#i did reference and trace various reaction images | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chaseagainstonision · 4 years ago

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A personal call out post

Let me preface this with having y'all not send her hate. I just wanted to bring awareness to this on Twitter as well as here becuaes I'm agitated and fed of with people who are constantly toxic to those around them and having stans/simps who back them up at every turn and enable them.

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I wanted to talk about @babblingartblog @naughtybabs and the drama I have surrounding her. I want to cover some of this: https://drive.google.com/drive/u/1/folders/17c7F4GZXCVtqVqKPXNc4lWHS0T9pHZz2 and touch on some of the bigger things in each folder since I didn't quite do that last time since I was pissed.

Note that these folders will constantly be updating. I still have some caps that I have not tossed in these folder as I have not edited out usernames for privacy reasons. I have a folder on my desktop that is also uncensored for my own reference.

Starting off with Art and Caps (https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1J_dwVDk396Cx-gZROZqK1dCB2ih5LJ6E?usp=sharing), this should be pretty straight forward. Some videos I have here are of her blatently tracing or stealing images from Google or elsewhere. I have tried to find sources for as many of these as I could. No true artist worth their salt would actually trace for a piece, especially not for commissions. Some of the other images are just some critiquing and stuff. The critiques are just personal gripes about her art that I feel could be improved upon.

For Facebook (https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/11-374WefqZaE4YWVC3HNpsyWLrnkF6Or?usp=sharing), a few things stand out more than others. The first thing is something that happened at a larp she attended. She claims that she didn't do this, but multiple other people attest otherwise. It's an incident where she tried to break up a married couple and call the man's wife a bitch and what have you. She's also expressed some rather NSFW kinks/fetishes in these larp spaces that have made others uncomfortable. She had even gotten temporarily kicked from one larp group due to these actions. Another thing that stands out more than others is her promise to change and then falling right back into old habits. There are several of these posts and I think also a few tweets, but I'll touch of tweets further down. Anyway, there are countless times that people have told her that she needs help and needs to be a better person and she basically just shrugs it off and keeps up with her toxicity.

The final thing that I'd like to touch on in this section that's a red flag is how she treated her former place of residence. Without going into too much detail as I don't want to involve her former roomies in this more than I have to. She's claimed numerous times that her former residence was abusive when it wasn't anywhere near what she's said. She was the one creating a toxic environment and people were getting tired of her shit. Between her quitting jobs with no good reason, to not paying rent and spending what should have been rent money on larps and fast food and other such luxuries and accusing a former roomie of something heinous, she brought down the mental health of everyone in that house.

There are various other things that you can look through that I haven't even touched upon that set off more red flags. There were also some DMs that I had omitted that I won't release but can summarize if need be later. Also, I realize that some of these caps are ant sized, so if you need me to transcribe them, feel free to ask.

For Tumblr and Misc (https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/152bkOkTiH4ZfWk3t9g3JhHMwSz2J-YjT?usp=sharing), there's not much there. Just some asks about the larp things I mentioned in the Facebook section, her GoFundMe, which I'll also touch upon in the Twitter section, and some caps from Youtube about her tracing.

For Twitter (https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1pGqz6qTFuvKZDYPuxQTk6CLxGgJokYa8?usp=sharing), there are a ton of caps. There are only a few things that stuck out to my with these caps, too. Outside of the Hazbin Hotel drama, that is, since there are quite a bit of caps there.

The first is the most recent and the thing that kicked me sharing all of this originally. It relates to a Slenderman series creator names Adam Rosner who was outed as a piece of shit who did some unsavory things with a few people underage, as well as some other horrible, heinous shit. She claimed to be friends with him and that she "still can't believe that [she] ignored [her] gut" about how much of a creep he actually was. I called her out the two times that she spoke out about this because I knew, from personal experience and from also knowing Adam and interacting with him at a limited capacity (I just thought he was kind of a snob originally and was fame hungry), that she had been lying and had only really been an acquaintance, much like myself, and also had limited interactions with him.

Touching on the GoFundMe that I mentioned earlier, though, and she admitted that she, herself, donated her $1400 stimulus check from 2020 to inflate the amount she received from her GFM. The GFM was taken poorly from some former friends as she owns them money and she, instead of trying to pay some of that back, dumped her money in the GFM to inflate it.

She's also brought up a few times where she would like friends who wouldn't crucify her and that calling her out on her bad behavior and holding her to a standard means that you're stalking her or being mean or something. This piggy backs off of the point from the FB section about her saying she'll get better then doesn't.

For Videos and Caps (https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1vukA5KmVvbF56pC91GGD4s-FCZaXwW6W?usp=sharing), there are uhh... some questionable things in here.

The first is stuff that I had transcribed since it's in parts. This, against, cycles back to her attempts at fundraising for herself. She had gotten angry about various BLM protesters had gotten money for bail and lawyers and what not and that no one was, essentially, donating to her cause donating to small creators isn't "trendy" or "popular" or some such nonsense. Then, tried to back peddle by saying that capitalism sucks and how she shouldn't had used her GFM to compare to BLM but that the poor, LGBT+, black, etc aren't accessories or something but really still giving a nonapology.

Which brings be to a related but not really point about the stutter that she had. She's done this weirdly forced stutter in a few videos and I asked around if it was a thing that she had done before and it wasn't and is, indeed, a forced reaction to garner sympathy.

Swinging back around the the fundraisers she posted on FB and the bit about her roomies, there was a video that she had made accusing one former roomie of some nasty things, as well, when it never happened. The actual story, without getting into too much detail, was that she had pined after this roomie for a bit and was enamored with him but he had (and still has) a girlfriend.

As for the other videos, there's just a lot of depressed posting and what not. Like, a lot of depressed posting.

Some general statements: Normally I wouldn't dump on some of these things if it were anyone else, but knowing her personally and talking to some former friends and what have you and knowing how she is after all of this observation, there have been a lot of red flags that popped up. Like, I'm not here to victim blame or laugh at someone over mental illness or any of that shit. But I also know that she siphons personality traits and whatnot from the people around her.

#artists #artists on tumblr #art theft #art #digital art

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150289city · 4 years ago

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ILLUSION - SURREALISM

Analyse creative manipulation images.

1. Zdzislaw Beksinski

The canvas, known as "Creeping Death", evokes a lot of emotions and remains relevant all the time. The leitmotif is death, which creeps silently like a spider. This is how he appeared in the eyes of the painter - death comes unexpectedly and destroys everything on its way.

Beksiński's paintings were about loneliness and the inevitability of death. The painter also often presented a vision of Armageddon. This is also the case of "Creeping Death". The end of the world appears in dark, brown and bloody colors. And death takes its toll and disappears unnoticed from the battlefield. The city burning in the background means that death has won again. Nobody survived. Death can take many shapes, it can resemble a human, an animal or a spider. In the painting by Zdzisław Beksiński, he is a terrifying creature that leaves the ruined area on its cramped limbs. Instead of the face, you can see a bandage through which a blood stain pierces. Instead of a torso, there is a hairy abdomen, similar to that of deadly spiders, and they will always flee from impending danger. Just like death, which also has time to hide from fire.

Beksiński's painting is one of the most terrifying contemporary works of Polish painting. Suffering, anger and resignation permeate them. The artist knows that he is unable to change his fate. He only has pain and the awareness that death will come for him. "Creeping Death" can be a universal picture, presenting the world after war, apocalypse or catastrophe. They can also be the darkest thoughts of every human being that circulate through the mind looking for an outlet. Because everyone is struggling with their own demons, which may appear completely different. It is certain that they cause fear, but they are essential in the fight against the suffering that is part of human life.

2. SALVADOR DALI

There are four clocks in the picture. One hangs from a dry tree, the other, with a blue shield and golden edging, flows down from a brown plinth. There is a fly on it, which can symbolize the "flying" and passing time. The orange watch lying next to it seems to be less soft and melting than the others. Ants crawled over him. The orange clock looks like it's about to be eaten by insects. Ants are here a symbol of rotting, decay. The fourth clock is in the center of the painting. It flows down from a deformed, beige-colored form. Only after looking closely you can see something like a nose, eyelid, long eyelashes. The distorted form resembles skin pulled from the face. According to some, it is a self-portrait of Salvador himself.

"Soft clocks" is nothing but a delicate, extravagant and lonely, paranoid-critical camembert of time and space.’’ Salvador Dali

Persistence of memory is perhaps one of the artist's most recognizable works. It was established in 1931. The idea was born when Dali, eating a melting French Camembert cheese, saw clock faces in it.

Dali created works that were supposed to amaze or shock. He did not represent anything directly, but through a vision. Therefore, he is included in the group of surrealists. Obraz Persistence of memory is a dream about time deformed by memories and dreams. Gala - Dali's muse and wife - said about this painting that the viewer's memory would only be the "softness" of the watches, because anyone who saw this work at least once would never forget it. The rocks of Cape Creus are an element of the landscape that appears in many of Dali's works. They have become an example of "hard" forms. The artist, who has a well-prepared drawing and knows the perspective, creates in a surprising way. An example is theoretically correctly painted clocks, but why is one of them hung over a branch, and the other running off the counter? It was this astonishment that the artist wanted to combine various objects in any way. The elements of the painting are arranged on the canvas in such a way that we have the impression of a large space and emptiness. Thanks to vivid imagination, all details have been divided into soft and hard. Clocks are among the soft ones.

3. RENÉ MAGRITTE

With my popular sympathy for the Belgian painter René Magritte, I have allowed myself to be introduced to you by opening the whole series "Art for Tuesday" with his "Lovers". Together with the blog returning to the expanses of the Internet, let Magritte be the patron of the reactivation of this cycle, this time with her "Son of Man".

The very title "Son of Man" (French: "Le fils de l'homme") is a bit puzzling when confronted with this picture presents itself.

After all, we see an elegant man in a suit and a bowler hat against the background of the wall separating him from the sea, above him there are clouds that announce a storm or storm. And what is very important - it is a self-portrait.

Oh yes, I would ... Before the face of forgotten people (levitating?) A green apple that makes his face invisible, revealing part of the eye and eyebrow in fact. We have to remind ourselves that the Belgian was definitely a surrealist who grew out of the impressionist school. However, he used his symbolic linguistic voice, which was shaped by such tragic experiences as the mother's suicide - hence the motive of the shroud. The motif of a veiled face, or the lack of it, is constantly present in Magritte's painting. Maybe it allows you to stay safe? For both the "covered" and those looking at him? Or maybe these masks and covers allow for proper perception of things (I refer to the author's painting "Rape")?

As for the "Son of Man", a stretched (as always), original interpretation appeared in my head.

The apple ripens with its apple tree represented by the man. He is well dressed, which can mean high social status. Or maybe an apple covering a man's face makes him anonymous? is it just a tree from which society grows? And when he dies, will someone eat the forbidden fruit that he has grown, and will continue this process? Another "Son of Man" ..?

4. Max Ernst

"Day and Night" is a work that Max Ernst painted in the years 1941-1942. It presents a gloomy rocky landscape in dark colors. The image of the night is dominant here - the dark blue sky and the outlines of boulders. On the dark background, however, there are traces of the day, resembling daytime photographs of the same space. In these pictures these places appear completely different - they are sunny and full of bright colors. They do not resemble a barren night landscape.

Ernst's work follows surrealist poetics. Its meaning becomes understandable above all in the historical context in which it was created. It is about the tragedy of World War II, which left its mark on the artist's own biography. He miraculously managed to escape from the hands of the Gestapo and emigrate from France to the United States.

The night landscape is a barren land devoid of color and optimism. One gets the impression that we are dealing with a world completely destroyed by some cataclysm. His memories are only optimistic photographs from the past, which show the old face of the landscape. These optimistic incrustations in combination with the dominant gray and sterility not only do not cheer up the whole, but make it even more repulsive. We are dealing here with a world that will never return to its former glory.

The colorful pictures bring to mind illustrations from children's books. Thus, the artist refers to the myth of childhood as a lost paradise. Children's dreams are triggered here, in which reality seems to be a magical and wonderful being. At the same time, the juxtaposition of colored fragments with a gloomy background is also associated with the biblical Eden, where innocence and beauty are destroyed by sin and evil.

You can also understand "Night and Day" as a kind of puzzle. The picture resembles a puzzle that needs to be matched in an appropriate way so that they form a whole together. In this sense, one should see in Ernst's work traces of hope for rebuilding what was destroyed during the war. It is, in a way, a proposal to organize the world once again so that it becomes a place where a person feels safe again.

5. Pablo Picasso

"Guernica" is a famous painting by Pablo Picasso, painted in 1937 in reaction to the Spanish Civil War. The work is an act of protest against violence and at the same time a great manifestation of pacifism.

The title of the painting comes from the name of a Spanish city bombed by the German Luftwaffe air force in response to resistance to General Franco's group.

"Guernica" shows deformed human and animal figures, forming a chaotic swirl. You can see the bodies in pieces, especially the heads and limbs. The severed hands tighten tightly on the objects they hold: a candle or a sword. The mouths of the characters are usually open in a silent scream, and terror is visible in their eyes. People seem to squirm in deathly groans. Human figures blend with animals.

The whole thing looks like a huge, dynamic swirl. The depressing impression is deepened by the colors of the painting, in shades of black and gray. The central part of the painting is lit by a light bulb in the upper edge of the work. It seems that the situation depicted in the picture takes place in a narrow room, intensifying the impression of being surrounded and threatened.

The painting was painted in cubist aesthetics, which in the case of such a dramatic topic emphasizes the cruelty and tragedy of war. The fragmentation of the solid is here not only an act of artistic deformation, but also emphasizes the essence of any armed conflict, which is the total destruction of the world.

The war appears on Picasso's canvas as unbridled chaos and suffering. People dehumanize, they are reduced to the level of terrified animals, driven by the survival instinct. Human remains are clearly deformed, they resemble meat. Human and animal bodies are fragmented as if after a bomb had exploded.

The symbol of destruction is the Spanish bull emerging from the gloom, which covers the unfolding events with an unshakable gaze. Broken hands clutch at useless objects, among which stand out a candle and a broken sword. The former may symbolize the desire to illuminate the escape route, but it is also a sign of mourning for those who died. A broken sword and a torn horse indicate the uselessness of conventional weapons in a modern war that brings mass death and destruction.

Picasso's painting exudes an atmosphere of fear and terror, the image of a mother lamenting over a child's corpse is particularly poignant. The claustrophobic narrowness of the room in which the characters find themselves emphasizes the non-exit character of their situation.

#preproduction #illusion

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savage-rhi · 5 years ago

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I saw that Higgs image of him with scars and I just NUUUUUUU! Can you write a drabble with Gene seeing his body scars for the first time and Higgs is scared?

Yeah, I think @lunchisover did a great job with that image if that’s the one you’re referring to nonny. And I can totally write that up for you :D.

Higgs propped the small mirror he had in his back pocket upon a rock nearby the shoreline going into the river ahead. He was sitting near a small pool of water, taking some time to groom himself since Gene and he caught a break on the delivery route. Higgs glanced around, making sure no one was near as he slowly pulled his shirt off his body, revealing his lean and toned form along with the various scars and a few tats he had. Higgs swallowed, seeing his reflection not only in the mirror but also in the pool of water near him. He couldn’t help but trace over some of the bruises and marks. Some he had earned during his time as a porter, some from the trip with Gene, but most had come from his Daddy trying to ‘beat the ugly’ out of him years ago.

Higgs tried not to linger on himself. He saw his body as a vandalized building with tasteless graffiti written all over. He went to work trimming his beard, shaving here and there until he got it looking like he wanted, then started trimming his hair. Higgs had grown it out and wanted to do something different. He was careful, trying not to screw it up too bad. Had he not been so self-conscious, he would have asked Gene to help. Higgs though had been doing this by himself for years, he felt he had a good grasp on it nonetheless.

An hour passed, and Higgs was nearly done. He had a messy side part look going and was more or less pleased with how it turned out. Though, he couldn’t help but think he looked like an overrated rooster with the mess on top. He sighed, figuring he shouldn’t fuck with it further then started putting away his things. Higgs felt his breath hitch, his body freezing in place as he could see Gene up ahead barreling towards him. He had no time to throw on his shirt let alone compose himself.

Gene proudly ran over to Higgs, a giant carcass of a buck hauled over her left shoulder while she had Higgs’s makeshift bow hanging on the other side.

“Higgs, I fucking got one! You wouldn’t believe how many miles I had to chase the poor son of a--” Gene came to a stop, seeing how Higgs was staring at her. His gaze was filled with petrifying fear, his body statue-like as he took a step back.

Gene hadn’t seen Higgs without his gear off before, and her eyes couldn’t help but roam over his upper body. She thought the Egyptian tattoos on his arms along with the black bands were cool, finding them complimenting his personality and how passionate he was about the culture. Gene also darted over Higgs’s muscles. From how he looked with his clothes, Higgs seemed skinny. A bit on the lanky side so seeing how toned his body truly was took her back. She felt her stomach get bubbly the longer she stared, face going red, blinking a few times and finally saw the dull pink marks that littered his form. Gene’s brows brunched into a concerned look, never having seen so many scars on a person before.

Carefully, Gene put the deer carcass down along with the bow, and gently approached Higgs. She could see his skin tremble the closer she got, like he was bracing himself for a hit.

“Your hair cut looks nice.” Gene offered, sincerely meaning it nonetheless. Her head tilted some in a playful manner. “Fits you more.”

“You weren’t supposed to be back from hunting for another hour.” Higgs said, finally forcing himself to stand. The firmness in his tone made Gene take a step back, not expecting him to sound so hostile.

“Well, you saw I brought dinner back to camp so here I am.”

“You should leave. I like my privacy.” Higgs balked as Gene let out a growl.

“Higgs, what’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. Can’t I ever catch a damn break from you? We’re joined at the hip twenty-four-seven, I’d like to be alone for a while and not deal with your crap.”

“Bullshit.” Gene countered, standing her ground much to Higgs’s fears. He glared, looking away from Gene as she went on.

“You always let me know ahead of time if you need to be alone. You communicate it quite clear. This isn’t like you.”

“Gene--” Higgs couldn’t find the right words to counter. He felt cornered and knew Gene was right. This was very much out of character for him, but he didn’t expect Gene to understand the kind of mental anguish he was undergoing when it came to someone seeing him exposed like this.

“Higgs, where did you get all these?” Gene asked, approaching Higgs to the point where she nearly touched one of the scars on his arm. Higgs suddenly felt a knee jerk reaction overtake his body as he firmly grasped Gene’s arm, his fingertips gripping into her tightly as she winced.

“Don’t--I look like shit. I’m not--” Higgs pleaded, shaking his head as Gene stared at his eyes. It was her turn to freeze as she nodded, seeing how watered his eyes were getting. Gene didn’t feel as if she was looking into the eyes of a former terrorist, but of a scared kid trying to hide his shame.

Gene knew Higgs had some scars, having seen the ones on his arm before of cigarette burns his Daddy left, but she had no idea how extensive the abuse had gotten. It was then she realized she overstepped his boundaries and put him on the spot.

“I’m sorry,” Gene began. “I can take the deer back to the fire and start butchering.” She tried to be calm as possible, not wanting to spook Higgs further than she already had. Years of trauma built up in his features as he swallowed and slowly began to let Gene go.

Higgs wanted to ask if he had hurt Gene, but he was too scared to say anything. Goosebumps littered his arms as he looked towards the river, trying to let the sounds of the water clear his head. He didn’t know why, but his mouth started to spill what was on his chest.

“I’m not a catch. I’m not good looking. I’m ugly like him and my mama. I’m just--I’m just damaged goods.” Higgs said aloud, clenching his fists, repeating the words his Daddy had told him growing up and the very words he had said to Fragile when he hurt her.

“You know what I think?” Gene said, getting Higgs to look at her. “I think your uncle, was full of shit. He had his head up his ass.”

That got Higgs to slightly smile as he scoffed. “You’re just saying that cause we’re friends darlin’.”

Gene shook her head. “No, I mean it.”

“Gene, I look like him. I see his eyes, his ears--” Higgs’s tone was so morose it nearly made Gene lose her own composure hearing how hurt he was. She stepped forward, gauging Higgs’s reaction before her right hand cautiously reached up and caressed his cheek, fingertips quaking against him.

“He may have been ugly, but that doesn’t mean you are. I think for a guy, you’re really beautiful.” Gene said, not wanting to come off sappy, but nonetheless she had no other way to convey to Higgs he was perfect the way he was. Her eyes looked over his chest, smiling a little before looking back at his gaze, seeing he was tearing up. His body going stiff trying to keep his vulnerability back.

“I don’t see him, Higgs. I see you. It's okay.” Gene said, watching as Higgs nodded against her palm, he sniffled, trying to keep himself together while he grimaced.

“Higgs, it’s okay.”

“I know, I know I just--god damn it.” Higgs couldn’t remember being this weak around someone before, and he was scared, wanting to run. Though he stopped himself, reaching out to Gene and pulling her into an embrace. Gene let out a deep breath, taken aback by the sudden action but she allowed him to hold her. Whatever helped Higgs stay grounded, she would be there.

“Please hold me back. Please.” Higgs whispered, his voice desperate as Gene nodded against him and snaked her arms around his waist. Her fingers gently tracing small circles into his back as his grip tightened.

Gene didn’t say anything as she remained there with him, wanting Higgs to know that he didn’t have to hide from her.

“I won’t let go until you do.” Gene murmured, feeling Higgs nod against her. He wasn’t about to anytime soon. He was going to savor the first time someone called him beautiful.

**A link to my ko-fi account. If you enjoy my content and want to support me getting my monthly medication for fibromyalgia and arthritis, I would be eternally grateful. It is NOT a requirement however! All my work is free to read!**

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fibrepassion · 5 years ago

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Metamorphosis

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Metamorphosis is an on-going project exploring the idea of how certain sounds transform a human being physically, emotionally and mentally. The project is made up of a theory that explores how the origins of certain sounds play a part in human transformation. The main idea of the theory addresses how one is taken back into a past time when hearing certain sounds, and even at times, is taken into the future.

Stemming from memories, dreams and images from our imagination, a short story follows the theory in order to put it into perspective and document its fundamental ideas. The story is based on a myriad of real experiences, but modified to relay a fantasy; it entails the transformations of a certain human being that is shaped by his surrounding sounds which shake him between his past, present and future.

The term metamorphosis refers to the biological transformation of an organism from one state to another. FIBRE’s project however, aims to relay the physical, emotional mental transformations experienced by humans from one state to another through sounds.

Theory

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Our relentless search for exciting, novel, and rewarding nourishment of the body, soul and mind is integral to our state of being. Our energy in making peace with the past takes precedence over forgetting it or even forgiving it. It should be acknowledged, embraced and should even evoke our sense of curiosity at times. Sounds are an essential element in our development as human beings and can relay a thousand messages that words cannot. Our appetite can be fed with the sounds of music that can both elevate and demote us physically, emotionally and mentally. How is our taste in sounds and music defined? When our subconscious rises to the surface, there dwell fragments of our written and unwritten history. Our conscious state is embellished with countless layers - awareness that our subconscious is lurking in a deep dark void shedding light on the conscious state, awareness of being aware, awareness of ‘self’ and awareness of ourselves progressing through multiple experiences. All these layers shape what sounds we embrace and what sounds we reject.

I was waiting for you somewhere

Then I came home, to my not-home

To a book marked with post-it notes

Instructing me

‘Meet me here’

‘Close the door’

‘Depart’

I came to meet you in the rain

You took me by the hand up some stairs

We sat down on seats neatly arranged in rows

We were told that through certain techniques and by making certain sounds we can sky rocket into space.

Unknowingly, with the constant flux of our minds, we rarely recognise that our taste for music is predetermined by sounds we’ve formerly known, loved or despised. We forever perceive and embody sounds delivering a whirlwind of questions. Why does this sound remind me of my mother? Why do I hate the sound of dripping water? Why do the sounds of sirens comfort me? At times the answer is obvious and often lies in a memory of the past – ‘the sounds of sirens remind me of crisp blue evenings in London.’ At other times, the answer needs a deeper understanding. Our metamorphosis through sound can be seen as both a connection and disconnection from our senses. The result is holistic; it is seen in how the mental and emotional affects us physically, the movement of our hands, our legs, our feet, our necks and the likes.

What we take from these physical, emotional and mental reactions is a profound understanding of our present state and of ourselves. These moments are able to fill the gap between our past and present putting together the fragments that were lost along the way. These experiences are tangible manifestations of the subconscious and the fleeting moments within our own history. At times it is difficult to decipher if what we think we remember is an honest account of actual events, or a memory of someone sharing the story with us, or if the missing pieces were left out purposefully. But what is certain is that there lies a true trace of these events, ideas or experiences. Similarly, with our taste in sounds, we are able to define and refine them based on what we want to keep and what we want to leave from our past. Our reactions to sounds help us define a new state of being – be it for a moment or be it a gradual step in the long-term project of self-discovery and understanding.

That late night jazz

Did I least expect,

To drop the chords and hear your voice

Consecutive verses and bridges in

These recordings now over-written by blank tracks

Now consumed by the black holes you left me with

What is it about you that leaves me confused?

White noise versus the mute

A street stump versus long steps

Your razzle versus my dazzle

We’ll see where our ruptured avenues will lead us,

But in the mean time, just let the photographs fall, Honey.

There is close to no definite answer or concrete explanation of this sensation so we envision our own through reinterpreting the old and branding it anew. At times our experiences are simply the fruitful means to an answer and an honest truth. Sounds are catalysts in elevating ideas through a very human, evolution like process. Sometimes it is our lonesome cowboy spirit that takes us to higher places, at other times it is when we travel around like a pack of wolves that we feel connected, integrated within a family. There are instances when we are taken into another realm, lasting a few moments only, and at other times these moments grow irrecoverable, forever leaving a stance on our being.

Changing colours on breaking news

Adrenaline on fire

The world is on fire

Hugging circles

Straight lines are a myth

Inhibitions left in the mews.

She’ll hold your hand,

In the blue and the white

But will not let go

When the clouds say goodnight

When they say speed carelessly, recklessly, messily.

On the stage, you will each take your stand

Knowing is fluctuating.

Hiding is dreaming.

Fighting is leaving.

Believing is lying.

Flying is dying.

Dying is living.

When the little hand and the big hand have reached their second round,

You’ll forget where you’re going.

The haunting revels in the emancipation,

Safety, as he shuts the door, shut the door.

Shut it quick before she hears that sound.

Short Story

____

Whilst stirring the sugar into his morning coffee, in his aching sigh he would hear the sound of stainless steel knocking inside of a porcelain mug. The same sound he would hear under dark umbrellas sheltering strobe lights. It was happening again, he was getting sucked back into a black hole of memory through no fault of his own. The hairs on his arms were standing, like a plant growing towards the sunlight. His skin began to itch as his veins protruded nearer to the surface. He began to recall the tone of his mother’s voice. He remembered it as desperately sad in her banal day-to-day activities, and aggressively frustrated in the peaks of her day. The acridness in his mother’s voice and the acidic words that she would scream from rooftops was enough to send his skin crawling. Yet with this memory comes the image of boiling pots with the steam sizzling between the lid and the edge of the pan, as if lips, whispering stories of exhaustion and defeat. It was more like a shriek, the sound unforgettable and irreplaceable amidst the milky sunshine of hazy afternoons seeping into the white kitchen. A white kitchen wall blotched with irrecoverable yellow stains from her boundless cooking.

He would tie his shoelace and the feel of the cotton mixed with synthetic fibres was both unnerving and sensational. Perhaps it was symbolic of the beginning of his escape from home. This escape he would make daily right before his mother would remove the lid of the pan and the screeching would turn into a hefty exhale as the steam rose towards the ceiling. Dragging his feet out onto old white and red marble tiles decorated with cracks, it is the moment right after the gate screeches open then shuts, that he is ensued by the blissful silence of the street. A reflex, his eyes would squint fighting the airless light that dryly radiated from the sun.

In this daily ritual, he would see his father sitting on a white plastic chair holding a cigarette with a brown tip, accumulating ash on the end that would helplessly fall whilst in conversation with the neighbours. But for him, it was still silent, and the conversation was a mere murmur coming in from a distance in slow waves. He would stand on the chipping steps in front of the gate to his home for a minute absorbing the silence before moving further. As if in slow motion, the mumbling of soft banter would be crudely interrupted by the screech of the leg of the chair scratching against the uneven concrete. His father gets up, and time has come back to its normal pace, the haze of the sunlight has cleared out and the air is bland. Tasteless. His father’s hazel eyes would inform, instruct and pester him to go back inside, telling him to come up and sit with them at the table. All he could hear is the sound of his father’s lips parting, the dry swallow in his throat as a result of his endless smoking and the sound of his slippers roughly embracing the ground. Behind him, the slam of the metal gate would leave an after taste of blood in his mouth with the vibration and echo of each bar on the edge of falling out of its socket.

He was coming back but still felt tethered to the ground of his kitchen floor as he was slowly disconnecting from the sound of steel and porcelain harmonising in brown liquid. He was back. He felt lethargic and drained of energy. Yet he pushed himself to get on with his day. Dragging himself to stand under his showerhead, he turned the handle and the instant sound of water crashing into the tub jolted him back into a vague place of memory. His muscles started to spasm and his whole body tensed up. They were trying to tell him something, to fill in the gaps between a former time he knew and the time he was in now. A gap that was decorated by various hues of grey suits that defined him from 9am to 5pm, and that was abruptly stripped apart by no light and black ceilings in the late night hours that freed him. He was going back, it was happening again.

It was many years ago when he was on the commute from his home in the country to the city, that he now remembered being on a rickety bus that was the only means to his freedom - he had remembered falling asleep on the journey. It was a sunny morning but it was raining, the Gods were crying for him. He remembered his dream when he momentarily fell asleep – he was falling face up into a pit of fire. It was all black and there were only the orange and yellow flames of the blaze beneath him. It seemed never-ending until he woke up to find his head resting on the window of the bus and the sun glaring into his eyes. He could only hear the sound of the rain knocking on the top of the bus and spitting at his window. Why were they crying for him? They understood his desire to be free from the constraints of the country and also how little he could do to grab that freedom he longed for.

There he was, awake again and back under his showerhead being beaten by the scorching hot water. He was back and felt both revived and wearied. Revived, as he understood something he had let go amiss before, and wearied as to why it took so long to understand what was happening to him. It was in this instant that he understood better the man he had become today, at times devoid of sentiment and empathy and at other times, enriched with love and joy when he remembered how free he was. How he was so in control of his life now and relied on no one. He felt weary about the fact that the gap in time between his youth and adulthood was so unclear, shrouded by a mist of unfathomable events and reactions to those events. How he would desperately seek the adoration of others who gave him no face and how he would reject the ones who showered him with love.

He was out of his door with this thought still marinating in his mind and his red tie limiting the fresh air he should have been breathing in. The racket of cars and sirens swirling in and out of roads between gigantic metallic structures holding the homes of people he found liberating and saddening. Was it possible that behind these high towering windows rest people stomaching their past and present striving to make comprehensible their future? Or was it just him? It was when he was crossing the road and a car slammed the breaks, burned the ground with its tyres and its bonnet glided across a signpost that he was instantly immobilised. The sound of colliding metal shook him and made him shudder from his spine up to his temples. Everything around him got lost in a grey fog as the sound resonated through his nerves, seeping in and out of his bloodstream. He was going back.

It was during his daily escape that he spent one of the evenings sitting with his thoughts and leaning on the front of his car in the fresh and crisp air of the country. The sound of silence was partially penetrated by the singsong dance of crickets hiding yet calling to be recognised. His thoughts would merge with theirs and the line of difference between him and the crickets was thin. Two beams of light in the mars black night intrude on his vision from a distance. He clarifies that the light is coming from a car as the sound of its roaring engine makes itself known. The lights are getting closer and are glaring at him from a shorter distance now, the beams more circular and large as if two moons haunting him. With no more than several seconds to absorb what is happening, before he knows it, in an instant his legs are crushed between the oncoming car and his own. The heavy thud of the car overtakes the slight sound of his knees crackling after they collaborated in synchronisation. In his head, the sound had submerged into a thick liquid running through his body with the heat rising to his ears. No longer translucent but rather the sound had become opaque and ubiquitous.

The sheer force of gravity is what kept him pinned to the concrete floor of the street. He was back and was awakened by the racketing horns of cars demanding him to move, to get out of the way. 800 909 727 were the numbers flickering across his eyes and he could not fathom why or where they came from. He walked on leaving the mess behind him, as if a trace of evidence with 800 909 727 lingering in the background. He was being ensued by a dark void as he walked on through the city, crossing streets, passing strangers on benches accompanied by their ham sandwiches, filtering the sounds of chewing mouths. He could feel his tie being dragged behind him as he struggled through the wind as if in a grey sandstorm with black and white lines emanating from zebra crossings into mid-air. The numbers were spitting themselves at him, 800 909 727 – and he landed.

At the edge of the shore, not too long ago he was spread out across the white sand of his countryside’s near-by beach. Only his feet were immersed into the water that would hug his toes and spread itself between them. The sputtering sound of the waves breaking and forming took precedence over the distant sound of parents yelling at their laughing children. With every break of the water, a silence arose lasting a mere instant before the waves would roar and reform themselves. Almost in a trance, he would look down past his chest, stomach and thighs and see the number 8 and 0 forming as the water washed away around a tribe of seashells as if in ceremony. It was the 9th of September and it was 7:27 in the morning that he now remembered he had washed himself out across the shore. The pink and white seashells that encircled him were hissing at him, telling him he will be okay, that they understood his empty spirit - his empty spirit that would one day be enriched by perhaps trivial passions and the faint touch of others. A spirit that will one day be fully engrossed with and by another who would archive her trivial passions alongside his.

He was back to his metallic reality when he found himself sitting at his desk in a cubicle disturbed by the sounds of paper being picked up by printers and drooling them out from another end. A phone was ringing and its sound was piercing to his eardrum tightening his bones and cutting off his supply of air. His lungs suddenly grew minuscule as he was gasping for breath. The melody of a voice answering the phone quickly revived him and filled his chest with oxygen. He was quickly lapsing, going and coming back in a labyrinth of time with his feelings spiralling out of control. It was unfathomable until he realised that the voice that saved him was so sweet when it ushered pleasurable greetings and compliments into the phone. It reminded him of her and he understood how it was her who was now filling his heart with sweet somethings.

Battling his way back home after the day dibbed and dabbed frolicking with time, he shortly found himself at his front doorsteps. He treaded on a leaf stuck to the wet concrete ground and the crackle took him back aggressively - back to the street he grew up in in the country. That night was blue and his eyes were entwined with the light shining onto the dark wet street coming from underneath the umbrella of his daily corner shop. It was the only sign of life that night. All he could hear was the buzzing, frying and knocking of moths against the bright white tube. He looked up and saw his balcony, the balcony that his mum would sit at drinking her coffee every morning watching over her husband down in the street trying to make up for his lost time with her. That balcony and its never-ending stories always subdued him as he sat staring into blank poor lives hustling beneath him along his small road. When he looked up he felt an emptiness and a blank understanding of his mother’s love for him. He heard the flick of a switch and his balcony turned into a warm shade of orange decorated with black shadows of hanging clothes along the drying line. The silhouette of his mother swayed past and approached the front of the balcony. High above him, she was now much closer but moving slowly. Yet again, time caught up with him as the sound of her ring colliding with the metallic bar of the balcony sent an echo down the street and jolted him back to his now reality.

He found himself lying down on the wet steps of his front door when she nudged him and woke him up.

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spookypastatoo · 8 years ago

Photo

Smile.jpg

I first met in person with Mary E. in the summer of 2007. I had arranged with her husband of fifteen years, Terence, to see her for an interview. Mary had initially agreed, since I was not a newsman but rather an amateur writer gathering information for a few early college assignments and, if all went according to plan, some pieces of fiction. We scheduled the interview for a particular weekend when I was in Chicago on unrelated business, but at the last moment Mary changed her mind and locked herself in the couple’s bedroom, refusing to meet with me. For half an hour I sat with Terence as we camped outside the bedroom door, I listening and taking notes while he attempted fruitlessly to calm his wife.

The things Mary said made little sense but fit with the pattern I was expecting: though I could not see her, I could tell from her voice that she was crying, and more often than not her objections to speaking with me centered around an incoherent diatribe on her dreams - her nightmares. Terence apologized profusely when we ceased the exercise, and I did my best to take it in stride; recall that I wasn’t a reporter in search of a story, but merely a curious young man in search of information. Besides, I thought at the time, I could perhaps find another, similar case if I put my mind and resources to it.

Mary E. was the sysop for a small Chicago-based Bulletin Board System in 1992 when she first encountered smile.jpg and her life changed forever. She and Terence had been married for only five months. Mary was one of an estimated 400 people who saw the image when it was posted as a hyperlink on the BBS, though she is the only one who has spoken openly about the experience. The rest have remained anonymous, or are perhaps dead.

In 2005, when I was only in tenth grade, smile.jpg was first brought to my attention by my burgeoning interest in web-based phenomena; Mary was the most often cited victim of what is sometimes referred to as “Smile.dog,” the being smile.jpg is reputed to display. What caught my interest (other than the obvious macabre elements of the cyber-legend and my proclivity toward such things) was the sheer lack of information, usually to the point that people don’t believe it even exists other than as a rumor or hoax.

It is unique because, though the entire phenomenon centers on a picture file, that file is nowhere to be found on the Internet; certainly many photomanipulated simulacra litter the web, showing up with the most frequency on sites such as the imageboard 4chan, particularly the /x/-focused paranormal subboard. It is suspected these are fakes because they do not have the effect the true smile.jpg is believed to have, namely sudden onset temporal lobe epilepsy and acute anxiety.

This purported reaction in the viewer is one of the reasons the phantom-like smile.jpg is regarded with such disdain, since it is patently absurd, though depending on whom you ask the reluctance to acknowledge smile.jpg’s existence might be just as much out of fear as it is out of disbelief. Neither smile.jpg nor Smile.dog is mentioned anywhere on Wikipedia, though the website features articles on such other, perhaps more scandalous shocksites as ****** (hello.jpg) or 2girls1cup; any attempt to create a page pertaining to smile.jpg is summarily deleted by any of the encyclopedia’s many admins.

Encounters with smile.jpg are the stuff of Internet legend. Mary E.’s story is not unique; there are unverified rumors of smile.jpg showing up in the early days of Usenet and even one persistent tale that in 2002 a hacker flooded the forums of humor and satire website Something Awful with a deluge of Smile.dog pictures, rendering almost half the forum’s users at the time epileptic.

It is also said that in the mid-to-late 90s, smile.jpg circulated on Usenet and as an attachment of a chain email with the subject line “SMILE!! GOD LOVES YOU!” Yet despite the huge exposure these stunts would generate, there are very few people who admit to having experienced any of them and no trace of the file or any link has ever been discovered.

Those who claim to have seen smile.jpg often weakly joke that they were far too busy to save a copy of the picture to their hard drive. However, all alleged victims offer the same description of the photo: a dog-like creature (usually described as appearing similar to a Siberian Husky), illuminated by the flash of the camera, sits in a dim room, the only background detail that is visible being a human hand extending from the darkness near the left side of the frame. The hand is empty, but is usually described as “beckoning.” Of course, most attention is given to the dog (or dog-creature, as some victims are more certain than others about what they claim to have seen.) The muzzle of the beast is reputedly split in a wide grin, revealing two rows of very white, very straight, very sharp, very human-looking teeth.

This is, of course, not a description given immediately after viewing the picture, but rather a recollection of the victims, who claim to have seen the picture endlessly repeated in their mind’s eye during the time they are, in reality, having epileptic fits. These fits are reported to continue indeterminably, often while the victims sleep, resulting in very vivid and disturbing nightmares. These may be treated with medication, though in some it is more effective than others.

Mary E., I assumed, was not on effective medication. That was why after my visit to her apartment in 2007 I sent out feelers to several folklore and urban legend oriented newsgroups, websites, and mailing lists, hoping to find the name of a supposed victim of smile.jpg who felt more interested in talking about his experiences. For a time nothing happened and at length I forgot completely about my pursuits, since I had begun my freshman year of college and was quite busy. Mary contacted me via email, however, near the beginning of March 2008.

To: jml@****.com From: marye@****.net Subj: Last summer’s interview

Dear Mr. L., I am incredibly sorry about my behavior last summer when you came to interview me. I hope you understand that it was no fault of yours, but rather my own problems that led me to act out as I did. I realize that I could have handled the situation more decorously; however, I hope you will forgive me. At the time, I was afraid.

You see, for fifteen years I have been haunted by smile.jpg. Smile.dog comes to me in my sleep every night. I know that sounds silly, but it is true. There is an ineffable quality about my dreams, my nightmares, that make them completely unlike any real dreams I have ever had. I do not move and do not speak. I simply look ahead, and the only thing ahead of me is the scene from that horrible picture. I see the beckoning hand, and I see Smile.dog. It beckons to me. It is not a dog, of course, though I am not quite sure what it really is. It tells me it will leave me alone if only I will do as it asks. All I must do, it says, is “spread the word.” That is how it phrases its demands. And I know exactly what it means: it wants me to show it to someone else.

And I could. The week after my incident I received in the mail a manila envelope with no return address. Inside was only a 3½ inch floppy diskette. Without having to check, I knew precisely what was on it. I thought for a long time about my options. I could show it to a stranger, a coworker… I could even show it to Terence, as much as the idea disgusted me. And what would happen then? Well, if Smile.dog kept its word I could sleep. Yet if it lied, what would I do? And who was to say something worse would not come for me if I did as the creature asked?

So I did nothing for fifteen years, though I kept the diskette hidden among my things. Every night for fifteen years Smile.dog has come to me in my sleep and demanded that I spread the word. For fifteen years I have stood strong, though there have been hard times. Many of my fellow victims on the BBS board where I first encountered smile.jpg stopped posting; I heard some of them committed suicide. Others remained completely silent, simply disappearing off the face of the web. They are the ones I worry about the most.

I sincerely hope you will forgive me, Mr. L., but last summer when you contacted me and my husband about an interview I was near the breaking point. I decided I was going to give you the floppy diskette. I did not care if Smile.dog was lying or not, I wanted it to end. You were a stranger, someone I had no connection with, and I thought I would not feel sorrow when you took the diskette as part of your research and sealed your fate. Before you arrived I realized what I was doing: plotting to ruin your life. I could not stand the thought, and in fact still cannot. I am ashamed, Mr. L., and I hope that this warning will dissuade you from further investigation of smile.jpg. You may in time encounter someone who is, if not weaker than I, then wholly more depraved, someone who will not hesitate to follow Smile.dog’s orders.

Stop while you are still whole.

Sincerely, Mary E.

Terence contacted me later that month with the news that his wife had killed herself. While cleaning up the various things she’d left behind, closing email accounts and the like, he happened upon the above message. He was a man in shambles; he wept as he told me to listen to his wife’s advice. He’d found the diskette, he revealed, and burned it until it was nothing but a stinking pile of blackened plastic. The part that most disturbed him, however, was how the diskette had hissed as it melted. Like some sort of animal, he said.

I will admit that I was a little uncertain about how to respond to this. At first I thought perhaps it was a joke, with the couple belatedly playing with the situation in order to get a rise out of me. A quick check of several Chicago newspapers’ obituaries, however, proved that Mary E. was indeed dead. There was, of course, no mention of suicide in the article. I decided that, for a time at least, I would not further pursue the subject of smile.jpg, especially since I had finals coming up at the end of May.

But the world has odd ways of testing us. Almost a full year since I returned from my disastrous interview with Mary E., I received another email:

To: jml@****.com From: elzahir82@****.com Subj: smile

Hello

I found your email address thru a mailing list your profile said you are interested in smiledog. I have saw it it is not as bad as every one says I have sent it to you here. Just spreading the word.

The final line chilled me to the bone.

According to my email client there was one file attachment called, naturally, smile.jpg. I considered downloading it for some time. It was most likely a fake, I imagined, and even if it wasn’t I was never wholly convinced of smile.jpg’s peculiar powers. Mary E.’s account had shaken me, yes, but she was probably mentally unbalanced anyway. After all, how could a simple image do what smile.jpg was said to accomplish? What sort of creature was it that could break one’s mind with only the power of the eye?

And if such things were patently absurd, then why did the legend exist at all? If I downloaded the image, if I looked at it, and if Mary turned out to be correct, if Smile.dog came to me in my dreams demanding I spread the word, what would I do? Would I live my life as Mary had, fighting against the urge to give in until I died? Or would I simply spread the word, eager to be put to rest? And if I chose the latter route, how could I do it? Whom would I burden in turn?

If I went through with my earlier intention to write a short article about smile.jpg, I decided, I could attach it as evidence. And anyone who read the article, anyone who took interest, would be affected. And even assuming the smile.jpg attached to the email was genuine, would I be capricious enough to save myself in that manner?

Could I spread the word?

Yes, yes I could.

#creepypasta #creepy pasta #spookypasta #creepy picture

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surrealist34 · 8 years ago

Text

Woodcut Printmaking 1880 - 1923

Woodcut Printing by European Artists From 1880–1923. 1. Introduction. Historically Woodcut Printing as a relief technique would be first used in China around 800AD for printing textiles from wooden blocks. In 828AD the first ever printed book would be produced called the Diamond Sutra. The technique didn’t arrive in Europe until midway through the 13th Century. Gutenberg’s invention of the printing press used woodcut or wood engravings that were printed with text in the first ever books to be published in 1450. In 1482 Erhard Ratdolf produced colour prints using woodcut techniques. Artists such as Albert Durer and Holbein used woodcut in the 16th Century. Then Hogarth’s ‘Four Stages of Cruelty’ in 1751 used wood engraving. From then on Woodcut seems to become neglected as ‘high art’ until the late 19th Century when it was used by the painter Paul Gauguin when he depicted scenes of primitives living in Tahiti.

The technique is very simple: A wooden block with a flat surface (often pear or boxwood) is cut into in relief so that when ink is applied to the surface and printed it doesn’t print where the wood has been cut away, thus producing the image. The idea that cultures and/or individuals didn’t use similar techniques outside of historical records is somewhat incredulous. Even in prehistory, it is probable that ‘man’ in some way and at some time used a technique like woodcut, either on cave walls or early types of paper. This isn’t the subject of this essay though, we are looking at the period between 1880 and 1923, a time of change and a time art flourished and is well documented.

So much happened in terms of historical change between 1880 and the 1920s that to properly define a particular type of art and its circumstances within this period would be nigh on impossible. So I will give a more general overview and close in on some artists who should, I feel, be considered, the main protagonists.

2. The industrial revolutions that swept Europe in the 19th Century asked innumerable questions of art and culture. England in 1880 was considered the workshop of the world, imperialism and colonialism combined to secure vast amounts of raw materials to be used in manufacturing. The British, Dutch and French empires had trading routes that circumnavigated the totality of the known world. America in 1880 was a rising industrial power, although it was in Europe where the most advances were being made in science and technology. The 40 years that are in question in this essay would see in all the major industrial and technological advancements that heralded in the modern historical paradigm. What was the world like before the telephone and the radio, what political circumstances were created by the mere realisation of what was to come, when scientists split the atom and inventors became involved in machines that could project moving photographic images. It was time of profound change, a time of cataclysmic disasters and social/political upheaval on a grand scale. What soul searching faced an individual artist, how could a creative individual living at this time come to terms with the events going on around him/her and how should they make art that could speak of their time? It is in this vein that the artist lives and works would be defined. Woodcut in relation to this time will to an extent depict a kind of artistic introspection.

Paul Gauguin, born in Paris (1848–1903) was a stockbroker until he was 35, and then he took up painting and notably printmaking. Printmaking from the early 19th Century, progressively gained a much greater status as a genre, and artists like Paul Gauguin asserted its prominence within their own work and gave licence, so to speak, to future artists to use it more centrally as a genre. L'estampe Originale (original print) only came into existence in the 1880s and 1890s. So Paul Gauguin is our first protagonist and his working style may be considered a vital reason why printmaking became so evident as an avant-garde genre. Gauguin experimented with woodcut as a means of expression, with Gauguin woodcut wasn’t just a means of reproduction, he was a pioneer with a particular style, exploiting the wood grain and lowering the block in part so it would transfer less ink, even the marks created by gouging out the wood were left to create an effect.

Gauguin attempted to depict primitive surroundings using a ‘primitive’ technique and a similarly primitive style. The earthiness of the finished result rivalled his paintings for their visceral potency. His Tahitian Journal (Noa Noa) has a number of these evocative woodcuts. They reached their audience in Paris 1896 published in La Revue Blanche. His use of flat colour, bold shapes and well-defined outlines suited woodcut. He rejected the troubled world with its clamour for industrialisation and resulting social fragmentation with evocative and wholly contained images of a primordial paradise. All the painting of his later work suited printmaking and he may well of, influenced artists towards print purely because of his flattened vibrant colours. He was also interested in ancient history, specifically Egypt and the Middle East. Some of his work was likened to Cloisonné enamel work mainly because of his formal presentation of flat delineated colour.

He was working at a time when various new ideas in art and literature were emerging. Jean Moreas published his literary manifesto in 1886 (A French symbolist poet), Moreas talks of the ‘primordial idea’. Today Gauguin is labelled a Post-modernist but at the time his work was linked on many occasions to symbolism specifically French symbolist poetry. His work refers to inner meanings, Maurice Denis wrote: “they did subjectively deform nature in order to make clear that their representations were not about things or events in and of themselves but about the philosophical or emotional meanings that lay behind them”. In the subject matter of Gauguin’s work he struggles with philosophical and inner meanings; questions he feels we need to ask ourselves. His journey to the south seas was a bit like a journey away from the world towards the self and in Gauguin’s spiritual quest he shows us his inner self, full of symbolism and emotional intensity. Maybe a reaction to the calamitous world around him and preempting the later psychoanalytic work of Freud and Jung. Paul Gauguin exhibited his work in an exhibition called ‘Group Impressionist et Synthetiste’ during the Universal Exposition in Paris 1891. Edvard Munch is said to of seen this show and was greatly impressed. So with this simplification and iconographic flattening comes the paradox that this primitive evocative roughly hewn work, has a powerful resonance and is actually highly sophisticated. Like Munch’s works they are a synthesis of the psychological and the aesthetic.

Edvard Munch (1863–1944) was brought up in Christiania (now Oslo) in Norway. During his life he travels and exhibits his work mainly in Europe. From early on in his career he mixed with Oslo’s artistic and literary bohemia. He exhibits his first woodcuts and coloured lithographs in 1896 at the Salon des Independants in Paris. During his lifetime he was as much known for his prints as he was for his paintings.

The Japanese adopted side grain woodcut printing in 1889 and this in turn influenced European trends. Munch further reinforced the earthiness of the medium by incorporating the grain of the wood into the image, so we have a combination of colour, grain, composition and symbolic reference, which was immediate, intense and evocative.

Munch then developed a method that made the process less time consuming, by sawing up the woodblock up into pieces that outlined his composition. He would then ink up each cutout block, reassembling them like a jigsaw before printing. This process mirrors the working style, achieving an integrity of means that would be unprecedented for its time.

Prints exhibited in Paris in 1896 were titled ‘Anxiety’ and have and aesthetic and disturbing intensity, the subject matter is redolent of this almost macabre visceral obsession. Coloured lithographs and woodcuts using black figures and red skies and all the prints have mysterious and disturbing titles, they reflect the depth of reflection and emotional intensity that must of been prevalent at the close of the 19th Century.

Symbolist art could be considered a kind of tracing that reveals the seeds of social change that European society may of been somewhat unaware of. The impetus of creative reaction proceeds and follows social and cultural change and it is sometimes difficult to separate the initiator and the initiated. It wasn’t long before artists across Europe were finding new and highly expressive means of communication.

The Futurists in Italy would express the coming of the machine age, the Fauves under Braque and Picasso were being more pragmatic with their diametric to the Futurists, which would encourage a more direct comprehension of our shared humanity.

At the beginning of the 20th Century coupled with the Italian Futurists was a reaction away from the industrial urban environment towards the primitive and the spiritual. You can say it was an impetus in art starting with Gauguin with his veneration of the noble savage or Picasso’s so-called Fauves (Beasts) but it can be argued that is less to do with progressions on art and more to do with and more a reaction, maybe even a compulsion, to reinvigorate what lies dormant in a degenerating urban environment or culture. With the rise of fascism in Italy and the political manoeuvring brought about by Marxist theories and the looming threats of revolution in Russia and Germany, states of fragmentation and dictatorial restraint multi-polarised the whole of society, not just a few art groups or movements. The collective consciousness of the whole of European civilisation was being and was to be totally restructured. War would be a way for the ruling classes to sublimate and suppress cultural and political change. The establishment was anti this new art and this new art was anti-establishment. A lot later German Expressionist art would be condemned as ‘degenerate’ and destroyed by the nazis when Hitler took power and attempted to re-assert ideals in art that were Romanesque, Teutonic and placed German pre-Christian paganism centre stage in an obtuse classical millennial historicism.

The Blue Rider (Der Blaue Reiter) founded by Wassily Kandinsky and Franz Marc, foresaw the turbulence of the Russian revolution and the outbreak of the 1st world war. Kandinsky and Marc searched for new modes of expression that could encipher the stasis of the modern world, new in its essence and outside the post-renaissance tradition. Kandinsky’s painting is thought to be the first wholly abstract work. New types of populist art like magazines and picture postcards made art transferable, and to an extent, art was losing its kudos as historical documentation. Film revolutionised popular culture in the first part of the 20th Century and photography was giving the portrait artist unchallengeable competition. But social pressures and new ideas are ideal catalysts for progressions in art and this would be true with the work of a group of artists from Dresden in Germany known as the Die Brucke Group (The Bridge) (1905–1913) later known as The German Expressionists.

With the Die Brucke the imprint of the earlier movements of post-impressionism, symbolism and Picasso’s slightly earlier ‘primitive’ Fauvist period is clearly evident. The painter Otto Mullers work, for example, puts the human form in natural environments without clothes, using vibrant colours and brushwork remarkably similar to Picasso’s. A rawness and direct impact are the main ingredients. The Die Brucke Group were, Erich Heckel (1883–1970), Ernst Ludwig Kirchner (1880–1938), Karl Schmidt Rottluff, (1884–1976) Emile Nolde (1867–1956), Max Pechstein (1881–1955), and Otto Muller (1874–1930).

Die Brucke was founded incidentally the same year that the first Fauve exhibition happened at The Salon D'Autonme in Paris with paintings by Henry Mattise (1869–1954), Andre Derain (1880–1954), and Maurice De Vlaminck (1876–1958). Picasso’s Les Demoiselles D'Avignon was painted two years later in 1907, a painting that paved the way towards Cubism. It was with the Die Brucke that woodcut was revived as a creative medium and most of the group used woodcut extensively.

In 1905 Dresden galleries showed 50 paintings by Vincent Van Gogh, and 132 other works by French and Belgian Impressionists, artists like George Seurat, Paul Signac, Emile Bernard, Paul Gauguin and Felix Vallotton as well as 20 paintings by Edvard Munch in 1906. This exposure to high European Impressionism and Post-Impressionism may explain to some extent the Die Brucke’s tendency towards naturalistic atonement. From the beginning the Die Brucke sort to break with convention, the means of expression and the message combined in some of the finest graphic artwork produced in the 20th Century. Kirchner wrote:

“The mechanical process of printing lends unity to the separate stages of the work, the task of giving the work its form can be prolonged as much as one likes, without the least risk.”

All the members of Die Brucke were in their early to mid-20s in 1905 and it was a time of youthful exuberance, Kirchner was the central figure in the group. Hypersensitive with a compulsive attitude to his work, he used woodcut for the group’s posters and catalogues. From the start right up to their split in 1913, he was the main organiser. He produced illustrations and woodcuts for a book of expressionist poetry called ‘Umbra Vitae’ by George Heym. His style has sometimes been described as like hieroglyphs as he simplified and deconstructed the image. Although his paintings and woodcuts have a distinctive expressionist style.

Erich Heckel, Kirchner and Rottluff were all architecture students who lost interest in the formalisation of building, and decided to create art instead. Rottluff travelled to Norway to paint landscapes, but they were predominantly an urban art group. They depicted urban life with a new iconic ‘Art Group’ style. They were in effect a prototype of many future art groups and movements, such as the different strands of the Modernist movement in the early 20th Century as well as influencing Design schools like the Bauhaus and more radical groups like Dada and The Factory in New York.

They talk of the ’new humanity’ and they saw themselves as urban primitives with open house attitude, and at one point opening their studios to the public, so people could be a member of Die Brucke for a small fee, in return members would have the access to the studios and receive regular in-house publications. Like a modern day illustration agency, they would take on commissions from publishers, creating artwork for book covers, illustrations for poetry and posters for political parties. They would also exhibit their painting and write and print their own manifestos. Max Pechstein even produced an illustrated lords prayer using black and white woodcuts where the tensions in this urban environment are juxtaposed with a yearning for spiritual and philosophical liberation. But as ‘war’ closed in all around them the pressure began to take its toll. In 1916 Kirchner wrote:

“The heaviest burden of all is the pressure of war and the increasing superficiality, it gives me incessantly the impression of a bloody carnival”

With titles like ‘Conflict’ and ‘The Murderer’ the group’s later work echoes the angst (and the titles) of Edvard Munch. And borrows from him his cathartic edge and premonitory zeal, although it expresses itself in a much more explicit and graphical way. George Grosz, not part of Die Brucke but influenced by them, would later produce satirical drawings of Germany’s economic collapse and capitalist greed that resonate highly even of today’s unbalanced unequal society. In 1905 Erich Heckel said this to his drawing teacher:

“The only important thing as far as he was concerned was the seizure of the total expression”

Now for this group of artists, it was a question of what and how to express the social disintegration going on around them. Officially the Die Brucke split with a final show in 1912 at the Soderberg, but they all carried on working as The German Expressionists through all the upheavals of the 1st world war and the revolution in 1918 where some of the group produced work for the then German republic, including government contracts for posters encouraging people to vote in the 1919 election, the results were controversial.

In 1923 rampant inflation in Germany signalled the end of German Expressionism and with it the end of this era of woodcut printmaking, although the Die Brucke ended with the unprinted Chronik KG Brucke in 1913 (now in the Berlin Staatliche Museum) many manifestos were written by leading members of all the art groups in Europe. Art and culture were finding new dimensions and new possibilities, artists were glimpsing a liberated future free from the constraints of an overbearing establishment in both art and society. Franz Marc wrote: “We say no to the great centuries, we know that with this simple denial we cannot stop the serious methodical development of the sciences and triumphant ‘progress’ also to the scornful amazement of our contemporaries we take a side road, one that hardly seems to be a road, and we say: this is the main road of mankind’s development. (Blaue Reiter Almanac, 1914).

#die brucke #expressionism #edvard munch #paul gauguin #woodcut #kirchner #art history #printmaking

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talbottodugdale-blog · 6 years ago

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A Mini-Research Paper on Cyanotype

Cyanotype is the first non-silver iron process that was successfully realized and made into practice to create prints and photographic images. In year 1839, Louis Daguerre publicly introduced the Daguerreotype camera, which was generally acknowledged as the “official” announcement of the invention of photography, while Daguerreotype was one of the world’s most expensive cameras. Only three years after Daguerreotype, in 1842, Sir John Herschel introduced the cyanotype processes, a simple and low-cost print techniques to that produce permanent images in cyan-blue tones. The cyanotype is a monochrome process, most recognizable by its elegant assortment of Prussian blue values.

While invented as early as 1840s, the process did not gain wide recognition until generations later: “its deep, intense blue and pictorial results did not appeal to photographers at the time, who were seeking a more realistic look”(). “Only a vandal would print a landscape in red or in cyanotype,” said the English photographer Peter Henry Emerson. As a result, during the origination of the cyanotype process, it was not utilized in mainstream photography but was used at first for essentially documentary purposes, adopted as a copy-making technique known as “blueprints”, the blue background reproductions of large architectural and mechanical drawings.

Cyanotype is a negative process. It is based on the reaction of iron salts to light, and is a relatively quick, simple, and low-cost approach. A solution of (1)Potassium ferricyanide and (2) Ferric ammonium citrate (normally with equal volumes) is applied onto the paper or cloth, and then air-dry in a dark place. The print is exposed by contact under the object or negative. About fifteen minutes of exposure under natural sunlight or UV light (until the high values are a little too dark and shadows begin to reverse) changes the composition of the iron salts. Traditionally, the cyanotype is developed out in a water bath, then dried. An alternative developer that often produce a longer tonal scale is diluted acidic solutions, such as distilled white vinegar or acetic acid. An intensifier bath is optional before the final wash to brighten highlights and more fully develop the blue image. If is desired, toning cyanotype after complete the final wash will change the blue color. The characteristic Prussian blue pigment is formed during the drying process.

Numerous artists are drawn to the cyanotype processes, either for its unique Prussian blue tones, or merely for its speed and ease(which also caused many to fail to appreciate them). To name a few: Anna Atkins(1799-1871) is among the first artist making cyanotype works. By making cyanotype photograms of botanical illustration such as algae, ferns and water weeds, Atkins is recognized as the first female photographer in history. After Atkins, artists continued to employ photogram cyanotypes in their (mostly experimental) art: Christian Marclay, Marco Breuer, Barbara Kasten, etc.

Christian Marclay is both a visual artist and a composer. Known as the inventor of “turntablism,” Marclay’s work explores the relationship between visual and sonic phenomena. In the cyanotypes, Marclay reclaims the obsolete technology of the audio-cassette as a tool for visual abstraction. “Unwound Cassette Tape” (2012) is a five-foot-tall print of the unraveled plastic innards of a cassette. “Allover (Genesis, Nightnoise, Travis Tritt, and Others) (2008)” is even more abstract, resembles a Jackson Pollock drip painting but it’s not made of paint but audio cassette tape:

“Marclay unwound the spools of old cassette tapes and proceeded to “draw” with the reams of tape. Marclay creates a labyrinth of lines, all tracing a distinct musical history that becomes abstracted on paper[...]Each unraveled song is inscribed onto the sheet, leaving a graphic outline, or a kind of footprint of sound. ”

The various shades that correspond to various components of the tape are a trace of the “unwinding”, suggesting what was once whole now is under ongoing destruction. Marclay experimented with photogram cyanotype’s ability to mark time, referring back to cyanotype’s early history as a way of reproducing drawings. Marclay’s cyanotype prints are experimental in terms of his performance of “painting” with the tapes, and the concepts of representing audios in visual forms; however, Marclay’s use of photogram cyanotype process is rather traditional, by placing objects on sensitized-paper to obtain a silhouette.

In comparison, Marco Breuer employ a conceptually experimental printing process, which muddle the expected visual vocabulary of the cyanotype. Breuer uses chromogenic color paper and distorts it by scratching, burning and sanding. “Untitled (E-33)” (2005) is an simple, abstract cyanotype “painting” composed by broad brushstrokes. It aimed to offer “an abstract image rather than a visual document”. Marco stated: “I like to be in there, physically involved with the image.” In that sense, Breuer’s sketches have much in common with the characteristics of drawing; the immediacy of the mark and the interaction between the artist’s body and surface. For Breuer, he is concerned not with how photography captures the world but with the unexplored possibilities that lie hidden in the very materiality of photography. The images in this volume are not distanced representations of an act, but a direct result of the act itself. He interrogates the photographic surface, forcing it to reveal its secrets, and the emulsion reacts as if startled, irritated, perhaps even titillated-as if no one has ever asked these questions before.

As a photographic printing technique, cyanotypes are also employed as a traditional negative process by photographers like John Metoyer and John Dugdale. The peaceful and romantic emotions of Prussian blue on people, according to Dugdale, reflects “the essence of experience” within everyone, rather than reflect the photographer’s own experience.

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dans-les-fleures · 6 years ago

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Beholden

Summary: As the rightful Queen to your nation, you have always known you one day must marry. Each time the question has arisen in the past, you have found legitimate reasons to turn the men down. Until now, that is. Until the proposal of a distant King, one whose union would only bring benefit to your people. Except for the fact, that your heart has already been taken by his proposer.

All breath expelled from his lungs, Jimin slowly lowers himself onto the seat of your chaise. He sits there frozen, eyes wide, due to the command you issued only moments prior.

Sit.

He does this, dark silk of his robes billowing, draping over the furniture. His gaze does not waver, even while dragging a hand through the silver-sand of his hair. The dignitary to a neighboring kingdom, ambassador to a King and mouthpiece of a nation, Park Jimin is here to argue on behalf of his Crown. He is here, to ask for your hand in marriage – not for himself, but for the aforementioned King.

Eyes sparking, you take a slow step forward and enter the room. Your hair is still damp from the bath, sticking to your skin and making you feel oddly exposed. Droplets of water cling to your brow, a substitute for the thin circlet of gold you usually wear.

Gaze raking your body, Jimin seems to devour you whole. His chest rises, falling against the elaborately embroidered brocade he wears. His expression turns tortured at the glimpses of skin you expose when you walk.

“Ye Sol,” he states – only to wince. “My apologies. What I meant was, your Majesty.”

“Call me Ye Sol,” you counter, closing the distance between you. Head spinning, you inhale the intoxicating scent Jimin exudes. “I insist.”

His returning smile is soft. “As you wish. Ye Sol.”

Hearing your name said in such a way – humbled, desperate, wanting – almost makes a moan slip free from your lips. The entire time Jimin has resided at court, you have fought your attraction to him – poorly, apparently and with ill-execution, since it has led to this moment. Earlier in the evening, he requested a private audience in which to plead the case of his ruler.

You responded by inviting him here, now.

He stares as you walk, swallowing around the prominent lump in his throat. Beyond him, your window remains open to the darkness of night, painted silver only by the light of the moon. A breeze stirs the hair at the nape of his neck, carrying with it ripe smells of jasmine and fir. The two primary riches of your land, and why Jimin’s King seeks your hand in the first place.

It is unfortunate, then, that you are not interested in having a King by your side. Coming to a stop before Jimin, you tilt your head sideways and look at him. He stares back, thighs spread openly on the black velvet of your couch. He has not changed since the state dinner of earlier and remains clothed in the wealth of his land – silks and gold, riches and jewels. The material of his trousers is clings to muscle in a way which seems almost obscene. His fitness is not a surprise, though. Many mornings you have passed the royal grounds only to find Jimin there alone, exercising his skills.

His skills are many, and not to be underestimated. Hand-to-hand combat, swordsmanship of various aspects, not to mention archery and daggers. Jimin is proficient, often excellent, at all of them. His body betrays this raw talent, muscles held taut while you openly survey him. This is the first time you have truly let yourself look. Before, you only allowed momentary glances, taken behind fans when you thought no one was watching.

Never before, have you had the luxury of looking at him openly. Tracing the broad panes of his chest, your gaze encircles his torso and comes to a halt at his lips.

Jimin exhales. “I should be explaining,” he states to you, quiet. “I should be arguing here on behalf of my King – I should be asking you accept his offer of marriage. He is a good King, your Majesty. His lands are rich, and his temperament fair. He is a most gracious ruler.”

“I have heard you say this before,” you muse, reaching out for the clasp of your robe. The fabric you wear is nothing like his – plain, woven material from the looms of your village. It is designed for comfort, rather than style but still, Jimin stares at this as though he might come undone.

“Then,” he swallows, looking up. “Am I here to hear your acceptance?”

Pausing mid-motion, you stare at his frame. The offer of marriage is a complicated notion. On the one hand, you have weighed the odds and found it in your best interest to accept. Your lands need his trade routes and vice versa, his King needs your raw goods. Everything you know validates Jimin’s recent claim – their King is a good one, just and fair in his decision-making.

Still, you cannot help but feel resentful. The idea that someone other than yourself might be best for your Kingdom is a difficult notion to bear. Not only that – for you, it would be a loveless marriage. There is someone else, you desire in your bed.

Returning your gaze to Jimin, your fingers close over the clasp. “I have not yet decided,” you answer him honestly. “That is not why I brought you here.”

“Oh?” Jimin speaks softly, lowering both hands to the chaise. “Then tell me, Queen – why am I here?”

Arching a brow, you undo the latch. “Do not insult your own intelligence,” you state, shrugging free from your robe. It pools at your feet, a small heap of fabric. “You know why I asked you here, tonight.”

Jimin does not control his reaction in time. A tiny groan escapes, seeing your naked body before him. Nothing covering you but the balmy breeze of the window and the weight of his gaze. He traces eagerly, lingering on the peaks of your breasts, the shadowed dip between thighs. Fingers curled around the edge of your chaise, when he looks back up, there is desire in his gaze.

“Ye Sol…” Jimin’s voice drops to a whisper. “My King would behead me, if he knew.”

“Do you not want me?” you ask, ignoring this protest. Perhaps you misread the situation, earlier – for each glance you gave him, you were certain one was returned. Jimin’s expressions over the past weeks have been longing, meaningful and yearning for more.

Closing his eyes, Jimin holds his jaw taut. “More than anything,” he admits, hoarse. “From the moment I saw you, I feared you would be my undoing.”

“Then,” you exhale, lowering yourself onto his lap, “have me.”

Legs folding around him, your hands slide into his hair. Jimin opens his eyes, clutching at your body, despite all he just said. Between your thighs, you already feel yourself wet, slick with the carnal knowledge of just what Jimin is capable of. It is hard not to recall, the night from which this awareness stems.

It was several weeks prior, after a celebratory ball held in honor of the fall harvest. The night was spent in revelry, drunk on both the company of others and the oldest wines from your cellar. Around midnight though, you excused yourself form the madness – waving aside concerns of your advisors; stating you could make it upstairs to your chambers alone.

Midway through the empty corridor of the second floor, you saw him – Jimin, although he was not alone. The entire evening, the two of you had been flirting. Furtive looks here, a press of fingers there, brushing of hands while you walked towards the dance floor. It affected you greatly (partly, this is why you were retiring to bed early), and it you were not alone in your emotions.

As stated earlier, Jimin was not alone. A handmaiden accompanied him, not one of yours, hoisted onto the low wall between you. Her attire would not have been out of place at the party – but her bodice was ripped, hair undone, skirts hiked up past her waist while Jimin fucked himself into her. He had her on the bearing wall, legs wrapped tightly around him and his breeches shoved past his ass.

You froze, staring at his lips on her breast, switching to the other while his hips pounded forward. The sight made you ache with the force of your wanting. Warmth unfurled in your veins, blazing like lightning and wildfire. When Jimin looked up, catching you staring – he did not stop. If anything, he fucked the girl harder. Lips parting, you found yourself unsure whether to stay or to flee, because the interaction no longer was theirs. No, now it belonged to you. To you and to Jimin, watching you while he pushed himself into this girl.

She came apart underneath him, gasping his name and upon hearing his name – Jimin – torn from her lips, you jolted back to your senses and ran. The visual, along with your hand, was enough to come quickly that night. Ever since, you have not been able to remove the image from mind.

“Jimin,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his ear. “Feel how badly I want you,” you murmur, taking his hand and lowering it in between your legs. “Do you see?”

Jimin’s inhale is shaky. “God, you’re so wet,” he moans, tracing over your folds. Your body is slick with arousal, pushing against him when he brushes over your mound. “Is it all for me?”

“Mm,” you agree, grinding yourself into his palm. Jimin responds eagerly, cupping your heat to slide a finger backwards. “These days, I am always ready for you.”

Jimin’s eyes widen and before you can utter a word, he crushes your lips to his. His kiss is soft, yet intense – much like Jimin himself. One of hands remains at your core, teasing while the other grasps your neck, deepening the kiss. His tongue flicks out to meet yours and you exhale, opening your lips to let him in fully.

The motion of your hips must be ruining the silk of his pants, but Jimin does not seem to mind. Indeed, he pulls you closer, forcing your nipples over the broadness of his chest. They seem achingly hard, in desperate want of attention – and, as though sensing your desire, Jimin chuckles and pulls himself back.

“Would you like to be fucked in the same way?” he inquires, referring to the night you saw him. “Spread out on this chaise, or your bed?”

Bending, Jimin closes his lips around a nipple as you moan, tugging his hair with your fingers. His mouth is attentive – overly so – and your blood pressure spikes, with each tender ministration.

“No – I want to ride you,” you whine, gasping the words. “I want your cock between my legs, your hands on my body while I take you in deeper.”

Jimin nods in agreement, already moving to disrobe. This necessitates the removal of his hands from your body, a fact which you do not approve of. Jimin smirks at your expression, dutifully undoing the trappings of his clothing. “Patience,” he cautions, pushing silk from his shoulders.

Falling to the chaise, the removal reveals the beauty of Jimin’s toned upper body. Unable to speak, you stare, since this is the first time you have seen Jimin shirtless. Even when practicing in the courtyard, he typically does so while dressed in a thin, sweat-drenched tunic. This reasoning becomes clear, when black ink is revealed along the length of his torso. Thin, delicate lines of writing in a language you do not understand.

“What do they say,” you whisper, awed. Gently, you trace over the words with your palms and Jimin inhales, staring at your hands on his skin.

“They are promises,” he explains, pressing his lips to your jaw. “Each new year, I tattoo another – it is the custom, where I am from. This one,” he murmurs, taking your hand and moving it north. Small letters interconnect between his breastbone. “It is a promise of obedience. I swear to be loyal, hard-working and honest to the Crown.”

“Oh?” Your word is barely more than a breath. Fingers exploring the dark whorls of ink, your curiosity only grows. “And what about this one?” you ask, hands sliding lower. A tattoo that is only half-visible, above the waist of his trousers. “What is this one’s meaning?”

Jimin is naked from the waist up, though his pants remain on – they cover the view that you crave. “Another promise,” he murmurs, cupping your face with his palms. “To love as deeply as I can, whenever I can.”

“Ah,” you exhale – uneven, when he begins to kiss down your jaw. Jimin presses his chest to yours, molding you to him. “Is that what you were doing, that night after the ball?”

From his place at your throat, Jimin chuckles. “Were you jealous, Majesty?” he asks, a throaty purr. “Did you wish it had been you, instead?”

“I,” you falter, grinding yourself on his thigh. “I merely thought that, were you interested, you would have asked me instead.”

“I should have asked the Queen into bed?” Jimin repeats, amused. He arches a brow. “I do not imagine that would have gone well,” he exhales, hands sliding to cup the curve of your ass. “I have had to be satisfied by whatever scrap you threw my way. Then, I would go and fuck the first woman that’d have me. I’d imagine they were you, you, always you. Their moans,” he whispers, a hand slipping between you, “their swears. Their tight, wet pussies wrapped around my cock. All of it, I only wanted from you.”

“Oh,” you whimper, finding a rhythm against him. Jimin pulls you over his leg, watching you writhe from the pleasure. His lips find your neck, lips, breasts – briefly, you wonder if you might come undone just like this.

Your eyes fly open. “Not like this,” you pant, reaching for his waistband. “I want you naked, on my bed. Now.”

With a smirk, Jimin watches you rise from the chaise. He catches your waist with his hands, pressing a kiss to your belly button. As he pulls back, caught by the visual, Jimin hovers for a moment. Before you can stop him, his lips brush a more sensitive area. Shivering, your hands curl into his hair and your stance involuntarily widens. Jimin’s tongue darts out to lick arousal-soaked folds and you whimper, pushing your hips forward, seeking out more, more, more.

Withdrawing, Jimin’s tongue touches the edge of his lips. “Not yet,” he agrees, pushing himself to stand. Undoing the waist of his clothing, he lowers his pants to the ground.

His cock stands, half-hard from his waist; reddened and pretty, just begging to be touched. The lines of his muscles are prominent, abdominals disappearing into obliques, wrapped around the edge of his hips. Staring, you wonder if there has ever been a view as glorious as his. The ink of his tattoos blend into the panes of his body, making you uncertain just where to begin.

Gently, Jimin takes your hand. “I am sorry,” he blinks, seeing your shock at the gesture. “I apologize, if tenderness is not as customary for you as for me. I only – I wish to have every piece of you, my Queen. That includes your heart.”

Startled by this, you stare. Jimin stares back, lips wet from your body and gaze full of sincerity. Beneath the bones of your chest, your heart beats like a drum. Despite what you said to him earlier, this is not just about sex. The truth of the matter is; over the past several weeks, you have fallen in love with him. His quiet thinking, his sensible resolve, his lowly voiced humor. All of this has ensnared, entrapped you body and soul.

The fact makes tonight even more dangerous.

Lacing your fingers in his, you let Jimin pull you closer. His next kiss is soft, gentle with his body pressed to yours. Naked and deprived of his wrappings, Jimin moves in a way which drags air from your lungs, scorching them dry. You feel every part of him, know every part and, emboldened, pull him back towards your bed.

“Here,” you instruct, settling down on the edge. “I want you here, so that I might think of you tomorrow.”

Gaze dark and aching, Jimin lowers himself to your mattress, one knee at a time. “I hope that you do,” he confesses, palms laid flat to either side of your body. “I hope you remember the sight of my head between your legs, the feel of my tongue pressed to your sex. I want you to think of me with all other men, Ye Sol.”

Leaning back on your elbows, you meet his gaze. “I wish that as well,” you exhale, letting your hair fan over the pillows. “Do your worst.”

The sheets beneath you are silk, sensual while Jimin lowers his head to your knee. His lips start off gentle, trailing upwards in a slow pattern; higher, then lower, seeking a path to your core. When he reaches your hips, Jimin kisses each jut of bone before moving to your belly button. Inching lower again, Jimin does not push your legs apart.

Instead, he kisses soft over your sex. With your legs pressed together, everything is so sensitive. Jimin’s tongue darts out quickly, parting your folds with his tongue to make you arch on the bed. He barely grazes your clit, making you shudder, realizing this is entirely new. With a growl, Jimin realizes how wet you are and – suddenly impatient – pushes your legs apart on the sheets.

“Oh,” he exhales, seeing your body splayed out before him. Before you can speak, Jimin bends to close his lips over your bud, sucking hard.

“Ah!” you cry out, arching against him.

“Fuck,” Jimin mutters, lifting his head. He holds your legs open, rubbing the length of your folds. “I imagined before, Queen, what you would look like. I imagined what you would smell like, taste like and I – I never imagined someone this sweet.”

“Liar,” you manage, falling flat on your back. Jimin’s tongue swirls, moving in circles – first one way, then the other. Suddenly, you no longer care if he is telling the truth or not. “Oh!”

“I would not lie to you,” he chuckles, withdrawing. Keeping his gaze firmly on yours, Jimin drags his tongue up the length of your sex – you shiver, when he finds unexplored parts. “Look how hard I am,” Jimin declares, lifting himself from stomach to knees.

Exhaling, you stare because, yes, Jimin is much harder than before. His cock stands out from his waist, reddened and eager. You almost forget what he was doing before with his mouth, and demand that he fuck you right now.

With a small laugh, Jimin drops back down. Spreading your sex with both fingers, he licks over your clit. You squirm, overwhelmed by the sudden intensity until he inches further back, slipping a finger inside. Hips bucking upwards, you gasp and realize you will not last for much longer.

This is not the way you wish to come. Reaching down, you slide your hands into his hair, pulling him upwards. “Jimin,” you moan, chest rising and falling. “I want you inside me.”

After a moment, he nods. Pressing a final kiss to your sex, Jimin scrambles upwards and lowers himself to your bed. He sits there, legs outstretched and cock hard between thighs. When he holds out his hand, you accept, arranging yourself in a position above him.

Gaze dropping, you stare at his cock leaking pre-cum beneath you. Jimin’s hands continue to roam while you look, flicking your breasts and stroking your ass. It is enough that you pant, arching your back to roll your hips in mid-air.

Jimin lets out a low whine at the sight. “Ye Sol,” he groans, his voice thick with desire. “Please. I want to be inside you.”

“Are you clean?” you inquire, though you already know that he is. You would not have asked him here tonight, had he not been on the Royal Physician’s charts. “Your Queen demands honestly from you,” you tease.

“My Queen,” Jimin repeats, tasting the words on his tongue. With a resolute nod, he grips your waist in both hands. “Indeed, I am, my Queen.”

“Good,” you exhale, ignoring the pang the words send and lowering yourself to his length. His tip brushes your folds, easing inside and it takes several moments to work your way down. He is not the biggest you have ever had, but he is thick, hard and hot in your body. Then Jimin rolls his hips, and you realize his lethalness.

His cock thrusts into you, brushing each toe-curling place that you have. This is something you have never experienced: it makes you gasp, lurching forward to clasp the sheets of your bed. From here, Jimin twists to take your breast in his mouth. His tongue flicks over your nipple, hardening this into a peak while he thrusts slow from below.

“Oh,” you gasp when he fills you. He continues, relentless, picking up a rhythm designed to scatter your thoughts. Meanwhile, his mouth does not stop – he switches to the other breast, once you are sufficiently sated.

Gripping your waist, Jimin eases you up and down on his cock. The rhythm stokes a fire within you, renders you molten, in need of release. Pushing yourself higher, you remove your chest from his mouth. Jimin’s gaze darkens questioningly, until you lean back on your palms and take over the motion.

Slowly, you roll your hips in an attempt to feel every inch of him. Lifting yourself higher, then lower, you realize Jimin has gone still underneath. He stares, unable to look away from the sight of you fucking his cock. Legs splayed, chest rising and falling from the motion you set, you push his dick deep inside.

Eager to help, Jimin reaches up and presses his thumb to your clit. You gasp, clenching around his length – in response, Jimin hisses, dick twitching inside you. He rubs you harder, faster and your hips buck, uncontrolled, losing hold of the rhythm.

“Jimin,” you choke out, entire body trembling. “I need your help, make me come.”

“Of course,” he murmurs, hands sliding into your hair to tug you back down. Jimin lays you flat on his chest, hands gripping your ass. “Mm,” he exhales, spreading your folds with his hands. “I don’t know what I did, to deserve to touch you like this.”

“The feeling is mutual,” you exhale, turning and connecting your lips to his. Jimin spreads you wider, thrusting his cock deeper inside. “I could stay here for years.”

Jimin smiles, soft and true – it makes your heart stop for a moment. “Good,” he exhales, before thrusting into you.

With a groan, you collapse on his chest and let him fuck you like that. Each thrust of his hips rubs your clit on his stomach, making you moan and clutch at him tighter. Jimin’s hips are relentless, pounding you openly and forcing you forward. His hands grab your ass, your thighs, your hair; molding you to him. Unable to take it, you cry out from the motion – a risk, but your quarters are fairly isolated from others.

Giving in, you let go and tell Jimin exactly what you think of him. His cock, filling you so deeply. He makes you so tight, so wet; you feel needy for more. Fingers digging into his back, you whisper how hard and beautiful his cock is, how he hits all the right places and makes you want to come so fucking hard.

Jimin groans, gathering you close to give himself to you fully. You can barely see through the pleasure, thrusting your hips each time that he fills you; frantic and needy, while you chase after your high. Jimin helps – he laces a hand through your hair, bringing your ear down to his lips. Breathlessly, he details how perfect you are. How fucking tight your body is, how wet and needy you are for his cock. No one else can compare – he was right to want you, since there is no after for him.

He wants to come, deep inside you and, upon hearing this, you break at the seams. Jimin’s words shatter you, send your body spiraling over the edge, fallen apart in his arms. Jimin’s lips brush your temple, guiding you through and before long, you feel him coming as well. His groan is rough, broken, as he releases inside you. Burying your face in his shoulder, he rocks into you until the moment has passed.

Warmth chases your veins, wrapping your body in ecstasy. You do not want him to go and, lifting your head from his chest, you see a similar debate raging in Jimin’s gaze. On the one hand, this is the safest you have felt in a long time. On the other, if Jimin is not in his chambers come morning, it will raise suspicion. It is not unusual, for you to have lovers – it is unusual, for one to belong to a King asking your hand in marriage.

With the utmost of care, Jimin sits up, taking you with. The breeze from the window is chilly and he wraps himself around you, pulling the sheet up to your lap.

“I do not know what I wish for your answer to be,” Jimin confesses at last, pressing his lips to your throat. He pulls back, resolutely meeting your gaze. “Practically, this marriage is a good thing for both nations. And yet – selfishly, I want you all to myself.”

Fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his neck, you move closer. “I want that, too,” you admit, barely a whisper. “Logically, you speak true. Logically, I should accept your King’s proposal and join our lands together. But,” you swallow, looking down. “The reason I have not, is I feel for another.”

Brushing your chin, Jimin’s fingers force your gaze upwards. “If I do not return to him with an answer,” he admits, desperate. “He will just send another in my place.”

“And if my response to him is no?” you return, tilting your head.

Jimin does not move. “Then, I will be called back to duty.”

Resignedly, you recall the ink on his skin. Jimin promised obedience, fidelity, loyalty. He would not break a promise to the Crown so easily – it is part of what you love about him. Inhaling softly, you look out the window. The night beyond beckons; it encourages wild propositions and wanton shirking of duty. Instead, you know that when this nighttime does end, you will be left in the day. You cannot run away for too long and, at the end of the night, your choices are not fully your own.

“If I say yes,” you whisper, returning to him. Pushing the words past trembling lips, your fingers curl into his hair. “If I say yes to your King – this Min Yoongi – what will you do?”

Jimin’s gaze burns, pulling your lips close to his. “I will accompany you to him,” he whispers, before kissing you.

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jarrodsam45677-blog · 7 years ago

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Sympathy For The Skin.

Individuals use blossoms for a variety of reasons. Compassion (from the Greek words σύν( sunlight) "with each other" and πάθος( pathos) "sensation" which implies "fellow-feeling") is the understanding, reaction, and understanding to the distress or requirement of another life form 1 This empathic issue is driven by a switch in viewpoint, from a personal perspective to the perspective of an additional team or individual that remains in demand.

------------- AND ALSO SECOND PAPER FOR STUDENTS WITH THIS -JANUARY 2008 "STANDARD PRINCIPLE OF MARRIAGE IN THE STORIES OF NAYANTARA SAHGAL" By Dr. Ram SharmA Inning Accordance With WIKIPEDIA, Marriage (also called marriage or matrimony) is a social union or legal contract between people called spouses that develops rights and also obligations in between the partners, in between the partners and also their kids, and also in between the partners and also their in-laws.1 The meaning of marital relationship varies according to different cultures, however it is typically an organization in which interpersonal partnerships, sexual and also typically intimate, are acknowledged. For even more ready-to-copy compassion thank you examples for pallbearers, close friends, and contributions and various other letters of sympathy visit: My Thank You site's Compassion Thanks web page Christy Murphy is the developer of which supplies free, ready-to-copy sample thank you notes for all occasions, including funeral services, infant showers, in addition to various other practical devices to demonstrate and bring in thankfulness in each day life. To find more in regards to http://falco-cherrug.info/ visit our own web site. ( An impression of reflection" is an impression of a concept or (in many cases) of a vivid impact.) I therefore experience what may be otherwise referred to as a trace affect, a counter-part sensation, or a vicarious experience-- of rage. One of the most vital reason for composing a condolence letter is to ensure that the mourning person could reread the letter as well as read as many times as should help them deal with their loss. I got the answer eventually when I saw that a lady would occasionally see their apartment or condo while my female next-door neighbor was working. Therefore I sometimes feel like peeling my skin off at summer season. If your child is in discomfort, it is totally different sensation of empath than your cherished next-door neighbor or pal? Wall surface hangings are one more idea for tailored gifts in memory of an enjoyed one, and also image patchworks, while taking much more time to produce, are unmistakably personal as well as long lasting. " I am sure everyone has experienced that sensation when you are really exhausted and you just feel on your own going," he informed Emma Barnett. Did she commit a percent of her time reaching for sympathy ballots and also support system? Creating compassion enhances social connections by enabling us to recognize others much more precisely as well as deeply, and also to react even more properly and compassionately to their legitimate requirements, which contributes to far better social interaction, experiential close link, as well as real caring or real love. The sparkling tones and also light blue tones are claimed to stimulate feelings of consistency, depend on and sympathy. Inning Accordance With Oxford Thesaurus, the distinction between compassion as well as sympathy is that the latter includes a degree of judgment or evaluation-that the sympathizer thinks they recognize just what one more individual may really feel, and afterwards prolongs that psychological experience to pity, as an example. Compassion cards can make people feel like you assume they're currently dead. With some individuals, really feeling warm and having compassion, appears to come more naturally compared to with others. I assume the solutions offered right here typically aren't truely proper, usually people reffer to this characteristic in adition to empathy known as sympathy, The act or power of sharing the sensations of an additional. Melanie Walters suggests for Newspaper Obituaries, cost-free ancestry sources, guides to building a family history, example letters of compassion as well as acknowledgement, created examples of eulogies in addition to aid with all aspects of funeral planning. Sometimes we do not know exactly how vital a cherished person for many individuals is till he drops dead over night. Now naturally, I would totally concur that it would certainly be fairly challenging to understand EXACTLY exactly how the individual would be sensation, yet forecasting yourself and also sensations right into the situation can confirm advantageous when providing ways to comfort a single person, or a group. Some people might have a higher aptitude for compassion compared to others, since they are mentally a lot more. smart, have more life experience, or because of a genetic proneness - yet that does not make them psychic.

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mylenejgarcia · 7 years ago

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Satoshi Revolution – Chapter 2: Technology Meets Anarchy. Both Profit (Part 2) The Satoshi Revolution: A Revolution of Rising Expectations. Section 1: The Trusted Third Party Problem Chapter 2: Monetary Theory by Wendy McElroy Technology Meets Anarchy. Both Profit (Chapter 2, Part 2) Bitcoin is the catalyst for peaceful anarchy and freedom. It was built as a reaction against corrupt governments and financial institutions. It was not solely created for the sake of improving financial technology. But some people adulterate this truth. In reality, Bitcoin was meant to function as a monetary weapon, as a cryptocurrency poised to undermine authority. Now it is whitewashed. It is seen as a polite and unassuming technology in order to appease politicians, banksters, and soccer moms. Its purpose is sometimes concealed in order to make the tech palatable to the unwashed masses and power elite. However, no one should forget or deny why the protocol was written.–Sterlin Lujan Technology Meets Anarchy. Both Profit. Cryptocurrency was not created to make money; the blockchain was not forged to render banking more efficient. The core developers did not use open source or eschew patents because they were proprietary or wanted to reap a fortune. They wanted privacy and freedom to be available without cost to all. Anyone who believes Bitcoin was designed for financial gain knows nothing about its history or the idealism built into its algorithms. Profiting from cryptocurrency and using blockchains to economic advantage are laudable by-products, but Bitcoin was conceived as a vehicle for creating political and social change by empowering individuals and weakening government. The developers were revolutionaries. Bitcoin was a blast of rebellion. It came not a moment too soon. The galloping growth of the Internet gave government an incredible weapon against which individuals would have had scant protection without cryptography, the art of secret communication. The Radical History of Bitcoin Before Satoshi, there was the engineer and scientist Timothy C. May to whom Bitcoin is sometimes traced. May’s “Crypto Anarchist Manifesto” (1988) first appeared when it was distributed to a few techno-anarchists at the Crypto ’88 conference. The six-paragraph manifesto called for a computer technology based on cryptographic protocols which would “alter completely the nature of government regulation, the ability to tax and control economic interactions, the ability to keep information secret, and will even alter the nature of trust and reputation….The technology for this revolution–and it surely will be both a social and economic revolution–has existed in theory for the past decade….But only recently have computer networks and personal computers attained sufficient speed to make the ideas practically realizable.” The manifesto ended with a cry to arms, “Arise, you have nothing to lose but your barbed wire fences!” The “barbed wire” reference is quintessentially American. It evokes images of land out West being sectioned off by sharp fences that were snipped apart by cowboys who demanded an open landscape. Even in 1988, May could draw upon crypto-history. In the mid-1970s, cryptography ceased to be the nearly-exclusive domain of military and intelligence agencies who operated in secrecy. The academic research that surged forward was openly shared. One event in particular broke government’s grip on the field. In 1975, computer guru Whitfield Diffie and electrical engineering professor Martin Hellman invented public-key encryption and published their results the next year in the essay “New Directions in Cryptography.” (Arguably, the public key was a re-invention as the British had developed “nonsecret encryption” in 1973 but chose to be silent on the subject, as governments generally do.) In 1977, cryptographers Ron Rivest, Adi Shamir and Leonard Adleman created the RSA encryption algorithm, which was one of the first practical public-key systems. Public-key encryption hit the computer community like an explosion. It is brilliant in its simplicity. Every user has two keys – a public and a private one – both of which are unique. The public key scrambles the text of a message which can be unscrambled only by the private key. The public key can be thrown to the wind but the private one is closely guarded. The result is close to impenetrable privacy. Diffie had been inspired by the trusted third party problem. The book “High Noon on the Electronic Frontier: Conceptual Issues in Cyberspace” (1996) quoted him as saying, “You may have protected files, but if a subpoena was served to the system manager, it wouldn’t do you any good. The administrators would sell you out, because they’d have no interest in going to jail.” His solution: a decentralized network with each individual possessing the mathematical key to his own privacy – the right most threatened by a digital society. It obliterated the problem by removing any need for trust. At the same time, public-key encryption also removed the contradiction of sending secure information over insecure channels. It excluded “Eve” – the name cryptographers called unwanted eavesdroppers. And, importantly, public-key encryption was free to all because revolution required participation. Government was displeased. The National Security Agency (NSA) could no longer eavesdrop at will and its domestic monopoly on encryption was suddenly thrown open to all comers. The journalist Steven Levy commented in a Wired article, “In 1979, Inman [then-head of the NSA] gave an address that came to be known as ‘the sky is falling‘ speech, warning that ‘non- governmental cryptologic activity and publication. . .poses clear risks to the national security’.” The Cypherpunk response was captured by a later statement by cryptographer John Gilmore. “Show us. Show the public how your ability to violate the privacy of any citizen has prevented a major disaster. They’re abridging the freedom and privacy of all citizens – to defend us against a bogeyman that they will not explain. The decision to literally trade away our privacy is one that must be made by the whole society, not made unilaterally by a military spy agency.” The first crypto war erupted with the NSA strenuously trying to curtail the circulation of Diffie’s and Hellman’s ideas. The agency went so far as to inform publishers that the two rebels and whoever published them could face jail time for violating laws restricting the export of military weapons. The Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers, one of Hellman’s outlets, received a letter that read, in part, “I have noticed in the past months that various IEEE Groups have been publishing and exporting technical articles on encryption and cryptology—a technical field which is covered by Federal Regulations, viz: ITAR (International Traffic in Arms Regulations, 22 CFR 121-128).” Gag orders were issued. Legislation was proposed. The NSA attempted to control funding to crypto research. Inman gave the agency’s first public interview to Science magazine in order to explain his position. NSA also considered requiring people to “escrow” their private keys with a third party who would be vulnerable to a judge’s order or to the police; of course, this would have returned the trusted third party problem which public key encryption was intended to solve. In response, Electronic Frontier Foundation co-founder John Perry Barlow declared, “You can have my encryption algorithm…when you pry my cold dead fingers from my private key.” The NSA’s efforts failed. Powerful crypto was now a public good. Arise Cypherpunks! In the late 1980, “Cypherpunks” emerged as something akin to a movement. The deliberately humorous label was coined by hacker Judith Milhon who blended “cipher” with “cyberpunk.” The Cypherpunks wanted to use cryptography to defend against surveillance and censorship by the state. They were also determined to build a counter-economic society that offered an alternative to existing bank and financial systems. Their vision was inspired by the pioneering work of computer scientist David Chaum, nicknamed the “Houdini of crypto.” Three of his papers were particularly influential. “Untraceable Electronic Mail, Return Addresses, and Digital Pseudonyms” (1981) laid the groundwork for research into and the development of anonymous communications based on public-key cryptography. “Blind Signatures for Untraceable Payments” (1983) https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-1-4757-0602-4_18 stated, “Automation of the way we pay for goods and services is already underway….The ultimate structure of the new electronic payments system may have a substantial impact on personal privacy as well as on the nature and extent of criminal use of payments. Ideally a new payments system should address both of these seemingly conflicting sets of concerns.” The essay called for digital cash. “Security without Identification: Transaction Systems to Make Big Brother Obsolete” (1985) further described anonymous digital cash and pseudonymous reputation systems. A typical cypherpunk distrusted and disliked government, especially the federal variety; the NSA’s near-hysteria over unclassified encryption only heightened this response. Most cypherpunks embraced the counterculture with its stress on free speech, sexual liberation and freedom to use drugs. In short, they were civil libertarians. One of the earliest portraits of the coding radicals was Levy’s Wired article, mentioned above, which appeared in the magazine’s second issue (May 1993). Levy called them “techie-cum-civil libertarians.” They were idealists who “hope for a world where an individual’s informational footprints – everything from an opinion on abortion to the medical record of an actual abortion – can be traced only if the individual involved chooses to reveal them; a world where coherent messages shoot around the globe by network and microwave, but intruders and feds trying to pluck them out of the vapor find only gibberish; a world where the tools of prying are transformed into the instruments of privacy.” Levy understood the stakes. “The outcome of this struggle may determine the amount of freedom our society will grant us in the 21st century.” The spread of personal computers, the rise of the modern Internet and the titillating label of “outlaw” were an irresistible combination. Then, in 1991, Phil Zimmermann developed PGP, or Pretty Good Privacy, the world’s most popular email encryption software. He viewed it as a human rights tool and believed in it so deeply that he missed five mortgage payments and almost lost his house while designing it. The first version was called “a web of trust” which described the protocol by which the authenticity of the link between a public key and its owner was established. Zimmermann described the protocol in the manual for PGP version 2.0: “As time goes on, you will accumulate keys from other people that you may want to designate as trusted introducers. Everyone else will each choose their own trusted introducers. And everyone will gradually accumulate and distribute with their key a collection of certifying signatures from other people, with the expectation that anyone receiving it will trust at least one or two of the signatures. This will cause the emergence of a decentralized fault-tolerant web of confidence for all public keys.” PGP was initially given away by being posted on computer bulletin boards. Zimmermann commented, “[l]ike thousands of dandelion seeds blowing in the wind” PGP spread around the globe. Government noticed. Zimmermann was targeted in a three-year criminal investigation based on the possible violation of US export restrictions for cryptographic software. Fast forward to 1992. May, Milhon, Gilmore and Eric Hughes formed a small group of coding zealots who met every Saturday in a small office in San Francisco. A Christian Science Monitor article described the group as “all united by that unique Bay Area blend: passionate about technology, steeped in counterculture, and unswervingly libertarian.” The group’s size grew rapidly. The List, an electronic posting forum, became the most active aspect with the “people’s algorithms” drawing staunch support from the likes of Julian Assange and Zimmermann. The Christian Science Monitor article commented, “Radical libertarians dominated the list, along with ‘some anarcho-capitalists and even a few socialists’. Many had a technical background from working with computers; some were political scientists, classical scholars, or lawyers.” Eric Hughes contributed another manifesto: “A Cypherpunk’s Manifesto” nakamotoinstitute.org/static/docs/cypherpunk-manifesto.txt that opened, “Privacy is necessary for an open society in the electronic age.” But , it continued, “[f]or privacy to be widespread it must be part of a social contract. People must come and together deploy these systems for the common good. Privacy only extends so far as the cooperation of one’s fellows in society.” The group quickly encountered an objection that later became a dominant thrust of government’s attack on private encryption: “bad actors” would use anonymity to get away with crimes. During a 1992 interview, a skeptic confronted May. “Seems like the perfect thing for ransom notes, extortion threats, bribes, blackmail, insider trading and terrorism,” he challenged. May calmly replied, “Well, what about selling information that isn’t viewed as legal, say about pot-growing, do-it-yourself abortion? What about the anonymity wanted for whistleblowers, confessionals, and dating personals?” Cypherpunks believed public-key encryption made society less dangerous because it removed the two major sources of violence. First, anonymity neutralized governments, which consisted of “men with guns.” Shutting governments out removed those guns from exchanges. If financial exchanges were invisible, for example, the violence of taxation would be impossible. Second, public-key encryption reduced the risks associated with victim-less crimes, such as drug use. Ordering drugs online, for example, was safer than buying them in a back alley of a shoddy neighborhood. Admittedly, public-key encryption could shield activities that violated rights. A common Cypherpunk response was to view the prospect as irrelevant. Encryption was a reality and it would spread in spite of unpleasant side effects. Perhaps cypherpunks believed a technological or community solution to real online crimes would evolve. The Crypto Wars Continue One incident captures the core of crypto wars between the Cypherpunks and government, especially the NSA. Gilmore was determined to rescue the information from documents that the NSA was attempting to suppress. His first major victory was to distribute a paper by a cryptographer employed by Xerox, which the NSA had persuaded Xerox to kill. Gilmore posted it on the Internet and it went viral. Then, in 1992, Gilmore further enraged the NSA. He filed a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request to acquire the declassified parts of a four-volume work by William Friedman who is often called the father of American cryptography; the manuals were decades old. Gilmore also requested the declassification of Friedman’s other books. While the NSA dragged out its response before refusing Gilmore, he heard from a Cypherpunk friend. Friedman’s personal papers had been donated to a library after his death, and they included the annotated manuscript of one still-classified book Gilmore sought. The friend simply took it off the shelf and Xeroxed it. Then, another of Friedman’s still-classified books was found on microfilm at Boston University; a copy of it was also turned over to Gilmore. He notified the judge, who was hearing what had turned into a FOIA appeal, that the “classified” documents were publicly available in libraries. Before he did so, however, Gilmore made several copies and hid them in obscure places, including an abandoned building. The NSA reacted with extreme prejudice. They raided libraries and reclassified documents that used to be publicly available. The Justice Department called Gilmore’s lawyer to say that his client was close to violating the Espionage Act, which could bring a prison term of ten years. The violation: he showed people a library book. Gilmore informed the judge of the latest development, but he also contacted technology reporters in the press. NSA feared publicity, and the Cypherpunks knew it. Articles began to flow, including one in the San Francisco Examiner. Two days later, the New York Times stated, “The National Security Agency, the nation’s secretive electronic spy agency, has abruptly retreated from a confrontation with an independent researcher over secret technical manuals he found in a public library several weeks ago….[I]t said that the manuals were no longer secret and that the researcher could keep them.” The Aegean Park Press, a California publisher, quickly printed the books in question. The early Cypherpunks were prototypes who set the attitude, technology and political context in which the next generation of cryptocurrency zealots operated. The goals were disobedience, disruption of the system through cryptography, personal freedom, and counter-economics. They set and lit the stage for Satoshi Nakamoto. [To be continued next week.] Thanks to editor/novelist Peri Dwyer Worrell for proofreading assistance. Wendy McElroy has agreed to ”live-publish” her new book The Satoshi Revolution exclusively with Bitcoin.com. Every Saturday you’ll find another installment in a series of posts planned to conclude after about 18 months. Altogether they’ll make up her new book ”The Satoshi Revolution”. Read it here first. The post Satoshi Revolution – Chapter 2: Technology Meets Anarchy. Both Profit (Part 2) appearhttps://news.bitcoin.com/satoshi-revolution-chapter-2-technology-meets-anarchy-both-profit-part-5/ To get started: http://bit.ly/unlibitcoin To double its value: http://bit.ly/btc-gold

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tractionmagazine · 7 years ago

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148. Sarah Burger

Sarah Burger, ‘New Continents (blue), 2017. Digital print on fabric; 190 x 260cm. Image courtesy the artist.

Swiss artist Sarah Burger discusses the work made for her current solo exhibition at VITRINE, London, her first in the UK. With an onus placed on the materiality of sites and architecture, Burger uses physical spaces as the jump-off point for her process-led investigations. Combining two-dimensional and three-dimensional elements created using both analogue and digital techniques, Burger develops complex works which make reference to the topics of presence, duration, time and the history of material.

Your practice has a large focus on architectural spaces, often the social spaces of cities. What is it about these sites that drives your practice and piques your interest?

I'm interested in the sculptural presence of architecture, in its’ time and endurance through time. I understand this world as an ongoing sculpture, an ongoing transformation of interacting entities, non-human and human ones together.

The materiality of architectural structures (mainly stones in ancient times, more recently iron, steel) makes them last and degrade over a long period of time. Whether you look at an urban or a country landscape, it's presence is always a coexistence of different times and duration of this.

Sarah Burger, ‘New Continents (pink), 2017. Digital print on fabric; 210 x 240cm. Image courtesy the artist.

The work created for 'New Continents, Light Lines' was created with the unique architecture and positioning of VITRINE in mind? How did you utilise and contextualise the space?

The VITRINE space is a demanding one, one that doesn't please a possible white-cube desire of anonymous interior walls. The space itself is an entity with which I somehow worked - although from a distance. Besides its unwieldy dimensions, which intrigue me, it was also the fact that it is embedded in a public situation that made me think around the tension between its’ limited exhibition area and its’ actual site-taking presence. The shows at VITRINE happen outside. It's not given where the exhibition starts, you can see it from far away when you walk towards the square. People who work or live in the buildings around see it when they look out of their window. When there is the market on the square, the VITRINE becomes the background scenery of a daily life situation.

The wide format of the vitrine is cinematic. The process for ‘New Continents, Light Lines’ was to find and evidence how my practice can add something to the given situation of the gallery. I often work with material processes, with raw materials like soil and stones and chemical reactions between different colour qualities, which I then enlarge by digital means of image generation. The result of this process is a series of large-scale prints, each showing something that might remind of a cross section through a continent, somehow the hidden parts of a mass of land.

Sarah Burger, ‘New Continents (green), 2017. Digital print on fabric; 190 x 260cm. Image courtesy the artist.

Having read a little of how you describe your work, there seems to be a consistent anthropomorphism of the spaces you are working with and around. Is this a conscious decision? Do you feel that this way of relating to, and accessing the space, effects the dialogue created by the work?

I do not see it as anthropomorphism but rather as encountering others and collaborating with spaces and materials. As I said above, I understand them as entities, as things, as beings with which I join for the duration of a work. Each space, each matter, has its’ own forces; abilities, restraints and idiosyncrasies, which do have an influence on the work, of getting to the resulting work.

Your works appeared to me to act as relics of the materiality and history of the site; markers combining the various understandings of the spatial; the spiritual confronting the temporal. How do you feel about this reading of the work?

Language is such an enigmatic matter that allows endless combinations. Sometimes I do encounter combinations of words that do open up a new space, a surprising glimpse into a different velocity accompanied by a somehow physical impression. "The spiritual confronting the temporal." If someone creates such a glimpse with words accelerated by my works I feel acknowledged.

Sarah Burger, ‘New Continents (light blue), 2017. Digital print on fabric; 85 x 240cm. Image courtesy the artist.

Alongside Fine Arts, you have studied Philosophy, Comparative Literature and Linguistics. Your answer to my previous question touched briefly on your relationship to language. Do you feel that these areas of your education have had an impact on your practice? If so, in what way?

Art and philosophy are two different practices. They are both reflexive but with different means and decisions. One creates worlds, the other one reflects and argues conceptually relations within this world. I guess what they have in common is to work on the rim, on the edge, there where there are still unknown lands and oceans. Some philosophical texts, concepts and ideas accompany my artistic practice in an associative way. They became part of how I live.

Literature is one of the arts, but studying literature means to work with works of art in a scientific way. I got to know a wide range of great texts, but I never felt completely comfortable with analysing literature. Still, I learned some interesting skills for how to work with a text. In the meantime, writing became part of my artistic practice.

Sarah Burger, ‘New Continents (violet), 2017. Digital print on fabric. Image courtesy the artist.

I was wondering about the level of agency you give to your materials. You have already mentioned that your materials influence the work, how far do these material investigations determine the outcome? Is there any point where you have to delay or recall a process-led decision?

It depends on the works as to how far the chosen materials determine the outcome of the work. The "New Continents" which are now shown at VITRINE gallery are based on gypsum and pigments which I mixed. The structures they created together were their own process. After that, I continued the work in a very determined way.

However, for example in the work ‘(un)earthed’ I buried nine objects made out of degradable fabric in nine different places and unearthed, observed, photographed and buried them again every two or three weeks. In the meantime, all the nine objects have disappeared. In this work, I did decide a lot of things, for instance how I want the photographs to be and how I write as part of the work. But all that I could only decide on the base of what the objects in their surroundings, in their earth, with their mushrooms and insects did and were doing.

Sarah Burger, ‘New Continents (red), 2017. Digital print on fabric; 255 x 280cm. Image courtesy the artist.

You stated that you see the world as "...an ongoing sculpture, an ongoing transformation of interacting entities, non-human and human ones together". It brought to mind current discussions regarding the Anthropocene, in particular how our human-centric actions and thinking regarding the world has impacted upon it. Do you see your work as participating in this dialogue?

I see my work in a contemporary neighbourhood to these thoughts. We live in the same world with and around the same information, knowing about human influence and dependency. But as I said above, conceptual reflections and artistic ones are different practices.

My work is neither an illustration of contemporary concepts nor do I use them to explain my work.

I find it interesting that you take the three-dimensional and, with your prints, render the essence of that space into a two-dimensional form. Could you talk more about why you choose this mode of production?

Indeed, each continent is a scan of an object, but this is also, in geography, archaeology and also tomography, how you look into an object.

Sarah Burger, ‘New Continents (light green), 2017. Digital print on fabric; 210 x 240cm. Image courtesy the artist.

I loved how you referred to the prints for VITRINE as being reminiscent of "...the hidden parts of a mass of land". Would you say that your engagement with materials and spaces is a romanticisation of the hidden and quotidian?

Romanticism is often naively connotated, but indeed I'm very interested in the period of Romanticism as the period that follows the Renaissance.

First, the world was measured, objectively described and investigated, and then followed by a period of imagination, creative introspection and invention of worlds. These two intentions are not something contradictory to me but rather two intensities of the same vitality. In my practice both aspects of this force are important. During the process of making a new work, sometimes one is more present and then again the other.

Sarah Burger, ‘New Continents (petrol green), 2017. Digital print on fabric; 380 x 115cm. Image courtesy the artist.

I'd like to go back to something you said earlier: "Whether you look at an urban or a country landscape, its presence is always a coexistence of different times and duration of this". Could you expand upon your interest in this? In particular, I'm intrigued by the way you view the relationship between temporality and materiality.

If you look at a rural landscape with trees, then these trees have a certain age. You see rocks which were formed millions of years ago. Probably, you see the trace of an airplane in the sky and a plastic bottle somewhere thrown away. The origin of this plastic material is the oil of this planet, organic waste from the time of the dinosaurs and earlier.

In a city, you look at buildings that are made out of stones and concrete. The technique of making concrete goes back around 10'000 years b. C. First traces were found in Turkey. The plants in a modern office building often come from tropic areas, for example, the rubber trees. Where they naturally exist they are huge, beautiful trees that grow over a long period of time.

Right now., I’m sitting at the airport answering your questions. I look at the stone floor in order to find some ammonites. In this specific floor, I can't find them, but they often can be seen in airport floors, in Miami for example and also in certain areas of the Zurich airport. It's been a pleasure answering your questions. I’’m going to go and grab a coffee now, this old Ethiopian drink.

Interview by Charlotte Barnard.

‘New Continents, New lines’ is on view at VITRINE, London until 3 September 2017. More information here.

To see more of Sarah’s work and keep up to date with her upcoming shows, please follow: http://sarahburger.ch/

#contemporary art #artist #sculpture #printmaking #screen print #process #temporality #materiality #philosophy #language #ecology #Architecture

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atticusblog2016-blog · 8 years ago

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New Post has been published on Atticusblog

New Post has been published on https://atticusblog.com/mac-sales-would-do-if-apple-did-something-crazy-like-update/

Mac Sales Would Do If Apple Did Something Crazy Like Update

Throughout the profits name for the second quarter of 2017, Apple discovered that Mac sales have been up 4 percent yr-over-yr compared to 2Q16. Sales elevated 14 percent as compared to closing 12 months’ second zone. Apple handiest released a single new Mac product, the new MacBook Pro, in overdue 2016. What could Cupertino accomplish if it did something crazy like replacing all of its Mac merchandise at once?

Mac income had been down At some point of the maximum of 2016.

The first 3 quarters of the yr saw Mac sales declining, after which Cupertino released the brand new MacBook Seasoned fashions, which include two with Contact Bars. Almost magically, Mac income went up. Granted, that growth changed into best a single percent factor. That’s now not in which the tale ends, although.

Even after the Christmas holidays ended, Apple persisted to bank on what Bryan Chaffin referred to as its “one bizarre trick” for boosting Mac sales. the brand new MacBook Seasoned fashions fueled an increase in sales At some stage in the March region that amounted to a 12 months-over-yr growth of 4 percent in units offered and 14 percent of Sales. With only an unmarried product class refreshed, Cupertino turned into able to keep the winning streak that eluded the agency the previous 12 months.

Not every person is inside the market for a brand new MacBook Seasoned, even a 13-inch model. Some of us, myself blanketed, don’t care as tons approximately portability and are seeking out a brand new laptop Mac. Others need a brand new MacBook Air. Even greater oldsters are clamoring for new servers, like the Mac Mini Server, or Mac Seasoned computers. The ethical of the tale is that lots of parents are ready, impatiently, for Cupertino to refresh their Mac product class of desire.

If Apple went so far as to provide new models of the MacBook Air, iMac, and Mac Seasoned concurrently, what would that do to its income figures in the Mac product precise? I will be wrong right here, however, I suppose we’d be probably to peer those “gadgets bought” numbers growth with the aid of double digits, as a minimum low ones. That’s being modest, I consider.

Use of Mono Mac 6 Cells in Scientific Study

Mono Mac 6 (MM6) is a human monocytic mobile line commonly used as an in vitro model to demonstrate the actions of monocytes.

This mobile line fairly resembles mature blood monocytes. They have got several comparable features consisting of CD 14 antigen expression, phagocytotic capacity, and the useful capability to provide cytokines. But, there still are some variations between Mono Mac 6 cells and human blood monocytes. A have a look at that compares the production of cytokines through MM 6 cells in reaction to numerous stimulants to that of mature monocytes in peripheral blood mononuclear cells, suggests that MM 6 cells lack the ability to explicit IFN-α. This mobile line is a robust cytokine producer, with poor ability to produce IFN.

The development of in-vitro version structures advances the knowledge of endothelial cellular interactions and the adhesion properties of Mono Mac 6. It is proved that those cells display elevated adherence to unstimulated and tumor necrosis element (TNF)-α (50 U/ml), much like freshly isolated human blood monocytes. And blockading experiments with a monoclonal antibody directed against E-selectin, VCAM-1 and ICAM-1 on HUVEC and CD11b or CD14 on Mono Mac 6 cells reveal that those molecules all contribute to Mono Mac 6 adherence. What is more, the examine suggests that expression of CD11b and CD14 may also be responsible for the accelerated adhesion of Mono Mac 6. This asset makes this cellular line well applicable for studying monocyte-endothelial cell interactions.

Utility in Parallel Antimycobacterial Drug Studies

Numerous macrophage models were used to test the intracellular activities of antituberculosis capsules, however, there remain no completely differentiated human macrophage cellular traces suitable for parallel use with murine cell strains. But, MM6 cells could make a beneficial model for testing the intracellular activities of antituberculosis drugs. Unlike the U937 and THP-1 human monocytic cellular strains that must be precipitated to broaden phagocytic homes, the MM6 has the potential to constitutively phagocytize antibody-coated erythrocytes and mycobacteria. Outcomes of researchers show that this mobile line is very powerful in figuring out the intracellular sports of antimycobacterial tablets.

How Would We Ever Exist Without Neon?

All and sundry have visible neon utilization. Then again, what can we in low approximately the element neon? What’s it? Wherein is it discovered? How will we get it into usable shape?What are a number of its traits?

Neon is an element that is located in gaseous shape. Neon is uncommon on earth, but, it’s miles pretty plentiful within the universe. In fact, it ranks fifth among the most considerable elements within the universe. The Earth has less because of neon’s mild weight and inherent chemical nature. Volcanic fuel incorporates big quantities of neon.

Our surroundings carry a little bit of neon, and it is able to be extracted via a technique referred to as absorption.

In this technique, the air is remarkable chilled at temperatures beneath 441 stages F so it will become a liquid. Whilst this is run over charcoal the neon molecules stick to the charcoal. If the temperature is raised the neon can be “boiled off” and captured. Since the air does no longer include that much neon it’s far vital to manner 88,000 pounds of liquefied air to get one pound of neon.

Neon is a 2927099c7129e5e67b031f9eb65b6349 conductor of strength and due to this and the reality that it has an awesome capacity to give off a light that is capable of being visible at terrific distances its most common makes use of are in airplane beacons, in lamps, and in marketing symptoms. Some pilots have suggested seeing neon beacons twenty miles away While it was not possible for them to see different types of lighting. Neon mild may be visible through the fog.

There are forms of neon that are generally used.

One is the sparkling discharge lamps which are small in length and capable of being one extremely goods at low voltage. Famous uses for these lamps are in circuit-checking out system and strength of indicators. The alternative type operates at a completely excessive voltage and is widely utilized in marketing symptoms. Neon is used commercially as a Popular refrigerant because it is much less steeply-priced than helium. In liquid form, it’s miles very high-priced and difficult to attain While used for testing purposes.

The brilliant crimson signs and symptoms we see are glass tubes shaped into letters or numbers and packed with neon fuel. A few drops of mercury are delivered to the glass to provide the blue light in signs. Whilst all of the air is removed from the glass tubes and they’re filled with neon a neon lamp is created. Sending an electrical present day from an electrode at one cease of the tube through the neon to a second electrode makes the gasoline glow fiery crimson. Neon lamps, unlike incandescent lamps, do not have filaments in view that it is the gasoline that flows. It takes handiest a quart of neon to mild up 200-three hundred feet of glass tubing.

This mild strikes an expansion of light-emitting phosphorescent materials which can be coated at the internal of the glass tube for that reason generating various colorations. To create a blue mild the glass is left clear. For the advent of special shade effects xenon, krypton, and helium gasses are occasionally used.

There’s an excessive call for neon, especially due to its large use in marketing, plus some of the different useful makes use of. This makes the manufacturing of neon a highly worthwhile commercial enterprise for the most component. The hazard with neon occurs While it is allowed to attain excessive concentrations. In such cases, it displaces the oxygen in lungs of humans which typically outcomes in death.

For industrial purposes neon is received from the air, For commercial use neon is produced with the aid of fractional distillation of liquid air via the cryogenic method. it’s far colorless, odorless, and tasteless. Natural neon charges $33. in keeping with one hundred grams. Neon, due to its many beneficial advantages, has become part of American existence. it is unlucky that it is only to be had in small quantities Because the call for neon may be very excessive

Why It’s Important to Update Drivers on a Regular Basis

Drivers are software packages that permit your PC running system to speak to and supply commands to hardware devices and software applications you want to use with your PC. From hardware devices such as a webcam, printer to software program packages and programs, together with video games, downloads from the internet or common packages such as Word or Excel, you need to have the contemporary and up to date drivers on your laptop.

Outdated drivers can purpose your laptop to crash, save you programs and programs from working and might cause mistakes messages or can simply save you from the use of your PC as you need to.

Not unusual errors messages Old drivers can reason include:

* “Prevent: 0xc0000221 Terrible picture test sum, the image user32.Dll is in all likelihood corrupt. The header test sum does now not healthy the computed take a look at the sum.”

* “errors: Can’t load the DLL CnxtSdk.Dll.”

* “The tool motive force for the keyboard tool is stopping the gadget from entering sleep mode. Please close all programs and attempt once more. If the hassle persists, you can want to replace this driver.”

* “Forestall 0xc000026C (Unable to load tool motive force) driver Call.”

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noraaa1215-blog · 8 years ago

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post-modern

The term "post-modern" is employed by historians to refer to the time of musical history that followed the modern period. Some scholars place the commencement of the post-modern period at approximately 1930, while others place it at 1960. Either way, the foundation of the post-modern world can be traced to the 1930s, a time in world history in which many individuals felt a great sense of nervousness concerning the modern world. Unlike some music of the previous time in musical history, post-modernism in music is not a particular musical trend or style, but is more about a period in which a significant variety of innovative and new music developed. Indeed, the post-modern time did not come about as a reaction or revolution away from the preceding period, the modern era. The post-modern era in music is a result of some fragmentation of various aspects of 20th-century culture. The musical video Ballerina on the Boat (1969) is an example of post-modern music; it shows the strong influence of the great Russian modernist composer Alfred Schnittke.

Analysis of Ballerina on the Boat and Post-Modernism in Contemporary Culture

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-MQTx1CMM4

Indeed, this music video is an interesting and beautiful piece of entertainment. For that reason, Schnittke musical scores all produced during his prolific career provides an extraordinarily rich and varied evidence of his role as 20th-century modernist and as a source for postmodern aesthetics. In the early 1970s, Schnittke endorsed two-way musical performances in which he worked together with his performers, fusing art with its surrounding, and in which his will as the composer did not constraint audiences' activities. Undeniably, this collaborative, de-centered, and heterogeneous standard for musical performance seems postmodern.

As seen in the video, Schnittke determined and designed the performance situation, regardless of how many participants or audiences were involved, and relied on his creativity of chosen traditions from the past. However, his style of music shows that he wanted to change the world through developing advanced techniques of composing and producing music performed by dance. Undoubtedly, the music video represents postmodernism through its demonstration of a shift from a single media art to an interactive and performative art revealed through some collaboration of audience and performers, as well as high and vernacular images and sounds. Further, fans are seen dancing and displaying some new techniques in playing their music instruments. As such, this theatricality and the close collaboration between the music composition and performance represent Schnittke as the originator of postmodernism.

Consequently, Schnittke strived to introduce some new forms of producing musical sounds and enhancing the role of performance with an idea of generating multiple sounds using simple equipment. Personally, I believe that this production of music and dancing affected the listening procedure and creation of meaning. For example, this piece of artwork helps an audience thinks of developing an experience of reading a contemporary text. The performative requirements of Schnittke's music define its innovation, and hence it's postmodernism. In that case, the dance represented in this piece of art wake up the excellent life were are living. Any philosopher would endorse Schnittke's independence and his exertion of some control in his music, which assumes a significant function in relation to the community. Mostly, the dancing setting conveys a message to an audience concerning when to applaud or dance during a performance.

Personally, I believe that this video is a real representation of postmodernism since it seems to integrate boardrillard's concept of hyper-reality. For instance, the video appears to cut from one scene to another. As such, it depicts postmodernism as no significant difference is made between them. By this, I mean how some form of effect conventionally represents the development of time. The absence of this effect may confuse an audience and make them question which part of this music video is real time. In a similar manner, playfulness is a theme correctly represented in this work; many unusual and funny situations are evident.

Consequently, the music video raises some aesthetic and semiotic questions, concerning the association between graphic, musical, and performance forms. For instance, Schnittke's work exemplifies some cultural traits which have resulted in the concept of postmodernism. Indeed, both the mass media and fine arts have evolved and transformed concerning new technologies and vernacular culture, which has changed the contemporary society.

All in all, Ballerina on the Boat (1969) is an example of the post-modern music video; it represents the dominant influence of the great Russian modernist composer Alfred Schnittke. Indeed, this piece of artwork accounts for a postmodern aesthetics recognized as a salient symbol of modern culture. Accordingly, the music video reflects some stylistic aesthetics standards conditioned by social history. For that reason, modern musicians are able to critique some work of other artists to develop a fascinating work. As seen in the video, the composer's creativity in creating the music and sound as well as the graphical images makes him a role model since he is a source for postmodern aesthetics.

#post-modern

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