

0 notes

boldbravery-blog · 7 years ago

Text

VERSES

Main

Child - Godric’s life during his childhood, up until he leaves his home to begin traveling.

Traveler - Godric’s life as he wanders the world, up until he opens Hogwarts with his friends.

Professor - Godric’s life as he teaches at his school, up until his death.

Alternate

Immortal - Through a magical accident, Godric ended up becoming immortal, and in modern times he is a photographer.

Reincarnation - After Godric’s death, he is reincarnated as Gabriel Hayder, and attends Hogwarts as a student and attempts to understand himself.

Time Turner - Godric was sent to another time period through an accident with a time turner.

Ghost - After Godric’s death, the founder became a ghost, feeling as though he had a lot of unfinished business.

Portrait - Godric Gryffindor’s portrait guards a secret passage in Hogwarts, but that doesn’t stop the founder from wandering through the rest of the school’s portraits.

Media

Merlin - Born a wizard, Godric had to hide his magic from the world and honed his skills as a warrior as a result better than his magic. The commoner then began traveling the world to explore and adventure, in addition to learning more about his gifts and perhaps expand them.

Avatar - A firebender, Godric was always opposed to his nation’s tyranny over the rest of the world and actively fought against them at every opportunity. He travel across the world doing this, especially when word of the Avatar’s return is heard. Eventually, he passes on and is reincarnated when Korra is avatar, as Gabriel Hayder.

Pacific Rim - A mech pilot who had a falling out with his previous drift partner who now teaches at the Jaeger Academy as a Jaeger Assault Specialist.

Dragon Age - A mage born in Ferelden to a human mother and elven father, the latter of whom was a mage, Godric was quickly left alone as a child when his father was taken to the Circle and his mother was killed when he was very young. He learned enough to know that his magic was dangerous, and so he did not use it often. Eventually, he decided that he would not be ashamed of the gifts his father gave him, and began using them as he left the cities for his own safety. He eventually combined his physical and magical gifts as an arcane warrior (a skill he picked up from a Dalish clan that was willing to take him in for a time) and a blood mage (a skill he thought worth the risk, as his reckless curiosity got the better of him when he met a rogue blood mage). He fights darkspawn regardless of whether or not he is made a Warden companion, and eventually travels to Kirkwall, knowing that the refugees there may want first-hand information about the end of the Blight, and because his magic is very much noticed and so he wants Ferelden Templar suspicion off of him. He stays there as he is draw in by the conflicts there, and stays when the Chantry explodes, because he has matured some and wants to help rebuild more than he wants to avoid the Templars. When he hears about the Inquisition forming, he heads there immediately to join up.

Inquisition Advisor - A sub verse of the above, when Godric arrives, he proves himself to be a valuable asset as both a warrior and a mage. As a result he is made an advisor as a commander of the mages under the Inquisition’s banner. His official title is Commander, but he is sometimes referred to more specifically as Arcane Commander.

Fallout - A wandering mercenary, Godric alternates between melee, unarmed, and the occasional big gun to fight. He primary deals in the discovery and armed escort business, but does not always work in the same place.

Dishonored - Born in the streets of Dunwall, Godric eventually joined the Bottle Street Gang for protection. He works rather well with them, despite his morals clashing somewhat with his need for survival. The young adult tries to help the residents of the city, especially when the Rat Plague hits. During this time, he ends up working as an underground fighter before he becomes a professional one as the state of the city improves.

Zombies - Gabriel is a photographer who had come home for a brief respite ended up staying there as the zombie apocalypse broke out. He began traveling when the town ran out of supplies and everyone started to turn on one another.

Space - A wandering human mercenary, Godric travels the galaxies finding work where he can and doing good when he’s able to.

Pirates - Godric joined up with a band of pirates when he was young, as an orphan boy had very little prospects in his old town. Eventually, he overthrew the captain when the captain began selling slaves. Now the crew of the Lion’s Maw travels the sea in search of treasure, adventure, and slavers they intend to hunt down.

Modern

Teacher - Gabriel Hayder is either a history, art, or music teacher either in a high school or college, and his known for his unconventional teaching methods.

Photographer - Gabriel Hayder longed for adventure his whole life, and found in it photography. Traveling around the world and seeing exotic sights is perhaps his favorite part about his job.

Musician - Gabriel had always loved music growing up, and had dabbled for a very long time. Given he was a tactile learner, he picked up the guitar very quickly. When he was accidentally discovered by a talent scout through his town’s talent show posting a video of him playing on stage when he was in his twenties, he began playing professionally. His style is mostly acoustic, and can be compared to artists like Hozier in sound.

Spy - Upon leaving high school, Gabriel was convinced to join the military for some time. After six years of service, he is then recruited for MI6 as an agent.

Wizard - Gabriel is a wizard in modern times, and his profession depends on the thread, though default is one of the other modern verses.

High School - Gabriel is a young, reckless orphan in high school trying to live out his rebellious teenage years. He plays soccer, and is involved in the photography club.

College - Gabriel is attending university either for history, art, or music, depending on the thread. He is also in the photography club.

#* pages !

0 notes

caveartfair · 7 years ago

Text

The Photographers Who Captured the Misfits, Drag Queens, and Starlets of Warhol’s Factory

Andy Warhol’s Factory is the stuff of New York lore, symbolizing a lost post-war period when a group of counterculture misfits came together in a bastion of artistic experimentation and debauchery. First located on East 47th Street, it began in 1963 as the Pop artist’s studio space, taking its name from the employees who produced Warhol’s silkscreens and lithographs (as though working on a factory assembly line). But it came to generate and signify much more: There are Warhol’s films and screen tests, and their Andy-anointed superstars, Baby Jane Holzer and Edie Sedgwick among them; the legendary parties and nights out at Studio 54 and Max’s Kansas City; and Warhol’s seeming magnetic pull over a rotating cast of visual artists, musicians, drag queens, and writers alike. The Factory survived three location changes and a failed murder attempt against its leader, and in the end came to a close in 1987, the year of Warhol’s untimely death.

While there’s criticism to be lodged against the Factory’s definition of inclusivity—despite its embrace of gay and trans artists, the community was largely white, and most of the photographers who documented it were male—we still find ourselves drawn to the images and artists who got caught up in the whirlwind that was Warhol.

Hervé Gloaguen

Andy WARHOL, NY 1966 (With Nico, Gérard MALANGA, Paul MORISSEY on “Tiger Morse”), 1966. Hervé GLOAGUEN Galerie Arcturus

Andy WARHOL and the Velvet Underground, NY 1966 (With John CALE, Gérard MALANGA, Nico), 1966. Hervé GLOAGUEN Galerie Arcturus

Andy WARHOL and Edie SEDGWICK at the Factory, NY 1966, 1966. Hervé GLOAGUEN Galerie Arcturus

Andy WARHOL at the Factory, NY 1966, 1966. Hervé GLOAGUEN Galerie Arcturus

Andy WARHOL, NY 1966, 1966. Hervé GLOAGUEN Galerie Arcturus

Andy WARHOL at the Factory, NY 1966, 1966. Hervé GLOAGUEN Galerie Arcturus

Hervé Gloaguen is one of the few foreign photographers who documented Warhol and his Factory compatriots, and the artist’s distance from his subjects shows. He first traveled to New York from Paris in 1965 while on assignment for the French publication Réalités, and regularly returned to photograph over the ensuing six years. His dispatches lovingly captured the city’s experimental artists, including a spotted Yayoi Kusama on the streets of downtown New York and the Factory clique. When Gloaguen lensed Warhol, it was the quintessential “cool” Warhol: He’s seen posing with The Velvet Underground; on the set of one of his films, nonchalantly draped over a tripod; and alone, dutifully making his well-known banana works. This is Warhol at his most idyllic, depicted as a sought-after creator.

Nathan Louis “Nat” Finkelstein

Nat Nathan Louis Finkelstein, Andy with spray paint and moped, 1965. © Estate of Nat Finkelstein. Courtesy Elizabeth Murray Finkelstein.

Nat Nathan Louis Finkelstein, Factory panorama with Andy, 1966. © Estate of Nat Finkelstein. Courtesy Elizabeth Murray Finkelstein.

Nat Nathan Louis Finkelstein, Edie in blue dress (with Vu et al), 1965. © Estate of Nat Finkelstein. Courtesy Elizabeth Murray Finkelstein.

Nat Nathan Louis Finkelstein, Silver Clouds installation, Leo Castelli Gallery, NYC, 1966. © Estate of Nat Finkelstein. Courtesy Elizabeth Murray Finkelstein.

Velvet Underground and Andy Warhol, 1989. Nat Nathan Louis Finkelstein Cerbera Gallery

Warhol, Dylan and Elvis, 1966. Nat Nathan Louis Finkelstein Wright

When Nat Finkelstein walked into the Factory in 1964, it was to party, not to shoot. Finkelstein was a young, New York-bred photographer documenting his city’s counterculture. But upon meeting Warhol, who had seen a Claes Oldenburg story that Finkelstein shot for Pageant magazine, he became the informal house photographer of the Factory until 1967. His raw photojournalistic style—honed while shooting political figures, civil rights protests, and anti-war rallies—took on a snapshot aesthetic. “These unposed images were made when Andy Warhol et al. were people, not products; young artists, not celebratees [sic],” Finkelstein once wrote of the three years that, in large part, came to define his career. He also offered a warning: “Enjoy, but don’t venerate.”

Stephen Shore

Edie Sedgwick, 1965. Stephen Shore Sprüth Magers

Warhol with 'Silver Clouds' in Factory, 1965. Stephen Shore Sprüth Magers

1:35 a.m., in Chinatown Restaurant, New York, New York, 1965-1967. Stephen Shore The Museum of Modern Art

Lou Reed, Andy Warhol, 1965-1967. Stephen Shore 303 Gallery

Andy Warhol, 1965. Stephen Shore Sprüth Magers

Stephen Shore’s career started simply: by asking for what he wanted. At age 14, he put in a call into Edward Steichen, the photography director of the Museum of Modern Art, and convinced him to purchase three of his photographs for the museum’s permanent collection. And at age 17, in 1965, he strolled up to Warhol and asked if he could photograph the Factory. A month later, he was shooting black-and-white 35mm photographs on the set of a Warhol film, Restaurant. Like Finkelstein, Shore continued to visit the Factory for three years, from 1965 to 1968. His largely routine depictions of its happenings are more personal than that of other documentarians; he was less interested in glamour than in the daily reality of this particular set of artists, including Sedgwick, Lou Reed, Yoko Ono, and Nico. Shore credits Warhol’s use of serial imagery with informing his own sense of sequence—a critical skill for an artist whose format is often the photobook.

Brigid Berlin

Untitled (Andy Warhol wearing Lou Reed’s headphones), 1973. Brigid Berlin Nathalie Karg Gallery

Self-portrait with tit prints, . Brigid Berlin Nathalie Karg Gallery

Untitled (double-exposure—Lou Reed), . Brigid Berlin Nathalie Karg Gallery

Brigid Berlin, who famously appeared in Warhol’s 1969 film Chelsea Girls shooting up amphetamines (and was dubbed Brigid “Polk” for that very needle-poking habit), was one of Warhol’s closest confidantes. She also worked as the receptionist at the Factory. Her father, the then-CEO of Hearst, and her mother, a New York socialite, raised her to be a polite society girl, but she found a home for her rebellious nature as a Warhol superstar. Although Berlin appeared in multiple films of Warhol’s (and later, those of John Waters), she never considered herself an artist. She routinely logged her milieu at the Factory with a tape recorder (she transcribed many of Interview magazine’s Q&As after its launch in 1969) and a Polaroid 360, experimenting with close-ups, double exposure, and self-portraiture—frequently in the nude. In the introduction to her 2015 book Brigid Berlin: Polaroids, Bob Colacello, the one-time editor of Interview, ascribed Berlin’s desire to capture her untamed lifestyle to a revolt against her parents. “Brigid’s need to rebel has always been matched by her need to document her rebelliousness, and the overlapping of these two compulsions is what gives her work meaning beyond its curiosity value,” he wrote. “In recording life, she captured our times.”

Billy Name

Andy Warhol at The Factory, . Billy Name ArtWise

Films of Andy Warhol, Whitney Museum of American Art (Signed), 1988. Billy Name Alpha 137 Gallery

The famed silvery aesthetic of Warhol’s first Factory (fittingly known as the Silver Factory) was the work of Billy Name. Born William Linich Jr., Name was a waiter at Manhattan’s Serendipity 3 in 1959 when he met Warhol, a regular, and the two struck up a friendship. The son of a barber, Name was known for his talent with scissors, and invited Warhol to a hair-cutting soirée at his Lower Manhattan apartment, which he had coated in silver aluminum foil and paint. Warhol, enamored with the décor—and with Name, who became his lover—invited the artist to give his studio the same visual treatment.

Name was perhaps the steadiest fixture at the Factory alongside artist Brigid Berlin, and lived there from 1964 to 1970. He once described himself as “the foreman of the Factory,” and acted as its in-house photographer after Warhol gifted him a Pentax camera in 1963. Name’s high-contrast images of The Velvet Underground, Sedgwick, Susan Bottomly, and other stars were that of an insider with full access—capturing both work and play. He was even present in 1968 when Warhol was shot by writer Valerie Solanas; Name emerged from the in-house darkroom to find Warhol bleeding on the Factory’s floor. Name departed the Factory only two years later in 1970. He left a note on the darkroom door that read: “Dear Andy, I am not here any more, but I am fine. Really. With love, Billy.”

Timothy Hursley

Fred Hughes' Office, Warhol Studio NY, 1984. Timothy Hursley Garvey | Simon

Andy Warhol, Factory Basement, Madison at 34th, New York, 1983. Timothy Hursley Garvey | Simon

Timothy Hursley, Andy Warhol, Factory – 34th & Madison, NY. 34th Street Lobby with Keith Haring elephant, 1985. © Timothy Hursley. Courtesy of Timothy Hursley/Garvey Simon Gallery.

Warhol Wig, 1987. Timothy Hursley Garvey | Simon

Timothy Hursley, Andy Warhol, Factory – 34th & Madison, NY. Lunch with Quentin Crisp, Bianca Jagger, Keith Haring, Boy George, Ruppert Everett, 1986. © Timothy Hursley. Courtesy of Timothy Hursley/Garvey Simon Gallery.

Progressive Architecture magazine first commissioned Timothy Hursley to shoot the Factory when Warhol purchased its final location, a former Con Edison factory on East 33rd Street and Madison Avenue. The move was an effort to accommodate Interview magazine’s growing offices and Warhol’s own storage requirements. Warhol moved into the vast space in 1984 after renovating it, and Hursley, an architectural photographer, shot its dynamic rooms and guests, which included actress Bianca Jagger and artist Keith Haring. Hursley returned to photograph the Factory until Warhol’s death in 1987, which makes one photo he shot that final year—of Warhol’s wig tucked inside an open storage box in his East 66th Street townhouse—all the more solemn.

Fred W. McDarrah

Allen Ginsberg on Central Park Bandstand, 5th Avenue Peace Demonstration to Stop the War in Vietnam, April 21-1964. Fred W. McDarrah Steven Kasher Gallery

Andy Warhol with Brillo Boxes, Stable Gallery, April 21-1964. Fred W. McDarrah Steven Kasher Gallery

A native New Yorker, Fred W. McDarrah was a true documentarian of the city’s downtown art scene. He joined the Village Voice as a staff photographer in the mid-1950s, and later became its first picture editor, remaining with the paper until his death in 2007. He photographed Alice Neel; Bob Dylan; Allen Ginsberg; Yoko Ono and John Lennon; Jack Kerouac; Willem and Elaine de Kooning; and Greenwich Village at large, keeping his camera on the pulse of burgeoning art—and in turn, Warhol and his band of off-kilter collaborators. His admiration for the vibrant culture he recorded is palpable in his black-and-white photojournalistic images; he offers a lively post-war vision of New York that celebrates the potential for art-making in the ’60s, a time when the cost of living more easily enabled an artist’s lifestyle.

Richard Avedon

Andy Warhol and members of The Factory, New York City, October 30, 1969. Richard Avedon Phillips

In 1969, Richard Avedon plucked Andy Warhol and his luminaries from their studio in favor of his own. From a solo portrait of Warhol photographed while lifting his shirt to reveal the scars from his attempted murder, to a triptych depicting Paul Morrissey, Joe Dallesandro, Candy Darling, Eric Emerson, Jay Johnson, Tom Hompertz, Gerard Malanga, Viva, Brigid Berlin, and Warhol—Avedon’s spare style conveys the Factory’s clout in its simplicity. The studio was no longer about the physical space, but the cult of personality that preceded it. These figures didn’t need their setting; they were the Factory.

Andy Warhol

Bob colacello in Drag, 1973. Andy Warhol Nathalie Karg Gallery

Jean-Michel Basquiat , ca. 1984. Andy Warhol Hedges Projects

Debbie Harry, 1980. Andy Warhol Phillips

Bianca Jagger, Jerry Hall, Grace Jones, Diane von Fürstenberg, 1974-1984. Andy Warhol Phillips

Polaroid portrait of Brigid Polk aka Brigid Berlin., . Andy Warhol MultiplesInc Projects

Keith Haring & Juan Dubose, 1983. Andy Warhol Phillips

Self-Portrait with Fright Wig, 1986. Andy Warhol Phillips

Andy Warhol himself, of course, also photographed his studio and the friends he filled it with. Beyond christening his screen actors as “superstars” and making prints, paintings, and sculptures, he took many portraits with his Polaroid Big Shot camera and on black-and-white 35mm film—with subjects from Debbie Harry to Jean-Michel Basquiat. Ever the expert in celebrity, it’s through images that Warhol built a cult-like culture around his community, the ripples of which can still be seen today.

Cecil Beaton

In preparation for “600 Faces,” his five decade-spanning exhibition at Museum of the City of New York in the fall of 1969, Cecil Beaton paid a visit to the Factory in May of the same year. In his diaries, he described the experience less than favorably: “Most curious and indescribable, the haunted world presided over by the zombie, more dead than alive since he was shot, of Andy Warhol.” The resulting images depict a no-frills shoot with the exception of Berlin’s partial nudity throughout, which became a recurring theme over the years. Warhol is wearing his signature stripes, flanked by studio staples like superstar Candy Darling. The subjects, photographed a year after Warhol was shot, seem to be acting out the characters expected of them—edgy, quirky artists in an impenetrable circle—but the images also possess a calmness, and the eerie vacancy noted by Beaton.

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

0 notes