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pinkhairedlily · 3 years ago

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[Open Your Mouth] Chapter 4 - R

See previous chapters here: AO3 | Tumblr

Summary: Or maybe it was just the first time she was treated like she had an agency. The gestures for permission, the unspoken questions of consent, the way he wouldn’t touch her first or grab her or mar her skin even when they were having sex. Most men would have their true natures revealed once shown the great pussy. But there he was, always cradling her like she was porcelain china. Not that she minded. It was a breath of fresh air to be held like that, in gentle caresses and soft whispers that beg to betray his true feelings at any given second. It was madness not to be consumed by it, but it was tragedy that she only knew of this reality just now.

-xxxxxxx-

April 20, 2021, 11:16 PM

“Still in questioning for two weeks,” Sasuke grits through his phone. “And they didn’t allow him to post bail?”

“Akugawa’s attorneys tried to appeal this week but it’s a no go. Doesn’t help that he’s brought to a different district so it’s completely out of our jurisdiction,” Neji replies. “Have you heard from Jugo?”

“Just a text message saying they lied to him and told him the directive was from Asuma.” Sasuke lets his fingers run through his hair, too frustrated to think straight this evening. “All they have against Akugawa are purely circumstantial. This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah, but the media ruckus is hungry for the gay serial killer angle. Well, I gotta go Uchiha.”

“Have fun. It’s your wedding anniversary tonight, isn’t it?”

“Shut up. Aren’t you with a woman yourself?” The call ends.

Rid of distractions, he is now at liberty to gaze freely at the rosette reading a book beside him. She gives him a smile and ditches the book to trace lazy circles on his chest. The lunch break meetings have become too short for the both of them thus the need for dinners and coffee. He didn’t plan on making a move, not when there is still an active case, but she’s enthralling in a sense. It’s her presence that pulls him into her orbit – or maybe it’s the pink hair and the emerald eyes that make it difficult to look away.

When he almost hailed her a cab for their fifth dinner, she grabbed his arm and slowly pulled it down to her side, intertwining her fingers with his. It was the first time he held her hand.

With a flushed face under the dim city lights, she asked him, “I would like it if you take me home with you.”

And even after arriving in his flat, he hesitated to kiss her. Only when she brought his fingers to her lips did he move, suddenly gripped with a drive to gently coax her into pleasure. She undressed for him in the dark, already wet and pulsating for his touch, his kisses, and he let the jasmine perfume perforate his senses. He was careful not to leave marks of his trail – after all, it might just be the last as it could be the first – and regrets were felt stronger when there were remainders.

The first time was followed by a second, and she posed a question. “Why are you so gentle with me?”

He looked at her face and tucked a stray strand behind her ear, the color of his dreams. “I’m afraid you’ll break.”

She took his hand and slapped it on her perky breasts. “Try and break me then.”

Where he wavered, she asserted – her nails leaving scratches on his back, bruising his lips, marking his neck, and pulling his hair – but she did it so beautifully that he basked in pain as she yelled his name in ecstatic throes.

He pulls away from reminiscing when the lazy circles start to draw lower. He softly takes her dainty wrist and places an open-mouthed kiss where her pulse is.

“I take it your team is still prohibited from pursuing other leads?” Sakura gasps.

Sasuke shakes his head. “Both chiefs had to save face, particularly when the district attorney got the call first, then the media, and we were the last to know. But it’s more of a pro-forma. My guts don’t tell me they’re still out there.”

“You don’t believe it’s him?”

“He perfectly fits Yamato’s profile. Had several sexual relations with married CEOs, naively accepted promises of secured futures, let down just as quickly as he has been picked up.”

Sakura climbs on top of him and starts to grind on his hardened member. “Too bad. Akugawa is a nice colleague. I was the one who encouraged him to enroll in those meditation classes.”

One arm wraps around her waist to keep her steady while the other tugs away the sheet that comes in between their moist flesh. He brings her breasts closer to his tongue, his words lapping against her skin. “Oh you must be good in yoga too.”

“I’m flexible like that, Detective.” She slips his cock insider her ready core, and the fitting sensation makes the both of them shiver.

“What other things are you good at, Dr, Haruno?”

She locks eyes with him and words are lost as they start to find rhythm in their thrusts.

-xxxxxxx-

April 25, 2021, 6:27 AM

“I take it they’re gonna name you as the director for the overseas expansion.” He asks as soon as they step out of her penthouse.

He didn’t expect to step foot in her domain; he knew it was how the elites operate, but maybe she waited for the sixth date to test him. He couldn’t deny how he was intimidated by her biometrics door, the large cctv panels on her foyer, and her voice-automated house system, but it fascinated him to see the bleak contrast of her plant-filled space against the extravagant automations and sharp marble floor.

“I’m not quite sure.” She angles her eyes on the retina scanner, and the security system beeps to life. The whole floor will be inaccessible even to the administration until she comes home. “Either way, it’s gonna be a success for the Senju-Haruno corporation and its shareholders.”

“Shouldn’t they give you bodyguards then?”

Her fingers ease in into his waiting hand. “I have a detective for a lover. I’ll be fine.”

He leaves soft kisses on her knuckles. “Can’t your lover be worried?”

“I don’t think they’ll come after me. I’m a woman, remember?”

6:41 AM

“Sorry to delay your trip to the office. I’ll just check the ravine again.” They hazard park on the side of the forest. “Stay put. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Sakura nods with a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll stretch my legs out for a bit, but I really wouldn’t want to wander. I don’t know the area quite well.”

He hops off the car, unaware that a nondescript black sedan stopped a few meters away from their spot. Sasuke traverses the wide trunks and mossy forest floor until he finds the exact dumping spot – a clump of thorny bristles and rue hedges. His eyes survey the surroundings and notices a disturbed, rather steep area above the ravine, a tricky slope which cannot be possible for someone like Akugawa. With his built, he would have skidded down when he dumped the body. It had to be someone petite.

Light footfalls behind him. Sasuke glances at the sound, his hand ready to pull out his gun.

“Sorry I followed you. I’m kinda jumpy.” Sakura waves at him from above the slope, her silhouette prominent against the morning backlight.

Then his eyes register another bigger, taller, heavier silhouette behind her.

“Sakura!”

Gunshots miss Sasuke by a breadth, but he doesn’t miss how the hooded figure clamps a hand over Sakura’s mouth and drag her away into the forest. He scrambles up and follows their trail, cursing his ineptness.

His breaths are louder than the wakening birds and traffic on the roadside, and his feet feel more like lead for every tree that leads him deeper into the forest. Then he hears two consecutive shots, and he feels all of his sensory motors go into overload.

Sasuke’s feet direct him to the sound. When the vines give way to a clearing, the first thing he sees is her disheveled rose hair, pulled apart from her high bun, tousled like an unkempt mane on her back.

And a dead man on the forest floor, a gunshot to the head, and another on his side.

She was trembling, eyes wide, clenched teeth, and closed fists. Giving her time to adjust to the events, he goes first to the perpetrator and lowers the hoodie. It’s one of the Mingwa private cronies, probably following him to make sure he isn’t doing independent investigations. But since they touched a Haruno-Senju heir, the corporate publicity will angle this as harassment and attempted assault while the private faction will absolve their hands of any involvement. He calls Kakashi and Asuma for help.

After which, he glances at her, and she finally blinks out of daze. She slumps against him as soon as he’s near, and the reverberations of her body immediately hit him.

“I’m sorry,” he says even though he has a lot of questions.

“He slipped and I went for the gun,” she whispers shakily against his shirt.

Yet he still wonders why there were two shots when one to the head could have sufficed, especially with unfamiliar hands. Or how she’s able to take down a man that size with her dainty wrists.

“I’ll call in sick today. Bring me home?”

He tightens his hug before he lets her go then he realizes he’s not familiar with the terrain.

She tugs on his coat and starts to walk. “If we cut across here, we’ll see the road in five minutes.”

-xxxxxxx-

May 5, 2021, 10:22 AM

“Did Dr. Haruno come back okay?” Kakashi sits down across Sasuke’s desk and fidgets with his unused pens. Even though the investigation was halted, his room remains littered with manila papers, bulletins, and notes on the white board. The necessity to preserve becomes apparent when they receive news of Akugawa posting bail this morning.

Sasuke nods in response. “She still went through with her trip to Belgium last April 28. I don’t know when she’ll be back, but I’m not privy to her internal emotions so it’s not my place to say she’s okay.”

“About time they gave her bodyguards.” The chief detective taps an unlit cigarette stick on his desk. “It’s great seeing you like this.”

“This what?”

“Happy?”

Sasuke clucks his tongue. “It’s not official. She just might be in it for the thrills.”

Kakashi smirks and lights up his stick. “Sex must be great then.”

“Get out, Hatake.”

A rap on the door catches both of their attention. Yamato comes in followed by Asuma, Tenten, Jugo, and Neji.

“There’s a fourth body in the same ravine. Body is now with the ME. Estimated time of death is enough for Akugawa to file for several cases. It’s gonna be a media bloodbath,” Asuma says.

As the lot file out of the office, Kakashi pulls Sasuke to fall behind a bit. “Trust no one, Uchiha.”

11:45 AM

There’s something off-putting about the smell.

This body does not follow the two-week gap; the ME estimated the date of his death on April 27. This slight change in MO presents the possibility of a copycat, but other than that, all injuries are the same – a stab in the carotid, teeth pulled out, arms and feet cut, genital missing – which means another thing, the killer slipped somehow and they’re on a rush. For what, they don’t know.

“Ando Suzuki, CEO of Suzuki Airlines for Japan,” Asuma states his name for confirmation. “Let’s do our usual. It’s time we ramp up our progress, Uchiha.”

Sasuke ignores the pointed insinuation and steps closer to the corpse. It didn’t rain last week despite the forecasts so the state of the body is more or less preserved. He brings his nose closer to the neck, right where the murder tool punctured the artery.

“Sasuke, what are you doing?” Tenten asks. “Forensics have close up shots for that.”

“It’s the smell.”

“Like decomposers and rotting flesh?” Jugo scoffs.

“Is it possible that they might have tried to remove him?” Sasuke asks the ME who quickly goes to him and helps him turn the corpse on its side.

They see fresh scar on the pricked wounds, like someone tried to drag them out of the ravine. As if they knew the position would give them away this time. The smell hits him strongly when the ME returns the corpse to a prone position, and Sasuke almost vomits when he recognizes it.

It can’t be. In controlled breaths, he steps away from the examining table and slumps against the wall. Kakashi notices but pretends not to. It’s Tenten who slithers beside him inconspicuously and taps on his arm. She raises a brow which he responds to with a cluck of his tongue.

“I’ve always wondered,” she starts. “Why can’t it be a woman?”

“If you can recreate a position of a woman stabbing the artery without defense wounds, let me know,” Yamato says with a cold smile. It’s meant to shut Tenten up; he doesn’t like his profiles being challenged. “And the smell you’re talking about Sasuke? It’s jasmine. The area probably has blooms.”

2:30 PM

“Something’s weird with Uchiha,” Neji pulls out his badge, ready to present it to the landfill. They’re revisiting dumping sites again for a second go-through. The killer is starting to leave breadcrumbs all over the place. “Did you see how pale his face went earlier?”

“Jasmine and rotting flesh don’t make good perfume,” Tenten figures. The guard sees their badges and gestures for them to come inside.

There’s a peculiar batch of scavengers in the area, people who aren’t part of junkshops or associations, just individual peddlers. A bald man in his 70s glances their way and starts to move towards their directions with only one foot and crutches for the other.

“Police?” He has a putrid gummy smile. “That lad didn’t come here again.”

Neji tugs Tenten away, but his wife stays rooted to the spot. “A lad?”

The old man opens his palm.

“He just wants money, dear,” Neji grumbles. “Let’s go now and talk to the real rational people.”

Tenten pulls out her wallet and sticks a wad of one dollar bills on the man’s hand. “A lad?” She repeats.

“Thought it was our fellow. We have young ones with us, you know, like your age but definitely shorter in height. He comes in dressed in a black raincoat and plastic boots, dragging bulky garbage bags like they’re not heavy at all.” His smile gets bigger by the count of the bills.

“Did you get a good look at this man?” Tenten asks, still unwilling to let go.

“Tenten,” Neji warns.

“This might be our lead. A concrete lead for once.”

“Wind knocked his garbage of a hood one time. Shiny bald head says hi.”

Neji is at the end of his wits. “Dear, you’re not even sure if he’s talking about our guy.”

Tenten sticks a 10-dollar bill on the old man’s almost torn shirt pocket. He proceeds with a guttural laugh, the phlegm oozing through each gasping breath. “He always dumps those bags on a full moon.”

4:30 PM

Sasuke sneaked in earlier to the administration office just before the receptionist’s desk came into view. With slight intimidation into play, he managed to get duplicate recordings of the cctv of the whole floor.

He taps Kakashi for help and another IT staff.

“Looks normal to me,” the silver-haired man remarks. “Why are you snooping on your girlfriend?”

“All of them were her patients at one point,” Sasuke replies. “And we don’t do labels.”

“But their visits were nowhere near their kill dates.”

“Their visits were logged as emergency procedures because Akugawa or their company doctor wasn’t available. So why?”

Kakashi smirks. “Are you insinuating they were there to get a glimpse of her? The recluse medical corporation heir. Nothings amiss in the recordings, right? No sexual body language?”

Sasuke hopes the same, but the lurch in his guts tells him otherwise. He swallows whatever saliva that hasn’t dried yet in his mouth in anticipation of the inevitable.

“The recordings are fine. She’s always accompanied by her assistant when she has clients,” the IT replies. “It’s the code that bothers me. You see, a malware is playing with it, looping the same frames while continuing the time ticks. Either someone knows their technology or this is a complete human error.”

-xxxxxxx-

May 7, 2021, 12:01 PM

“Oh, it’s you,” Laura says nonchalantly, never glancing up from her keyboard, and click-clacking away even though it’s already lunch break. “She’ll be out in a minute.”

“Do you know how to code?” He doesn’t spare her a glance either, his eyes trained on the door.

“Is this a side job? I can get Shin if you’d like. He fixes the systems here when he has time. He’s a computer geek before he settled for dentistry.” She stops typing and eyes her wristwatch. “She’s here.”

True enough, the door opens just as Laura tells him. She wears her rose hair loose today, falling like waves against her tucked in white long sleeve polo and denim jeans. She spots him after she gives her white coat to her waiting assistant.

Smile, wave, and unhurried walk to reach him. “A lunch break?”

“Wondering if you were still alive after your trip.” The jasmine in the air transports him to two different scenes, his memory being stretched out in two drastic dimensions, one where she’s writhing beneath him and one where he sees the corpse falling on top of him. The scents mix, and he fails to cover up his gag. Both women look at him with brows raised but he waves them off with his handkerchief.

“Days of absence and your heart grows fonder. That saying is true after all.” She places a hand on his cheek and softly taps it. “A sandwich?”

“I’m starving.”

“Two sandwiches then.”

8:19 PM

She invited him for dinner while they were munching on half-dozen random sandwiches from Subway. He didn’t talk about the case nor did he question her radio silence since her Belgium business trip. This was why she genuinely liked Detective Uchiha Sasuke.

Or maybe it was just the first time she was treated like she had an agency. The gestures for permission, the unspoken questions of consent, the way he wouldn’t touch her first or grab her or mar her skin even when they were having sex. Most men would have their true natures revealed once shown the great pussy. But there he was, always cradling her like she was porcelain china. Not that she minded. It was a breath of fresh air to be held like that, in gentle caresses and soft whispers that beg to betray his true feelings at any given second. It was madness not to be consumed by it, but it was tragedy that she only knew of this reality just now.

She knew he had an inkling. She messed up in the forest. If she had the luxury of time, she would have dismembered the man who grabbed her. A stab from a scalpel was a merciful way to go, and that man didn’t deserve it. Filthy hands.

The anger rushes to the surface, and she stabs the roasted meat rather too loudly.

“Is your meat still alive?” He emerges in her dining room and continues to look around. “Your wooden mansion is a far cry from your depersonalized penthouse.”

She laughs as she strains the cooked pasta. “I like having two personalities.” He must have triangulated by now that the location of this mansion is smacked in the center of the dump sites, a safe, close distance to the landfills, the forest, and even the meditation place. He must have seen the black pick-up truck on her garage, the one she uses for farming. She can see all the pieces fitting into a completed puzzle in his head, and she’s sad to let him go.

He opens the wine she placed on the counter, and he fills himself a glass. “You also have a crystal collection like Akugawa.”

“I gave him his first obsidian. Their healing properties are supposedly at maximum during full moon.” She places two plated bolognese pasta on the table and a wide platter of medium rare meat. “Dinner’s ready.”

“This looks good.” His tone is genuinely fascinated. “Didn’t know you could cook. We always dined in or ordered take out.”

“A change of pace, wouldn’t you think?” She also fills herself a glass of wine and watches in amusement as he takes a first bite of the meatballs she especially prepared for him.

“You should tell me where you source your meat. I’ll one up you in our next dinner.”

I’m too sad there won’t be a next one.

10:17 PM

Sakura changes position, and she’s on top of him, gyrating her hips in familiar pleasure. Sasuke wants to take it slow, to re-encounter her folds and curves after several days of not seeing her, despite his senses overriding in danger. He took her an hour ago, on her immaculate grainy wood counter, wine spilling on the sink as he thrusted into her unclothed core. She had gone commando, and this drove him insane. Maybe his lust is taking over him, clouding his judgment, muddling his perfect frame by frame memories, but he has to play this game. It’s only a matter of time.

He feels her insides throb in urgency, and he knows she’s near her orgasm. Her juices leak out, and he bucks against her wetness, releasing his load into her with eyes closed.

He waits for the scalpel to puncture his carotid, but nothing comes. “Sakura.”

She continues riding his limp member and rubbing her clit against his balls. A strategic distraction as they are coming down from a high. He expects her to trace lazy circles on his abdomen, a mannerism he picked up from their nights, but the dainty hands go to his neck instead.

He opens his eyes, and he sees a different Sakura. Her microexpressions are different, her eyes throwing daggers, soft pliant lips in hardened scowl, and hollowed cheeks.

“I don’t know what’s your issue with a scalpel, Sakura.” Her voice is different, the accent changed. “You must have fallen in love with him already. Such a frail human.”

“I wanted to prepare myself before I see him go. That is all.” Her face shifts and the emotions return to the Sakura he knows. He also notes the loosening grip on his neck, unaware that he is holding his breath.

Another shift and it’s back to the other Sakura. “She has such a saccharine charm effective in luring me to do things.” She smiles at him, but it’s not the smile he’s familiar with. “Don’t worry, you’re not gonna die yet.”

She chokes him with surprising strength. He places pressure on her wrists and elbows, but she doesn’t budge. His legs start to thrash out beneath him, and his sight starts to dim.

“Great work as always, sister. We’ve always wanted the truth about Madara, don’t we?”

#open your mouth #sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #pinkhairedlily #crime and mystery au #thriller au #fic!pinkhairedlily #fic!pseudolily

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delicatelyherdreams · 5 years ago

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Pragma(tic) 7: Her Thoughts Conflict

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 5913

Warnings: Language, sexual themes, implied sex

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 6: He Never Listens

As soon as James—no, Bucky—crossed through the barrier, you were spinning around on your heel and running back down the river. Your heart was racing, your palms were sweating, and your thoughts were running. What was he doing out?

Your legs could not carry you fast enough towards the Cocytus. You had to find him. Why was he here now? Couldn’t he see that you were busy and didn’t have time for his shit and shenanigans? What the hell did he want now?

He hadn’t moved from his spot on the river bank. His signature smirk warped his lips, his deep eyes staring at you with a famished lust as you approached.

You couldn’t believe him and his lack of shame. He knew better than to look at you like that in public, even if the entirety of the Underworld was your private domain. Your blood boiled with every step you took, ready to rip him a new one. You marched right up to him, ready to yell at him, and called, “Brock—” But you didn’t get very far in your scolding.

His hands were on your hips faster than you knew and his lips were on yours in a feverish intensity. You could feel the need rolling off him and it made your stomach do flips. You felt your legs weaken at the familiar feeling of his kiss, the need you felt matching his. You whimpered into the kiss, the sound pathetic in the back of your throat. It was embarrassing really, just how fast a simple river naiad could turn you, the Queen of the Underworld, into a pile of mush.

You wound your arms up around his neck, leaning against him with a sigh as he kissed you. Your eyes fluttered closed as his hands found the hem of your shirt and lifted it up ever so slightly so that his skin could touch yours. His fingers were warm, but they sent shivers down your spine.

He pushed you back so you were taking small, unsteady steps. His hands were pressed against the small of your back, pulling you closer to his body.

You didn’t want to do this here—not out in the open where unwanted ears could hear and eyes could see. Moving your arms away from his neck and bringing them under his arms to clutch his shoulder blades, you lurched back, calling on the shadows around you to bend space, and suddenly you were in your mansion, in your bedroom with which he was all too familiar with.

He knew exactly where to lead you so your back would hit the wall, giving him something to prop you against as he took his hands from your back and slid them behind your thighs, lifting you up so you were seated on his hips. One hand made its way to your back once again while the other cradled the back of your neck and tangled its fingers in the hair at the base of your head. He tugged gently, drawing a moan from you. With your mouth open, he took advantage of the opportunity and slipped his tongue into your mouth.

You would never get used to the feeling of having him try to dominate you like this. As queen, very few people defied you, much less try to take over, but Brock Rumlow—that damned naiad—always managed to do it. And you, for once, were powerless to stop him.

You inhaled sharply and squeezed your hands into fists. The smell of him was enticing, the sensation euphoric, and the feeling familiar. You let him explore you for the millionth time, opting to just revel in the moment.

His tongue took over, running over every inch it could. When he finally had his fill of your mouth, he pulled away and migrated to your jaw, placing hungry kisses on the skin and making his way down to your neck.

You groaned as you lifted your head and dug your nails into the skin on his back. “Brock…”

He pulled away just enough to murmur, “Shhh,” his husky voice breaking the silence of the room. “Shhh, don’t say a word.” Placing his lips back on your skin, he sucked at your neck, undoubtedly trying to leave his mark on you.

“Brock,” you tried again, pulling your hands from his back to place them against his chest. “Stop.” You opened your eyes to see the world coated in red—though whether the color change was from the annoyance that was building up in your throat or your own need that had made its home in the pit of your stomach, you weren’t sure.

He didn’t stop, continuing to kiss you in ways that would normally have you begging for more.

But you weren’t really in the mood for it tonight. You pushed him back, tearing his mouth from your neck and setting him at a distance where you could see his face.

He whined at the lack of contact, his pupils blown wide with need. “(y/n)...”

“Don’t,” you snapped, the red only intensifying in your sight. “I’m mad at you right now.”

“Oh, come on, Precious,” he cooed, his lips turning down in a pout. “Don’t be like that.”

“No, I will be like that.” You pushed him again, making him put you down and take a step back. He was taller than you—though not quite as tall as Bucky, you noticed—and so you glowered up at him. “You disappear for almost a year without warning or notice, and then you come back like nothing’s happened?” You jabbed your finger into his chest. “And then you just expect me to welcome you back with open arms? Nuh-uh. I want an explanation. Where were you? Why didn’t you answer any of my calls? Why did you choose right now to come back?”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Alright, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have ghosted you like that. But you were getting busy and didn’t have any time for me and I needed a small break, (y/n). I’m sorry I went away so suddenly, but I’m back now, okay?”

“No, not okay.” You crossed your arms in a pout. “I was lonely without you. I kept waiting for you to come back; I started to doubt that you ever would. That was really mean.”

The corner of his lips turned up in a soft smirk. “I’m sorry. Is there any way I could make it up to you, my queen?”

My queen.

Gods, when he said it like that it did things to you.

You felt your cheeks redden as the rouge in your vision only intensified. “You could kiss me like you missed me.”

He laughed. “Gladly.”

———

Brock Rumlow: the naiad of the Cocytus and your long-time… Well, if you were honest, you weren’t entirely sure what he was to you. Your relationship was what the mortals would call “complicated.”

You’d met shortly after you’d assumed control of the Underworld. As the spirit of one of the rivers, you made it your business to get to know him. He was charming, as always, and well-spoken. He knew the words to make your legs feel like jelly and he knew how to make you feel like the queen you were getting used to being. He was, without a doubt, one of your most loyal subjects.

There’d always been an underlying tone of sexual tension between the two of you. He was attractive and made you feel powerful or cared for depending on what you needed, and after about a thousand years the two of you pursued a “relationship” of sorts.

But it wasn’t really a relationship. You two would have “dinner dates” which would eventually lead to sleeping together, hangouts which would lead to sleeping together, or even just flat out sleeping together. He always managed to find a way into your bed but then he’d always disappear the next day. It wasn't real love.

You weren’t sure why you let him toy with your emotions the way he did—maybe it was because he was the only thing you’d known for centuries, maybe it was because he was familiar, maybe it was because you were lonely—but whatever the reason, you let him stay.

Even now, with his head pressed against your bare chest and your fingers tangled in his short, rough, nearly black hair, with nothing but a thin sheet shielding you from the rest of the world, you knew he was just going to leave you as soon as he woke up. Who knew how long he’d stick around this time.

You wished he’d stay for forever, but you knew that wasn’t possible. Brock didn’t do commitment (he’d made that clear when you’d mentioned to him in passing potentially making him king of the Underworld), and you didn’t have the heart to make him. So, as much as it pained you, you took what little affection and love you could get from him and did your best to reciprocate.

You looked down your nose at his head which rose and fell with your breathing and tugged gently at his hair.

He groaned in his sleep, his arms tightening around your waist as he pulled you closer.

Your heart ached. You weren’t sure if you loved him, but you knew you felt some kind of way about him; you knew you hoped he felt the same. Brock was the only love you had known, even if that love was kinda fucked up.

A buzzing on the nightstand beside you drew you out of your thoughts. You glanced away from Brock to see your phone screen lit up with a single unread text message. With a quiet but exasperated groan, you untangled your fingers from Brock’s hair and reached for the little box. You picked it up and squinted at the screen, the bright light hurting your eyes.

The locked screen displayed three texts in quick succession.

(y/n). Hey, (y/n). You up?

You frowned at the screen before swiping your thumb across it and opening up the text.

who is this?

The response came almost immediately.

It’s Bucky!

You frowned but typed back quickly.

how did you get this number?

I asked your sisters. Queen Carol was more than happy to give me your number when I told her that we were friends. She said something along the lines of “thank gods, my sister is finally getting a life” or something. Idk, but she was happy to hear that you were meeting new people.

You groaned and muttered a quick “fuck” under your breath, but your thumb was moving across the screen quickly and quietly as you tried your hardest to not disturb Brock’s sleep.

yeah, that sounds like my dearest sister. ill have to remind her later not to give my phone number out to strange men

But am I really a strange man?

youre as strange as they come

I’ll take that as a compliment.

you do that

A smile danced on your lips. This was utterly ridiculous. Not only were his replies as silly and stupid as they would’ve been in person, but you were in bed with one man texting with another which was a whole issue in and of itself. Gods, if your mother saw you now, she’d have a heart attack.

You chuckled to yourself before continuing to text Bucky.

well mr. strange, now that you have my number what do you intend to do with it?

For one thing: correct your grammar. Seriously? No capitalization and hardly any punctuation?

well when youre as old as i am, you just dont give a fuck anymore

Hmph, you can’t be that old

im pushing 2000+ buck. i am that old

Alright, fair enough.

will you do anything else besides annoy me about my grammar?

Well, of course. I was thinking that, since you gave me these seeds and everything and lectured me about how you’re a busy gal and all who doesn’t always have the time to deal with me, I’d text you before coming down. You know, just to make sure you’re not busy with queenly things.

You bit your lip and heaved a sigh. What a goof.

Taking your other hand away from Brock’s back, you now used both hands to text Bucky, fully engrossed in the conversation.

thats surprisingly considerate of you james

I’m a surprisingly considerate guy. And it’s Bucky, remember?

i remember i just want to irritate you

Ha ha ha. So not funny.

its a little funny

Whatever. Anyways, I am also wondering if now would be a good time to pop in?

werent you like just here?

No, that was a couple of days ago. Did you hit your head or something?

You frowned and looked down at Brock. Had he really kept you occupied for that long? It wouldn’t have been the first time you’d gone on for days without end, but it still surprised you nonetheless. But then again you were immortal which meant that time was irrelevant—unless you were dealing with new gods, it seemed.

i hardly pay attention to time. it doesnt matter to me

Fair enough. My question still stands. Is now a good time to come down?

You hesitated, your fingers so tempted to type “yes,” but the man on your breast saying no. You held your phone to the side as you looked down at Brock’s peaceful face. You weren’t quite ready to break the stillness that encompassed the two of you.

actually rn is not such a good time. i have company over

His reply was slow.

Oh. Alright.

im really sorry buck. ill text you when im free?

It’s fine! I was just free right now and was wondering. Yeah, if you want to, I’d love to see you again soon.

He wanted to see you. He wanted to be in your company. He’d love to see you again.

That was more than any other man had expressively wanted, and it, for some reason, made your heart flutter.

The smile on your face then was one you didn’t recognize. It wasn’t pleased, it wasn’t happy, but it was almost touching and endearing. The warm feeling in the pit of your stomach was foreign to you, but you liked it. Because you were wanted.

As strange as it is for a queen to say, you were happy to be wanted.

Your fingers rapped against the phone screen.

soon

It was a single word, but it was a promise and one you intended to keep.

Smiling at the screen, you failed to notice the waking man beneath you until he groaned.

“I hope you’re smiling at me like that, Precious,” Brock mumbled, the side of his face still plastered to your chest.

You glanced at him down your nose, smirked, and locked your phone setting it back down on the nightstand. “No. I’m looking at cat videos.”

“Ugh. Those things? Don’t the mortals ever get tired of their pets?”

“No, and they’re adorable, thank you very much. If I didn’t have Cerberus, I’d have a cat. Even then, I’m still considering adopting one and making it immortal too.” You chuckled and moved your hands back to his hair. Swirling the short locks between your fingers, you hummed and smiled softly. “Did you sleep well?’

“Always do when I’m with you,” he mused, pulling his face off your skin and crawling up you so he was hovering over your torso. He bent down and locked lips with you.

You smiled into the kiss, a small laugh escaping when you broke for breath. “Brock,” you whined. “Again?”

He grinned. “I’d like to go again, Precious.” His words held vows of another fun time, but his tone held nothing but empty promises.

Your smile dissolved into a frown. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

He breathed a laugh. “You always did know me, (y/n).” He shuffled off of you, clamored out of your bed, and began to collect his clothes from where they’d been discarded carelessly on the floor.

You turned on your side to stare at him, pulling your sheet up to cover your chest. “You’re leaving again.” The way you said it, with your lips drawn into a disappointed pout, made it a statement and not a question.

“Unfortunately, Precious.” He pulled on his pants which hugged his legs in all the right ways before tugging on his shirt and covering his torso, still damp with sweat. “I’ve got work to do.”

“Work? Is that what you’ve been doing for the past ten months?” You could see the red begin to creep into your vision as bitterness and malice took root in your heart. “Is that why you left me?”

He sighed heavily. “(y/n), we talked about this.”

“No, we didn’t. You said that I had been too busy and that you needed a break.” You narrowed your eyes. “And frankly, I’m calling bullshit on that.” He opened his mouth to protest but you simply waved your hand to silence him. “You had hardly seen me in weeks, and if I recall correctly—which I know I do—it was one of the rare times where everything was calm for once. I had all the time in the Underworld for you but you just up and went without a word. And now you seem to think you can come back, sleep with me, and make everything alright again.” Your voice began to crack, letting loose a small river of emotions you had tried to keep from him. “I miss you, Brock. Please don’t leave me again.”

He winced as if your words hurt him and padded back over to the bed. Leaning over you, he cupped your cheek with his broad hand and pressed his lips to your forehead.

You let out a trembling sigh, closed your eyes, and leaned into his touch.

His skin left your’s way sooner than you would’ve liked and he looked down at you. “I’m sorry, Precious. But I swear, one day, this will all make sense to you.” You opened your eyes in time to see him smiling down at you. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised before pulling away from you completely and exiting the bedroom. You could hear his footsteps as he descended the staircase right outside your door and made his way through the house to the front door.

You slid out of bed, the sheet still wrapped around you, and walked over to the window that oversaw your front porch and the entirety of the Underworld. You watched as Brock exited your house and began to make his way down the mountain, growing smaller and smaller as he grew farther and farther away.

When he finally disappeared, you felt something in your chest break… again. Yet another piece of your heart crumbled away as he left. He’d said that you’d understand one day; you craved the day he’d finally make sense to you.

You spent the next week lingering around the house. It was a “mental health week” you’d decided and you used it to mope and eat ice cream as you did when he left you alone. The house was quiet—too quiet. Not even Peggy or Cerberus could lift your spirits while you sank in your misery. You had nothing to do, nothing to be.

On the eighth day of your sulking, you realized that this was pointless. You found yourself wondering why you bothered with him. Why you bothered with these emotions, why you bothered with being upset that he left you.

You needed to get out of the house. You needed to spend time with someone.

Your eyes flickered to the coffee table where your phone rested on the surface. You hesitated for only a moment before you swiped it, pulled up your messages, and typed a quick text before sending it off.

hey im free right now if you still want to come down

Bucky’s response was immediate.

Planting a seed now.

———

Behind your mansion, just a short way down the mountain, stood an extensive garden. Filled with fruit-bearing trees, large bushes, and flowers of all kinds, it was your miniature refuge from the rest of the Underworld. It was isolated, kept away from all the death and gloominess that sometimes infected the rest of your realm. It was silent and beautiful.

Maintained by a small team of shades who had been gardeners in life but now resided in Elysium and wanted to continue their craft even in death, the flowers were in bloom year-round and everything was always healthy and lovely.

You loved being there, removed from your title and responsibilities. It was a place where you could just be (y/n). It was your secret garden, and you couldn’t believe that you were sharing it with someone.

You sat on one of the white marble benches, watching Bucky as he roamed through the trees, his eyes alight with wonder and a wide smile on his face.

You’d decided to take him down there shortly after he arrived, realizing that, when you’d invited him down, you had nothing for the two of you to do. However, with a bit of quick thinking on your part, you deduced that a nature god such as himself would appreciate a garden. And that’s how you ended up taking him down to your secret refuge, someplace that not even Brock or Peggy had been invited to.

Yes, you were a fucking idiot, but he seemed happy about it.

“I still can’t believe that there are living things down here!” Bucky exclaimed, his voice filled with awe and pleasant surprise.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “You sound so shocked. Is it really that unbelievable that I have plants?”

He laughed and averted his gaze. “A little. My mother always said this place was evil and was nothing but death all the time.”

“Hmph. Not very surprising. Demeter’s always lied about me, trying to paint me as some merciless demon goddess who hates all life.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s bullshit really. But I guess I shouldn’t say that about your mother.”

He looked at you, his face betraying nothing but stoic indifference. “You know, the more I get to know and see different sides of you, I see how she’s wrong and that she’s lied about everything.” He frowned. “The only thing I don’t understand is why she would do all of this though.”

You simply shrugged. “She just doesn’t like me. She blames me for a lot of the death that happens in the world despite the fact that I’m not actually the goddess of death and death is just a part of life.” You looked at the tree to your right and pressed your palm against the bark. “It’s what makes life beautiful: you know there’s an inevitable end, and so you know you need to cherish it while you have it.”

“I know what you mean,” he said as he started to approach you. He stopped right in front of you, smiling softly down. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I can just tell by the way you sit here, so relaxed and at peace, that this place means a lot to you, and it means a lot to me to see this side of the great Queen Hades.”

You smirked up at him. “It’s (y/n), remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” he said, quoting your taunts. “I just want to irritate you.” He offered his hand out to you. “Walk with me? Show me around a bit.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanna know more about this place. You know, when I first thought about where a Queen of the Underworld would live, I was expecting a palace with, like, a giant throne room.”

“I had that once,” you admitted, “but then I didn’t really see a point in keeping such a large space. So I remodeled.”

“But don’t you have a throne?”

“Sure I do. It’s big and black and made entirely of obsidian and souls of the damned.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.” He sounded a bit uneasy, but there was a hint of amusement on his tongue.

“Oh, I’m not joking. It’s in the basement.”

“Interesting… Now, about showing me around the garden…”

You grinned and hung your head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Oh, I’m aware. My friends remind me every day.”

You took his hand. “Alright, idiot. You probably know what kinds of plants these are, but you don’t know the names I gave them. Allow me to introduce you.” You stood and began to lead him by the hand. First, you stopped by a large bush, filled to the brim with little pink flowers. Waving your hand with a flourish, you said, “Bucky, this is Petunia. Right next to her, that tree is Marcell, and on Marcell’s other side is Beatrice. Moving down the line we have Lucy, Harold, Mochi…” You continued to name the different plants, introducing every single one that grew in your garden, until, at last, you came to a large tree that was teeming with plump red fruits. “...And this one, perhaps my eldest plant, is Pom the Pomegranate Tree.”

Bucky waited for you to finish your introductions before chuckling at you.

You raised your chin and eyed him. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he promised, grinning broadly at you. “Just, you name your plants?”

You blinked. “Well, yeah.” You turned back to your tree and walked to its trunk. Placing your palm against the bark, you smiled fondly. “I didn’t have many friends starting out. No one really wanted to be friends with or be associated with the creepy goddess of the dead and Queen of the Underworld. I got down here day one, and there was no one else. I had millions of souls to deal with, and not a single god, nymph, naiad, or the likes who wanted to talk to me. My sisters were busy getting their own realms in order and my mother was still in hiding with the other titans. Hell, Cerberus hadn’t even been born yet. I was completely, totally, and utterly alone.” You laughed weakly. “Well, as I was building my palace—yes it was a palace at the time. Hey, don’t give me that look, I like the modern house much better now. Anyways, when I was building my palace, I came across this place. It was nothing but a flat ledge, but here, right at the edge, was a single tree with a single fruit on it: a pomegranate. And I thought to myself, ‘Hey, you know what, this is the only other living thing for miles. I’m gonna make it my friend.’ And I named her Pom. Whenever I had lulls in the day or the builders didn’t need me, I’d just come back here and talk with Pom.” You smiled fondly. “My garden, along with Cerberus, has been one of my only constants.”

“And you’re just sharing it with me?”

You turned to him, an eyebrow cocked up in questioning.

He was looking at you incredulously, shocked that you would dare share something so personal with him.

If you were honest, you were a little shocked too; but there was just something about Bucky that made you trust him with even the most intimate sides of you. You smiled and nodded. “I am.”

With almost careful reluctance, he smiled back at you and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You turned your back to him and looked back at the tree. “Pomegranates are some of my favorites.”

“Mine too,” he agreed from behind you. “I love the fruit; it’s so delicious.”

“It is.” You smiled softly and turned over your shoulder to look at him. At once, the peaceful look on your face turned to one of horror and terror and you yelled at the top of your lungs, “No! Don’t!”

Bucky had picked a pomegranate from the tree and opened it when your back was turned. He’d already dug out some of the seeds and was lifting them up to his mouth when you turned around.

In a desperate panic, you lunged at him, plowing into his torso and shoving his hand away from his mouth.

He was not ready for the impact. He dropped the fruit and wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you close, positioning your bodies so he would hit the ground instead of you. He landed with a heavy “oof.”

You fell down onto his chest and pushed yourself up so you were hovering over him. Your eyes frantically searched his face for red from the pomegranate seeds, especially around his mouth. To your immense relief, you found no trace.

You sighed in relief before anger started to bubble up in your throat. “Are you fucking crazy?” you demanded.

He stared up at you, startled into silence. The only word he was able to utter was, “What?”

“What? Are you kidding me? You. Do. Not. Eat. Food. In. The Underworld! You’ll condemn yourself here for all eternity, you idiot!” Your voice broke in the last syllables and you stared down at him desperately.

You wouldn’t let him get trapped down here. Sure, you enjoyed his company, but you also didn’t want him to be limited. You were bound here by responsibility and necessity; he was still free to roam. He was still young, inexperienced, and new; he could not be trapped down here so early in his life before he’d even gotten a chance to live.

He stared up at you, the pomegranate having rolled away from his open fingers. His mouth was agape, his eyes wide, and he simply stared at you.

His gaze made you self conscious and you hung your head. Of course, it was only then that you realized your legs were straddling his hips and your hands were right beside his head as you hovered over him. Of all the positions you could have landed in, you had to land in this one.

You were about ready to apologize when Bucky spoke.

“Y-You saved me?” He sounded a little scared, a little startled, and a lot grateful.

You hesitated before crawling off of him. “I don’t know if that’s the right way to put it. You would not have died had you eaten the fruit, but you would not have been able to leave here if you’d eaten even just a handful of seeds.” You shook your head. “It’s this weird stipulation of the Underworld’s, but it’s real. Anything that lives, unless they’re related to me by blood, and consumes food or drink here is doomed to stay here. Best not to have a meal while you’re visiting.” You sat cross-legged on the ground and smiled weakly at him.

He continued to stare at you, dumbstruck.

You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable under his gaze. “Say something if you’re going to, but stop staring at me for god’s sake.”

“I… I just…” He shook his head. “Thank you, for saving me.”

“I didn’t save you,” you said again. “But you’re welcome.”

He smiled then, and you averted your gaze.

“Whatever.” You rose to your feet and offered your hand to him. “Come on, Springy. Let’s get you out of the garden before you cause any more trouble. We can probably go play with Cerberus or something.”

He took your hand and allowed you to pull him up.

Keeping hold of his hand, you led him out of the garden and up the back where a staircase took you back to the main house. You had nothing but intentions of hanging out with him for a bit longer, maybe playing a round or two of fetch with Cerberus who was undoubtedly napping on your couch, but, as with all things, something had to get in the way of your agenda.

Bucky skid to a stop right outside your door, his grip on your hand halting you too. “What the Hades is that?”

You looked up to where he was staring in fear and right about flipped it off.

In the distance, a large, winged figure flew towards your mansion, their black suit flapping in the wind as their wings moved in sync to beat the air beneath them.

You only groaned and let your head fall forward. “That is my lieutenant. Alexander Pierce, the god of death.” You sighed heavily. “I probably have to deal with him now, as god-awful as that sounds.” Pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger, you looked at Bucky with a sad grin. “I trust you know the way out by now.”

He simply smiled. “Yeah, I do.”

“And you promise to go home this time? No detours? We don’t need another ruby incident.”

He barked a bitter laugh. “You’re never going to let me live that down, now are you, Doll?”

“Nope,” you said popping the “p”.

“Hah. Fine. Well, I’ll get going then, so you can deal with your employee.”

You nodded with a smile. “Thank you, Bucky.”

He nodded and gave your hand a squeeze, bringing it up to his lips and placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. At your shocked expression and undoubtedly red cheeks, he chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry. My mother taught me to be a gentleman to a beautiful dame.”

“I-It’s alright...”

He let your hand go and took a step backward. “Until next time, then?”

You nodded. “Yeah, until then.”

He grinned at you. “Alright. I’ll be going then, just, do me a favor? Don’t be a stranger. Call me anytime you need.”

Nibbling at your lip, you bobbed your head ever so slightly. “I will. I’ll see you later.”

He waved at you and turned around, walking down the side of the mountain.

It was no sooner had he left than did a figure land on your front porch. His black wings, only greying with age, spread out in a flourish as he fell in a crouch.

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you waited for him to stand.

He did so, his wings retracting into his back as he stood. He stared at you with beady blue eyes, narrowed as always, and ran his fingers through his greying strawberry blonde hair. He bowed before you, murmuring a respectful “Your majesty” as his greeting.

You smiled at him, standing up straighter as you assumed your regal stance. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Alexander Pierce, my favorite god of death.”

“I am your only god of death.” He smirked up at you, playing into your banter.

“Fair. Anyways, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I am here to give you my update on the soul intake.” He gestured to your door. “Mind if we move this inside?”

“Not at all. I always prefer to talk numbers in my chair anyways.” You stood to the side, allowing him passage into your home. As he walked in past you, you hesitated and looked down the mountain. If you squinted hard enough, you could still see Bucky’s figure in the distance. Catching sight at that mop of brown hair, your heart fluttered a bit as it yearned for him. But you simply shook your head, clearing all thoughts of him. It was not time to hope, but time to be practical. You had a job to do.

Next 8: He Gets Found Out (and a Phone Call)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #pragma(tic)#delicatelyherdreams #greek au #hades & persephone #hades and persephone #hades & persephone au #persephone!bucky x hades!reader

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caveartfair · 6 years ago

Text

13 Artists Who Highlight the Power of Words

Most of us are so used to reading that we forget each letter is a shape and each word its own composition. There’s a significant aesthetic dimension to the writing we read daily—in emails and books, on packaging and signs—and so it makes sense that visual artists have co-opted graphic design and typography strategies for their own philosophical ends.

Using language, artists transform a basic communication tool—the alphabet—into unique provocations. Language is also particularly malleable, cost-free, and renewable. “There’s a million different ways artists can use it,” said Jewish Museum curator Kelly Taxter. “Often, it’s artists who work with issues of politics or social justice.” Just as artists are still finding new ways to manipulate paint, canvas, and space, they’re constantly developing fruitful new reasons to turn words into art.

Jenny Holzer

All Fall Text: Truisms, 1977-79 (in English and Spanish); Living, 1980-82 and Survival, 1983-85, 2012. Jenny Holzer Sprüth Magers

Jenny Holzer turns common public objects into subversive artworks bearing powerful words. She engraves poetic statements about power, feminism, and individual agency into benches made from streaked Carrara marble, spotted granite, and royal blue-tinged sodalite. Holzer renders her phrases in all-caps and serif lettering, turning them into monumental proclamations: “PROTECT ME FROM / WHAT I WANT,” “IT IS IN YOUR SELF-INTEREST / TO FIND A WAY TO BE VERY TENDER,” “RAISE BOYS AND GIRLS THE SAME WAY.” They become creative mandates in shared spaces and benevolent counterpoints to state directives.

If Holzer’s benches transform public park fixtures into artistic media, her LED banners co-opt a structure associated with commerce and advertising. On screens that would typically promote sales, company names, or stock market updates, Holzer broadcasts punchy phrases such as “DON’T TALK DOWN TO ME” or “WITNESS,” along with longer, looping messages. The artist often repurposes her poetic phrases, or “Truisms,” building their power through repetition. (One of Holzer’s most famous messages, “ABUSE OF POWER COMES AS NO SURPRISE,” has been readopted as a protest mantra in the #MeToo era.)

“I like placing content wherever people look,” Holzer told fellow artist Kiki Smith in a conversation for Interview Magazine, “and that can be at the bottom of a cup or on a shirt or hat or on the surface of a river or all over a building.” Holzer turns the public realm into her exhibition space, gifting her thoughtful poetry to anyone who wants to sit or read a sign.

Mel Bochner

BLAH BLAH BLAH, 2016. Mel Bochner Gallery Art

Many artists working with words offer profound written statements in their work. Mel Bochner’s most famous pieces, in contrast, simply read “BLAH / BLAH / BLAH.” The artist plasters the essentially meaningless phrase on billboards and jams it in block letters across brightly colored paintings. The artist seems most interested in highlighting the banalities of contemporary communication. A 2017 monoprint, for example, juxtaposes collaged phrases such as “OH WELL, THAT’S / THE WAY IT GOES,” “IT IS WHAT IT IS,” “WHAT CAN YOU DO?” and “SHIT HAPPENS.” Bochner elevates non-committal conversations and bromides to fine art. Reading them, the viewer can feel a little indicted. Who hasn’t leaned on some of those clichés when making small talk?

In another series, Bochner renders a group of synonyms—for words like “money,” “obscene,” “obvious,” or “amazing”—in rows. The viewer is forced to consider both the subtleties of language and the garishness of English: We have an awful lot of ways to discuss commerce and convey hyperbole. Bochner’s style amplifies this sense of ornamentation; exclamation points and bright oranges, yellows, and reds abound.

Ed Ruscha

Mocha Standard Station, 1969. Ed Ruscha Hamilton-Selway Fine Art

Ed Ruscha’s iconic photography series “Twentysix Gasoline Stations” (1963) captured the signage and architecture of 26 gas stations between Los Angeles and Oklahoma City. Ruscha developed a new mythology about the American West as he emphasized the roadside signs that populated it. Though the pictures are, ostensibly, of buildings, nearly all of them contain words: “Conoco,” “Texaco,” “Stop/Save,” “Say Fina,” “Cafe,” “Mobil Service,” “Navajo Rugs,” “Beer & Liquors.” In fact, such phrases become inextricable from the landscape itself.

The series laid the groundwork for Ruscha’s career: Over the past five decades, he’s continued to link language and the environment. A painting from 1989 juxtaposes the phrase “Safe and Effective Medication” with a picture of dark clouds. In more recent work, the titular expressions “Pay Nothing Until April” (2003), “Wall Rockets” (2000), and “History Kids” (2009) overlie painted, craggy mountains. Viewers consider the association—or lack thereof—between the different elements as they wonder what any of those obscure phrases actually mean. Typography itself becomes as integral to a work’s mood as color or composition—Ruscha’s angular, thin, white lettering in all-caps is simultaneously delicate and declarative, mechanical and strange. It’s Ruscha’s own font, which he calls Boy Scout Utility Modern.

Sean Landers

Detail of [sic], 1993. Sean Landers Drawing Time, Reading Time, The Drawing Center, New York

According to writer Mark Prince, Sean Landers’s art has “always been embarrassing.” Landers conflates painting and drawing to indulge a diaristic impulse, using his art to share cringeworthy confessionals. On a 1990 ink-on-paper work titled Ouch, he made public such private musings as “I wonder what it is about Hellen that through [sic] me for a loop? Shouldn’t I be used to heartache by now?” and “I really do fear that this may be the stupidest body of work that I’ve ever embarked on.” In the sprawling [sic] (1993), Landers gets more graphic, wondering if he is “deluded enough to think that my jerking off in my studio was something higher than what it is.”

Newer paintings, from 2017, resemble doodles on canvas.Flicker Dimming Protocols features the artist’s first name in cursive; sketches of a dog, skeleton jester, and robot; and scribbled, melodramatic text: “youth passes so fast” and “Ageing is the penultimate / content of art / death is the ultimate.” In other works, he paints tree trunks that have been gouged with words, like “I Made Art → Lots of Art → Most of it Good → Some of it Very Good → And I Hope Everlasting.”

Adam Pendleton

If the function of dada, 2017. Adam Pendleton Galerie Laurent Strouk

Adam Pendleton’s raw material is language, but the artist often doesn’t care if his words make clear sense. His broad project “Black Dada,” which he began in 2008, co-opts the dreamlike, nonsensical aesthetics of European inter-war artists like Kurt Schwitters, Max Ernst, and Salvador Dalí, repurposing them for Pendleton’s own concerns as a black American. In his 2017 painting If the function of dada, for example, Pendleton silkscreens, inks, and spray-paints so many black letters against his white canvas that the viewer struggles to decipher any messaging. It’s a perfect strategy to convey contemporary dissonance and chaos.

Not all of Pendleton’s work with text, however, is illegible. He’s appropriated phrases from writer Gertrude Stein, artist Ad Reinhardt, and musician Sun Ra, and frequently overlaid varying backdrops (photographs of bricks or an African mask) with the word “INDEPENDANCE.” For the 2015 Venice Biennale, he created large-scale wall works for the Belgian pavilion that replicated the words “Black Lives Matter” in a loose, graffiti-like scrawl.

Kay Rosen

Something Happened, 2017. Kay Rosen Krakow Witkin Gallery

Using stencils of generic fonts, Kay Rosen paints words and phrases on gallery and museum walls, and also projects them onto façades. “ADD AND END,” she tells us in a bright mix of primary colors (Happy Ever After, 1994/2016). “JUMBO MUMBO,” she says, in blue-and-black lettering (Big Talk, 1985/2017). The titles infuse the works with additional humor. “The linguist in me wanted meaning to be carried by the structure of the words, not type style; the inner painter insisted that color convey meaning; the sculptor in me obsessed about the construction of letterforms through materials and process,” she wrote in Art in America in 2014. “Visual consistency gives text authority—which is the fundamental lesson I learned at my publishing day job.”

Rosen’s work is often about concrete poetry and wordplay. In fact, some of her canvases read as rebuses. Head Over Heels (2016), for example, features the words “fall over” toppling sideways—you might also read the text as “fal lover,” turning the title into a double entendre about both form and romance.

Jason Rhoades

Fuzzy Puddle/Turkey Beard, 2003. Jason Rhoades Phillips

In the late Jason Rhoades’s installations, neon words hang from the ceiling-like linguistic confetti suspended in space. His work literally lights up the gallery space with riotous, evocative slang. In My Madinah. In pursuit of my ermitage… (2004), for example, all 240 phrases refer to female genitalia. Visitors walk under a tangle of language that includes “Cock Alley,” “Cooze,” “Fuzz Box,” “Private Property,” “Ginger,” and “Fluttering Love.” Underneath lie overlapping towels, suggesting a Muslim place of worship. With his title, Rhoades indicated that the terms—and the female body itself—added up to a pseudo-religion for him. (Objectifying? Probably. But 2004 was…a different time.) In another work, Fuzzy Puddle/Turkey Beard (2003), the titular phrases appear in orange neon against a black sign. The latter hangs upside down. Lingerie lace loops over the bright, cursive wording—just in case the viewer couldn’t already guess what particular anatomy the phrases refer to.

Erica Baum

Erica Baum, excerpts from Dog Ear, 2016. Courtesy of Ugly Duck Presse, Brooklyn, NY.

Erica Baum doesn’t choose the words that she includes in her “Dog Ear” series, per se. In close-cropped photographs, the artist captures a dog-eared book’s page and the one hiding behind it. The viewer sees two separate triangular sections of text, one laid atop another in a square format. Neither the photographs nor their titles disclose the source material. In Enfold (2013), the dog-eared page simply reads “A,” while the page behind offers a kind of fragmented nonsense poem: “a wave would be hear / to enfold the note / spraying its foa / music. I gre / my thing / struck / in.” Viewers must choose to read the words and guess at the larger story. Alternately, they can opt not to read at all, and simply look at each work as a group of black forms against light pages. The letters become secondary to the concept: Baum’s work captures the physical evidence of reading—folded pages signify that readers have temporarily abandoned their books as they return to real life.

Christopher Wool

PARANOIAC from the Black Book, 1989. Christopher Wool Winston Wächter Fine Art

SPOKESMAN from the Black Book, 1989. Christopher Wool Winston Wächter Fine Art

According to legend, Christopher Wool developed the idea for his word paintings in 1987, after seeing graffiti scrawled in black lettering across a delivery truck. His subsequent canvases embrace their gritty conceptual origins. Across stark white backgrounds, he uses stencils to create blocky black letters, detached at their joints, erratically spelling out “Sell the House, Sell the Car, Sell the Kids” (a line from the film Apocalypse Now) or “TR/BL” (“trouble” with the vowels removed). Broken up into lines and curves, the letters become both heavy compositional elements and potential vehicles for additional meaning.

Yet given the limited palette and lack of any other context, the words stop short of real significance—“leached…of personality,” as Peter Schjeldahl wrote in a 2013 review of Wool’s Guggenheim retrospective. For the New York Times, Roberta Smith concluded: “These paintings conflate the act of seeing, reading and even speaking as you tease and sound out the meanings of their run-on or awkwardly broken words.” Time Out situated the work in a particularly historical context, asserting that Wool’s language “seemed to encapsulate a collective mood of foreboding and unease brought on by the Reagan administration and the various disasters—the AIDS crisis, the 1987 stock market crash, the savings and loan scandal—it left in its wake.”

Guerilla Girls

Guerrilla Girls Definition Of A Hypocrite, 1990. Guerrilla Girls mfc - michèle didier

The anonymous collective Guerilla Girls fits into a rich tradition of protest artists who employ words for explicitly political ends. In particular, the group uses language to reconsider gender discrimination and violence. “What do these men have in common?” one of their 1995 posters asks. Below the bold black wording, photographs of O.J. Simpson and minimalist artist Carl Andre appear. The answer to their provocation? The state accused both men of murdering women (Simpson: his ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson; Andre: his wife Ana Mendieta). Both enjoyed acquittals and avoided jail time. The Guerilla Girls discuss the prevalence of domestic violence beneath the pictures. They also include a tagline at the bottom: “A public service message from Guerilla Girls conscience of the art world.”

Another famous work, Do Women Have to Be Naked to Get Into the Met Museum? (1989), critiques the lack of art by female practitioners in major institutions. Across the Guerilla Girls’s oeuvre, wry ideology becomes an art form. Their messaging—and its situation within the institutions it critiques—supersedes all other aesthetic concerns.

EJ Hauser

From 2008 to 2012, EJ Hauser used newsprint as a backdrop for her drawings. Up-to-the-minute writings about the world became literal foundations for the artist’s gestural marks. Hauser explicitly linked abstraction with earthly concerns, arguing against claims that non-figurative work is divorced from reality. In halted attempt at terrorism, white swishes of oil paint overlay text about a civilian-thwarted attack. In laker, a shower of vaguely patriotic red, white, and blue brushstrokes obscure the faces of two basketball players. The sports section, ostensibly, is just as good a background as the international pages.

For a 2013 painting, forget-me-not three, Hauser painted her own text to undergird ambiguous black shapes. Beneath lines, circles, and a pair of cartoonish legs, the viewer can just make out the titular phrase, “forget me not.” Written in off-white against a pale background, the words already look endangered, as though their disappearance and erasure is imminent.

In a body of work now on view at Derek Eller in New York, Hauser uses text as scaffolding for her images: Look closely at her marks and you’ll find the backbones and curves of various letters, jumbled together to eliminate the boundary between word and picture.

Barbara Kruger

Untitled (Your body is a battleground), 1989. Barbara Kruger "The Inaugural Installation" at The Broad, Los Angeles

Barbara Kruger co-opts the format of magazine advertisements in her prints, photographs, and silkscreens. They overlay black-and-white pictures (often of women) with white text inside red banners (“Your body is a battleground,” most famously). Commerce and feminism mingle uncomfortably: Kruger’s art often calls attention to the way that corporations, mass media, and the government attempt to control women. All the works feature a Futura typeface, turning the artist’s oeuvre into its own subversive brand.

It’s no surprise that Kruger began her career as a graphic designer. In the 1960s, she worked for Condé Nast’s women’s magazine Mademoiselle. Yet as an artist, she’s been able to significantly expand her palette. Her large-scale installations have grown to cover the walls, floors, and sometimes even ceilings of rooms at museums and galleries, immersing viewers in her loud, bold language.

Lawrence Weiner

PAST THE END OF THE DOCK (Cat. #771), 1996. Lawrence Weiner Galerie Hubert Winter

Art historians consider Lawrence Weiner one of the forerunners of Conceptual art. The artist is best known for rendering text directly on walls, letter by letter, often in his own invented sans serif font, Margaret Seaworthy Gothic. Flat against the wall, the phrases lack the objecthood that’s often an artwork’s prerequisite.

Despite lacking accompanying imagery, Weiner’s word art frequently evokes distinct settings and things. Stones skipped across the bay of Naples (2009) or Stacks of Severed Trees Laid Beside a Fissure in the Earth (2007), for example, suggest artworks and arrangements never made, just considered. As viewers read the piece, they complete Weiner’s projects themselves—conjuring a mental images of what he has merely described.

Alternately, other Weiner pieces focus on a sense of space. Raised High Above (2018) or The Right Thing in The Wrong Place (2016), for example, evoke more ambiguous objects and agency—who did the raising, or put something where it wasn’t supposed to be? “He has experimented with how language can perform as a public artwork, as a sculpture,” Taxter said. According to her, his work asks “Who owns what phrases?” New York’s new, as-yet-unfinished multidisciplinary arts center The Shed recently commissioned Weiner to make work for the entry pavilion. His two lines of text read “IN FRONT OF ITSELF”—one facing the building, and one facing away from it.

from Artsy News

#Artsy News

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maxwellyjordan · 4 years ago

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Symposium: Religious freedom and the Roberts court’s doctrinal clean-up

This article is part of a SCOTUSblog symposium on the Roberts court and the religion clauses.

Richard W. Garnett is the Paul J. Schierl / Fort Howard Corporation professor of law at the University of Notre Dame and is the founding director of the school’s Program on Church, State and Society. He wrote or joined amicus briefs in several of the cases described below, including most recently joining an amicus brief on behalf of the petitioners in Our Lady of Guadalupe School v. Morrissey-Berru.

Those who think and write about the Supreme Court, including many of the justices themselves, tend to collect and deploy colorful adjectives and epithets to describe the state of its religion clauses doctrine and case law. It is not necessary to go full-thesaurus or to march out the entire parade of pejoratives here. A “hot mess” was the recent pronouncement of one federal court of appeals. And my own favorite is still Justice Antonin Scalia’s 1993 portrayal of the so-called “Lemon test” as a “ghoul in a late-night horror movie that repeatedly sits up in its grave and shuffles abroad after being repeatedly killed and buried.”

An important part of the Roberts court story, though, is that it has both continued and facilitated developments-for-the-better in law-and-religion. Chief Justice John Roberts, following in several ways the example and path of his predecessor, William Rehnquist (for whom he and – full disclosure – I clerked), has directed, not merely endorsed or observed, these changes. The standard, habitual denunciations no longer seem to apply. As Larry David might put it, the law of the religion clauses is actually “pretty, pretty good.”

Many scholars and commentators would disagree, of course. To them, these developments represent the “crumbling,” “demolition” or some other masonry-related downgrading of the “wall of separation between church and state,” or they supply evidence of a judicially ascendant “Christian nationalism” or even “theocracy.” In fact, though, the Roberts court has moved the law of religious freedom and church-state relations toward coherence and clarity, and better aligned it with American history, tradition and practice and with an appropriate understanding of judges’ capacities and the judicial role in a democracy.

A number of recent decisions, including several cases from the 2019-20 term, illustrate this movement. And one that is already scheduled for the fall and another that the justices have been asked to review provide an opportunity to continue it. But before discussing recent rulings and upcoming arguments, it is worth asking how and why things went wrong.

The Supreme Court, during its first century and a half, had almost nothing to say about the judicially enforceable content of the right to religious freedom, about the role of religious believers and arguments in politics and public life, or about the terms of permissible cooperation between “church” and “state.” Questions about these matters were, for the most part, worked out politically and practically, and in ways that (for better or worse) did not often depart from public consensus, habit and expectations. With the gradual “incorporation” of the Bill of Rights, though, and the Supreme Court’s emerging understanding of its counter-majoritarian role, this changed.

As the court took up the task of interpreting and enforcing the religion clauses, at least three things contributed, eventually, to the much-derided state of doctrinal affairs. The first was the constitutionalization — indeed, the fetishization — of a James Madison pamphlet and a phrase in one of Thomas Jefferson’s constituent-service letters. In his 1947 opinion for the court in Everson v. Board of Education, Justice Hugo Black of Alabama presented as canonical a potted and partial history of America’s religious-freedom experience in which a Virginia controversy and Jefferson’s passing reference to a “wall of separation between Church and State” — and not the broad range of views about the meaning of disestablishment — were foundational and controlling. Particularly in school-funding cases, this focus (or myopia) would cause the justices to convert the First Amendment’s no-establishment rule into a command that, somehow, governments avoid “advancing religion.”

A second misstep was the embrace of an understanding of constitutionally required “neutrality” that consisted not in even-handedness or nondiscrimination among America’s increasingly diverse array of religious traditions and communities, but instead in the absence of (something called) “religion” from (something called) the “secular” sphere. That is, “neutrality” was often said to require the forced confinement of religion to the purely private realm, preventing it from playing any role in the routines of public schools and other spaces.

Finally, there was the relatively late-emerging problem of public religious displays, symbols and expression. Although these did not, strictly speaking, impose any obligations, penalties or disadvantages, or confer any privileges, they came to be seen by the court as threatening or contributing to “political divisions along religious lines” or as “endorsing” religion and thereby telling some that they are less than full citizens or “outsiders in the political community.” At the same time, judges and justices were often unwilling to follow through to the extent of outlawing all public displays, symbols and art connected with religious holidays and themes, or undoing the national motto, or cancelling longstanding practices like legislative chaplains. The line between an unlawful endorsement and a permissible acknowledgment of religion seemed to depend on little more than the intuitions, or the aesthetic preferences, of the one drawing it.

For these and other reasons, the evocative denunciations by various justices of, say, the interior-decorating and semiotics aspects of courts’ attempts to apply the “endorsement test” and of the strange contrasts involved in school-funding cases between the religion-advancing effects of books and maps, had force. However, to make a long story short, under the Rehnquist and now the Roberts courts, things have improved.

For starters, in Hosanna-Tabor Evangelical Lutheran Church and School v. EEOC, a unanimous 2012 opinion authored by Roberts, the court reminded us that the point of separating, or differentiating between, “church” and “state” is not to erect a cooperation-killing “wall” but instead to protect religious freedom by preventing governments from interfering in religious matters and from purporting to answer religious questions. In June, the justices re-affirmed this understanding, and the corresponding right of religious communities to select their own teachers and teachings, in Our Lady of Guadalupe School v. Morrissey-Berru.

By 2002, a gradual but unmistakable evolution in the cooperation-with-religion context culminated in the Zelman v. Simmons-Harris decision, in which the court downplayed the “Lemon test’s” quixotic aim of avoiding any “advancing” of “religion” and instead applied a more straightforward and enforceable requirement of formal neutrality. And, this past term, in Espinoza v. Montana Department of Revenue, the court ruled that not only may governments provide funding to persons who choose religious schools, hospitals and social-welfare agencies for the important public goods they provide, they may not discriminate against religion when doing so.

And another example of doctrinal clean-up came in 2019’s decision in American Legion v. American Humanist Association, in which the justices rejected an establishment clause challenge to a large and longstanding war-memorial cross on public property. Instead of hypothesizing about the messages on civic status communicated by the cross to judicially constructed “reasonable observers,” a majority of justices called for respecting, and deferring to, history and tradition when deciding whether a particular symbol amounts to an “establishment of religion.” Noncoercive and time-honored displays and practices should not be uprooted on the complaint of “offended observers” in the name of an abstract understanding of the secular.

The remaining category of American religious-liberty controversies involves exemptions for religious exercise and accommodations for religious people. The Roberts court has several times affirmed, sometimes unanimously, that religious exercise may, and should, be legislatively accommodated and may be treated as “special” by governments in keeping with the particular solicitude shown for it in the First Amendment’s text and throughout American history. The long-running dispute over the Affordable Care Act’s contraception-coverage mandate, which returned to the court last term with Little Sisters of the Poor v. Pennsylvania, provides a contested illustration of the court’s willingness to interpret legislative accommodations of religion broadly, but the controversy surrounding this particular controversy should not obscure the broad, clear consensus that reasonable accommodations of religious dissenters promote both religious freedom and civic peace.

So far, the Roberts court, with its “conservative” majority, has left in place the rule, laid down 30 years ago in Employment Division v. Smith, that, although generous accommodations of religion are permitted, exemptions from generally applicable and nondiscriminatory laws that burden some religious practices are not required by the free exercise clause. The Smith rule has come in for criticism that is every bit as harsh, and at least as widespread, as the critiques of the Lemon and endorsement tests. And the justices have agreed to hear a case this fall that offers an opportunity to reject or revise it.

Fulton v. City of Philadelphia involves the city’s decision to exclude Catholic Social Services from participating in the enterprise of foster-care placements because that agency refuses, for religious reasons, to certify same-sex couples as foster parents. Although the justices could rule for Catholic Social Services on the narrow ground that the city’s policies are not really neutral or generally applicable – an approach similar to the route chosen in the 2018 case Masterpiece Cakeshop v. Colorado Civil Rights Commission – the question “whether Employment Division v. Smith should be revisited” is squarely presented.

The Roberts court’s interpretation and application of the religion clauses have continued an evolution that made First Amendment doctrine more coherent and also more consonant both with historical practice and the judicial role. Exactly how a “revisiting” of Smith would fit in with this evolution remains to be seen. Stay tuned.

The post Symposium: Religious freedom and the Roberts court’s doctrinal clean-up appeared first on SCOTUSblog.

from Law https://www.scotusblog.com/2020/08/symposium-religious-freedom-and-the-roberts-courts-doctrinal-clean-up/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

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deniscollins · 4 years ago

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Facebook Employees Stage Virtual Walkout to Protest Trump Posts

Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg has argued on a number of occasions that Facebook should take a hands-off approach to what people post, including lies from elected officials and others in power. He has repeatedly said the public should be allowed to decide what to believe. As a result, some employees have stated they plan to quit the company for failing to block President Trump’s most inflammatory messages, others participated in an internal poll against Zukerberg’s decision to do nothing, and others participated in a virtual walkout. If you were a Facebook manager, how would you react to these employees? Why? What are the ethics underlying your actions?

Hundreds of Facebook employees, in rare public criticism on Monday of their own company, protested executives’ decision not to do anything about inflammatory posts that President Trump had placed on the giant social media platform over the past week.

Many of the employees, who said they refused to work in order to show their support for demonstrators across the country, added an automated message to their digital profiles and email responses saying that they were out of the office in a show of protest.

The protest group — conducting a virtual “walkout” of sorts since most Facebook employees are working from home because of the coronavirus pandemic — was one of a number of clusters of employees pressing Facebook executives to take a tougher stand on Mr. Trump’s posts.

Inside the company, staff members have circulated petitions and threatened to resign, and a number of employees wrote publicly about their unhappiness on Twitter and elsewhere. More than a dozen current and former employees have described the unrest as the most serious challenge to the leadership of Mark Zuckerberg, the chief executive, since the company was founded 15 years ago.

“The hateful rhetoric advocating violence against black demonstrators by the US President does not warrant defense under the guise of freedom of expression,” one Facebook employee wrote in an internal message board, according to a copy of the text viewed by The New York Times.

The employee added: “Along with Black employees in the company, and all persons with a moral conscience, I am calling for Mark to immediately take down the President’s post advocating violence, murder and imminent threat against Black people.” The Times agreed to withhold the employee’s name.

Mr. Zuckerberg has argued on a number of occasions that Facebook should take a hands-off approach to what people post, including lies from elected officials and others in power. He has repeatedly said the public should be allowed to decide what to believe.

That stand was tested last week when Twitter added fact-check and warning labels to two tweets from the president that broke Twitter’s rules around voter suppression and glorification of violence. But as Twitter acted on Mr. Trump’s tweets, Facebook left his posts on its platform alone. Mr. Zuckerberg said Mr. Trump’s posts did not violate the social network’s rules.

“Personally, I have a visceral negative reaction to this kind of divisive and inflammatory rhetoric,” Mr. Zuckerberg said in a post to his Facebook page on Friday. “But I’m responsible for reacting not just in my personal capacity but as the leader of an institution committed to free expression.”

Mr. Zuckerberg spoke briefly with Mr. Trump in a telephone call on Friday, according to two people familiar with the matter. The call, which was previously reported by Axios, was described as “productive,” though it was not clear what was said. Mr. Zuckerberg explained his position to employees in a live-streamed question and answer session later that day.

In a video of the session that was reviewed by The Times, hundreds of employees voiced opposition by posting comments alongside the session, and some questioned whether any black people had been involved in making the decision.

“The lack of backbone, and this weak leadership, will be judged by history. Hate speech should never be compared to free speech,” one employee wrote. “The president (sic) is literally threatening for the National Guard to shoot citizens. Maybe when we’re in the middle of a race war the policy will change.”

Mr. Zuckerberg said the posts were different from those that threaten violence because they were about the use of “state force,” which is currently allowed.

While there was some support for the chief executive during the livestream, the results of an internal poll taken during the session and posted by a staff member showed that more than 1,000 Facebook employees voted against Mr. Zuckerberg’s choice. Nineteen of the respondents said they agreed with the decision.

In response to the walkout on Monday, Mr. Zuckerberg has moved his weekly meeting with employees to Tuesday from Thursday. The meeting will be a chance for employees to question Mr. Zuckerberg directly.

A Facebook spokeswoman said Monday morning that executives welcomed feedback from employees. “We recognize the pain many of our people are feeling right now, especially our Black community,” said Liz Bourgeois, the spokeswoman. “We encourage employees to speak openly when they disagree with leadership.”

Mr. Zuckerberg’s post last week explaining his decision on Mr. Trump’s posts frustrated many inside the company. More than a dozen Facebook employees tweeted that they disagreed with Mr. Zuckerberg’s decision, including the head of design of Facebook’s portal product, Andrew Crow.

An engineer for the platform, Lauren Tan, posted about the situation on Friday. “Facebook’s inaction in taking down Trump’s post inciting violence makes me ashamed to work here,” Ms. Tan wrote in a tweet. “Silence is complicity.”

Two senior Facebook employees told The New York Times that they had informed their managers that they would resign if Mr. Zuckerberg did not reverse his decision. Another person, who was supposed to start work at the company next month, told Facebook they were no longer willing to accept a position at the company because of Mr. Zuckerberg’s decision.

Over the weekend, several petitions circulated among Facebook employees calling for the company to make personnel changes and for more diversity of voices among Mr. Zuckerberg’s top lieutenants.

In private online chats, employees have called for the resignation of Joel Kaplan, Facebook’s vice president of global policy. Mr. Kaplan is seen as being a strong conservative voice within the company. In 2018, he upset some employees when he sat in the front row of the confirmation hearings of Supreme Court Justice Brett Kavanaugh, who was a close friend.

Roger McNamee, a venture capitalist who was an early investor in Facebook but in recent years has turned into an aggressive critic of the company, said Facebook’s decision to leave Mr. Trump’s posts alone was typical of a longtime pattern of behavior among big social media companies.

“Internet platforms that are pervasive — as Facebook and Google are globally — must always align with power, including authoritarians. It is a matter of self-preservation,” Mr. McNamee said. “Facebook has been a key tool for authoritarians in Brazil, the Philippines, Cambodia and Myanmar. In the U.S., Facebook has consistently ignored or altered its terms of service to the benefit of Trump. Until last week, Twitter did the same thing.”

Mr. Zuckerberg and Sheryl Sandberg, the company’s chief operating officer, planned to host a call on Monday evening with civil rights leaders who have lashed out publicly against Facebook’s protection of Mr. Trump’s posts. The call was expected to include Vanita Gupta of the National Leadership Conference, Rashad Robinson of Color of Change and Sherrilyn Ifill of the NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund.

The civil rights leaders said they would push back on Mr. Zuckerberg’s position on Mr. Trump’s posts, which they see as violations of Facebook’s community standards that do not permit voter suppression or the incitement of violence, even by political figures.

“It’s really important for Mark Zuckerberg to contend with the fact that he is prioritizing free expression while our democracy is literally burning,” said Ms. Gupta, who organized the call with the executives.

On Sunday, Mr. Zuckerberg wrote that he would be donating $10 million to groups working on racial justice. The move, coupled with his earlier post expressing solidarity with the demonstrators, did little to quell the internal protest.

Mr. Robinson, the civil rights group leader, said Mr. Zuckerberg’s financial pledge was “one of the most insulting things I’ve ever seen.” The donation of money, he said, doesn’t change Facebook’s policy of protecting Mr. Trump’s comments that contain falsehoods and appear to violate the company’s policies.

Facebook executives have long acknowledged that the company has failed to attract a diverse work force.

“There’s a long history of Facebook, as a company, not seeing or being responsive to black employees,” said Mark Luckie, who quit the company in 2018 and published a memo titled “Facebook is failing its black employees and its black users.”

Like many Silicon Valley companies, Facebook had a severe lack of diversity, especially among executives, Mr. Luckie said in an interview. “When you don’t have a diverse group of people at the top of the company, you don’t understand the issues involved or why your employees are upset.”

In 2014, 2 percent of Facebook’s employees were black. In 2019, that number had increased to 3.8 percent, according to the company’s diversity report.

In the post to the internal message board, the dissenting Facebook employee ended his comment with a quote from the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., the slain civil rights leader.

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter,” the quote read.

#Facebook

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tyworc12099 · 5 years ago

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Blog Assignment #3

Typography, the study of text...to be honest, I didn’t really know what that meant. After doing some class readings, I wanted to freshen my understanding of the topic. Just like in any other form of communication, there is a secondary function of communication that means just as much or more than the main mode of communication. Nonverbal versus verbal is the most commonly understood example. Typography is the secondary form of communication to any written language, the nonverbal to written’s verbal. An example of this is a serif font. A serif is a font that utilizes tails on the end of lines in words that add almost a fancy aesthetic to the font. It represents a more traditional purpose and is more likely to be used on wedding invitations and gift cards. San (San is french for ‘without’) serif, however, it is the same type of font, but it omits these tails at the end of lines and is a much simpler font. We see this type of font often on our phones, tablets, and computers because it is easier to read on devices.

If you want to get your message across in the most efficient way, understanding these secondary meanings or typography will help you put together graphic designs, presentations, and other projects with more meaning. Typography is more than the style of the text. In the additional research that I did, I learned about four typography techniques practiced frequently even if the person using the text isn’t aware of the terminology that applies. Hierarchy, leading, tracking, and kerning are the four techniques I learned about. Hierarchy is similar to constructivism as it focuses on what the viewer is going to see first and how you can enhance your text to gather more attention. Leading refers to line spacing. The focus of leading is to make the text as comfortable as possible to read for the viewers. Tracking, or character spacing, focuses on adding effects through spacing and fix fonts that may look better at different spacings. And, lastly, kerning, the most unique out of the four. It does focus on character spacing but it refers to the individual spacing between the characters and how different letters fit together. This is important when looking at the text as a whole and deciding whether or not it is visually pleasing. I also learned about the effect of different fonts and how that can bring different tones from professionals to carry into text. After going over this typography information I decided to apply it to these three visuals: Pink Floyd’s 1970 poster for their performance at the Pepperland auditorium, the 50th anniversary cover of “To Kill a Mockingbird” and a slide from a slide show on typography. This is my analysis of the visuals.

This Pink Floyd poster has bright colors, soft colors, graphic text, and multiple artistic hooks with the intent to grab the attention of the viewer. This poster was part of Pink Floyd's October 1970’s tour. This poster highlighted the performance on October 16 &17th to take place at Pepperland auditorium, in San Rafael, California. The event was supported by Kimberly and Osceola, and lights were by the Brotherhood of Light. This concert was interesting because the opening piece “Astronomy Domine” and the encore piece “ A Saucerful Of Secrets” had multiple false starts due to power failures. The Hierarchy technique starts with the band name and ends with some of the more minor details about the tour. Leading focuses are on giving the more important information enough space to get the point across. The character spacing or tracking of the band name is sacrificed to achieve an artistic effect of becoming the eyelashes of the crying eye in the poster. The kerning, space between specific characters, is also sacrificed to achieve the same artistic goal. By having the eye ‘cry’ into the bottom half of the poster, the spacing in Kimberly is split in two. Although symmetrical, the kerning between the ‘b’ and the ‘e’ in Kimberly seems awkward when examining it outside of the artistic context. In addition, the rest of the letters look as if they are overlapping or on top of each other because of the lack of space set aside for the text. I think the poster itself doesn’t have a strong ethical bias but what it stands for does govern the principles and people’s actions. Going to a concert or being part of a group that likes certain bands can have an effect on how you conduct yourself. Examples are the way you dress, talk, act, what is ok, what is not ok. I don’t believe that a band has the ability or want to manipulate people into a certain way of thought, i.e. propaganda. But I want them to enjoy the work that they put out.

Touring bands were a common occurrence during this time, and there were a lot of bands that people really enjoy that they would come out to support. Similar to the ethical perspective, these bands influenced the culture by what they put out and how it affected the listener. Did it change their way of thinking, the way they dressed, talked, etc.? It all depended on the message of the songs these bands put out. Furthermore, things were much different in the ’70s compared to fifty years later. Today I can pull up recordings of concerts and watch them privately in the comfort of my home. I can even do this in a live setting. Back then, this may have not been an option for most people, so going to a concert and seeing a band play for some may be the only opportunity that they got to experience this music live. Even the technologies of recorded music were far behind today’s standard and the same could be said about the contrast of recorded music between these time periods.

The next visual that I looked at is a slide from a presentation on typography. I choose this because those who study typography have a really good understanding of hierarchy, leading, tracking, and kerning. This one slide capitalizes on all those techniques, especially the idea that opposites attract. It is very common to complement a type of text with something that is different. But it is hard because as a graphic designer you don’t want to end up with texts that clash because they are too different, or something that becomes hard to read. The slide uses Hierarchy, which focuses on what the eye will notice first and then last. When I look at this, the first thing I noticed is the number 4. The reason? It is the biggest, it's bolded, and located at the top of the picture, with nothing contesting its space. The four is heavily accented. That is what draws your eye to it first. When it comes to leading, this slide does a nice job of using its space. None of the text is cramped and hard to read, and it is not too spread out so that someone would lose their way while they are trying to read the text. It also is symmetrical and looks as if it belongs in the format.

Next are tracking and kerning. Although they are similar, they are also different. Kerning focuses on the specific space between characters and varies over the course of the word because letters fit together differently, while tracking is more concerned with general character spacing across the entire word or phrase. What is nice about this slide is that you can use tracking to emphasize certain parts of your message. An example of this is the number 4, which has the most space out of the entire slide. Although it may look borderline awkward, it's that isolation that makes it different and unique, and that is what draws the attention of the viewer. The use of kerning is also interesting when examining the word typography. For some students, cursive is not learned typography anymore. With that being said, sometimes when people try to read it, the message can be miscommunicated. It looks to me that the person who has put together this slide took the time to choose a font that had large spacing between letters that are harder to read in cursive writing without making the entirety of the word look unformatted. It is even more clear when you look at the ‘r’ because it clearly has the most space out of all the letters in the word but is the most unusual when comparing written letters to cursive letters.

Lastly, I want to look at a book that I read in grade school. After learning about visual communication, I have come to understand more about the book: “To Kill a Mockingbird” by Harper Lee. The 50th-anniversary book has a cool cover, I remember as a child my mother told me that I had a summer reading assignment and it was to read this book. I read it, wrote about it, and when I was about to leave for my first day of school my mother told me she lied about the summer reading and just wanted me to read the book. I was pretty salty going to my first day of school that year. One thing I found entrancing about this book is the cover; it has a lot of typography skills incorporated into it. “To Kill a Mockingbird” is considered by many a masterpiece of American literature. The first publication was in 1960 and it was up for a Pulitzer Prize in 1961. Since its first publication, there has been a movie adaptation of the story and 18 million copies printed in over 10 languages. The font for the title of the book does a couple of things. First, it has an artist component, making it seem as if the text is part of the tree. This makes the typography more visually pleasing. Like in any form of communication, however, there is also a nonverbal component. In typography, some fonts seem casual, traditional, formal, or maybe even graphic. The font for the title seems graphic, as it tries to project the dismal uncertainties within the story. From a constructivist view, I feel that the use of the moon behind the title and the contrast between white and black bring the viewers’ attention to the title almost immediately. Then the rest of the cover is taken in on a secondary preview. In summary, I believe that the color, artistic context, and aesthetic contrast add a lot of technical perspectives to the cover of this book, as well as to the ethical and cultural concerns with the story within adding another level of depth to the visual communications of this book.

The cover itself does not infer anything. The story is the core essence of the ethics of the book. If you have read “To Kill a Mockingbird,” you know that the story takes place during the great depression in the small town of Maycomb. You also know that the town of Maycomb is racist in its perspective on African Americans and the culture. The racism that is portrayed in this story I find to be uncomfortable and if there was a town that functions in that way in today’s time I wouldn’t want to find myself there. The main ethical point this book makes is delivered by Scout, one of the main characters in the story. Throughout the years and trials and tribulations she witnesses and faces she is in a constant battle of whether or not human kindness is a living entity in the world. It was Atticus, her father, who told her that human kindness begins with the ability to see things from others’ perspectives with sympathy and to not allow prejudice to shatter her understanding of human goodness. I think that, if this is a lesson that you were able to learn sooner in your life, it will pay off much more than someone who has just read the book recently. I think that when I read this book it was quite a culture shock for me. But I think that when this was written this story was not too far fetched for them. It was about the constant oppression that Black Americans faced in their daily lives. It was a part of the culture. To be honest, it's sad, dismal, upsetting, and just negative in general. That was translated into Harper Lee’s book, so I think part of the color choice these dark tones with bright contrast really does reflect how dark things are in this story. It also adds to the depressing aura that the cover can give off if you had spent the time to read the story and to understand the historical contexts and perspective within the book.

In conclusion, typography is much more than the study of the text. It is the study of meaning within the text and so much more. Understanding typography is like understanding nonverbal communication: not everyone gets it but those who do have an advantage when communicating. When you write papers, work on presentations, write letters of recommendation, resumes, business cards, the many modes of typography carry this secondary meaning which could mean the difference between two very different walks of life. The thing is, you don’t need to be an expert to understand the inner workings of typography. Even having a basic understanding will increase the message in every text you come across. Whether it be a presentation on typography, a cover of a book at its 50th anniversary, or a band poster you come across while out on the town. We use typography every day of our lives, and it has opened my eyes to a level of communication I never knew existed. I hope the next time you look at any graphic design you look at it from a typography perspective as well.

References

Video on Typography https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sByzHoiYFX0

To Kill a Mocking Bird Visual - https://www.google.com/search?q=To+kill+a+mockingbird+book+cover&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS886US886&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=U60nABhNNzta2M%253A%252CFljJnTH9Ssal_M%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kQ2gcxduFfJw2QMvAhfmpkV-rlQLw&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwipmYil9sXoAhVUHs0KHZFtC5IQ9QEwB3oECAQQOA#imgrc=U60nABhNNzta2M:

Pink Floyd concert poster visual - https://www.google.com/search?q=band+posters&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS886US886&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwidseOt9sXoAhWYHc0KHSZpCLIQ_AUoAnoECAwQBA&biw=1364&bih=694#imgrc=2WlNxjZ04ylA8M

Typography Slide Show - https://www.google.com/search?q=4+ways+to+make+customers+fall+in+love+with+you+typography&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjZruvF9sXoAhWQNc0KHcWcBJQQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=4+ways+to+make+customers+fall+in+love+with+you+typography&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoECAAQQzoCCAA6BggAEAgQHjoECAAQGDoGCAAQBRAeUIXYAViP-wJg6fwCaAJwAHgEgAHUAYgB0D-SAQc0Ni4zMy4xmAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWewAQA&sclient=img&ei=O9qDXpmlMJDrtAbFuZKgCQ&bih=694&biw=1364&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS886US886#imgrc=CNTBpXlJhxU2LM

Lee, Harper (1961). To Kill a Mocking Bird. J.P. Lippincott

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dydturktek · 5 years ago

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Nem Kurutma | Nem Alma | Rutubet Kurutma | DYD 444 0 719

AgeMatch Review June 2019

Dating internet site for those who are into age space dating

Plenty of features readily available for standard users

Functions for community relationship can be obtained

Has strict security and fake prevention measures

People usually do not appear to be that active

The internet site is very distinctively bland

Signing Up: 3.5/5 Making Contact: 4.0/5 Profile Quality: 3.5/5 App: 3.5/5 Real Lifestyle Review: 4.0/5

Our Review

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Gender percentage is significantly evenly distributed

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Most of the populace is through the united states of america

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18-24

25-34

35-44

45-54

55+

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It is possible to register via Facebook

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A chat is had by the site function

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Your website is very like a social media website where people can like individuals pictures, touch upon statuses, and so many more. Moreover it provides a medium where individuals are able to show their thoughts and have concerns towards the community, like blog sites and discussion boards. These features are free for everybody to make use of aside from account kind.

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The profile informative data on AgeMatch is very detail by detail. It gives a broad concept of a|idea that is general of user’s fundamental information, appearance, history, lifestyle, as well as others.

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The application is able to down load

Available on Bing Enjoy and also the Apple App shop

Comparable user interface with desktop variation

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The application possesses user interface that is good

The AgeMatch software is available to down load at no cost on GooglePlay together with Appstore. It offers the functions available on the site, such as the features that are special. Its practical and appropriate for any screen size, also it doesn’t just take that much room on your unit.

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dougmeet · 6 years ago

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═══Ｏ回Ｏ═══轰∩═══Ｏ炸 ╭╬╮Vagina Monologues: Jerry Lee Lewis and Serge Gainsbourg!◢ -▁╭▅▇█▇▆▅▄▃▂▁(╳)█╮ ╰═▃

@font-face { font-family : 'Josefin Sans'; font-style : normal; font-weight : 700; src : local('Josefin Sans Bold'), local('JosefinSans-Bold'), url(http://themes.googleusercontent.com/static/fonts/josefinsans/v3/C6HYlRF50SGJq1XyXj04z3l4twXkwp3_u9ZoePkT564.woff) format('woff'); } table { display : table; vertical-align : middle; overflow : hidden; direction : ltr; unicode-bidi : embed; outline : 0; position : relative; max-height : none; margin-left : auto; margin-right : auto; padding : 20px; } h1, h2, h3, h4{ font-family : 'Josefin Sans'; font-weight : bold; font-size : 1.5em; padding : 23px; margin: .5em; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.5) , 0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.15); } sub, b { display: inline; vertical-align : super; font-weight : bold; letter-spacing : -1px; font-size : 1.3em; font-variant : small-caps; padding : 3px; margin:5px; line-height : 1.375em; box-shadow : 0 3px silver; border-radius : 5%; } sup, em, strong{ font-size : 115%; vertical-align : sub; color : black; line-height : 1.375em; overflow : hidden; direction : ltr; unicode-bidi : embed; outline : 0; position : relative; max-height : none; box-shadow : 0 1px green; border-radius : 5%; } i { font-family : 'Josefin Sans'; display: inline; font-weight : bold; font-variant : small-caps; padding : 3px; margin:5px; vertical-align : sub; line-height : normal; font-size : 105%; } p { font-family : 'Josefin Sans'; font-weight : 700; direction : ltr; letter-spacing : 0; text-align : left; font-size : 1.3em; padding : 5px 25px; display : inline; color :black; line-height : 1em; text-indent : 1em; overflow : hidden; line-break : strict; position : relative; margin: .5em; } blockquote{ font-family : 'Josefin Sans'; direction : ltr; letter-spacing : 0; text-align : left; font-size : 1.3em; vertical-align :start; color : black; line-height : 1.375em; overflow : hidden; outline : 0; position : relative; max-height : none; border-radius : 5%; padding : 23px .75em .4em; display : block; margin : 0.5em 0.2em; background: #fff; border: 0; box-shadow: 0 0 1px 0 rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.5) , 0 1px 10px 0 rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.15); width: 91.375%; } ul > li { text-transform : lowercase; list-style-type : persian; font-variant: small-caps } iframe { max-width : 100%; vertical-align : middle; text-align : center; max-height : none; letter-spacing : 1px; border-radius : 10%; text-transform : none; margin-left : auto; margin-right : auto; line-height : 1.375em; display : block; max-width : 100%; position : relative; clear : both; outline : 0; overflow : hidden; } img { vertical-align : middle; line-height : 1.375em; text-align : center; max-height : none; background-color : transparent; border-radius : 4%; display : block; float:none; -moz-background-clip:padding-box; overflow:hidden; box-sizing:border-box; position:relative; max-width:100%; margin:0 0 25px; padding:15px; height : auto; } a:hover { outline: 0; margin: 0; border: none; text-decoration: none; display: inline; font-family : 'Josefin Sans'; text-transform:lowercase; color:#7c4; -moz-transition: all 0.6s ease-out; } a { display: inline; vertical-align : super; font-weight : bold; letter-spacing : -1px; font-size : 1.3em; font-variant : small-caps; padding : 3px; margin:5px; line-height : 1.375em; box-shadow : 0 3px silver; border-radius : 5%; outline: 0; border: none; text-decoration: none; font-family : 'Josefin Sans'; color : #0099ff; } iframe,img{ -moz-transform:rotate(1deg); }

═══Ｏ回Ｏ═══轰∩═══Ｏ炸 ╭╬╮Vagina Monologues: Jerry Lee Lewis and Serge Gainsbourg!◢ -▁╭▅▇█▇▆▅▄▃▂▁(╳)█╮ ╰═▃

youtube

Doug Meet 9 months ago *Private footage never aired (for good reason) "If videos wore clothing, this video would wear a pink ruffled tuxedo shirt under a Leopard skin Smoking Jacket!" Almost as excited as the day I found this and posted it on my last FB profile...and YouTube (both of which are gone). Today after doing research and realizing that I was missing its favorite dirty uncle whose only relation to this private x-rated, backstage, pussy-powwow, is the coincidence of being taped from the same sweat lodge...well, I finally found it stored away...and wrote this: Serge Gainsbourg and Jerry Lee Lewis, France, 1987. Mean fucking hair. The Defest jams in my life, courtesy of a Leopardskin Jacket--fucking drunken eyes, sir...fucked up. It's about incest and backstage domestics...and honing the guitar. It has a pink ruffled tuxedo shirt. Serge is rared up. They offer five shots of the hands in a guild of excess and neglect, nor concern with opinions and morals or society. Jerry Lee was glad to see Elvis dead. He could finally rest. The fuck-ups were happy to be together in France--all in good humor and improbable. This video is from a French Fan Club--it has issued clear, and God loves them for its public dissemination and for its potentiality to summit the anti-legendary heroes, never before seen together, never before heard like this (dialogue too real to be concatenated by Tosches, too exuberant to be invented for the annals of popular music). [Late Latin concatnre, concatnt- : com-, com- + catnre, to bind (from Latin catna, chain)] I want to burn in Hell indelibly in the soul of its irreverent lasciviousness. Strong and strange and from their mouths, dare I say it, is its innocence. "Quintessence, nary more picaresque." The relationship of these two architects of the dark side--the side of the rock-roll Lethe--should be played nine hours per day in a museum, somewhere between lunchtime in Paris and supper in Ferriday, where the price of admission is as padded as the upholstered velveteen cushions on which recumbent children and men over forty commingle in Roman deflation. I see you mouthwatering at the thought. Open it with my blessings; connect to its memory; send it to your colleagues with its subtle message impossible to pin down; tattoo its URL to your bicep or above your butt crack; force your wife or girlfriend to recite it from memory; commit crimes against nature in its name: illegal cunnilingus, hummable fellatio (God-fearing citizens will be exalted in schadenfreude); thank God you're a fuck-up, and take as its gift its leopardskin coat. Happiness so small and insignificant never fails a lonely summer night. Serendipity? Fuck him. ↑ Leben und Wirken

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dawnajaynes32 · 7 years ago

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Lyft: Driving Innovation in Annual Report Design

While Uber started out with the motto: “Everyone’s Private Driver,” Lyft launched with: “Your friend with a car.” As you’ve probably already witnessed, Lyft is taking over as the cool and improved ride-sharing app in 20 cities across America, and HOW recently had the honor of recognizing Lyft for its 2017 Economic Impact Report in the HOW In-House Design Awards. The project was spearheaded by Lyft’s in-house design team, made up of Meghan Newell alongside Ellen Black, Ricardo Viramontes, Mark Teater, Shawn Norlin, Mandy Zibart and illustrator Virginie Morgand.

For the uninitiated, Lyft’s Economic Impact Report jazzes up Lyft’s survey of its users. In this case, it was an 18-page pdf, a print booklet, a website and printed cards, filled with details from a whopping survey from 38,000 passengers and 15,000 drivers in 20 major cities where Lyft operates. (Side note: The surveys were conducted by the Land Econ Group). But really, Lyft wanted to show the company’s impact on passengers, drivers and the cities they operate in. “We strive to show how Lyft is positively impacting the communities it serves,” said Newell. And what better place to do that than in an annual report? It isn’t just for the public, however; it’s mostly for government officials and bureaucrats who make decisions around the cities Lyft drives through. Keeping that in mind, Newell says it was a challenge to both bring order and clarity to the package, showing the service as a safe and solid option while supporting a brand that is known for appealing to a younger crowd (they’ve had celebrity endorsements on Instagram ad posts by Amber Rose, for example).

This in-house project came about last year and had the goal of giving the public a better idea of everything good the company is doing—from saving on carbon emissions to carsharing and helping prevent drunk driving. “The key objectives were to make it easily digestible, and preserve of feeling of trust and security, in addition to being friendly and approachable,” Newell says. “I benefited from the advice of newly hired creative director Ricardo Viramontes to help me think bigger—bigger company, bigger budget, more resources; I got to do foil printing and have the budget to hire an illustrator! It was really my ideal project!” Lyft is really gaining steam as the new Uber, so finding the right balance between seriousness and style for the package was key. Newell recalls working for Lyft in its early days, when they were a startup with just 70 people (today, they have more than 1,600 employees). “I naturally lean into the fun and crunchy granola roots of the company [that are] my dna, as we’ve developed together, and it makes it hard for me to think of working anywhere else,” Newell says. “Luckily, Lyft has developed a number of tools for keeping that irreverence and joy—the bright color palette and organic illustration style were the ones I employed here, balanced against strongly gridded typography.”

Newell says that project was easy to execute because there weren’t as many sign-offs as there would be for a billboard campaign, for example. “Also, I didn’t need to confront as many questions about whether it was part of our core branding in the same way that I am currently considering for in-app illustration.” The tone and style references in the piece were drawn from editorial design, like the British general interest publication Monocle magazine for typography and layouts, and The New Yorker for its illustration usage and mix with text. “They both are serious yet relevant, approachable and yet filled with style,” Newell says. Sofia Pro was the primary font used, though the team used Sentinel as a complimentary serif. As for the playful illustrations—those were drawn by Morgand, who is informed by midcentury modern illustration and earlier naïf illustration styles, Newell says, “but maintains a sophistication.”

The report explains how the app is helping the envoronment; 34% of people say they would avoid owning a car entirely because of Lyft, while 87% of drivers have given their neighbors a ride. “We believe in changing our streets for the better and ending the need for private car ownership,” Newell says. “We aren’t trying to be competition to public transit; we believe in bikes and walking, which are ways to end individual automobile ownership and end the gridlock and environmental havoc it promotes.” In the end, the Lyft design team wanted to convey a clear message, while matching the tone of the copywriting with the design. “This report is a summary of the positive impact we see as our defining mission,” Newell says. “We care for our drivers, our passengers, and our communities, and we are changing transportation and our cities for the better.”

See Lyft’s 2018 Economic Impact Report here.

The post Lyft: Driving Innovation in Annual Report Design appeared first on HOW Design.

Lyft: Driving Innovation in Annual Report Design syndicated post

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are-scared-of-revolution · 8 years ago

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Why a White Poet Should Not Be Attempting to Reclaim the “N-Word”

Aaminah Shakur | May 22, 2015

Vanessa Place’s ‘Gone With The Wind’ Twitter project featuring a profile picture of actress Hattie McDaniel (via Twitter)

Both literature and visual art share a common concern: they continue to grapple with questions of inclusion and diversity, and in many ways have done a poor job of righting the long-standing wrongs of white men who have dominated the landscape since forever. Women have made great strides over the last decade in leadership roles that offer lasting and substantial change in the written and visual art landscapes. And yet, those landscapes have remained quite monochromatic. By which I mean artists and writers of color have not even begun to catch up with white women in access to funding, art shows, publishing opportunities, or leadership roles.

In this monochromatic landscape, the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) has long been critiqued as failing to implement meaningful attempts at inclusion, in particular in planning its annual conference and selecting which proposed panels will be included. When the AWP16 proposal selection committee was announced last week, people noticed quickly that it included conceptual poet Vanessa Place. On May 16 a Change.org petition was created to ask AWP to remove her, pointing to her latest Twitter-based projectas a racist line-by-line retelling of Gone with the Wind.

The Gone with the Wind Twitter project features a profile picture of actress Hattie McDaniel, whose appropriation has been termed as “literary Blackface.” McDaniel played Mammy in the Gone with the Wind movie, was a trailblazer for Black actresses, and dealt with controversy for being viewed by her contemporaries as portraying stereotyped roles while also being viewed by whites of her time as subversive and stepping outside of a Black woman’s place. The cover photo features a Jemima caricature in bright, garish colors of a vaudeville-esque performance sign. The visual choices of the project are just as appropriative and hurtful as the language: a long series of tweets that quotes Margaret Mitchell’s book and that, according to Place, “whites out” text and “reclaims” the n-word by using it liberally.

Vanessa Place’s long series of tweets that quotes Margaret Mitchell’s ‘Gone With the Wind’ (via Twitter)

The group behind the Change.org petition and Twitter campaign was the Mongrel Coalition Against Gringpo (MCAG), made up of writers and artists of color who challenge the literary world’s ongoing appropriation of Black and Brown bodies, histories, and narratives. Members and allies of MCAG are offended by Place’s attempt to reclaim the n-word and appropriate Black/Brown experience. The AWP responded to the petition and Twitter campaign by removing Place and issuing what was deemed a weak response. While the goal of having Place removed from the committee was met, critics continue to be concerned by AWP’s lack of a clear stance on the issue. Citing the merit of such conceptual poetry and its belief in freedom of expression, AWP went on to say:

We also understand that many readers find Vanessa Place’s unmediated quotes of Margaret Mitchell’s novel to be unacceptable provocations, along with the images on her Twitter page.

AWP must protect the efficacy of the conference subcommittee’s work. The group’s work must focus on the adjudication of the 1,800 submitted proposals, not upon the management of a controversy…

Many critics feel that the emphasis on having to manage a controversy rather than acknowledging that the work itself is blatantly racist is an insufficient response. It has also led to backlash from Place and her supporters who claim that critics have “silenced” her and that the various petitions “got her kicked off” the committee. The AWP’s statement does not take a stance against racist work but actually names two white, male literary theorists to uphold the work as valid expression.

Vanessa Place created a second Twitter account to defend her position (via Twitter)

In a public Facebook post following her removal from the AWP committee, Place offered up an artist statement that begins as some sort of apology, but goes on in pseudo-artistic blabbery to try to explain her project as something that should challenge white people who are, like herself, “collaborators” with racism. By addressing her white audience, she only further demeans the reality that her detractors are, in fact, primarily people of color. Place eventually cleaned up the original text of her statement, replacing the n-word with the word “darkies,” as if it weren’t just as fraught with the racism she claims the project critiques.

Until recently, there was no public or private objection to @VanessaPlace. It has had approximately 1200 followers for some time, and, apart from a few messages mocking it as boring and occasional retweets of individual passages, no expressions of interest. My minstrelsy was easily absorbed into the easy silences around so much everyday stuff that doesn’t matter to so many.

These works are cruel. It is a cruelty to display these images. It is also a cruelty to insist that only people of color be responsible for the articulation or the embodiment of race, to bear the burden of my history as well as the history of that oppression. Blackface is white face. I cannot speak of the pain of having the image put upon me, but I can speak to the culpability of its imposition.

(via Twitter)

Place concurrently manages yet another Twitter account which she took to in her own artistic defense, visually claiming that the critiques are an attempt to silence her, belying her apology for hurting people of color with the work. That seems to be how her defenders see the situation as well. Scott Jaschik published a defensive piece at Inside Higher Ed that uses inflammatory language around the AWP and Place’s detractors while suggesting, via a quote by novelist Dale Peck, that this is an issue of freedom of expression. The LA Times published Scott Martelle explicitly saying AWP made “the wrong move” and again pointing to Place’s right to free expression. Martelle goes on to tell readers that the racism is not in Place’s project but in the novel itself, as if it cannot simultaneously exist both places, and as if because a white man says Place’s work isn’t racist it’s suddenly fact. Both Jaschik and Martelle miss the point of the petition, which was never to infringe on Place’s right to create, and even to distribute, the work, but on her right as someone engaging in offensive racism and Blackface to then also have a hand in judging which panels should take place at AWP16. It isn’t so difficult to understand why critics don’t trust someone like Place to give sufficient consideration to panel proposals that will likely center on frequently marginalized voices.

As a white artist, Place cannot reclaim these words or these images as she says she is trying to do. Her attempt to hold up a mirror to her fellow white contemporaries has failed. In identifying herself as a “collaborator” in racism, she should be able to see how instead the project simply comes off as a reification of the racism in the book. Certainly Place has the freedom to engage in such a project and no one has stopped her. She is not, however, free from critique or professional consequences from those who do not wish to associate with work that harms the already marginalized, regardless of its stated intent.

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