#he photographed the screen and i worked with grainy material

[borathae]

i did some editing of an old vogue pic of him

~ Do not repost/reedit ~

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 20

May 10, 1984.

I have been down in the Pit for about two weeks now and I feel as though I am at my wit’s end. Not only have some of these passages collapsed in on themselves but it seems as though this map, which the people at the Natural Resources office assured me was the most up-to-date map of the area they had, is horribly wrong. I keep returning to the same landmarks I have seen a dozen times now, taking passages that the map says ought to lead to the areas I am trying to reach, but I end up right back at the same spot again.

There are none of the call boxes down here; I am very far off the trail. I have the radio phone that they gave me at the office but I have not tried to use it yet. Even if I did call for help, I doubt that any of the rangers would be able to find their way to me. I have heard stories that even the people who live and work down here get lost more often than not. They don’t like to tell these stories but after having worked with them for so long, you overhear things.

I am fine on food for now, and if worse comes to worst I can always cook up small hunks of the walls and floors. I know it is frowned upon but I would rather not starve when there is a wealth of food all around me.

If I don’t return with at least a sample I will be in deep water. I am already on thin ice as it is, so to speak; when I returned from my last expedition the administrator told me that whatever I had done to the copepods had stirred them up something fierce, and that they had already taken three rangers that week. I pretended ignorance but inwardly I was terrified; if he had found out what I knew…

Sometimes I think I may be being followed, but I have seen no evidence of it. It is just a feeling. I do my best to laugh it off.

After all, who would be crazy enough to follow me down here?

 May 12, 1984.

Made it to the Village but the bridge is out. Spectacular view, a vast churning ocean of acid and various fluids surging out of the orifices above and pounding down the long gullet-like drop below. The Village is taunting me from the other side.

The metal of the bridge looks befouled somehow. I’m not sure, I have not seen anything like this before. Not rust or corrosion but like the inch-thick metal has been crumpled or wrinkled like the wrapper of a candy bar. The majority of the bridge is simply missing, having probably fallen down into the abyss below. I spent an hour cursing my luck. I will have to turn back.

 May 13, 1984.

Took a triocanth today. Like Rainier said, the meat of its abdomen was savoury, not unlike lobster, but with a faint and offputting aftertaste that became gradually fouler the more I ate. I had to discard the majority of it. I did not need to eat it, I still have some food left, but I wanted to see how bad it would be when I ran out.

Later in the day I began the ascent back up. I am not entirely empty-handed; I managed to retrieve some of the smaller ‘pearls’ from Oyster’s Shame. Of course they are not pearls at all, more like gallstones, but they are valuable. If you can preserve them they make a perfectly fireproof and perfectly flexible material, and I have heard that ground into a paste they can be used as components in electronics, although I haven’t the faintest idea how exactly that works. I doubt the pearls will be enough, though. If only I could have gotten to the village! I am still cursing my bad luck from the day before. I spent all evening trying to find some way to get across but there were none. It all depended on the bridge and I had not even thought that it might have been destroyed.

At least the rangers will be glad to know of it; from what I hear they venture down here only rarely.

Still feel as though I am being followed.

 May 16, 1984.

I am being followed. I’ve seen the man following me, I caught him in the shadow of an ancient, halfway-drained gizzard when I happened to turn around. He was huge, twice as big as I am, and when I called out and shone my light on him he burst apart into a thousand worms or snakes or leeches and they all fled.

I would have thought that my eyes were playing tricks on me or that my mind was beginning to go but when I made my way back to the spot where the man had stood I found a leech there caught under a fold of flesh that had fallen over on top of it when it had tried to flee. It was nearly the size of my arm, but deflated and wrinkled, with a mouth full of flanged teeth. I hacked it into five pieces but some reflex still allowed it to bite me, albeit shallowly, when I picked it up.

I thought I had found the way back up but when I checked the map the passage I was in was not there at all. After about five hundred feet of treacherous twists and turns the stents ran out and the passage compressed down to nothing and I had to make my way back. I made a bright fire tonight and did not sleep much.

 May 17, 1984.

I woke at three A.M. to vomit. Pounding headache. Do not feel well. Have rations gone bad?

 May 17, 1984.

Not the rations. The bite is swollen and infected. I tried to climb further today but was too weak to. My arm feels like it will fall off. Something in the saliva. Why did I pick it up?

 May 17, 1984.

Saw it again today. It is massive. Came to the edge of my camp and stared at me while I pointed at it with my knife and shouted imprecations. I was delirious.

It is somewhat like a starfish, in that it forms itself into a five-pointed shape, but it goes upright on two of the ‘legs’ while two others hang by its side and the other stands straight up towards the ceiling. It seems to be composed of thousands of leeches but why they band together in this manner I do not know. It did nothing to me and eventually vanished, but I passed out from the strain soon afterwards and when I came to a few hours later I was not sure if I had really seen it.

Still feel awful, but not as bad as yesterday. Think I may pull through. I will still have to find some way out of here, but I got here somehow, therefore there must be a way out. I wasn’t able to make it to the village but maybe Rainier and Duke LaVerne will understand.

I think this will be my last time coming down here. One way or another.

 I look up at Elena. “That’s the last one?” I ask her, and she nods.

“That’s all they found at Tim Beaufort’s campsite down there in the Gut. There might have been more but they weren’t able to find it. Or him.”

“So that’s where the story of the Leechman comes from, then?”

“Initially,” she yawns. I close out my wrist screen like she taught me to do and then lean back, glare around the interior of Oyster’s Shame like I’m expecting the Leechman to be standing there in the corner like Mike Myers staring at Laurie Strode or something. “There’ve been other sightings through the years but nothing really concrete. Not that Beaufort’s story is very concrete either, but it was spooky. I’ve always thought it was just the Pit’s version of Bigfoot, just something you scare rookies with.”

I glance over at her. Back inside the station someone bangs into something and curses. Fumi is messing with the stove again but the mood isn’t nearly as jovial as it was before.

The Sergeant’s been trying to get on the radio with Makado for the past couple of hours but there’s some kind of interference. Elena thinks it’s from the nerve clusters surrounding this place; evidently it’s packed full and sometimes when the Pit…thinks too hard? Or something similar, some sort of equivalent, it blanks out every connection from here to the Village.

Whatever the Village is. I asked Elena but she started a couple of times and then just shook her head. “You’d have to see it to believe it,” she told me, and no matter how much I pestered her she wouldn’t budge, just giving me a secretive little smile and telling me to buzz off and then tickling me when I’d persist.

“Why’re we all dead, Elena?” I ask, after enough silence has passed. The field heating pouch is working on my MRE so I don’t have anything to do at present besides chew on a fairly grainy shelf-stable cracker and watch her eat her goulash. She looks up at me alarmed and gives me a concerned Tim Allen-esque grunt and I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Everyone looks round at us and I let it fade fast, try not to blush, but then I’m blushing and I feel awful. “I mean,” I say in a low whisper, once everyone’s returned to their meals, “you know how earlier you said that we were all dead? After I showed everybody the video I took? What did you mean?”

“Oh,” Elena waves, taking another bite. “Yeah, that’s just like, part of the myth. Supposedly if the Leechman catches sight of you or gets your scent or however the hell it works, that’s it, it’s going to hunt you down no matter what. No way of stopping it, no nothing. Like Jason from Friday the 13th.”

“Spooky.”

“So yeah,” Elena smiles, wiggling her fingers at me, warbling her voice. “You’re next, Roan!”

“I take it you don’t think that was a Leechman on the video, then.”

“The Leechman. There’s only one, supposedly.”

“The Leechman, then.”

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, stabbing at her pouch of food. I’ve just taken mine out of the bag and nearly burned my fingers it was so hot. “It might have been the Leechman, sure. But I think if there was something like that down here, there’d have been footage of it before today.”

“There’s not?”

“There is one grainy photograph, that’s it.”

I think about that for a while, roll it around in my head like a particularly distasteful morsel of food that I know I have to eat.

Well, Roan, break it down. What if it’s true? What if there really is a giant monster made out of leeches stomping around out there and it’s going to come for you and that’s that, nothing to be done about it?

I almost, almost shove it out of my mind and forget about it, don’t even bother to entertain the notion, but I catch myself, force myself to feel that heady quake of fear that I feel rising up my throat like a hot flash when I realize that I don’t want to die, that for all of my bluster and bravado, for all of my playacting by taking up chain-smoking and coming down to Gumption on a damn-fool errand, I don’t want to die.

It’s a new feeling and not one I enjoy. It makes me feel weak. When I felt like I was hollow I think I also felt stronger.

“There something wrong with your MRE?” Elena asks, and I frown, look over at her.

“What?”

“You were just giving it a very strange face,” she says, gesturing with her fork.

“Oh,” I roll my eyes. “It’s nothing.”

“You sure?” she asks. “You’re acting –“

I reach over and squeeze her knee gently. “Don’t you worry about me, alright?”

“I’ve been doing nothing but,” she says, and I smile at her and start to say something else, when the Sergeant comes walking out of the station behind us and gestures at me.

“Merriweather,” he says, in a surprisingly calm tone of voice, “I’ve got Miss Veret on the line finally, she wants to speak with you.”

“With me?” I blurt, while Elena studiously avoids my gaze. I haven’t really prodded at it but I don’t want to push my luck with her concession about not rocking the boat until the mission’s over. She’s still quietly furious at both Peter and Makado; I’ve caught her staring at Peter several times, something close to hate in her eyes. Well, maybe that’s being melodramatic. She blames him, though, I’m certain of it, and I – well, I don’t blame her.

The Sergeant ushers me in to the back room – I can’t stop myself from glancing over at the lumpy mass in the corner, trail of blood still leading to it, now hidden beneath an emergency blanket – and holds out a wired phone receiver to me. Immediately a blast of static assaults my ears and I jerk the handset back, but then I can hear Makado’s voice and the static quiets.

“Makado?” I ask. I see the Sergeant’s eyes narrow fractionally as he registers that I’ve called her by her first name but I turn away from him, lean up against the wall.

“Hey, Roan,” she says. She’s put on a brisk, clipped tone but her voice is full of concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. There’s a lot going on down here, though.”

“Trust me, I know,” she groans. “We hadn’t heard from the Listening Station in a while but that’s normal, the electrical disturbances in the area can sometimes cut off communications, so nobody here had thought anything of it. I’m going to have to fill out a lot of forms in triplicate tonight. But you’re fine?”

“Yeah, yeah, nothing happened to me, I’m okay.”

“Okay, good. I, uh.”

I frown, glance down at the handset. It isn’t like her to prevaricate. “I wanted to call you first because the situation is evolving up here just as much as it is down there and…the mission might become more dangerous than I’d initially anticipated.”

“What are you saying?”

“I can get you out of there,” she tells me, and it’s like I’ve been hit by a bullet, like I’ve been electrified. I look up at the Sergeant without even meaning to and his face is as unreadable as a bare concrete wall. “But you’d have to leave now,” Makado tells me, ploughing through my moment of stunned confusion. “If you wait much longer I don’t know if I’ll be able to get you out.”

I open my mouth and close it again. I let the seconds roll on so long that Makado says my name again, voice hesitant, as though she’s afraid we’ve lost connection. “I’m still here,” I breathe. I close my eyes. “If I say yes, could you get anybody else out?” I ask her. “One of the other rangers, I mean.”

“No,” Makado says. “I need all of them down there. You can hand off the camera to someone else, I know it’s your camera but I’ll buy you a new one like I said.”

“Definitely not?”

“Huh? Oh, as far as someone else coming out? Yeah, I can’t. Don’t worry, I’ll be here tracking you on the map and I’ll be able to talk you through the way out.”

I smile faintly. “That’s really kind of you, Makado, but I’m staying.”

There’s a moment of frozen silence before I hear Makado cough. “You’re staying?” she asks, and I nod.

“I’m not a quitter. I appreciate it, I really do, but I’m going to see this through.”

I hear her sigh over the line, a whispery gust barely distinguishable from the interference surrounding it. “Well,” she says, “I guess I underestimated you.”

“I’m used to it.”

She starts to say something, then stops, and I smile a little to myself and cut her off. “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’m okay down here.”

“You’re…doing better?”

“Yeah. I, ah…took a little field trip the other day. Felt a little better afterwards.”

The Sergeant gives me a dubious look but I ignore him.

“All the more reason to get out while you can,” she says, “but I guess you’re determined. Well, I – I admire your character. Jesus Christ,” she laughs, “listen to me, I’m losing it in my old age. Good for you. Don’t die down there, alright?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Yes,” she says softly, “I imagine you will. Can you put Mr. Van Der Leeuwen back on the phone, please?”

“Who?” I blurt, before my eyes flick over to the Sergeant and I realize. I smile at him and I am only a little shocked when he smiles back. “Oh,” I say, “right.”

“See you.”

“You as well,” I tell her, and then I pass it back to the Sergeant and wander back out of the station, feeling like there are wings spreading behind me and trailing dust on all the surfaces as they squeeze through, feeling, infinitesimally and unplaceably, as though the Roan of even just three days ago would have jumped at the offer not quite before it cleared Makado’s lips.

Elena’s finished her meal by now and has mine sitting idly on her lap, saving it for me probably, and when she hears my footsteps behind her she leans around and cranes her neck up at me and then nearly does a double-take. I smile at her and ask what the matter is and she just says that I look happy, and when she says that it’s all I can do to stop myself from leaning down and taking her head in my hands and kissing her long and hard and slow right there.

“I am happy,” I tell her, plopping myself down next to her on the stairs and squeezing her tightly for a moment, just a moment – even if what Slate said the other day was true and we weren’t being as inconspicuous as I’d hoped, I still don’t want to make a production out of it. Not in public, anyway.

Oh, poor Slate. He’d begun to grow on me, he really had. It’s a weird feeling, knowing that he’s gone now, that the guy who was flirting with me three days ago and grinning at me just earlier while we all swapped stories just…disappeared, without even a body left behind to show for it. Now he’s nothing but memories and a bloodstained helmet.

Now Elena asks me why I’m happy and I tell her briefly what Makado had told me, and Elena’s face brightens immeasurably. “Oh, thank god,” she groans. “You’re getting out of here? You’re going to be safe?”

“I – what – no,” I tell her, spluttering a little, “I told her no, I said I wanted to stay down here. I asked her if I could get someone to come out with me and she said no, so I told her I was going to stay. You’re not smiling,” I observe, stupidly. She’s staring at me, mouth slightly open.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Roan,” she says, starting to get up before she remembers the tray of food on her lap. She settles for just twisting around and pointing back at the station. “Go back in there while she’s still on the phone and tell her you’ve changed your mind!” she hisses at me.

“What?” I blurt, and then realize everyone’s looked round and lower my voice “Are you crazy?” I ask her.

“Are you?”

“Elena, I – I thought you’d be happy!”

“You thought I would be happy? Happy that you’re choosing to stay here, in danger, just so you can spend a little more time with me? The thing that’d make me happiest, Roan,” she says, reaching up to stroke my cheek, “is if I knew for a fact you were up there waiting for me, not hanging around down here where you’re liable to get eaten or dissolved or spiked or skewered or what the hell ever else. If I knew I would be coming back to you and that you’d be safe and sound.”

I have, I realize, at some point during that little speech, bitten my lip hard enough to leave a mark. She looks at me with mixed mournfulness and resignation and finally I manage to unstick my jaw long enough to offer a plaintive and unsatisfactory “oh,” and Elena laughs.

“This is pointless,” she murmurs. Her eyes are flicking over my face and for a moment I want so badly that it’s painful to know what she sees when she looks at me. “You’ve already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

I nod, slowly. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I didn’t think –“

“You stop that,” she says, prodding me in the ribs with a sly smile. I yelp and cover my mouth reflexively, glaring daggers at her, but her smile latches on to me and then I’m grinning back at her like a damn fool. “Stop being sorry for shit like that,” she tells me, a little more seriously.

“But you’re going to worry about me,” I point out. “About if I’ll die down here.”

“Anything that’s going to want to kill you has got to go through me first,” she says, and I feel as though a massive warm hand has taken my heart in its palm and squeezed. I open my mouth to tell her – well, I don’t know what I wanted to tell her.

The door behind us bangs open and I jump. “Everybody into the meeting room!” The Sergeant calls, and then me and Elena share a glance and file in along with everyone else.

“Hi guys,” Makado says, voice crackly on speakerphone, once the Sergeant’s confirmed that everyone’s inside. What passes next is about an hour of the dullest game of verbal chicken I’ve ever had the misfortune to be witness to. Makado is trying desperately to convince the team to keep on going, down to the barrows to get the crystal and then back up, and something about the subtle and quiet note of underlying nerves in her voice makes me realize something – she really doesn’t have any power over us.

I mean, think about it – what would she do if we all decided that we had had enough, that we weren’t going to go through with it, that we were just going to make our way back up to the surface and hit the canteen? She’d be furious, of course, she’d be beyond pissed at the team, but it isn’t like they were doing anything illegal. This is a company now, they’d get fired and life would move on. Maybe they wouldn’t even get fired; someone like Elena, for instance, someone with cave diving and rescue skills, would probably be impossible to promptly replace, if at all – maybe the Pit pays well, better than a place like the Coast Guard would, but you’d also have to find the people who can cave dive and don’t mind operating inside of a living nightmare like the Pit. Cuts an already slim pool in half, or more.

I think I understand now why Makado’s seemed always to behave so chummily with the people nominally under her command, something I’d noticed up on the surface; the few times she’d come to visit us in the barracks she was welcomed like one of the rangers, like a favorite boss who doesn’t rock the boat very much. It’s because as soon as the team is down here, doing something important, every decision from above becomes a negotiation instead of just an order to be obeyed.

And it also makes more sense to me why the Sergeant is such a hardass – if he’s the bad cop to Makado’s good cop, the people on the team are more likely to listen to her, just cause she’s more sympathetic – and then, double-duty, while they’re down here and under his command directly, they’re more likely to do what he says without any argument because they don’t want him pissed off at them.

Right now, though, it looks as though the Sergeant isn’t entirely holding up his end of the deal. He’s stood there like a statue for the last half an hour, only disappearing for a little bit towards the beginning to grab himself a cup of coffee, not uttering a word, his granite-like expression not slipping, not even a little. He ought to be cracking down on the dissent that’s being thrown her way but he’s not, he’s just letting Ellis and Fumi and Crookshank practically demand to know what is so goddam important about this fucking crystal that it was worth Slate dying for, and it’s got Makado in a bind because she very, very clearly does not want to tell us. She talks around it, never flat-out saying that she won’t but avoiding it. This goes on for a while until Crookshank, fuming, slams his hand on the table, making me jump. Elena, who’s been holding my hand in both of hers in her lap, glances over at me and squeezes my hand lightly, and when our eyes meet she gives me a faint smile.

“Makado,” Crookshank says, in a surprisingly level tone of voice, “if you can’t tell us what’s important about this crystal, we’re not going to get it for you.”

It would be Crookshank that put voice to it that baldly, but as I look around the table I see slow nods. “Yeah,” Fumi says, and although many of us glance over at the Sergeant, he remains silent.

Makado sighs and in it I can hear a note of defeat, trickling down plainly through however many hundreds of feet and flesh and rock.

“Alright,” she says softly.

The crystal is important, she says, because in the 2007 disaster the thing that they used to make the Pit stop from waking up entirely was an array of three carved crystals that had been found back in the 70s at the original Indian ritual grounds, and it had been determined through rigorous and secretive testing that striking the carved crystals produced vibrations of a certain wavelength impossible to replicate by any other means that exerted some sort of influence or control over the Pit. Striking them in a certain way could make it wake up, striking them in another way could make it convulse, and so on. These crystals had been incorporated into some sort of machine that was supposed to, if there ever was a disaster as serious as the one in 2007, spin the crystals up and strike a certain tone that would have been loud enough to pound downwards into whatever the Pit used for a brain and get it to go into a coma, or to kill it – they weren’t entirely sure.

The plan had worked, though not without a few hiccups, Makado says, but the biggest hiccup of all was that the crystals had shattered when that tone was struck, and since then this is the first time they’ve had one within their grasp. If they can get the crystal, get it up to the lab and carve it out the way the natives of the area must have, thousands if not tens of thousands of years ago, they might have another ace in the hole in case the Pit starts to wake up again.

I wonder, briefly, what might happen if a person were inside the Pit when that tone resounded through the creature, a tone so powerful it was able to knock out something like the Pit. I wonder about the cause of that mysterious psychic illness Peter and Makado had alluded to, I wondered about the nosebleeds Makado had told me about, when she was telling the story about the amalgam.

Perhaps -

“Because,” Makado says, “I’m not going to sugarcoat this – it is going to wake up. We’ve been hearing rumblings, down there in the depths, in the Gut and elsewhere, muscle contractions, palpitations, activity in areas that have lain dormant since 2007. I’ve been speaking to Science and their opinion is that the Pit is building up a tolerance to the sedative we use, and without that, all the other measures, the deliberate starvation, nerve clipping, muscle relaxants – they won’t be enough to stop something like 2007, or something worse, from happening again.”

I hear her blow out a big breath.

“I don’t know what it’ll be like if it wakes up again. You all know that the Pit’s too big to be ambulatory, but it’s got appendages it can move and feed with, and its size makes it a threat to a very big chunk of Texas if it were to be able to move them with coordination. Thanks to us, if it wakes up again, it’ll be hungry. You decide if it’s worth it.”

The line clicks off and we sit there in silence for a moment. The Sergeant levers himself off the wall and plonks his empty mug down on the table. “Think about it,” he says to all of us. “We’ll sleep here tonight and then tomorrow we’ll make a decision.”

So we sleep there tonight and tomorrow we make a decision. Despite the dead body in the Station nothing comes poking around to bother us, or at least if anything does it took one look at Joker and scampered off. Elena and I stayed up for a little but again we found that there was nothing to say; I contented myself with stroking my hands along the naked expanse of her body, not in a sexual way, just because I liked the way her skin felt beneath my fingertips. She held very still, a ghost of a smile fluttering over her lips. I found her hips and squeezed them, traced circles around her nipples, ran my hand down the toned flat expanse of her belly, the dark patch of stubble below beckoning me, but I controlled myself. I stared at it for a moment, then flicked my eyes up to her face, to her unruly mop of blonde hair.

Elena shifts her hands along my backside, squeezing at me, and I made a little noise deep in my throat. “You’re like a cat,” she told me. It’s the first thing either of us said  in about a half an hour. Her other hand was tucked up beneath me and tangled in my hair. I leant in and kissed her.

“Do you dye your hair?” I asked her, and she laughed.

“That’s such a random question.”

“I was curious.”

“I do,” she said.

“Why?”

“Cause I don’t like brown,” she said primly. I arched an eyebrow at her.

“I have brown hair,” I pointed out, and she smiled, looks up at it.

“Yes, you do. But it looks good on you.”

“I think you’d look good with brown hair.”

“We should go to sleep,” she told me. I pull her closer against me, knocking against one of the tent’s metal support struts with my elbow.

“Shit,” I grunt, and she laughed.

We said a few more things but nothing important. I kissed her on the neck and she giggled, and then we fell asleep, arms and legs tangled together like knots. I was afraid I’d dream but instead there was nothing, not even a sensation that I had dreamed and forgotten it as soon as I’d woken, just closing my eyes and then opening them when Elena had sat up, the alarm on her watch beeping at us. I looked at the shifting muscles in her back, at the long thin scar along one of her shoulder blades, and then I reached out for her and pulled her back down into me and nuzzled my face all along the soft, smooth places of her body and she kept laughing and saying that we had to get up, that it was going to be a long day, but I told her that if that was the case we ought to make the most of our morning, and she considered that and then turned with a feral grin and fell on me and all was well for a while.

Then, when we were through, we got dressed and clambered out of the tent and found that a consensus had been reached without us, although it was one we’d agreed with – that if Slate’s (presumed) death, and the (presumed) deaths of the other four people who worked at the Deep Listening Station, and the (definite) death of the one we’d found were to mean anything, were to be worth it – I felt something like a shudder at that phrase, at the notion of a death like that being ‘worth it’ – we would have to continue. If it was as important as Makado said, we would have to continue. And when the Sergeant told us this, that we’d been outvoted, he nodded to me and said that if I wanted to take Makado’s offer up anyway, she’d informed him that she’d be able to guide me up out of the darkness, and that nobody here would think anything less of me for taking the easy way out.

And then I looked at Elena and she’d looked at me, and I thought I saw something imploring in her eyes, so I looked away from her, but I couldn’t say anything to him, not just yet. I knew that we were going to make it to the barrows today and some freakish mortal fear had taken ahold of me and its teeth were so deep and cold and serrated that I didn’t trust myself to speak. I thought of the stories Peter and Makado had told me, I thought of poor Eileen, dragged off by a copepod, and for a moment I wanted so badly to say yes, okay, tap me out, I’m done, you guys have fun down here, but it passed quickly and replaced itself with something hard and cast-iron and heavy sinking into the pit of my stomach. It took me a moment to recognize it as determination, and then I was smiling at the Sergeant, I imagine rather beatifically.

“No,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re sure?” he asked.

“Positive. Why dip out when it’s just getting exciting?”

And with that, after a little more puttering around and making sure everyone was collected and on the ball with what was to be done today, we took the second-largest vent out of Oyster’s Shame, leaving its spongy and beautiful luminescence behind, leaving the dead body behind, leaving, I certainly hoped, the Leechman behind, and began the long, slow, treacherous climb downwards to the copepod barrows.

Continue with Part 21

Back to Table of Contents

[caveartfair]

Understanding 11 Great Artists through the Instructions They Left Behind

Robert Rauschenberg, White Paintings- 1951, 1965. © 2019 Robert Rauschenberg Foundation. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

Art has the power to mystify. You’ve experienced it if you’ve ever walked up to an artwork, stopped, and thought, “How did they do that?” Such an encounter can leave you wishing for the artist’s instructions on how the artwork was planned out, fabricated, or performed. Actually, those instructions exist, and some are even considered artworks in their own right.

“Instruction drawings,” as they’ve been called, are preparatory sketches and notes; they might even be the sole remnants of a work that an artist dreamt up, but never realized. Earlier this year, the Museum of Modern Art received a gift of 800 works from the Gilbert B. and Lila Silverman Instruction Drawing Collection, including a preparatory drawing for Roy Lichtenstein’s sculpture Head of Girl (1964), plans for Carolee Schneemann’s iconic performance Meat Joy (1964), and diagrams outlining how Donald Judd’s stacks and Robert Rauschenberg’s white paintings should be created. Though they’re not exactly formulas to understanding artists’ genius feats, they do offer clues into the artist’s mind.

“They really bring you back to the studio—the making of the work,” noted Christophe Cherix, MoMA’s chief curator of drawings and prints. “And that’s why they are both so moving and informative: They bring you to a place where usually you’re not allowed, to that moment where the work is really imagined.” We recently caught up with Cherix to discuss 11 choice works from the Silverman Collection, and what these instructions can tell us about the artists who penned them.

Merce Cunningham, Aeon (1961/63)

Merce Cunningham. Aeon (.a). 1961/63. © 2019 Merce Cunningham. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

Merce Cunningham. Aeon (.a). 1961/63. © 2019 Merce Cunningham. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

Pioneering modern dance choreographer Merce Cunningham sketched out three pages of notes for his early 1960s dance Aeon, for which John Cage composed the score and Robert Rauschenberg designed the sets.

“The sheets are very precious because dance was in a very experimental moment, and often involved improvisation,” Cherix explained. The pages show the choreographer’s loopy scrawl, stick-figure drawings, and arrows—indicating the directives he gave to dancers, including specific, key movements such as “grab ankles & roll feet over head.” The pages offer a view into Cunningham’s careful creative process and the way he developed his works through lists, words, visual cues, and space.

Walter De Maria, Untitled (“For La Monte”)/(Two Lines in a Desert) (1963)

Walter De Maria, Untitled (“For La Monte”) / (Two Lines in a Desert), 1963. © 2019 Walter De Maria. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

Known for highly calculated installations that engage the Earth and precise manmade objects, Walter De Maria created this drawing early in his career, before he’d broached the vast terrain of land art. While it doesn’t refer to any single finished work, the drawing illustrates the minimal convenings with nature that the artist was imagining at the time. Its title references another luminary of the 1960s avant-garde, the minimalist composer La Monte Young; Cherix noted that the drawing recalls Young’s famous adage from his Compositions 1960: “Draw a straight line and follow it.” A simple, mountainous landscape with a path drawn through it, the piece reflects the artist’s desire to make large-scale works in nature.

Roy Lichtenstein, Breck Girl (ca. 1964)

Roy Lichtenstein, Breck Girl, c. 1964. © 2019 Estate of Roy Lichtenstein. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

What may appear to be a few pencil markings on a magazine clipping is actually a window into Roy Lichtenstein’s process for planning out his sculptures. The artist may be more recognized for his comic book–like paintings, but he also made a handful of metal sculptures in his signature style: benday dots and primary colors portraying scenes from everyday life. This particular drawing shows the early stages of two sculptures, completed in 1964 and 1965 (one of which belongs to the Whitney).

Lichtenstein said that he wasn’t copying his source material, but rather “restating the image that he found, in his own terms,” Cherix explained. “What you see is a two-dimensional image of a girl that would become, in his own terms, a sculpture.” The pencil markings show the key shapes that the artist focused on in conceiving the piece.

“After seeing that, you can’t see the sculpture the same way,” Cherix remarked. “That’s why these instructional drawings are so interesting—they allow us to enter the thought process, and then they challenge us to reconsider things that we think we know well.”

Carolee Schneemann, Meat Joy (1964)

Carolee Schneemann, Meat Joy, 1964. © 2019 Carolee Schneemann / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

This detailed sketch depicts plans for Carolee Schneemann’s iconic performance piece Meat Joy. In this case, the instruction drawing documents “something that happened just a few times and was not meant to be reenacted over and over,” Cherix said.

While we have footage of Schneemann’s live performance—which featured half-naked men and women writhing around with slabs of raw meat, fish, whole chickens, and paint—this drawing reminds us that it was not quite so free-wheeling as it appeared. Moreover, Cherix added, the drawing “tells you a little bit of how she arrived at Meat Joy, which is maybe one of her most famous works.” Indeed, the sketch portrays entangled couples with notes like “mixture,” “exchange,” and “rising/falling.”

Robert Rauschenberg, White Paintings- 1951 and Letter from Billy Klüver to Pontus Hulten regarding the fabrication of Rauschenberg’s White Paintings- 1951 (both 1965)

Robert Rauschenberg, Letter from Billy Klüver to Pontus Hulten regarding the fabrication of Rauschenberg’s White Paintings- 1951, 1965. © 2019 Robert Rauschenberg Foundation. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

This drawing and an accompanying letter encapsulate one of Rauschenberg’s many novel ideas: to produce plain white paintings that he never even touched. These works, known as the “White Paintings,” were meant to act as screens on a stage—“a painting that was less to be looked at and more to react to its environment,” Cherix offered. As the instructions make clear, the artist was emphatic that these works should not look handmade; he didn’t want to see brushstrokes, instead preferring “smooth (not grainy or rough) canvas stretched tight and painted evenly flat white.” Additionally, as he made clear through diagrams at the top of the drawing, these pieces could made in a variety of configurations—such as one 4-foot square or two rectangular panels—so long as they adhered to his specific rules and dimensions.

“What this sheet preserved is really the fundamental instruction for the making of paintings that completely changed the way we looked at painting in the post-war,” Cherix said. “The painting can be delegated; it can be just something that exists in relation to the world around it, not a thing in and of itself.”

Niki de Saint Phalle, Projet pour construction de Nana maison (1969)

Niki de Saint Phalle, Projet pour construction de Nana maison, 1969. © 2018 Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

The French sculptor Niki de Saint Phalle made many sculptures that took on the character of the “Nana”—a colloquial term for women that she playfully used to make feminist statements and toy with conceptions surrounding women’s societal roles. This plan for a “Nana” the size of a small home, a commentary on housewives, also exemplifies her great feats in monumental sculpture—something that few women had opportunities to accomplish in the 20th century. (In 1998, Saint Phalle opened her Tarot Garden, a sculpture park in Tuscany filled with several brilliant, towering “Nana” figures.)

“Her work addresses different stereotypes of women and creates environments that are inviting but also very critical,” Cherix noted. “It shows her ambition.…She didn’t want to keep creating painting and sculpture, small objects, domestic objects; and was really trying to tackle the scale of public space.”

Vito Acconci, Notes on Movement (1971)

Vito Acconci, Notes on Movement, 1971. © 2019 Vito Acconci. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

This compendium of works by Vito Acconci documents the artist’s idiosyncratic performances from 1961–71, while also shedding light on how he thought about his movement within the conceptual framework of his pieces.

“Acconci had a very interesting way of showing photographs of his actual performances, often with texts, which bring you to the moment when the work was performed, but also to the idea behind the performance,” Cherix said. For Following Piece (1969), where the artist chose a stranger to tail until he or she went home or to work, he considered his movement “determined by another person, another’s goal.” In contrast, for Trademarks (1970), where the artist bit “as much of [his] body as [he could] reach,” Cherix said, Acconci’s movement was dictated by his own physical limits.

Donald Judd, Instruction Drawing for Otterlo Show Wall Sculpture (1976)

Donald Judd, Instruction Drawing for Otterlo Show Wall Sculpture, 1976. © 2019 Judd Foundation / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

In the 1960s, “Judd was one of the first artists to delegate the production of his work as a sculptor,” Cherix explained. But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in the creation of his works. “Judd would follow the execution of the work very, very precisely. He was really behind the shoulder of the person fabricating,” Cherix continued. But even so, Judd also recorded the specifications of each piece, as seen in this drawing for one of his signature “stack” wall sculptures, made for his fabricators at the time, the Bernstein Brothers. The artist included notes on the materials of the piece—“Sides and front are Galvanized iron. Top and bottom are blue anodized aluminum”—and the dimensions of each individual module, but he also sketched out the whole piece to show how it fit the space where it hung.

“The relationship to the actual space, to the architecture, was a defining element of a work of art for him,” Cherix added.

Kase2, The Fantastic Partners (not dated)

Kase2 (Jeff Brown), The Fantastic Partners. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern Art.

Bronx-born graffiti artist Jeff Brown, a.k.a. Kase2, was known for tagging subway cars in 1970s New York. This marker drawing, titled after the collective he belonged to, The Fantastic Partners (or TFP Crew), was used to plan one such piece.

Kase2 and his peers “were taking the city as a canvas and doing things that were mostly illegal—you were not supposed to paint the subway cars or do great frescoes on empty walls across the city,” Cherix noted. Before acquiring the drawing, Gilbert B. Silverman looked at those murals and wondered how graffiti artists were able to execute such detailed, elaborate work; that led him to seek out pieces like this one.

“Of course, it’s very hard to collect a subway car, and most of those interventions have disappeared,” Cherix added. While some of the works still exist through photographs and maybe even fragments, Cherix said that “this is a very nice way to bring these works into our collection, to have the works on paper that really helped the artist to make their work in the city itself.”

from Artsy News

[thomaschattertonwilliams]

By Thomas Chatterton Williams July 20, 2018 LONDON — When the world first learned of Michael Jackson’s death, from an accidental overdose in 2009, the news had a whiff of unreality about it. This was in no small part because, for so long, it had been hard to remember that he was actually a person. A child prodigy who in adulthood became a genuine Peter Pan — fantastically refusing to grow old — Jackson was always more an idea than a human being in the flesh. Nearly a decade later, the shape-shifting body frozen in memory, his extraordinary image endures as if he never left. Now, an ambitious and thought-provoking new exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London, running through Oct. 21, seeks to measure the impact and reach of Jackson as muse and cultural artifact. “Michael Jackson: On the Wall,” curated by Nicholas Cullinan, sprawls without feeling bloated, occupying 14 rooms and bringing together the work of 48 artists across numerous media, from Andy Warhol’s instantly recognizable silk-screen prints and grainy black-and-white snapshots, to a vast oil painting by Kehinde Wiley. (Jeff Koons’s famous porcelain sculpture “Michael Jackson and Bubbles” is notably absent, though it is reinterpreted in several other pieces.) First the obvious: No artwork, however clever or pretty, that has been inspired by a talent the size of Jackson’s can compete with its source material. To get the most out of what this show has to offer it is best to acknowledge this at the entrance and move on, as the most successful pieces do, eschewing strictly aesthetic concerns and exploring instead Jackson’s conceptual possibilities. Consider for example one of the simplest works in the show, David Hammons’s 2001 installation, “Which Mike Do You Want to Be Like…?” The piece — full of wondrous pride even as it conjures a sense of depressing limitation — consists of three abnormally tall microphones and its title recalls the Holy Trinity of late-20th-century black American entertainment icons as set out by the rapper The Notorious B.I.G.: “I excel like Mike, anyone: Tyson, Jordan, Jackson.” (B.I.G.’s own guest feature on Jackson’s 1995 “History” album marked a crowning achievement in his career.) More than 20 years later, rappers still clamor for a Jackson co-sign. On “Scorpion,” his latest chart-topping release, Drake flexed the ultimate status symbol, having purchased the rights to unreleased vocals and scoring a posthumous feature with the King of Pop. Jackson, more than Tyson or even Jordan, so epitomized black excellence that Ebony magazine could unselfconsciously run an airbrushed image of him on the cover in 2007, his creamy skin and silky cascading hair framing a razor-sharp jawline, beside a headline reading “Inside: The Africa You Don’t Know.” A year after the singer’s death, Lyle Ashton Harris recreated that image on Ghanaian funerary fabric. It’s jarring to compare the real late-life M.J. with another imaginary iteration that Hank Willis Thomas appropriates in one of the show’s more shocking offerings, “Time Can Be a Villain or a Friend (1984/2009).” In this, we see an uncannily convincing, and wholesomely handsome rendition of Jackson with his natural skin tone, a pencil-thin mustache on his lip and an ever-so-lightly relaxed puff of hair on his head. Mr. Thomas explains in the catalog that it is simply an artist’s rendering from a 1984 issue of Ebony, a glimpse of what the magazine imagined Jackson would look like in the year 2000. Without any alteration, it is by far “On the Wall’s” most critical work — the image originally so full of pride and hope is now an indictment, and haunts the show like a scathing rebuke. In this post-post-racial, post-Obama era of resurgent populism and Balkanized identity politics, it really does feel as though it matters — and matters more than anything else — whether you’re black or white. It does make for a particularly fascinating moment to re-evaluate Jackson’s image as a fundamentally “black” but simultaneously racially transcendent figure, or a monstrous desecration, depending on your perspective. Indeed, there is a push and pull between these running through the exhibition and the catalog that accompanies it. In the catalog, the critic Margo Jefferson calls Jackson “a postmodern trickster god,” noting “what visceral emotion he stirred (and continues to stir) in us!” She anticipates, in the next pages, the novelist and essayist Zadie Smith’s castigating contribution. Ms. Smith writes of her mother’s initial preoccupation with the singer: “I think the Jacksons represented the possibility that black might be beautiful, that you might be adored in your blackness — worshiped, even.” But, she adds, “By the time I became aware of Michael — around 1980 or so — my mother was finished with him, for reasons she never articulated, but which became clear soon enough. For me, he very soon became a traumatic figure, shrouded in shame.” “It was as if the schizophrenic, self-hating, hypocritical and violent history of race in America had incarnated itself in a single man,” Ms. Smith concludes. This critique is at odds with the warmth with which many black people still hold the singer, particularly in the United States, where he remains enormously beloved. But it calls to mind the furious assault on Jackson’s racial credentials with which Ta-Nehisi Coates began a recent essay on Kanye West. “Michael Jackson was God, but not just God in scope and power, though there was certainly that, but God in his great mystery,” Mr. Coates writes. “And he had always been dying — dying to be white.” He continues: We knew that we were tied to him, that his physical destruction was our physical destruction, because if the black God, who made the zombies dance, who brokered great wars, who transformed stone to light, if he could not be beautiful in his own eyes, then what hope did we have — mortals, children — of ever escaping what they had taught us, of ever escaping what they said about our mouths, about our hair and our skin, what hope did we ever have of escaping the muck? And he was destroyed. Such criticism, however heartfelt and comprehensible, makes the mistake of reducing Jackson to the role of tribal ambassador in a society built on oversimplified and regressive notions of racial and gender identity that his own art and self-presentation never stopped pushing against. It occludes the far subtler and more interesting insights that a genius can provoke, and too confidently pigeonholes an individual who knowingly rejected the stifling limitations of his country’s artificial racial binary for a dupe. The man who wrote “We Are the World” and “Liberian Girl,” and proudly recreated Egyptian splendor in “Remember the Time,” had an idealistic and expansive view of our common humanity. His androgyny, too, helped shatter restrictive notions of black masculinity. One of the most counterintuitive and compelling contributions to “On the Wall” is Lorraine O’Grady’s series of four diptychs, “The First and Last of the Modernists (Charles and Michael).” Comprising blown-up found photographs of the 19th-century French poet Charles Baudelaire and Jackson striking similar poses and tinted in a variety of pastel hues, like many of the works here, these pieces deal inventively with the theme of mirroring. “When Michael died, I tried to understand why was I crying like he was a member of my family,” Ms. O’Grady explained in an interview at the show’s opening in June. “I realized the only person I could compare him to was Baudelaire,” she said, listing ambiguous sexuality and a proclivity for wearing makeup as commonalities. “But more importantly, they both had this exalted idea of the role of the artist,” Ms. O’Grady added. “If Baudelaire thought he tried to explain the new world he was living in to the people around him, Michael had an even more exalted vision: He felt that he was capable of uniting the entire world through his music.” In Ms. O’Grady’s view, Jackson didn’t simply try to become “white,” as his detractors would have it — rather he “crafted himself physically to appeal to every demographic possible,” she said. By the time of his death, Jackson had long been one of the most famous people on the planet, if not the most famous. The footage of his “Dangerous” tour in newly post-Ceausescu Romania, on display in an eerie loop, provides hallucinatory testament to his outrageous global reach. It is estimated that his memorial service at the Staples Center in Los Angeles reached at least a billion people worldwide. “The first of the new is always the last of something else,” Ms. O’Grady notes in the catalog. Baudelaire, she writes, “was both the first of the modernists and the last of the romantics.” And Jackson “may have been the last of the modernists (no one can ever aspire to greatness that unironically again) but he was the first of the postmodernists.” He was, perhaps, the first of the post-racialists, too. Yet in our hyper-connected age of heightened political consciousness and reactionary fervor, in which identity is both a weapon and a defense, that view of race can feel naïve. But this is a failure of our own imaginations and dreams, not his. As “On the Wall” makes clear, Jackson’s own face — through a combination of fame and relentless surgery — became a mask, reflecting our own biases and ideals while concealing a deeper truth. His art and lasting appeal, on the other hand, function as a reminder to consider our own disguises, and what we might gain by letting them go. Michael Jackson: On the Wall Through Oct. 21 at the National Portrait Gallery, London; npg.org.uk.

[sending-the-message]

It'll be back tonight by jesswhatineeded

The drilling started around 3 a.m.

I opened my eyes with a jolt, instantly awake and confused in the pitch black humidity of the room. My room, although it was still unfamiliar. As I let the shape of my nightstand and the books piled on top of it form in the darkness, the muffled mechanic whirring continued below me.

I kicked the sweaty sheets off my body in a tangled heap and heaved myself off the mattress, immediately stubbing my toe on an unpacked box of picture frames. Of course I hadn’t plugged in a lamp yet.

“Shit,” I hissed and tiptoed to the door around more boxes and bins, a landmine of my procrastination.

I made my way downstairs and peered into the living room. It was blindingly bright with all of the lights turned on - the overhead fan, both lamps on either side of the couch, even the glow of the quiet TV showing a rerun of Family Feud. My dad was crouched down by the front door, drill in hand, installing what looked like a military-grade padlock beneath the knob. His toolbox was open on the floor, its contents scattered around him, and his face was scrunched up in concentration. He was mumbling something to himself.

“Dad?” I whispered.

He jumped, dropping the drill onto the toolbox with a loud clattering, his mouth open in horror. When he turned and saw me, he exhaled and clutched his chest.

“Jesus, Sarah, you scared me half to death,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “What’s going on? You should be in bed.”

“I could say the same thing,” I said. “You’re the one using power tools at 3:00 in the morning.”

“Is it that late?” He laughed again - that same weird, nervous tittering that was so unlike him - and looked down at his watch. “Must have lost track of time. I’ll keep it down. Sorry, sweetie.”

“Dad, what are you doing?” I asked, crossing my arms over the baggy t-shirt I wore to bed.

“We didn’t have a decent lock on this door,” he said simply. “You know, this house hasn’t had any updates since the ‘70s. Anyone could come breaking in here and steal something. For all we know, a couple of hobos could have been using this place as a crack den before we moved in.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A crack den in a cul-de-sac?”

“You know what I mean,” he muttered. He ran a shaky hand through his thinning hair. I spotted two empty beer bottles on the coffee table, a third one half-full next to the toolbox. “I’m sorry I woke you. You should really get to bed.”

“Dad, try and get some sleep,” I said, leaning down to kiss his forehead, clammy and cold on my lips despite the heat. “And then maybe I can get some sleep. No more drilling, okay?”

“Okay,” he answered, without looking at me, his bloodshot eyes focused on the wall behind me. “Love you, bug.”

I stumbled sleepily back upstairs when my parents’ bedroom door opened a crack. My mom poked her head out into the hallway, her hair a mess of matted curls. “Again?” She asked me in a strained voice. I nodded and we shared a look of concern.

Dad had never been an insomniac, but ever since we moved to our new house a little over a week ago, he stayed awake all hours of the night. The first night was normal enough; he was up late unpacking. But Mom and I found him sitting upright in the armchair the next morning, wide awake and trembling. The next night I heard him pacing when I got up to use the bathroom, peering down the stairs to see him walking back and forth in the living room, the floorboards creaking gently beneath him as he muttered to himself. The following nights had followed a similar pattern. I would wake to hear him trudging up the stairs after the sun had come up.

He was a writer - mostly of personal essays and nonfiction pieces - but he was never this secretive or consumed with his work. Now whenever we found him bent over his laptop or scribbling furiously into his notebook, he would pack up his belongings and shuffle into the next empty room. This was the first night he had incorporated light home construction and, as far as I knew, beer into his routine. Dad had never been a drinker, either.

The next afternoon, while my dad snoozed the day away in his room, my mom rehashed the same conversation we’d been having for days.

“He needs medication,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Ambien or something. Do you see what he did to the door? It’s not natural to be up all night like that. He’s teaching freshmen at 8 a.m. in a few weeks!”

Both of my parents were English professors at the local college, part of the reason for our move. While my mom had taken on teaching afternoon and evening summer courses, my dad had the season off, fortunately for him given his current predicament. But the fall semester was rapidly approaching. I chalked most of his antics up to anxiety over living so far from the city; he was used to noise, people, chaos. Now we were the only house on a small, dead-end street a few miles from campus, shrouded by trees.

After my mom left for class through the garage (“I can’t even figure out to open my own goddamn front door,” she had snapped) I examined the living room, looking for any signs of remaining bottles. Our front door was now armed with a heavy deadbolt towards the top, as well as a chain at eye level. I balked at the level of security my dad had taken and unlocked each one. I turned the knob, but it wouldn’t budge. I had missed the heavy padlock at the bottom. I tugged it to no avail, then stood to run my fingers on the top of the doorframe searching for a key. Nothing.

“Jesus, Dad,” I whispered to myself, bending down to examine the lock. He must have dropped quite a few things in the process, too - long white scratches marred the floor, disappearing underneath the door.

Fueled by annoyance and concern, I jogged upstairs and quietly entered my parents’ room. Dad was still snoring soundly as I unplugged the MacBook from its charging place on the bureau and snuck back out. Downstairs, I typed in my middle name and birthday at the password prompt and began my search. I didn’t really know what I was looking for, but I was hoping to find some clues for his odd behavior.

The desktop was littered with folders holding files from old student essays, photos from family vacations, and other miscellaneous crap, all labeled accordingly, but I couldn’t find any new projects. When I checked his internet browser history, something caught my attention. I clicked the link and pulled up an article published in a newspaper only a few months before: “Family of four found butchered inside home.” A red-haired couple, each holding red-headed toddler boys in their laps in what looked like a Christmas portrait, smiled out at me from the grainy featured photograph.

The details were chilling. The father was found in the bedroom, decapitated, his head only a few feet from the body. The mother was found in the children’s room, her body splayed on top of one of the beds in what police determined was a protective move. One of the boys was found underneath her, both bodies hacked to bits. The younger boy was found in the bedroom...and the hallway...and the bathroom. His body parts were strewn throughout the house. I shook my head in disgust and clicked back into the browser history.

A much less graphic story about the family had been published to another news site, this time with a video. The reporter interviewed shocked neighbors who all repeated the same mantra: they seemed like such a nice family, nobody knew them well, they had just moved in, and terrible things like this never, never happened in their town. The police chief looked stricken as he disclosed that there were no leads, no suspects, no signs of forced entry. I clicked back again.

To my horror, there were more articles. Not just about this red-haired family and their smiling boys. There were others, too.

A mother and daughter disemboweled in their country home. A man found dead in his duplex, the lower half of his body torn away. Three brothers hacked to bits in a locked room. A young couple eviscerated in their own bed in what police thought looked like an animal attack… only they lived on the 22nd floor of their apartment building.

The stories were from all over the country, but the only thing the gruesome murders had in common was that all the victims were new residents. After only a few days of moving into new homes, apartments, wherever... they were found dead. No known suspects. No explanation.

I must have been reading for hours, paralyzed with fear as shadows stretched across the room, the brightest light coming from the laptop screen. I had clicked through so much carnage, my stomach was rolling. Even though I tried to explain to myself that this was just essay material, just fodder for my dad’s next big writing gig, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly, horribly wrong with him.

“It’ll be back tonight.”

I jumped at the sound of my dad’s voice. I strained to see him, blue circles dancing in front of my eyes in the darkness. Standing at the bottom of the stairs, he turned the overhead light on with a click and I squinted from the sudden brightness. He was wearing the same disheveled clothes from the night before.

“Wh-what?”

Wordlessly, my dad moved slowly into the kitchen. I put down the laptop and followed him, watching as he opened the fridge and leaned down for a beer bottle, twisting off the cap and guzzling down half before wiping his mouth. He turned to me with tired, bloodshot eyes.

“I’m sorry, bug,” he said, sadly. “I didn’t want to bring you into this. Not yet.”

“What do you mean?” I asked in a shaky voice. “What will be back tonight?”

“I don’t know what it is,” he admitted. “And, frankly, I don’t want to know. But I think I figured out how it works, I guess. I’m not sure. There are still...questions.”

“How what works? What the hell are you talking about?” I practically shouted. “You’re really scaring me.”

He sighed and leaned on the kitchen counter, bracing himself with one hand and closing his eyes.

“Since we got here, I’ve been hearing these...these horrible voices,” he said. “Inhuman voices. Animal. And...not. I know them. But they still say awful things. Terrible things. Sometimes they’re not just voices. Sometimes I see them.”

“What do you see, Dad?” I asked, my heart in my throat.

He opened his mouth to speak, his face contorting with his struggle. But he was at a loss. He shrugged helplessly and shook his head, closing his eyes.

If this was a joke, it wasn’t my dad’s style. He was blunt and honest, almost to a fault, and he wouldn’t indulge in a prank like this. Whatever was happening, he truly believed it was real.

“Dad, are you…,” I started, unsure if I could finish the question. “Are you… drinking when you hear these voices?”

He looked up at me with a furrowed brow and laughed gruffly, without humor. “You’ll see for yourself, Sarah. Soon.”

He finished the rest of the bottle and placed it on the counter, heading back into the living room, leaving me alone, my body shivering from a sudden cold.

It was almost midnight. Dad and I were sitting in the living room, our hands wrapped around mugs of coffee. I don’t think he needed any help staying awake anymore, like I did, but I was just thankful he had put his beer away at my request.

Mom had brought home burgers for dinner from the campus diner around 7. She tried to strike up a conversation with Dad and me, but we were pretty quiet, only murmuring in response to her story about an embarrassing typo in her PowerPoint slides. Eventually, she grew frustrated and declared she was going to bed early since we were “positively boring her to death” and “maybe we all needed more sleep.” I was glad for her absence; I still hadn’t decided what I was going to say to her. I mean, how do you tell someone that her husband is clearly unstable?

Now it was just me and Dad, sitting and waiting. Waiting for what, I didn’t know. But I owed him at least one night to buy into his delusions before figuring out what to do about it. I checked my phone a few times, scrolling through my Facebook feed without absorbing anything. The TV was off and all I could hear was the ticking of the clock.

“How...much longer?” I asked.

“Depends,” he answered.

“On what?”

“Don’t know,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, dumbly.

And back to silence.

I must have dozed off in my chair because it was nearly 2 a.m. when I felt my dad shaking me awake.

“Sarah,” he whispered. “Sarah, wake up. It’s here”

“What’s he - “ I almost asked, before remembering with an unpleasant sinking feeling this little game I was indulging. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw he was holding a shotgun in both hands.

“What - when the hell did you get a gun?” I nearly shrieked with a voice hoarse from sleep. “Put that down!”

Dad crouched by the door, setting the gun across his knees and putting his ear against the wood in deep concentration. “It’s here,” he whispered again, to himself more than to me. He looked at me with wide, wild eyes. “Do you believe me now?”

I sat up in my chair and strained to hear, well, anything. But it was just the ticking of the clock and my own heartbeat thudding in my ears. I waited nearly a minute before sighing and standing.

“Dad, I don’t hear - “

“Come outside, Daddy,” a voice hissed.

I froze, icy fear spreading through my veins. It sounded like a little girl. I looked to my dad in panic.

“Daddy, I’m so cold. Please come outside,” the voice called again.

It sounded like a young girl, but off. Like something was mimicking her voice. Underneath the high-pitched trill, I could hear a faint, gravelly echo. And there was something so, so familiar about it. I had heard this girl before.

“D-dad,” I whispered, drawing closer and kneeling to join him on the floor. “Who is that? Who’s talking to you?”

He looked at me, sadly. “It’s...it’s you, bug.”

“Daddy, please, I’m scared,” the hollow voice grew louder, like she had her mouth pressed right up against the door.

I realized with horror that it was my voice. Or at least, my younger voice, something I had only heard in the shaky audio of VHS home movies my parents had recorded with handheld cameras. Once I recognized it - the slight, childish lisp I carried at six years old after I lost my two front teeth - it was uncanny.

“How is that possible?” I asked my dad, but he didn’t answer, listening intently to whatever was on the other side of the door.

“I know you’re in there, Daddy. Why won’t you come outside?”

“I don’t know,” my dad whispered back. “But it’ll get worse.”

“Sarah? Sarah, is that you? I need you, sweetie!”

I nearly choked at the sound of my name. It was my mother’s voice, which was impossible because she was upstairs and sleeping, blissfully unaware, like I had been the past week.

“Sarah, come outside right now. I won’t ask again.” It was the stern voice my mother only used when I was a child and I was in trouble.

“It knows you’re here,” my dad whispered. “It always knows everything. I-I don’t know how.”

“Sarah, listen to your mother. Come outSIDE, NOW.” The voice changed and dropped, morphing into a deep growl as something pounded forcefully on the door. “COME OUTSIDE. COME OUTSIDE. COME OUTSIDE NOW.”

I leapt back in fear, scrambling back away from the door with tears brimming in my eyes. My dad slowly stood, pumping the shotgun with a loud pop. The door was shaking, the locks rattling nearly off the hinges.

“Come outside, Sarah,” the gnarled voice nearly sang. Something was tapping on the door now - no longer banging full-force, but like fingernails tapping down and back up in quick succession, light as rain. “Come outside or we’ll come in.”

I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around myself. “Make it stop,” I pleaded. “Dad, please, make it stop.”

My dad aimed the gun at the door as it continued. Suddenly, after what felt like an eternity, it stopped altogether.

My dad lowered his gun and took a step closer to the door. He peered through the peephole, then inexplicably, lifted his hand and slid the chain lock to the left, letting it swing undone.

“Stop!” I called. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” he told me, sounding less confident than he looked. “Everything is going to be okay.”

I watched in abject terror as he undid the deadbolt and unlocked the doorknob, fishing in his pocket for a key to the padlock before kneeling to unlock that as well. Every single millimeter of metallic protection we just had was gone. I wanted to beg “no,” but I couldn’t speak. He turned the knob and pulled the door open.

The porch light only cast a small halo of light in the inky black night and wind blew the warm evening air inside. Nobody was standing there, but I could feel it watching. I peered around my dad and blinked into the darkness. Something was moving in the black, slipping soundlessly through the trees, almost completely camouflaged by the cover of night. But I could see the tiniest pinpricks of light moving, pacing back and forth, disappearing quickly and then reappearing. They were eyes; eyes reflecting the porch light and blinking.

And from the shadows, it began to scream.

I covered my ears and cried, shutting out the pained howl. I closed my eyes as I waited for some unknown creature to gallop into the house and devour us whole. But instead, I heard the door slam shut.

“It’s okay,” Dad assured me, crouching down next to me, placing the gun on the floor. He grabbed my hands away from my ears and held them with his own. “It can’t come inside. I know that now. It can’t get us. Shh, it’s okay, honey.”

“We have to call the police,” I sobbed. “We have to get Mom and leave here now. It’s going to kill us.”

“We can’t, Sarah.”

“What? Why?”

“That’s what it wants,” he said. “It wants us to go. It wants us to flee. That’s how it works.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” I said. Everything felt like the climax of a nightmare when you’re waiting to wake up and worrying that all of these horrible things are really happening. “How do you know all of this?”

My dad sat back, keeping a firm hand on my arm. “After that first night here, I did some research and found out about the last family. Then I found the rest through property records. Everyone who lived here before us is dead. I don’t know how or why, but I know that - that thing, whatever it is, has to be responsible. This house… it’s both a curse and protection. As long as we’re here, I - I think we’re safe. But if we leave…”

He trailed off, glancing at the door. I didn’t need him to finish. I had read about those families. I knew what would happen to us. And I knew I wasn’t waking up.

That was a few months ago. We told Mom soon after that night. She didn’t believe us until we showed her; I don’t think it’s something you can accept until you experience it yourself. Now she understands.

We take shifts, switching off who keeps watch each night. Last Tuesday, we felt safe enough to forego assigning a guard and fell asleep in our rooms. It didn’t like that. It needed an audience. We woke up in the middle of the night to its shrieks, the door pounding off the hinges, slamming open and shut in heavy blows, broken locks scattered on the floor. Every picture frame on the wall was broken, swinging precariously from their nails. We’ll never make that mistake again.

I ask Dad why he bothered replacing the locks when he knows they won’t make a difference either way. He says it’s more symbolic than anything, maintaining this idea of peace in the face of something so helpless. I guess I know what he means. After all, I locked them in place a few minutes ago myself.

It’s my turn. I grab a book and put on a rerun of a show I’ve seen a thousand times. It makes me feel less alone for some reason. On a good night, I can get a few hours of sleep. I can ignore it when I hear my own voice, but it’s hard when it’s Mom and Dad. It’s worse when it’s something else. Sometimes, not often, I see it, too. Just glimpses - a silhouette in the window, shadows passing under the door, and (just once) black claws sneaking in from under the door. I don’t know if it’s possible to look at it straight on, but I know I’ll never, ever try.

It’s quiet now. No crickets, no birds, no wind. Even the TV seems muted somehow. That’s how I know it’s coming.

It’ll be back tonight. And every night. But so will we.

“I know you’re in there, Sarah. I can hear you breathing.”

[pklovesdwsart]

Art Minor 2 (Nature & Environment)

This time, no stories to tell (well, maybe one, but I didn’t put it here, haha)! But a whole bunch of stuff I made instead, whoo boy! The theme of this minor was Nature & Environment. I had lots of fun, honestly! I’ll divide it in the 4 subjects I took :). It’s a long post, beware, haha.

Ceramics:

Aaaand the last bit I made! I’ll post a few more :). Especially the glazed ones~!

And that’s about it for ceramics!

Painting & Drawing:

So, this is actually a(n) (abstract) portrait of one of the students. It’s a one-line drawing :). It was, ah, interesting to make for sure....

We also had a session on how to draw “real” portraits.... with, like, the proper proportions and everything. It was interesting for sure!

This is the “self-portrait” I made! There is a lot to be said about this one (also because it is a self-portrait). I’d like to start with the mask. One of the reasons I used it is closely related to an Instagram post of mine (I’ll write it out). Sorry, it’s lone, though. “Lately, I have been forced to think about something I had been thinking years back. About the fact that in this individualistic society, you HAVE to stand out one way or another. I don’t want to. What’s wrong with simply being average and not special at all? What’s wrong with wanting to live a simple life with no particular interesting skills? (yes, I do realise I have some, but it doesn’t make me feel special or like I have to/want to brag about it...). This was something I noticed in particular 2 weeks back (in May, 2019), when my minor started again. We had to draw a realistic scene in the park. Afterwards, we would “redraw” this scene as we felt, heard and saw the things we encountered while drawing, changing the initial drawing drastically. So I did. However, the teacher told me he wanted to “see more of me” in the drawing. But how come he didn’t? The things I felt, saw, heard and fantasised about were all things that came from me and were pictured in the drawing. How is that not me?! Yeah, sure, the girl in my drawing looked manga/anime like. But is that honestly so wrong...? If that’s how I draw, if that’s me, how can you say you want to see more of the “me”? Honestly, I am so sick of this individualistic society that forces you to be “special”, “interesting” or “talented”. Is it so wrong to want to live simply? Is it wrong to not want to be seen as “different from the rest”? Can I just live with a blank face, trying in my own way, on my own conditions?” The mask used in this picture (and the Instagram rant, haha), has the Japanese characters: じ    へ  へ        の の         も        へ (henohenomoheji). They are commonly used to picture a (blank) face. As such, they are mostly used for mob characters, or those of little significance. So the mask itself already symbolises the wish to blend into the masses. On the other hand, the mask can also signify the ability to be flexible. As in, if you have a blank face, it means you are able to “paint over it”. To make yourself be who you want to be. And that clues into my hobby, which is cosplay. I can be whoever I want to be (with the proper means, haha), and that enables me to transform completely. So, yes, the mask signifies a lot to me. And that’s why I decided I wanted the picture to be like this. Because this is me in so many shapes and forms. Continuing on! Photography:

Let’s just say photography is not my thing... Luckily, we had two classes this block period anyway, so I didn’t have to suffer for very long.

Finally! The last subject!

Design:

Ohhhh, I loooooved design! There’s so much I did~ Sooo, we had to gather 5 objects we could find outside (in nature), and we had to take 3 pictures (the top one is said picture). Then we had to write a story based on the object/photograph (mine was a feather, by the way). You had to hand the story over to friends/family/etc., and they had to say one word about the story. So, my two words were “pessimistic” and “inspirational”. Based on those two words, we had to find a new (existing) “picture”. Then we had to bring items that had something to do with the story. So, I brought a ceramic “mountain” (one of the words used in my story) I made last block period. So based on that item, we had to design something around that concept and things that prefferably had to do with the (human) body. Sooo, I went to Wikipedia, and took a look at the words written there. So, that’s when we got to the word “relief” (or terrain, mayhaps). Then I started thinking how that was created (e.i. mountains, and its “relief”). So, that’s when we reached our tectonic plates. And then I started thinking about the fact that a mountain was basically a “print” of the earth (in a way). Okay, got all that? Then hopefully the next part will make sense as well, lol.

So, the first thing I did was woodcutting! I really wanted to try my hand at this, mostly because of my overlapping interest in Japan. I had a lot of fun, honestly! (I’ll put all the prints at the end ;))

Bad lighting is bad.... But after the woodcut, I tried my hand at linocut! Which went a whole lot smoother.... (I bought my own gouge set <3 - absolutely in love with it). I had a lot of fun with these, honestly!

Ah, yes, then I once more did some etching! I intentionally “messed up” the feather one (the stripe in the middle does kind of bother me...) to try and see what happens. I really liked the result of that one a lot! (once more, prints will be put down here~) Finally! I tried my hand at this:

screen printing! I really liked doing this! It’s very interesting to do, yet less intensive than any of the things I had done previously... I really had fun! And you can experiment a lot! Which I didn’t, really, by the way.... (slightly regretted it, but time restraints...). Also, putting Timcanpy on my daily gear is like a dream come true <3. Lovely. Now, time for all the prints!

Because wood is a natural material, it kind of soaks up the ink. So you get a grainy kind of print. It’s spotty, but that’s kind of charming in its own way, I guess?

I made loooots of prints for the linocuts, lol. They are way less spotty, and I really liked them! (the stuff in the very back isn’t mine, by the way).

I also really liked the ink colours I used! I also printed everything on postcard format.

The print is even more interesting in real life!

A very clean print for this one. Such a contrast with the previous one! I like both of them, honestly.

What would we be without a little Timcanpy in our lives~

I also used a natural “print”. Don’t worry, it’s not actual snake skin... But it is actual snake skin shed/moulted skin. It’s from my own snake, Sora <3. So it’s kind of an endless supply, lol.

So, that’s all for the practical subjects! Now, it wasn’t all I did, and I have many, many more photos of the process... But the post wil get waaaaay too long if I want to show everything... So I mostly posted the endresults :).

There is one last thing I want to post here! Which are the “extras”.

Extras:

The sketches we had to make for capturing real life (mentioned at my self-portrait). I do have to mention that on that day it was bloody cold, it was raining, and we didn’t even know we had to be there... So I had a shit day, honestly....

I haven’t finished it, sooooo, I don’t have a very good picture, unfortunately... But this was the drawing I got a loooot of hate on, basically....

Ahhh, here’s the sketch, where you can see it a bit better... So basically, he wnted me to draw it bigger. Which I did. Then he suggested I made a selfportrait (instead of using a manga/anime like character......). Which I did. But don’t have a picture of, I believe. Well, I have a lot of issues with all of this, so I kind of want to drop it. Though I will finish the initial one for sure. I don’t care much for the second, the large, one.....

We also had workshops on drawing a naked model! Which was very interesting! I had never drawn a human/humanlike full-model, well, model. So I had many, many issues at first.... I especially had many issues with (human) proportions. But in the end, I had a lot of fun! I attended a second session (not the third, unfortunately), but I don’t have a picture of it (yet). I might edit it in later, buuuut, not sure...

So, I believe that was all! I had so much fun this period, and I’m super glad I decided to stay (I was only obligated to follow one minor). If I hadn’t, I don’t think that in the end I would be this satisfied. Also, this period was, like, 2 or 3 weeks shorter than previous one... So we were short on time, I guess... I learned a lot, I worked with many different materials, and in the end, I’m very happy. So, here are the final pictures of the ENTIRE table :).

[amdoca-blog]

diane arbus: in the beginning  

I don’t know why the gallery has used lower case lettering in its promotional material.

 Hayward Gallery, 13 February to 6 May 2019

Organised by The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Curated by Jeff L Rosenheim, Curator in Charge of the Department of Photographs: with Karen Rinaldo, Collections Specialist, Photographs; Martha Deese, Senior Administrator for Exhibitions; and Emily Foss Registrar.  

Supported by Cockayne – Grants for the Arts and The London Community Foundation and Alexander Graham, with additional support from Michael G and C Jane Wilson.  (Hayward Gallery, 2019).

 This exhibition primarily features photographs made with 35mm cameras in and around New York City between 1956 to 1962.  Most of the exhibition photographs are gelatin silver prints made by Arbus.  Most are held in private collections, and in the Diane Arbus Archive at Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

There is also one room displaying A Box of Ten Photographs, a project she worked on between 1969 and 1971.  These photographs, on loan from the Victoria and Albert Museum, were printed posthumously by her assistant and student Neil Selkirk (Guggenheim, 2019).

I wondered why nine of these later works are being displayed in a separate room at an exhibition subtitled ‘in the beginning’.  Xmas Tree in a living room in Levittown, L.I. 1962 is in the previous room.  There is no explanation why.  Were they included to show how her work changed over time?  They are already kept in London.  

There are two rooms of photographs arranged on grids of white columns, “…visitors are free to follow any path they choose as there are only beginnings – no middle and probably no end…”  (Hayward Gallery, 2019).  I found myself first walking to the back of the room, up and down ‘aisles’ in the opposite direction to other exhibition-goers, to avoid crowding around the prints and to get a better view.  Also, what does this statement mean; that her work endures?  After visiting the exhibition, I did some reading. I found this quote from a letter she sent to friends in 1957,

 “… I am full of a sense of promise, like I often have, the feeling of always being at the beginning…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 141).

I do not know if the organisers of the exhibition are alluding to this remark.  I learned that Arbus committed suicide a year after A Box of Ten, a limited portfolio of special prints, with inscribed vellums, was published (Smithsonian, s.d)

Only four sets are known to have been bought in her lifetime, “...by an elite group..” . (Hayward Gallery notice).  The notice tells us Marvin Israel designed the packaging, but does not explain who he was.  During my reading after the event I learned he was her partner; an artist and, from 1961, art director of Harper’s Bazaar which published her work during the period the Hayward exhibition mainly focusses on.

Between 1956 and 1962 Arbus stopped using a medium format Rolleiflex in favour of a 35mm Nikon (Arbus et al, 2012: 139). Unlike bulky 2 ¼ cameras which “…require the subject’s cooperation and participation…”  (Arbus et al, 2012: 59), 35 mm SLRs allow photographers to capture moments and quickly disconnect from the subject.  

Images such as:

Old Woman in hospital bed, NYC 1958

Lady in the shower, Coney Island, N.Y. 1959

Man in hat, trunks, sock and shoes, Coney Island 1960

Two girls by a brick wall, NYC 1961

raise the question in my mind about whether these people gave their consent to be photographed, or if some were staged.

In a letter to Marvin Israel she confessed that when visiting the shrine of a disinterred saint , she,

 “…got a terrible impulse to photograph her and I tremulously did which wasn’t legal so I pretended to be praying and pregnant…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 146)

In a postcard she sent to Marvin Israel in 1960 she wrote,

“…This photographing is really the business of stealing… I feel indebted to everything for having taken it or being about to…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 147)

I took some notes during my tour of the exhibition of images I found noteworthy. This image Mother Cabrini, a disinterred saint in her glass and gold casket, N.Y.C. 1960 was not among them.  I found the story behind the image more interesting.  Knowing the photograph is a furtive snap changes its meaning; the exhibition does not explain much. ��I don’t remember if there was an audio guide.  How many people were there like me wa/ondering around the grid?

I did not buy the catalogue, priced at £35, but noted that Revelations was priced at £75. I thought the price was quite high.   However, I thought the reproductions were of a better quality and saw that one of the editors was her daughter. I assumed Doon Arbus would be able to share more information about her mother than any other writer.  I bought a cheaper copy online.  

On reading Revelations I found out that, up until 1958, Arbus experimented with cropping.  Photographers and art editors at the time used this technique retrospectively to reveal an image within an image.  It could,

“…impose a sense of immediacy, or of a privileged, almost private view after the fact…”  (Arbus et al, 2012:52)

Boy above a crowd NYC 1957 illustrates this idea but I do not know whether Arbus cropped it, not having seen the contact sheets.  The title does not indicate to the audience what the audience depicted are looking at.  They are looking to the left, the boy Arbus wants us to focus on is looking directly at us.

In 1956 Arbus ended her photographic partnership with her husband.  She felt her role in their commercial business was as “a glorified stylist” (Arbus et al, 2012: 139).  She joined two photography courses taught by Lisette Model (1956 and 57).  In the 1940s, Model photographed ordinary people in the streets of New York City.  

In 1971 Arbus told students in a master class,

“…In the beginning… I used to make very grainy things.  I’d be fascinated by  what the grain did because it would make a tapestry of all these little           dots…Skin would be the same as water would be the same as sky and you      would be dealing mostly in dark and light not so much in flesh and blood… It   was my teacher…who finally made it clear to me that the more specific you            are, the more general it’ll be…”  

(Arbus et al, 2012: 141)

I do not remember seeing Coney Island 1960 (Windy Group) in the exhibition.  It is in Revelations, but I am unable to locate the image online.  It shows a group of people on a windy beach; a woman is bending over away from the camera and her stripy dress is blowing in the wind. It is extremely grainy; did Arbus intend the grain to suggest a sand storm?

Towards the end of her life Arbus told her students,

“…I remember a long time ago when I first began to photograph I thought,       There are an awful lot of people in the world and it’s going to be terribly hard to photograph all of them, so if I photograph some kind of generalized human being, everybody will recognize it…And there are certain evasions, certain        nicenesses that I think you have to get out of..”  (Arbus et al, 1992:10)

At the Hayward exhibition, I noticed that,

Kid in black face NYC, 1957 is exhibited near, Lady on a bus NYC, 1957.

Was the year-long (1955-6) Montgomery Bus Boycott in Arbus’s mind?  Around this time Arbus was trying to find photographic editorial work and took some photographs of litter for a magazine, for which she was unpaid.

 “…I followed flying newspapers…running like mad to keep up with dick tracy…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 142)

Windblown headline on a dark pavement, NYC 1956.  Most of the photographs in this exhibition are of people.  I did not understand the appeal of some of the photographs lacking them, such as those of “…psuedo places…” (Arbus et al, 2012: 163) for example, A castle in Disneyland, cal., 1962, or Rocks on heels, Disneyland, Cal., 1963, but I thought this particular print was inspiring.  

I noted a number of photographs taken inside and outside cinemas.  Several are of the screen, taken at some distance from it, from the audience’s viewpoint;

A Dominant Picture 1958

Man on screen being choked 1958

had a personal resonance.   There is also a close up, probably taken in a cinema, of a scene from the controversial film Baby Doll, 1956.

In Movie theater usher standing by the box office NYC, 1956 an usher stands by the box office in an oversized uniform.  It occurred to me, after seeing an online reproduction of this photograph away from the exhibition, that it is reminiscent of a Soviet style uniform.  Was Arbus intending to remind us of the 1956 Hungarian Uprising?

In 42nd Street Movie Theater Audience NYC 1958 Arbus’s camera is placed some distance away from the scene.  A projector beam cuts through the fug of cigarette smoke.  It is not easy to tell what people are doing; there is some blurring, perhaps there are people asleep and a couple kissing.  A print made by Neil Selkirk, her student and assistant, is valued at between $20,000 - 30,000.  I quite liked the photograph at the exhibition, but I do not think it is that extraordinary.

It seemed to me that Arbus’s intention was to make the ordinary extraordinary and the extraordinary ordinary.  In The Backwards Man in his hotel room, 1961 a man is standing in a standard hotel room. His head is directed to the left of the frame, his feet to the right.  He is wearing a full length clear plastic mac indoors.  Is this to draw attention to his body?  After the exhibition I learned he was a contortionist from Hubert’s Dime Museum and Flea Circus in Times Square called Joe Allen;

 “… Joe Allen is a metaphor for human destiny – walking blind into the future with an eye on the past…”  note in her appointment book (Arbus, 2012:154)

Sontag offered a suggestion as to why Arbus chose her subjects.

“…At the beginning of the sixties, the thriving Freak Show at Coney Island     was outlawed; the pressure is on to raze the Times Square turf of drag      queens and hustlers and cover it with skyscrapers.  And the inhabitants of           deviant underworlds are evicted from their restricted territories – banned as        unseemly, a public nuisance, obscene, of just unprofitable…”

(Sontag, 1973. 43-44)

There are many photographs of female drag artists in the show.  Two different interpretations of ‘woman’ can be seen in the fleshy beauty of Girl in her circus costume backstage, Palisades Park, N.J. 1960, and the haughty and fabulous Blonde female impersonator standing by a dressing table, Hempstead L.I 1959, a coded appropriation of ‘womanliness’.

In October 1959 Arbus started work on a project about aspects of New York life for Esquire magazine, photographing “…the posh to the sordid…” (typewritten letter to Robert Benton, art director of Esquire (Revelations, 2012: 333)

I made a note of the title, Woman in white fur with cigarette, Mulberry Street NYC 1958, at the time of visiting the exhibition, but did not really reflect on the photograph.  I felt pressurised by the crowd to move on.  The unnamed woman’s stance could be interpreted as expressing her annoyance at being photographed, self-confidence, or self-entitlement.  Is she scowling?  She fills the frame, and appears quite large.  The lights in the background, possibly Xmas street lights, appear to surround her head.  Are we meant to see a Valkyrie?  The location is Mulberry Street, NYC; the street name made me think of expensive handbags. Is the woman in the background, who I have only just noticed, smiling obsequiously or simply smiling?  

For me, Arbus’s titles often suggest a deadpan or sardonic humour, which I enjoy.  This title, Miss Maria Seymour dancing with Baron Theo Von Roth at the Grand Opera Ball, NYC 1959, is similar to captions of photographs in society magazines. I don’t know now why I thought this was funny; I did not make adequate notes at the exhibition because I thought I would be able to access the image online at home afterwards.  

For some of this work she obtained a Police pass (Revelations, 2012:144); Corpse with receding hairline and a toe tag, N.Y.C. 1959

Looking at photographs of Israel after the exhibition, (Revelations, 2012:145), could this photograph be an inside joke?  A notice on the wall at entrance of the Hayward states,

“…This exhibition contains images that some visitors may find upsetting and some that contain nudity.  If you require further information, please speak to an exhibition host…”

In postcards sent to Marvin Israel in January 1960 she wrote about a disturbing scene she had photographed,

“… I am not ghoulish am I? I absolutely hate to have a bad conscience, I think it is lewd…Is everyone ghoulish?  It wouldn’t anyway have been better to turn away, would it…?”  (Revelations, 2012: 145-6).

All layers of society are portrayed in the exhibition.  Among the photographs of society people are photographs of performers at the Hubert’s Dime Museum and Flea Circus in Times Square, such as Hezekiah Trambles, ‘The Jungle Creep’. The close up of ‘The Jungle Creep’ is a powerful image.  He played a ‘Wild Man of Borneo’ racist stereotype for a living.  Tramble’s face fills the frame; the photograph is blurred and grainy.  A light source catches highlights in his eyes, perhaps a button over his Adams apple, and a tooth.  How many teeth does he have?  Are their tears in his upwardly directed eyes?  His eyes appear unfocussed.  He is photographed from below; he looks monumental.

Arbus photographed various people who she described as ‘freaks’, ‘The Sensitives’ and ‘singular people’.  In 1971 she told her students,

“…Freaks was a thing I photographed a lot… There’s a quality of legend         about freaks…Most people go through life dreading they’ll have a traumatic  experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They’ve already passed       their test in life.  They’re aristocrats…” (Arbus et al, 1992:3).

By making us look up at Trambles’ face, did Arbus intend us to see someone deranged?  Or a Man with human dignity?  

In a notebook she wrote,

 “..If we are all freaks the task is to become as much as possible the freak we are...” (Revelations, 2012: 54) and in a postcard to Marvin Israel in 1960 she wrote,

 “..Freaks are a fairy tale for grownups.  A metaphor which bleeds…”  (Revelations, 2012: 54)

 In 1961 Arbus completed a story, “The Full Circle” which included portraits of six people including Stormé de Larverie from the Jewel Box Revue’s touring drag artist show, ‘Twenty-Five Men and a Girl’, Miss Stormé de Larverie, the Lady who appears to be a Gentleman NYC 1961.

Neither Esquire nor Harper’s Bazaar published the story with de Larverie. Esquire wanted to leave out Stormé “…due to lack of space.  Infinity, the publication of the American Society of Magazine Photographers published the story in 1962 which included de Larverie.  Was the de Larverie photograph initially excluded because it depicted a lesbian, or because editors regarded the print as being unremarkable?  The Hayward gallery offers no information about de Larverie’s historical importance.

I wasn’t sure if the exhibition was presenting Arbus as a feminist;

Barbershop interior through a glass door, NYC 1957

Blurry woman gazing up smiling, NYC 1957-8

Mood meter machine, NYC 1957  

In the barbershop interior we can see men looking at a woman taking photographs in the street at night.  Their various expressions include puzzlement, amusement and incredulity.  The presence of the woman photographer is only suggested by her reflection in the glass. I am that woman now looking from the outside in.  Am I obliged to become involved with what I photograph?

Of the Box of Ten photographs, one of my favourites is,  

Retired man and his wife at home in a nudist camp one morning NJ 1963

I see this as a cosy and affectionate. Soft sunlight filters through the net curtains; it is a domestic scene with a twist.

Arbus described her experience of taking photographs in nudist camps in 1971, where she was required to take photographs naked,

“…You may think you’re not (a nudist) but you are…” (Arbus et al, 1992: 4-5)

As a suburban, semi-educated, left-leaning liberal standing in a contemporary Western art gallery, the wall notice warning about nudity surprised me a bit; I wasn’t concerned by the nudity displayed within this context.

Neil Selkirk, who printed the Box of Ten, believed Arbus’s prints look different from other photographers’.  She did no dodging or burning,

“…If she ever had the urge or the knowledge to make the print beautiful in a conventional sense, she resisted it. The unique quality of Diane’s prints seems a direct response to what is required if one is extremely curious and utterly dispassionate...” (Revelations, 2012: 275)

He thought she had intended to make the final image look like snapshots or newspaper photographs.   To me, the 35 mm photographs in the exhibition generally look like snapshots; the Box of Ten artworks look like beautiful parodies of photographs specific to glossy magazine features.  Arbus’ photographs could be seen as diverting, rather like a day out at an art gallery  

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Arbus, D (edited by Arbus, Doon, Israel, M) (1992) Diane Arbus, London, Bloomsbury Publishing Ltd.

 Arbus, Diane, Arbus Doon, Phillips; S, Sussmann E, Selkirk N,  J L Rosenheim (2012) Revelations: Diane Arbus, Munich, Schirmer/Mosel

Guggenheim, K (2019) Diane Arbus: An interview with Jeff L. Rosenheim and Karan Rinaldo.  At: https://www.southbankcentre.co.uk/blog/diane-arbus-interview-jeff-rosenheim-karan-rinaldo-hayward-gallery  (Accessed on 24 March 2019)

Hayward Gallery (2019) Hayward Gallery Exhibition Guide, London, Hayward Gallery

Metropolitan Museum of Art (2019) diane arbus in the beginning [online] At https://www.metmuseum.org/exhibitions/listings/2016/diane-arbus (Accessed on 30 March 2019)

Smithsonian American Art Museum (s.d)  A box of ten photographs [online press release] At: https://s3.amazonaws.com/assets.saam.media/files/documents/2018-04/wall%20text.pdf  (Accessed on 30 March 2019).  

Sontag S (1973) ‘America seen through photographs, darkly’ in On Photography (1979) London, Penguin Books Ltd

[ardwynna]

NPC/OC-centric world-building fics for the Path Timeline, but generally canon-plausible.

Ordinary living on a Planet full of extraordinary things.

[General Audiences, Genfic, 1674 words]

*******

Eight black shirts, steamed and starched, lay on the bench. Two fine old coats, one leather, the other wool, hung on the rack for one last inspection after recent repairs. The small TV glowed high up on the wall, volume low and subtitles on. Old Li Chang, wrinkled and hunched, shuffled in and began to inspect the work. Mei held her breath and waited.

 He fingered the material of the shirts, fine breathable cotton. He angled a light and leaned in to examine every stitch and seam. He turned a shirt around, examining the back. “Very smooth,” he said, voice cracking. Gnarled fingers crooked with age and arthritis traced the line on the right. He opened the shirt and examined further. All seams were neat. All threads were clipped. He set the shirt on a rack and held the lower end down with one hand. With the other he punched straight through. Mei jumped.

 “And there it is,” Li Chang said, wiggling his fingers through the hole. “Effortless.” He withdrew his hand and gestured for Mei to come over. She looked up but didn’t dare say a word.

 Li Chang smiled and patted her head. Mei wriggled away. “Gramps, come on.”

 The old man laughed. “You’ve done well, little flower.”

 Mei rolled her eyes. “I hope so. Only took me like two dozen practice runs.”

 “We have a reputation to uphold, Xiu Mei,” Li Chang said, dropping in some of the old Wutainese village lingo that Mei understood but had trouble speaking. “And he is one of our best customers.”

Mei glanced up at the tv in the corner, pondering the irony of the fact. “What time is he coming in?”

 “Half past five exactly. He is usually on time, unless you’ve seen any cause for delay on the news. Come, child, help me fold these. These old hands don’t move like they did.”

 “You sit, grandpa,” Mei said, guiding him to her seat. She laid out tissue paper and folded each shirt to match the last, wrapping them all in tissue. The coats she slipped into suit bags, checking the labels to ensure they were straight.

 Li Chang sat watching the TV and his granddaughter in turn. He nodded to himself now and then and looked well pleased.

 “Grandpa,” Mei said, “It’s getting on to six. He’s late.”

 “For him, we wait, Xiu Mei. He will be along.”

 At five minutes to six there was still no sign. A couple customers had dropped by in the interim, bringing suits and skirts from the department stores for alterations. Mei sighed and glanced up at the black and white photograph occupying a high shelf of honor.

 Li Chang saw her gaze and chuckled. “We had slow days in the old shop too, you know.”

 “But a better business, I bet,” Mei said, flicking the tag on their latest bit. “Proper custom orders instead of all this fiddly tucking and hemming.”

 Li Chang nodded. “We were established in the old town. But there is a price for starting over. And it is not so bad. Soon you will be in that fancy design school. Didn’t have that in the old town, did we?”

 “I’m still working on my application, Grandpa,” Mei said, sinking lower on her stool.

 “It will be fine.” Li Chang gestured to the box, to the hanging coats. “I bet you can already outdo everybody else who is applying. He will agree.”

 “He might if he ever comes to pick up his stuff,” Mei said, swinging her feet back and forth. Six already. Time to close.

 “A few minutes more,” Li Chang said. “If he is late it is for good reason.”

 The TV station logo flared across the screen, announcing a breaking news bulletin. The anchors were stern but quiet. Mei glanced at the remote but the volume made little difference to her grandfather. She leaned in to read. “Midair attack,” she said in Wutainese, translating. “Stopped by him.”

 “Of course,” Li Chang said, rising. “We might as well close up the shop.”

 “What is that?” Mei shrieked. A shaky camera zoomed in on a grainy image, catching fleeting bits of the fight. A large white blur floated through the air midst the smoke and the flames, leaving destruction in its wake.

 Li Chang turned and leaned in. “Probably him,” he said, going back to the shop shutters. “Even back in the Old War he was full of surprises.” Mei gave the TV one last glance and rose to help with the locking up.

 “Wait,” someone shouted. Heavy footfalls sounded on tile. A gloved hand caught the shutters in the last inch. Mei jumped back, blocking her grandfather from view.

 “Hey, we’re locking up,” she said as the metal blinds were lifted. They didn’t have to reach his face for her to know who they were dealing with.

 “General,” Li Chang said, “you’re late.”

 “I am sorry,” the man said in perfect Wutainese. He bowed low. Pale hair spilled over his shoulder, catching the light. Mei stared, transfixed, but he smelled of smoke.

 “No problem at all,” Li Chang said. “We saw the news.”

 “Yes, about that.” The General glanced around, standing straight and tall in a fine leather coat only a little different from the one hanging in the suit bag on the rack. “May I come in?”

 “Of course.” Li Chang had switched back to Wutainese. “Mei, let the man in.”

 “Yes, Grandpa,” Mei said, yanking the blinds, although it was little more than a formality. Stiff from battle, the man took a step inside. Mei let the blinds fall with a clatter behind him again.

 “Xiu Mei,” Li Chang said.

 “Oops. Sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” the man said. “I… appreciate the privacy.” He cocked his head at Mei and blinked. “Is… Are you…?”

 “Yes, little Xiu Mei,” Li Chang said, “my granddaughter.”

 “Little Xiu Mei?” The General said, looking again. “Who was always in the backroom doing her homework?” He held his hand out around hip height. “You’ve grown some.”

 Mei coughed. “Uh, your shirts?”

 “Oh, yes, the shirts.”

 “Packed and waiting,” Li Chang said, gesturing to the table. “Would you like to try one on?”

 “No need, I know your work,” the General said. Mei swallowed.

 “It’s not my work this time, General,” Li Chang said, gesturing with a tilt of his head. The General looked behind him.

 “Yours, Miss Li?”

 Mei nodded. Damn, the man was tall. And his eyes were really weird. She had never seen him this close up before, always staying hidden in the back room, out of sight and out of the way. But he turned back to her grandfather again. “Is she taking over the business?”

 “In due time,” Li Chang said, opening the box. “She will go to fashion school first. Learn the new ways for new times.”

 The General looked back at Mei. She nodded. “It’s why we moved here,” she said. “For the schools.” She held her ground and did not look away, did not look down.

 The General nodded. “So you’ll be learning how to design things from the ground up?” he asked.

 Mei blinked. “I… guess so?”

 The General cleared his throat and looked at the shirt Li Chang had unfolded for him. “You can see for yourself the quality of her work. I taught her the family ways and watched every stitch. Try it out.”

 The General took the shirt in both hands, careful and intent. Mei leaned against the work table, feet flat on the floor. The man turned the shirt around, checking front and back. He fingered the seam and then, just as her grandfather had done, punched it.

 The fabric parted with no effort along the hidden seam and just as easily snapped back into place. “Magnetic clasps?”

 “The finest and lightest on the market,” Li Chang said. He gestured to Mei. “Her idea. Will it suit?”

 The General blinked and stared back at Mei. “It will suit perfectly, I think, and I trust the bill reflects the improvements. No unfair discounts now.” He folded the shirt up with military precision and laid it back in its tissue wrapping. “Um, Miss Li?” he said, switching back to the continental tongue. “How soon will you be finished with design school?”

 Mei leaned harder on the table. “Uh, I haven’t even applied yet. I still need a recommendation, and I’m putting together my portfolio.”

 The General frowned, but not at her. “And the course is how long?”

 “A four year degree, Sir.”

 “I can’t wait that long.” He shoved his hair back from his face and looked around with a heavy sigh. “Do you think you, and your grandfather of course, do you think you could come up with something else for me? You’ve done a good job making my shirts.”

 “Whatever you need, General,” Li Chang said, though Mei wasn’t sure how much he had actually understood.

 The General glanced at the closed shutters again. “You saw the news?” he said in Wutainese and gestured at the TV.

 “Yes, quite a battle. And you with many tricks up your sleeve, I believe.”

 The General’s lips tightened a bit. “Not my sleeves, exactly,” he said. He glanced around again and in a rather delicate fashion, raised the hem of his long buckled coat. Mei swallowed. Above the tops of the man’s high boots were the singed shreds of a fine garment now ripped to indecent tatters. Mei thought of the white blur in the flames, and the rhythmic billows of the smoke as it whorled away. The General looked right at Mei. “Can you design me some pants?”

 Mei bit the inside of her mouth to keep the smile from getting too big. “Might there be a recommendation in it for me if I can?”

 “Miss Li, if you can keep me from walking around after battle with cold air blowing up my behind, I’ll call the Dean of Admissions myself.”

 Mei got her pencil and let the grin reign. “Let’s see what we can do.”

[garp19-rebeccadrabble]

Draft Research Statement

We were asked to come to the ideation workshop with 5 different ideas which could make potential GARP projects. My ideas were; Typography through time, How advertising has developed over the years, Graphic Design before computers, Advertising & Marketing and Corporate Identity. At the end of the workshop, with the help of other students ideas, I decided that I wanted to base my project on ‘Graphic Design before computers’.

The next step was to research this in more depth. Suggestions I got from the workshop were The history of graphic design/techniques used before computers, Is design better or worse now?, Better graphics for the film industry, Types of technology and what they have been used for, Can you be a graphic designer now and not use computers?, Have numbers of designers gone up and saturated the market?, Apple products, How it has affected the way people see design and Can anyone now be a graphic Designer?

I decided to make my main focus for the project the traditional techniques used in the graphic design industry. I find this topic interesting because I have never really been taught about how designers created their work before computers were introduced. I want to compare the analogue techniques with digital techniques commonly used today. I think this may be of interest to others because designers had to produce work within limitations, compared to today where possibilities are endless. When there are limits to what you can achieve, sometimes the work can come out looking a lot better compared to if you are working on a computer and you can literally create anything. This is why some people today still love using older techniques such as the risograph machine 

The defined subject area of my research is ‘Graphic Design before Computers’.  As a starting point for my research, I watched a documentary ‘Graphic Means’ which explores graphic design production of the 1950s through the 1990s—from linecaster to photocomposition, and from paste-up to PDF (Graphic Means, 2016). The documentary focused on graphic design processes during the 70s and 80s. It showed the major transition for the design and printing industry as centuries old procedures and machinery made way for photographic processes and eventually digital technology. I found the documentary to be very informative and interesting - I was shocked at the complexity of the procedures and the amount of steps it took to produce work compared to how fast things can be made today. I noted down the names of some designers mentioned in the film and then went and did my own research online about their work and techniques. My favourite examples are Gunter Rambow (unique designer who created engaging and political posters) and Leonard Koren (producer of 70s California New Wave Magazine). I have since done some broader research, looking into more designers who used similar techniques. I have been fascinated in the psychedelic posters produced by Wes Wilson in the 60’s who used lithograph techniques. He created posters for huge bands such as The Beatles and The Doors. “Wes Wilson single-handedly pioneered what is now known as the psychedelic poster. His style of filling all available space with lettering, of creating fluid forms made from letters, and using flowing letters to create shapes became the standard that most psychedelic artists followed.” (Erlewine, 2019). The image to the right shows the first clear example of this, the poster BG-18. This was created for a show with the Association at the Fillmore Auditorium. Set in a background of green is a swirling flame-form of red letters.

Since getting feedback about my research, I was advised to look more into the technical side of the different techniques used rather than focussing too much on comparing different visual styles. I have also done some research into skeuomorphs as I find this concept really interesting. It links an object or feature to the design of an older similar object. An example of this would be deleting files on your computer. “When computer manufacturers decided to move their machines from the clutches of techies into the jittery hands of the general public, they thought skeuomorphic graphical user interfaces would make them comfortingly familiar. That crumpling paper sound is very satisfying.” (Herman, 2014). The universal icon for erasing computer files is a trash bin, there is no real reason for this other than it giving the user a feeling of familiarity. Sounds can be skeuomorphic too. Camera phones don’t have mechanical shutters, but the electronically produced click reassures users that they’ve “snapped” a picture. Another example is they way people edit their photographs in certain ways in order to give them a vintage look. It is very popular nowadays on Instagram for people to add filters which give their photos a grainy effect, to give the illusion that it was taken on film. “We tend to associate sepia tones with nostalgia. Over exposed, light leaked photographs are reminiscent of the kaleidoscopic properties of memory – oscillating between moments and images in a blink. In our childhood we saw through the same eyes as we do now. With hindsight, the mind’s eye distorts the scale, saturates the colors, blurs some things and enhances others.” (Lembke, 2015).

Another subtopic I wanted to look into was the timeline of popular design methods techniques and look into where things became mostly digital. It is hard to pinpoint a specific date because to this day, people still combine old and new style techniques in order to create their pieces of work. You could look right back to the stone age and talk about the design techniques of cave paintings, however I am just going to stick to the modern era of design. Early Modern design styles emerged from the 1900s. Paste up was preceded by hot type and cold type technologies. “It took a steady hand, good eye, and the use of very toxic solvents and razor sharp cutting tools.” (Schneider, 2012) It starts with a layout board, a pre-printed board with non-reproductive blue lines. These were then pasted on more layout boards, to be shot again into film, that would be turned into a printing plate to print a magazine, poster, or flyer. This process took a huge amount of time longer than what we now do with simple strokes and keyboard commands on computers and are either digitally printed or go live in digital format onto the web. Starting in the 1990s, many newspapers started doing away with paste up, switching to desktop publishing software that allows pages to be designed completely on a computer.

In the 1980’s in Japan, the Risograph machine was invented as a quick, cheap, and easy way to make multiple copies, and since adopted by the art and design community for its low cost, speed, and versatility. Creating Riso images is similar to screen printing in terms of color separation and ink transfer, but with the rough-and-ready results of an office photocopier. The riso machine is a great example of how a lot of designers love working to limitations.  

I think a gap in my knowledge is whether there are still many designers today who prefer to use the traditional techniques to this day rather than using computers. I want to find designers who prefer working to those limitations. I have found a couple of books which I am interested in reading over summer. I plan on reading ‘Know Your Onions: Graphic Design’ by Drew De Soto and ‘100 Ideas that Changed Graphic Design’ by Steven Heller & Veronique Vienne. Both of these books are recommended for design students as they talk about the history of graphic design methods, which is relevant to my topic.

However, I still need to find more reading materials to support my research.  I also want to do a lot more in depth research about the technical side of the techniques, as well as discussing how boundaries can improve design. When using software like photoshop or illustrator, possibilities are endless. However, freedom isn’t always a good thing. When faced with a brief, you are left thinking “What should I do?” instead of having the mentality of “What can I do?” (O'Nolan, 2010).  An example of how limitations can improve design is colour. When you have a limited colour palette, the piece looks more consistent. Using a huge range of different colours in your work makes it harder to portray a solid identity. Also, limiting typography is similar to colour. “Restricting our use of typography contributes to a better and a stronger overall design.” It can become confusing if you use a number of different fonts in your work. Instead, it is better to limit yourself to just one or two fonts. Apple products are a good example of how using limitations can create something extremely successful. Apple uses minimalism, which means they take normal limitations one step further to create such clean, simple products. However, limitations are not always a great thing for design. You need to know how to use them to your advantage. The more boundaries you have, the more of a challenge it can become.

I still need to find out more information about the technical side of some of the design methods. I also would find it interesting to dig in deeper looking into skeuomorphs in the design world as I find the concept of them really interesting, and questioning whether skeuomorphs will eventually go out of fashion as time moves on. Mostly my methods of research over summer will be through reading books and finding online articles. If I find a designer relevant to my essay who still uses certain traditional techniques in their work today, it may be a good idea to interview them about their work as a possible method of research. If I do this, there will be ethics issues that I will need to consider. Over summer, I aim to continue my research through reading and updating my tumblr blog so I am in a good position to continue when I return to university.

[webart-studio]

20 Greatest New Portfolios, February 2019

Welcome again, Readers! It’s February, and I don’t assume I’ve a single pink or chocolate-themed website wherever within the combine. Ah properly…

I actually shouldn’t have typed that. Now I wish to both eat some peanut-butter and chocolate goodies, or base a design on that coloration scheme. I in all probability will.

Anyway, we’ve acquired a typically blended bag of portfolios so that you can try, with quite a lot of aggressively monochromatic designs in there. Get pleasure from!

Notice: I’m judging these websites by how good they give the impression of being to me. In the event that they’re inventive and authentic, or basic however actually well-done, it’s all good to me. Generally, UX and accessibility undergo. For instance, many of those websites rely on JavaScript to show their content material in any respect; this can be a Dangerous Concept, children. If you happen to discover an concept you want and wish to adapt to your individual website, keep in mind to implement it responsibly.

  Rob Weychert

Rob Weychert’s portfolio is probably not new as such, however I simply discovered it… and possibly ought to have discovered it sooner. He was a designer at Pleased Cog, and is now at ProPublica, so it is best to anticipate earthy tones and implausible typography. He sells his experience principally by way of his consumer checklist and his in depth weblog, utilizing the “go have a look at my work, it’s tremendous well-known” method to advertising.

Properly, it really works.

Platform: Static Web site (so far as I can inform)

  Transatlantic Movie Orchestra

The Transatlantic Movie Orchestra do precisely what you assume they do. Music for video. And on their web site, they do it proper: no music performs whenever you load the location. All you get is a peaceful, darkish, and monochromatic one-page portfolio.

I do notably just like the implementation of the audio gamers, although. The Morse code, the grainy photographs, all of it works.

Platform: WordPress

  Ramon Gilabert

Ramon Gilabert’s portfolio brings us a relaxing and basic minimalist design mixed with some beautifully-used SVG graphics. Thoughts you, it’s a little bit complicated whenever you click on on the “social” hyperlink within the navigation, because the social hyperlinks are virtually hidden on the backside, on the suitable, and on their facet. In any other case, it’s a gorgeous and charming design.

Platform: Static Web site

  Charlie Grey

Charlie grey’s portfolio is stuffed with cinematic-looking pictures and Hollywood celebrities, so this structure that appears like a cross between {a magazine} structure and a PowerPoint is definitely proper on the cash. I’d nearly be disenchanted if a website like this wasn’t loaded down with a bit an excessive amount of JS.

In the long run, it’s the photographs that promote the whole lot anyway.

Platform: WordPress

  Jordy van den Nieuwendijk

This portfolio is just about an artwork gallery, and it embraces the theme with a full-screen slideshow on the house web page, a number of white area, and monospaced kind. It’s a basic method and it maintain up properly on this case.

Platform: Static Web site

  Atelier Florian Markl

Atelier Florian Markl has taken the inherent “blockiness” of net design and completely run with it. The theme of the day is rectangles and daring colours. You may need a tough time seeing something, however as soon as your eyes modify to the glare, you received’t overlook this extremely modernist design in a rush.

Platform: Joomla

  Nathan Mudaliar

Nathan Mudaliar’s copywriting portfolio is probably not the fanciest on the market, however it’s a grasp class in showcasing your work creatively. There’s a form of conversational little bit of UI the place he showcases his work in numerous “voices”, interactive examples of his copywriting methods, and extra.

It’s a bit laborious promote, maybe, however you possibly can’t argue with outcomes.

Platform: Static website

  WebinWord

WebinWord know methods to to stay to a theme. This minimal-ish however extremely animated website manages to make use of the form of their brand mark throughout nearly each web page. And weirdly sufficient, it really works.

Platform: WordPress

  Okalpha

Okalpha goes proper for shiny colours and pseudo-3D graphics to catch your consideration. Truthfully, they’re utilizing the identical colours and shapes folks have been utilizing on us since we have been toddlers, so why wouldn’t it work? Barely kid-ish or not, I believe it really works.

Platform: Customized CMS (In all probability)

  Makoto Hirao

Makoto Hirao’s portfolio is ticking a whole lot of containers for me, together with nice kind, good use of images, and a horizontal dwelling web page structure that I truly actually like, and that feels intuitive.

My solely actual criticism would the the same old one about JS dependence.

Platform: Customized CMS

  Lydia Amaruch

Lydia Amaruch brings us a gorgeous grid-themed portfolio (I’m, as all the time, a sucker for this look) mixed with some implausible illustrations, and decidedly modernist structure. Some bits are weirdly low-contrast, nevertheless it’s a darned fairly website general.

Platform: Static Web site

  The Sweetshop

The Sweetshop, being a video manufacturing firm, naturally places a whole lot of video entrance and heart with the darkish structure you’d anticipate. Besides, their typography recreation is surprisingly robust, and there’s not a serif in sight. Even their press releases look fairly.

Platform: WordPress

  Noughts & Ones

Noughts and Ones is one other company that’s sticking to their theme, with their branding being a giant a part of their website’s aesthetic. Apart from that, it’s fairly basic minimalism. I personally adore their footer.

Is {that a} bizarre factor to say?

Platform: Squarespace

  Margaux Leroy

If I needed to describe Margaux Leryo’s portfolio—and I do, that’s my job—I’d name it a fusion of ‘90s period futurist design with extra trendy traits. It’s darkish, it’s modern, and a few of the textual content could be a little bit too small and low-contrast.

Why did we expect textual content could be that small sooner or later anyway? Did we expect everybody would have augmented eyes?

Anyway, flaws apart, it seems implausible.

Platform: Static Web site (so far as I do know)

  Julia Kostreva

Julia Kostreva’s portfolio retains it easy with some pseudo-asymmetry and gentle tones. As a branding designer, she lets that branding work do, properly, many of the work. And it really works.

Platform: Squarespace

  Baibakov Artwork Initiatives

Baibakov Artwork Initiatives takes the monochromatic to a different degree, and the animations are solely typically in the best way. It’s tall, darkish, and stylish, just like the work it options. Improbable use of asymmetry, too.

Platform: Static Web site

  Kolaps

Kolaps has a decidedly modernist design that feels without delay very “business-friendly” and fairly eye-catching. It’s basic minimalism come again once more with a contact of sci-fi futurism and particle results.

Platform: Customized CMS (I believe)

  Betty Montarou

Betty Montarou’s portfolio is saved lifeless easy with a form of “click on to collage” technique of exhibiting off her work. It retains the entire expertise right down to about two pages, and solely reveals off the easiest of what she does.

Platform: Static Web site

  Jordan Sowers

Jordan Sower’s portfolio is one other artsy one which form of mimics the artwork gallery aesthetic a little bit. Nonetheless, it’s fairly. It’s attention-grabbing in that it capabilities as a portfolio and a retailer on the identical time, however the retailer is saved nearly hidden except you truly click on a hyperlink to purchase one thing. It’s a retailer with out the laborious promote, and so it’s free to be inventive in its personal proper.

Platform: Static Web site

  Heller

And ending off our checklist we’ve one other monochromatic design with Heller. It’s trendy, it’s fairly, and it has an attention-grabbing method to the collage patterns we see in all places. This one is certainly going for a futurist really feel, even because it’s grounded within the traits of yester-month.

I just like the horizontal swipe-in animation they use for photos. I imply, when you’re going to animate the whole lot, why not give it that Star WarsTM really feel?

Platform: Static Web site

Supply hyperlink

source https://webart-studio.com/20-greatest-new-portfolios-february-2019/

[endlessarchite]

#91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale?

This week we’re talking about when you should undo a personal change that you made to your house that might turn off potential buyers (and when we’d recommend leaving it the heck alone). We’re also getting into store returns and how they’re changing, because the ability to return decor items that don’t turn out the way you hoped is a great safeguard… but did you know that some stores may be cracking down on that practice? Here’s what we learned about the policing of returns that’s going on behind the scenes, and what a DIYer can do to avoid getting their account flagged. We’re also recapping our trip to a blogging conference in Austin, I have an a-ha moment regarding something you sleep on, and Sherry gets a personal call from a celebrity that kinda makes her year. 

You can download this episode from Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Stitcher, TuneIn Radio, and Spotify – or listen to it below! Then use this page to check out any links, notes, or photos we referenced. Note: If you’re reading in a feed reader, you might have to click through to the post to see the player.

What’s New

Above is the photo we took of our home quickly getting covered in snow as we drove to the airport for our conference in Austin a couple of weeks ago.

We were so hunkered down taking notes at the conference that we didn’t get a ton of photos – but here’s one group shot we grabbed on our way out the door. From left to right that’s Jeremy & Katie from Bower Power, us, Amanda & Corey from Love & Renovations, and Julia & Chris from Chris Loves Julia.

Speaking of not the best photos, here’s a long distance one of Randi Zuckerberg speaking (with the back of Michael from Inspired By Charm‘s head in the foreground). We highly recommend her kids book, which is called Dot (it’s about kids and technology and has a really great message). We learned from her talk that it’s also an animated series on Sprout.

And of course, here’s a photo of the birthday girl in the Tesla that just happened to be our Uber for dinner that night. We actually snapped this picture as we were unloading on the street corner in front of the restaurant that he dropped us off at where everyone was expecting someone a lot more exciting than us to emerge.

Here’s where you can see the doors in action (as well as witness all of our shouting when we realized THAT was our Uber).

This shot is kinda grainy (Sherry and I were in the third row) but you can see the GIANT navigation screen on the dashboard. That’s Jeremy Bower chatting up the driver about how this thing can go 300 miles after every charge.

Can We Just Talk About?

Here is the article from the Wall Street Journal about how some companies are tracking customer’s habits to crack down on returns.

And you can hear more about why we rely on return policies to feel more comfortable making online purchases in Episode #83.

Listener Question

The house with the garage-turned-theater was actually in our roundup of other houses we considered before buying the one we’re in. It’s the navy one labeled “The Garage Theater House.”

Sherry’s working on a post with some of her general staging advice along with a ton of photo examples from various houses she has done, but here’s a preview of that dining-room-turned-office-turned-homework room as it was styled when we photographed it originally (left) and how Sherry simplified it when it came time to sell the house (right). She also took some art/filing baskets off of a few other walls, but it wasn’t a bunch of major changes or anything. Just a few simple ones.

And this is the kitchen Sherry mentioned staging, where it made sense to move the island back into place in the middle of the kitchen (which only became clear after seeing it in that spot).

Oh, and if you had forgotten what our last home’s carport looked like, here it is after we added a pergola to the carport to dress it up (we dubbed it the “cargola”). Part of the reason we also decided not to convert it to a garage is that we thought it would be more cramped than we would’ve liked if it were enclosed, and it would block light into our office and laundry room (which both had windows that we grew to appreciate – we didn’t want to lose that light). As an update, the current owners didn’t convert it either, so it still looks pretty much exactly like this but with a different car in there now.

We’re Digging

The photo above is of the first mail order boxspring we got a couple of years ago when needed one in our guest room after going from a platform bed in there to a regular metal frame (which we also ordered online). This one pictured is no longer available, so when we needed another last fall (after shuffling some stuff around for the beach house) we got this boxspring/foundation instead – which is actually cheaper and easier to put together, because it’s metal (not wood). It’s the one we now sleep on and it’s great!

I didn’t take any pictures of assembling that one, so forgive me for just using photos of that wooden one to illustrate how it goes from a pile of materials to a legit box spring. You basically just zip the cover around this frame and you’re done!

And the only thing more exciting than getting a box spring in the mail is Sherry’s personalized birthday message from Real Housewives of New York City’s Countess Luann (ordered via a website called Cameo). Sherry still screams for a good 7 seconds every time she watches it.

If you’re looking for something we’ve dug in a past episode but don’t remember which show notes to click into, here’s a master list of everything we’ve been digging from all of our past episodes.

And lastly, a big thank you to West Elm LOCAL Experiences for sponsoring this episode. You can enter to win an awesome getaway to Charleston, SC now through May 15th at westelm.com/YHL. There’s also a link on that page with more info about the other LOCAL Experiences taking place around the country! Such a cool initiative for local makers and DIY lovers like us.

Thanks for listening, guys!

*This post contains affiliate links*

The post #91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale? appeared first on Young House Love.

#91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale? published first on https://bakerskitchenslimited.tumblr.com/

[statusreview]

#91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale?

This week we’re talking about when you should undo a personal change that you made to your house that might turn off potential buyers (and when we’d recommend leaving it the heck alone). We’re also getting into store returns and how they’re changing, because the ability to return decor items that don’t turn out the way you hoped is a great safeguard… but did you know that some stores may be cracking down on that practice? Here’s what we learned about the policing of returns that’s going on behind the scenes, and what a DIYer can do to avoid getting their account flagged. We’re also recapping our trip to a blogging conference in Austin, I have an a-ha moment regarding something you sleep on, and Sherry gets a personal call from a celebrity that kinda makes her year. 

You can download this episode from Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Stitcher, TuneIn Radio, and Spotify – or listen to it below! Then use this page to check out any links, notes, or photos we referenced. Note: If you’re reading in a feed reader, you might have to click through to the post to see the player.

What’s New

Above is the photo we took of our home quickly getting covered in snow as we drove to the airport for our conference in Austin a couple of weeks ago.

We were so hunkered down taking notes at the conference that we didn’t get a ton of photos – but here’s one group shot we grabbed on our way out the door. From left to right that’s Jeremy & Katie from Bower Power, us, Amanda & Corey from Love & Renovations, and Julia & Chris from Chris Loves Julia.

Speaking of not the best photos, here’s a long distance one of Randi Zuckerberg speaking (with the back of Michael from Inspired By Charm‘s head in the foreground). We highly recommend her kids book, which is called Dot (it’s about kids and technology and has a really great message). We learned from her talk that it’s also an animated series on Sprout.

And of course, here’s a photo of the birthday girl in the Tesla that just happened to be our Uber for dinner that night. We actually snapped this picture as we were unloading on the street corner in front of the restaurant that he dropped us off at where everyone was expecting someone a lot more exciting than us to emerge.

Here’s where you can see the doors in action (as well as witness all of our shouting when we realized THAT was our Uber).

This shot is kinda grainy (Sherry and I were in the third row) but you can see the GIANT navigation screen on the dashboard. That’s Jeremy Bower chatting up the driver about how this thing can go 300 miles after every charge.

Can We Just Talk About?

Here is the article from the Wall Street Journal about how some companies are tracking customer’s habits to crack down on returns.

And you can hear more about why we rely on return policies to feel more comfortable making online purchases in Episode #83.

Listener Question

The house with the garage-turned-theater was actually in our roundup of other houses we considered before buying the one we’re in. It’s the navy one labeled “The Garage Theater House.”

Sherry’s working on a post with some of her general staging advice along with a ton of photo examples from various houses she has done, but here’s a preview of that dining-room-turned-office-turned-homework room as it was styled when we photographed it originally (left) and how Sherry simplified it when it came time to sell the house (right). She also took some art/filing baskets off of a few other walls, but it wasn’t a bunch of major changes or anything. Just a few simple ones.

And this is the kitchen Sherry mentioned staging, where it made sense to move the island back into place in the middle of the kitchen (which only became clear after seeing it in that spot).

Oh, and if you had forgotten what our last home’s carport looked like, here it is after we added a pergola to the carport to dress it up (we dubbed it the “cargola”). Part of the reason we also decided not to convert it to a garage is that we thought it would be more cramped than we would’ve liked if it were enclosed, and it would block light into our office and laundry room (which both had windows that we grew to appreciate – we didn’t want to lose that light). As an update, the current owners didn’t convert it either, so it still looks pretty much exactly like this but with a different car in there now.

We’re Digging

The photo above is of the first mail order boxspring we got a couple of years ago when needed one in our guest room after going from a platform bed in there to a regular metal frame (which we also ordered online). This one pictured is no longer available, so when we needed another last fall (after shuffling some stuff around for the beach house) we got this boxspring/foundation instead – which is actually cheaper and easier to put together, because it’s metal (not wood). It’s the one we now sleep on and it’s great!

I didn’t take any pictures of assembling that one, so forgive me for just using photos of that wooden one to illustrate how it goes from a pile of materials to a legit box spring. You basically just zip the cover around this frame and you’re done!

And the only thing more exciting than getting a box spring in the mail is Sherry’s personalized birthday message from Real Housewives of New York City’s Countess Luann (ordered via a website called Cameo). Sherry still screams for a good 7 seconds every time she watches it.

If you’re looking for something we’ve dug in a past episode but don’t remember which show notes to click into, here’s a master list of everything we’ve been digging from all of our past episodes.

And lastly, a big thank you to West Elm LOCAL Experiences for sponsoring this episode. You can enter to win an awesome getaway to Charleston, SC now through May 15th at westelm.com/YHL. There’s also a link on that page with more info about the other LOCAL Experiences taking place around the country! Such a cool initiative for local makers and DIY lovers like us.

Thanks for listening, guys!

*This post contains affiliate links*

The post #91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale? appeared first on Young House Love.

#91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale? published first on https://ssmattress.tumblr.com/

[yesterdaysdreams]

#91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale?

This week we’re talking about when you should undo a personal change that you made to your house that might turn off potential buyers (and when we’d recommend leaving it the heck alone). We’re also getting into store returns and how they’re changing, because the ability to return decor items that don’t turn out the way you hoped is a great safeguard… but did you know that some stores may be cracking down on that practice? Here’s what we learned about the policing of returns that’s going on behind the scenes, and what a DIYer can do to avoid getting their account flagged. We’re also recapping our trip to a blogging conference in Austin, I have an a-ha moment regarding something you sleep on, and Sherry gets a personal call from a celebrity that kinda makes her year. 

You can download this episode from Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Stitcher, TuneIn Radio, and Spotify – or listen to it below! Then use this page to check out any links, notes, or photos we referenced. Note: If you’re reading in a feed reader, you might have to click through to the post to see the player.

What’s New

Above is the photo we took of our home quickly getting covered in snow as we drove to the airport for our conference in Austin a couple of weeks ago.

We were so hunkered down taking notes at the conference that we didn’t get a ton of photos – but here’s one group shot we grabbed on our way out the door. From left to right that’s Jeremy & Katie from Bower Power, us, Amanda & Corey from Love & Renovations, and Julia & Chris from Chris Loves Julia.

Speaking of not the best photos, here’s a long distance one of Randi Zuckerberg speaking (with the back of Michael from Inspired By Charm‘s head in the foreground). We highly recommend her kids book, which is called Dot (it’s about kids and technology and has a really great message). We learned from her talk that it’s also an animated series on Sprout.

And of course, here’s a photo of the birthday girl in the Tesla that just happened to be our Uber for dinner that night. We actually snapped this picture as we were unloading on the street corner in front of the restaurant that he dropped us off at where everyone was expecting someone a lot more exciting than us to emerge.

Here’s where you can see the doors in action (as well as witness all of our shouting when we realized THAT was our Uber).

This shot is kinda grainy (Sherry and I were in the third row) but you can see the GIANT navigation screen on the dashboard. That’s Jeremy Bower chatting up the driver about how this thing can go 300 miles after every charge.

Can We Just Talk About?

Here is the article from the Wall Street Journal about how some companies are tracking customer’s habits to crack down on returns.

And you can hear more about why we rely on return policies to feel more comfortable making online purchases in Episode #83.

Listener Question

The house with the garage-turned-theater was actually in our roundup of other houses we considered before buying the one we’re in. It’s the navy one labeled “The Garage Theater House.”

Sherry’s working on a post with some of her general staging advice along with a ton of photo examples from various houses she has done, but here’s a preview of that dining-room-turned-office-turned-homework room as it was styled when we photographed it originally (left) and how Sherry simplified it when it came time to sell the house (right). She also took some art/filing baskets off of a few other walls, but it wasn’t a bunch of major changes or anything. Just a few simple ones.

And this is the kitchen Sherry mentioned staging, where it made sense to move the island back into place in the middle of the kitchen (which only became clear after seeing it in that spot).

Oh, and if you had forgotten what our last home’s carport looked like, here it is after we added a pergola to the carport to dress it up (we dubbed it the “cargola”). Part of the reason we also decided not to convert it to a garage is that we thought it would be more cramped than we would’ve liked if it were enclosed, and it would block light into our office and laundry room (which both had windows that we grew to appreciate – we didn’t want to lose that light). As an update, the current owners didn’t convert it either, so it still looks pretty much exactly like this but with a different car in there now.

We’re Digging

The photo above is of the first mail order boxspring we got a couple of years ago when needed one in our guest room after going from a platform bed in there to a regular metal frame (which we also ordered online). This one pictured is no longer available, so when we needed another last fall (after shuffling some stuff around for the beach house) we got this boxspring/foundation instead – which is actually cheaper and easier to put together, because it’s metal (not wood). It’s the one we now sleep on and it’s great!

I didn’t take any pictures of assembling that one, so forgive me for just using photos of that wooden one to illustrate how it goes from a pile of materials to a legit box spring. You basically just zip the cover around this frame and you’re done!

And the only thing more exciting than getting a box spring in the mail is Sherry’s personalized birthday message from Real Housewives of New York City’s Countess Luann (ordered via a website called Cameo). Sherry still screams for a good 7 seconds every time she watches it.

If you’re looking for something we’ve dug in a past episode but don’t remember which show notes to click into, here’s a master list of everything we’ve been digging from all of our past episodes.

And lastly, a big thank you to West Elm LOCAL Experiences for sponsoring this episode. You can enter to win an awesome getaway to Charleston, SC now through May 15th at westelm.com/YHL. There’s also a link on that page with more info about the other LOCAL Experiences taking place around the country! Such a cool initiative for local makers and DIY lovers like us.

Thanks for listening, guys!

*This post contains affiliate links*

The post #91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale? appeared first on Young House Love.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8265713 https://ift.tt/2Il8CM5 via IFTTT

[lukerhill]

#91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale?

This week we’re talking about when you should undo a personal change that you made to your house that might turn off potential buyers (and when we’d recommend leaving it the heck alone). We’re also getting into store returns and how they’re changing, because the ability to return decor items that don’t turn out the way you hoped is a great safeguard… but did you know that some stores may be cracking down on that practice? Here’s what we learned about the policing of returns that’s going on behind the scenes, and what a DIYer can do to avoid getting their account flagged. We’re also recapping our trip to a blogging conference in Austin, I have an a-ha moment regarding something you sleep on, and Sherry gets a personal call from a celebrity that kinda makes her year. 

You can download this episode from Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Stitcher, TuneIn Radio, and Spotify – or listen to it below! Then use this page to check out any links, notes, or photos we referenced. Note: If you’re reading in a feed reader, you might have to click through to the post to see the player.

What’s New

Above is the photo we took of our home quickly getting covered in snow as we drove to the airport for our conference in Austin a couple of weeks ago.

We were so hunkered down taking notes at the conference that we didn’t get a ton of photos – but here’s one group shot we grabbed on our way out the door. From left to right that’s Jeremy & Katie from Bower Power, us, Amanda & Corey from Love & Renovations, and Julia & Chris from Chris Loves Julia.

Speaking of not the best photos, here’s a long distance one of Randi Zuckerberg speaking (with the back of Michael from Inspired By Charm‘s head in the foreground). We highly recommend her kids book, which is called Dot (it’s about kids and technology and has a really great message). We learned from her talk that it’s also an animated series on Sprout.

And of course, here’s a photo of the birthday girl in the Tesla that just happened to be our Uber for dinner that night. We actually snapped this picture as we were unloading on the street corner in front of the restaurant that he dropped us off at where everyone was expecting someone a lot more exciting than us to emerge.

Here’s where you can see the doors in action (as well as witness all of our shouting when we realized THAT was our Uber).

This shot is kinda grainy (Sherry and I were in the third row) but you can see the GIANT navigation screen on the dashboard. That’s Jeremy Bower chatting up the driver about how this thing can go 300 miles after every charge.

Can We Just Talk About?

Here is the article from the Wall Street Journal about how some companies are tracking customer’s habits to crack down on returns.

And you can hear more about why we rely on return policies to feel more comfortable making online purchases in Episode #83.

Listener Question

The house with the garage-turned-theater was actually in our roundup of other houses we considered before buying the one we’re in. It’s the navy one labeled “The Garage Theater House.”

Sherry’s working on a post with some of her general staging advice along with a ton of photo examples from various houses she has done, but here’s a preview of that dining-room-turned-office-turned-homework room as it was styled when we photographed it originally (left) and how Sherry simplified it when it came time to sell the house (right). She also took some art/filing baskets off of a few other walls, but it wasn’t a bunch of major changes or anything. Just a few simple ones.

And this is the kitchen Sherry mentioned staging, where it made sense to move the island back into place in the middle of the kitchen (which only became clear after seeing it in that spot).

Oh, and if you had forgotten what our last home’s carport looked like, here it is after we added a pergola to the carport to dress it up (we dubbed it the “cargola”). Part of the reason we also decided not to convert it to a garage is that we thought it would be more cramped than we would’ve liked if it were enclosed, and it would block light into our office and laundry room (which both had windows that we grew to appreciate – we didn’t want to lose that light). As an update, the current owners didn’t convert it either, so it still looks pretty much exactly like this but with a different car in there now.

We’re Digging

The photo above is of the first mail order boxspring we got a couple of years ago when needed one in our guest room after going from a platform bed in there to a regular metal frame (which we also ordered online). This one pictured is no longer available, so when we needed another last fall (after shuffling some stuff around for the beach house) we got this boxspring/foundation instead – which is actually cheaper and easier to put together, because it’s metal (not wood). It’s the one we now sleep on and it’s great!

I didn’t take any pictures of assembling that one, so forgive me for just using photos of that wooden one to illustrate how it goes from a pile of materials to a legit box spring. You basically just zip the cover around this frame and you’re done!

And the only thing more exciting than getting a box spring in the mail is Sherry’s personalized birthday message from Real Housewives of New York City’s Countess Luann (ordered via a website called Cameo). Sherry still screams for a good 7 seconds every time she watches it.

If you’re looking for something we’ve dug in a past episode but don’t remember which show notes to click into, here’s a master list of everything we’ve been digging from all of our past episodes.

And lastly, a big thank you to West Elm LOCAL Experiences for sponsoring this episode. You can enter to win an awesome getaway to Charleston, SC now through May 15th at westelm.com/YHL. There’s also a link on that page with more info about the other LOCAL Experiences taking place around the country! Such a cool initiative for local makers and DIY lovers like us.

Thanks for listening, guys!

*This post contains affiliate links*

The post #91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale? appeared first on Young House Love.

[billydmacklin]

#91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale?

This week we’re talking about when you should undo a personal change that you made to your house that might turn off potential buyers (and when we’d recommend leaving it the heck alone). We’re also getting into store returns and how they’re changing, because the ability to return decor items that don’t turn out the way you hoped is a great safeguard… but did you know that some stores may be cracking down on that practice? Here’s what we learned about the policing of returns that’s going on behind the scenes, and what a DIYer can do to avoid getting their account flagged. We’re also recapping our trip to a blogging conference in Austin, I have an a-ha moment regarding something you sleep on, and Sherry gets a personal call from a celebrity that kinda makes her year. 

You can download this episode from Apple Podcasts, Google Play, Stitcher, TuneIn Radio, and Spotify – or listen to it below! Then use this page to check out any links, notes, or photos we referenced. Note: If you’re reading in a feed reader, you might have to click through to the post to see the player.

What’s New

Above is the photo we took of our home quickly getting covered in snow as we drove to the airport for our conference in Austin a couple of weeks ago.

We were so hunkered down taking notes at the conference that we didn’t get a ton of photos – but here’s one group shot we grabbed on our way out the door. From left to right that’s Jeremy & Katie from Bower Power, us, Amanda & Corey from Love & Renovations, and Julia & Chris from Chris Loves Julia.

Speaking of not the best photos, here’s a long distance one of Randi Zuckerberg speaking (with the back of Michael from Inspired By Charm‘s head in the foreground). We highly recommend her kids book, which is called Dot (it’s about kids and technology and has a really great message). We learned from her talk that it’s also an animated series on Sprout.

And of course, here’s a photo of the birthday girl in the Tesla that just happened to be our Uber for dinner that night. We actually snapped this picture as we were unloading on the street corner in front of the restaurant that he dropped us off at where everyone was expecting someone a lot more exciting than us to emerge.

Here’s where you can see the doors in action (as well as witness all of our shouting when we realized THAT was our Uber).

This shot is kinda grainy (Sherry and I were in the third row) but you can see the GIANT navigation screen on the dashboard. That’s Jeremy Bower chatting up the driver about how this thing can go 300 miles after every charge.

Can We Just Talk About?

Here is the article from the Wall Street Journal about how some companies are tracking customer’s habits to crack down on returns.

And you can hear more about why we rely on return policies to feel more comfortable making online purchases in Episode #83.

Listener Question

The house with the garage-turned-theater was actually in our roundup of other houses we considered before buying the one we’re in. It’s the navy one labeled “The Garage Theater House.”

Sherry’s working on a post with some of her general staging advice along with a ton of photo examples from various houses she has done, but here’s a preview of that dining-room-turned-office-turned-homework room as it was styled when we photographed it originally (left) and how Sherry simplified it when it came time to sell the house (right). She also took some art/filing baskets off of a few other walls, but it wasn’t a bunch of major changes or anything. Just a few simple ones.

And this is the kitchen Sherry mentioned staging, where it made sense to move the island back into place in the middle of the kitchen (which only became clear after seeing it in that spot).

Oh, and if you had forgotten what our last home’s carport looked like, here it is after we added a pergola to the carport to dress it up (we dubbed it the “cargola”). Part of the reason we also decided not to convert it to a garage is that we thought it would be more cramped than we would’ve liked if it were enclosed, and it would block light into our office and laundry room (which both had windows that we grew to appreciate – we didn’t want to lose that light). As an update, the current owners didn’t convert it either, so it still looks pretty much exactly like this but with a different car in there now.

We’re Digging

The photo above is of the first mail order boxspring we got a couple of years ago when needed one in our guest room after going from a platform bed in there to a regular metal frame (which we also ordered online). This one pictured is no longer available, so when we needed another last fall (after shuffling some stuff around for the beach house) we got this boxspring/foundation instead – which is actually cheaper and easier to put together, because it’s metal (not wood). It’s the one we now sleep on and it’s great!

I didn’t take any pictures of assembling that one, so forgive me for just using photos of that wooden one to illustrate how it goes from a pile of materials to a legit box spring. You basically just zip the cover around this frame and you’re done!

And the only thing more exciting than getting a box spring in the mail is Sherry’s personalized birthday message from Real Housewives of New York City’s Countess Luann (ordered via a website called Cameo). Sherry still screams for a good 7 seconds every time she watches it.

If you’re looking for something we’ve dug in a past episode but don’t remember which show notes to click into, here’s a master list of everything we’ve been digging from all of our past episodes.

And lastly, a big thank you to West Elm LOCAL Experiences for sponsoring this episode. You can enter to win an awesome getaway to Charleston, SC now through May 15th at westelm.com/YHL. There’s also a link on that page with more info about the other LOCAL Experiences taking place around the country! Such a cool initiative for local makers and DIY lovers like us.

Thanks for listening, guys!

*This post contains affiliate links*

The post #91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale? appeared first on Young House Love.

#91: When Is A House Change You Made Bad For Resale? published first on https://carpetgurus.tumblr.com/

[nofomoartworld]

[NSFW] Vintage Porn Bursts with Flowers in Dromsjel's Psychedelic Erotic Collages

Far from being mere titillation, the vintage porn used as collage material in the work of Pierre Schmidt is transformed into highly imaginative, surreal, and psychedelic artworks. The Berlin-based artist, who also goes by the name Dromsjel, takes grainy and often dreamy 'found' erotic photographs, often of nude women, and manipulates them digital to the point that their bodies become distorted canvases. Equally beautiful and grotesque, the bodies and faces in Dromsjel's work melt, implode, sprout colors and flowers, or serve as portals into space. Other times, he removes all features from the subject's face, or makes two faces or bodies merge, combining the body horror explorations of David Cronenberg with the surreal colors and painterly gestures of Salvador Dali.

Dromsjel tells Creators that he started out working in digital media with Photoshop and Illustrator, before progressing into graphic design. For a short time he worked at an agency, where he learned the craft before wanting to leave to concentrate on his own work.

Midnight

"Quite early I started experimenting with vintage images to use in my digital collages, this progressed with finding old retro porn images through various online source material," says Dromsjel. "The photographs have the same visual quality I like to use in my style. The surrealism and eroticism go hand in hand as outer body experiences, a constant expression through my work."

Dromsjel likens his search for vintage photographs—or any photograph, really—to that of a DJ looking for samples to reuse and reinterpret in their style.

Untitled II

"I'm finding my own hook through the sourcing of the photography and by manipulating the image through my own artistic style and experimenting to create something new, which is part of the process to a final piece of work," he says. "There are no specific sites. Tumblr or Flickr are great sources yet a lot of artists use these now, so I do look also from time to time for more physical vintage materials at flea markets and old book stores, places like that."

After he has found the right photograph, Dromsjel illustrates with a Wacom tablet in Photoshop. He paints over the original image, changing colors and backgrounds, but also spending a great deal of time on minute details. Dromsjel's aesthetic goal for the final piece is to have it resemble the original as closely as possible.

Schuld Und Sühne II

"The vintage sort of grain you see in the original photograph is hard to replicate but through modernizing it with a contemporary outlook and using my own style of manipulating the image with digital paint techniques, on first glance and maybe second, third, and fourth, you'd not see the difference," Dromsjel says.

Built into Dromsjel's images is a fascination with how the brain connects and computes with just a few pixels what is seemingly abnormal from everyday images. He is intrigued by how smartphone users scroll through images on tiny screens, and for a split second their brains register something that is visually not quite right, causing them to recoil but also try to understand it.

How to Disappear Completely

"We actively engage and we are no longer passively scrolling—that grotesque feeling we experience is our brain being disturbed by what unsettles us from the norm," Dromsjel says. "I like that place there: where beauty and the grotesque live in harmonic fascination."

Despite the surreal, grotesque, erotic qualities of his work, Dromsjel says his artwork is up for interpretation. For him, there are no predetermined ideas or assumptions attached to his work. "It's a process, a feeling, and an experience," he says.

The cover of Lost Wknd magazine

The next step in his artistic process is to develop his own fine art prints. Dromsjel has been researching this for awhile and believes this is something he can do, though he plans to do so with very limited runs and one-off pieces that will be available in the coming weeks.

Dromsjel is also currently exhibiting some of his works on a tour organized by Berlin Illustrative, which is soon heading to Switzerland and then China. Dromsjel also plans to continue making album art and tour imagery for bands like Team Dead and Crash Casino, and recently did the cover art for the magazine Lost Wknd.

I Might Be Wrong

Click here to see more of Dromsjel's work.

Related:

These Vintage Melting-Face Portraits Will Trip You Out | Monday Insta Illustrator

Adventure Time-Worthy Psychedelics | Monday Insta Illustrator

NeoWave Posters Resurrect Psychedelic Space Art

Trip The Light Fantastic With This Cosmic Digital Artwork

from creators http://ift.tt/2nJ6GaB via IFTTT