#ink stained chessboard

[catandthewell-if]

could you answer the voices question for this blog too please?

Sure! I love doing these! I think they're super fun!

This is the post anon is referring to, BTW! (LINK)

Under the cut, as usual!

Alice: Laura Stahl (Alear - Fire Emblem Heroes)

Alex: Brandon McInnis (Alear - Fire Emblem Heroes)

Olivia: Amber Lee Conners (Furina - Genshin Impact)

Oliver: Griffin Burns (Childe/Tartaglia - Genshin Impact)

Isabelle: Brittany Lauda (Chiori - Genshin Impact)

Fenrir: Nazeeh Tarsha (Alhaitham - Genshin Impact)

Mystery Figure: Tara Platt (Flame Emperor - Fire Emblem Heroes)

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

The Red-Handed Queen

You can do anything... except scrub this gore from your hands

Naturally, I had to have a go at making a design for her! Her dress is based off of 1860s ballgowns, while having some medieval inspired elements! Her crown is made of rosegold, and she wear the jewels seen in the Appalling Socialite's Parabolan Campaign with the chessboard!

[eventideluminary-games]

Life and Story Progress Updates

First, I gotta thank y'all for hanging in there with me for all of these months as I wrestle with coding and writing! So, thanks for all of your support! ❤️

Second, I finally graduated university! Now I have more free time to dedicate to writing!

And third, Twine is being a MASSIVE pain to work with (womp womp) so I'm not able to give a true update regarding any potential official demo release dates or anything since it's taking me a very long time to code and bug fix.

I will still use Twine to write/code Ink Stained Chessboard since I've came this far and I'm not a quitter, but I will set up a poll for Vermillion Court and Eyes of Themis to see what medium they'd prefer.

Anyway, that's all of May's updates so far! ❤️

[tamlins-stories-and-poems]

First and foremost: should Seanan read this despite the tag that is intended to warn her eyes away and end up with any ideas or find that I hit something I shouldn’t’ve despite my lack of speculation, I disavow any rights I may have had to the idea. Should she want to print out the art [link]and hang it on the wall/in a window, I will be honored. Should anyone else want to print it out and hang it on their walls/windows, I will still be honored but request some form of payment for my hard work. I put a lot into this. Most of the tutorial/coloring explanations are between the two arrows.

I love stained glass. I always have, and think there should be more of it around, just, in general.

So, when I found a poem I wrote a little while ago, based on how I think the fae society in the October Daye series gossip about the titular character, stained glass quickly worked its way in as the style to emulate. Originally, I was hoping to challenge myself in other ways—drawing messy rooms like the Luideag’s kitchen, practice my shading, work on actual comic panel type deals—but most of those were completely untenable in a stained glass style drawing, at least at my current level of skill. So when I settled on stained glass, the other challenges fell to the wayside.

->You can probably tell that my skill for the line work improved as I worked through these, sketching and inking 14 panels in 14 days, and getting more comfortable with this style. The coloring was done a bit more haphazardly, slapping down bucket fills when I found the right color and jumping between panels to make sure the ones I wanted to match stayed the same. I chose colors a lot more saturated than I’m used to, mostly because at 85% opacity, everything looks a little desaturated already, and the rest because stained glass is supposed to be bright and leave swaths of bright color crossing the room around it.

I needed the opacity to have the texture layered underneath (replicating the inconsistencies in real glass) at least somewhat visible, and for the texture of the brush to have uneven edges, and a somewhat inconsistent shape. I found one that worked—called charcoal, iirc—which I used to randomly place shadows at ~70% opacity beneath the other colors, and very light cyan at ~30% over top. <-

Other than a few examples listed below, the most complex coloring after that was a few gradients, mostly in the background or in hair, but a few on Toby’s coat in “Daye will save you, if she can” that I didn’t feel like trying to redo when I realized I mixed one of her hair colors in, and some painting overtop of the “glass” for Cap’n Pete’s opalescent/oil slick scales and hair

People;

Toby:

I gotta start with Tobes. I used a pale yellow for the lighter part of her hair, near her scalp as it’s been growing in more and more pale as she’s been shifted more pureblood. I know Seanan says it all changes at once, but I chose to ignore that for fun coloring. I wanted her to be the most desaturated person visible, which more affected choosing other peoples’ colors than hers, but worked out well enough.

May:

May’s hair. I had a filker (fandom-musician) friend, upon her retirement, get pink and blue feathered/chessboard hair. She was delighted by this, but decided that she keeps her hair short enough that it wasn’t worth maintaining. I patterned May’s hair based on my friend’s, but threw in colors at almost random and hoped for the best. May’s skin matches Toby. Her neon green sweater is based on something I remember reading from the books but might not actually exist, and her skirt is a patchwork of bright colors, mostly picked from her hair.

Beloved S. Torquill (as opposed to his twin the disliked S. Torquill):

White shirt for his current fresh start. Long hair for Vibes. Not much else to say about him here. Too many spoilers.

Tybalt:

Kitty man! Brown hair, originally was going to have the stripes just be the way the “glass” was set, but after drawing Pete’s hair I painted some darker brown stripes in. Red (probably silk) shirt under brown leather vest. Hair in a bun bc the Toby Discord has had odd fits of being obsessed with man-bun Tybalt. So he can have little a bun. As a treat.

Quentin:

For his hair I went with a yellow intended to be between the dandelion of his introduction and the polished bronze of his more recent appearances. Triangles as the base shape for his hair also just because vibes. Probably broke his nose at least once when he couldn’t get it set pretty and perfect in time to heal.

Raj:

There is a picture of an Abyssinian cat on the Toby wiki, and I used the main visible color for his hair (by eyeballing it, bc, again, saturation). He has dark skin to go with his south-west asian name. Samson may have been the type of jerk to culturally appropriate names, but I want to think Raj is actually a person of color. None of the descriptions I remember actually include his skin tone. In cat form I airbrushed in some details to look a little more like the cat photo.

the Luideag:

Curly black hair, sometimes held by electrical tape in pigtails, can have shark teeth at will. I like shark teeth. I had fun playing with how curls work in stained glass (let me know how you liked them!), otherwise looks like a teenaged mortal who blends in around San Fran. I used to live just over the hill, and I always picture her as looking Hispanic, like about half of my old neighbors (probable hyperbole), at least in her current guise.

Blind Michael (hand only):

Discord member helped me double check, and his skin was “striped tan and white like ash bark” I decided on green pointed nails to look like leaves. Discolored slightly when looking through the orb holding Karen’s soul.

Karen, butterfly form:

I forgot she was supposed to be a swallowtail until I was done inking. Didn’t want to attempt to erase and try again for proper stripes and wing-tails. I was just thinking “she needs eye spots bc eyes are windows to the soul, and this is her butterfly soul.” Yellow bc tiger swallowtail call-back. Trying to escape away from Blind Micheal’s hand.

acacia:

Moth lady moth lady moth lady she gets fluffy moth antennae. Skin and cloak colors taken directly from wiki description, hair gradiented in gold-ish yellow and brown to match what I could of the “writhing brown roots and golden hair” of the wiki description. I didn’t dare go check the books and get caught rereading and lose steam by distracting myself.

Pete

Cap’n Pete in pirate clothes sounded both more fun and easier to stylize than a fancy living-tides dress. Her hair is described as “oil slick” and she has “matching pale scales” here and there, but I only depicted them on her cheek. I also tried to give her ruffles/a cravat that matched her shirt. Bc why not.

[daemon-ai]

AI-curated art:

In the flickering candlelight, a girl hunches over ancient tomes, her fingers tracing faded ink on parchment. Nearby, a boy draws his bow across taut violin strings, the melancholy notes echoing through shadowed halls. Smoke curls lazily in a dimly lit jazz club, where patrons in tweed and velvet sip amber whiskey, lost in the hypnotic rhythm of a mournful saxophone. Leather-bound books line mahogany shelves, their spines whispering secrets of forgotten lore. A chessboard sits abandoned, its ebony and ivory pieces frozen in eternal struggle, while an antique typewriter awaits inspiration, its keys stained with the fingerprints of aspiring poets.

[quicksilver87]

Taurus & Capricorn

You ignore what i think, you won't let it sink,

you don't even blink, spill any more ink,

let yourself on a brink, let you and me sync,

my thoughts just stink, leave love to shrink,

i'm just little blue, only words i can spew,

these days were a clue, you saw it too,

all the way through to the wonderful view,

how our vibe is true, this still is our cue,

am i just so insane, is it just my brain,

coping with the pain still seeing this lane,

keep riding this train, old, boring and plain,

am i just a stain to be washed off with rain,

my heart is assuring i can keep enduring,

keep garden manuring, keep on maturing,

am i still alluring, you mind still touring,

the thought of curing, our love securing,

noone can deny we make eachother fly high,

we are a sunny blue sky, its our natural dye,

but i can still spy your soul internaly cry,

how you away shy, wish to give it a try,

our souls are tied, we can't let it slide,

nothing yet died but you keep a stride,

puzzle pieces still hide, moved by a tide,

pushed to the side, start looking more wide,

i love being your friend, don't wanna offend,

don't wanna contend, just make an amend,

my will to you send that you can depend,

just take my hand and let us ascend,

situation is a clot like the Gordian knot,

like a tangled plot that this life brought,

it's such a tight spot but give it a shot,

i keep stirring the pot to give all i've got,

just take a sword, cut the knot cord,

reset the chessboard, rise out of the fjord,

from your own accord step bravely toward,

please let us afford to again play our chord.

[writingforfunsies]

Obey Me! Aesthetics

Lucifer: confident smirks. cursive letters. the scratching of pen on paper. deep chuckles. an old record player. a coffee pot filled to the top. chessboards. chin tilted up. falling feathers. healed scars. the burden of secrets. fingers dancing across piano keys. running a knuckle down someone’s cheek. a quiet kind of love.

Mammon: bubbling enthusiasm. laughing until your stomach hurts. camera flashing. leather jacket. the clinking of coins against each other. loud caws of a flock of black crows. late night drives. a favorite song playing on repeat. hands running tenderly through soft hair. tight hugs. the warm feeling of knowing your love is returned in full.

Leviathan: inside jokes. the bright glow of a screen. sharing headphones while laying in bed. pinky promises. falling asleep to a movie. fingers dipping into freezing water. waves that swallow quick and deep. smooth scales. neon lights. shy touches. sitting together shoulder to shoulder. the comfortable silence between best friends. acceptance.

Satan: scribbled poetry. oxford shoes and cable-knit sweaters. stacked books beside the bed. the satisfaction of finally completing a puzzle. a camera shutter sound. love letters. going to museum exhibits alone. the purring of a cat. cold evening air. scorching anger. raging storms. gazing at the moon. slowly discovering yourself.

Asmodeus: cherry lip gloss. sweet cupcake frosting. a pair of red eyes and the pull of magic. musical beds. scented candles. pink and purple roses. swooning statues. saccharine sweetness. staring at the reflection in the mirror for hours. brushing noses. a scary epiphany. trembling voice whispering adorations. the frightening euphoria of falling in love.

Beelzebub: snacking in the middle of the night. oversized jackets. caramel candies. muscle burn from working out. silent conversations between siblings. the buzzing of wings. gnawing guilt. nightmares. hands reaching out for someone long gone. picking someone up while hugging them. dancing in the kitchen. learning to forgive yourself.

Belphegor: soft whispers in the dark. stargazing. tired eyes. hair spread out on a pillow. the scent of lavender. fresh bedclothes from a dryer. rain pattering against the roof. sleeping on someone’s chest and hearing their heartbeat. crushed bones. closed eyes. hummed lullabies. large hands intertwining with smaller ones. a second chance.

Diavolo: royal red and gold. pranks. full belly laughter. open arms. ballroom dances. glittering chandeliers. glass chalices. red wax seals. stacks of paper on a wooden desk. a heavy crown. moonlight shining through the windows. loneliness. tall pillars and empty palace halls. cobblestones roads. an unexpected friendship.

Barbatos: a warm cup of tea. pastries crumbling onto the counter. a gentle kiss on the knuckles. walking through a garden. sarcasm spoken with a smile. empty streets at night. déjà vu. silent footsteps. rows of doors that never ends. the fleeting, delicate, crucial moment when you know it’s the right time to do something.

Simeon: honeyed glow of the sunset. warm blue eyes. scrawled stories on leather-bound journals. ink stains on fingers. golden ichor. the echoes of a choir. reconnecting with a childhood friend. feeling nostalgic from hearing an old song. staying up late talking. pressed flowers. tranquility. the warm embrace of invisible wings. a silent guardian.

Luke: bright grins. sweet frosting on freshly baked cakes. the soft tinkle of a wind chime. blowing a pinwheel. white puffy sleeves. stubbornness. the urge to pinch something cute. sunlight filtering through trees. daisies and morning glories. serendipity. small fingers strumming a harp. a kind of honesty that only children possess.

Solomon: dry wit. dancing shadows and blue flames. long, dark capes. hailstorms. illegible handwriting. secretive smiles. half-ruined castle walls. melted candles. thick books with yellowing papers. the pursuit for knowledge and power. twilight. muted saffron. the low rumble of distant thunder. a special hiding place. a friend in the dark.

Lilith: soft laughter. running between tall grasses. pink lilies floating on calm waters. the excitement of exploring a new place. heart beating fast. star-crossed lovers. a stolen fruit. the sound of an arrow zipping through the air. falling, falling. a stone effigy. the love that remains even after someone is gone. longing for a distant place. a soul losing their way home.

Bonus:

MC: ivy growing across the wall. lantern lights hanging from a tree. feeling lost. dark skies. brisk walks through the academy halls. eyes widened in wonder. dangerous secrets. heart beating fast. kindness. glowing sigils on soft skin. cold fingers. missing the warmth of the sun. dying light. surviving. bravery and forgiveness and being so, so human.

[untowonder-gone]

To begin,  The Queen of Rot is the history of Marianne’s existence,  as well as a verse which will be selectively open to writing.  It features as a predominate aspect of Marianne’s existence within Twisted Wonderland,  though it’s relevance, as Marianne matures into her own being,  is skin deep for the most part.

Keep in mind that Marianne is an amnesiac,  and unaware of the circumstances surrounding her creation,  let alone her own existence.  She is,  until Chapter 6,  unaware that she is a Phantom or considered one of the Three Queens of the Looking-Glass Wonderland.

Several dark themes including gore,  body horror,  and suicide will be prevalent in this verse,  and may be upsetting to some readers.  There will be themes of disassociation,  as Marianne is considered an amalgamation of Alice’s.

     ❝ 𝐇𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐩����𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧, 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧         𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐡, 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐡, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞         𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐨𝐡 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫         𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐞 ❞

'Twas some years ago that Alice Underhill arrived in the Looking-Glass House,  stepping through the antique mirror upon the mantle instead of being invited through a door by a mysterious White Rabbit.

To the surprise of none,  Alice traversed the nine squares of the board,  meeting the inhabitants of this other land,  and learning the oddities,  the nonsense of the chess game.  A different game from one explored by Alice Liddell a scant few years prior,  where it was a game of cards instead of chess.

At the end of the chess game,  as promised,  Wonderland beyond the Looking-Glass,  did crown Alice the Black Queen,  Ruler of the Black Chess Pieces,  and the Spaces In-Between.  According to the history books of Wonderland,  the Three Queens of the Chessboard decreed that the newly crowned Queen would never be in play,  unless one of Wonderland's two founding Queens does not wish to play,  or,  on the rarest of occasions,  the White Queen cannot be found.  Neither here nor there was Alice's kingdom,  and perhaps that had once been for the best, however it would not remain so.

Wonderland continued ever onward,  nonsensical as ever,  and each day offering a near repeat of previous events.  For Wonderland was ever tied to the sway and whims of Alice.  Even the Rose Kingdom,  where Queen of Hearts remained,  fell to the whimsy of the child of Liddell.  As the child grew,  as magicians do,  more external magic found host within Wonderland.  And the very residents of the land began to change,  affected by the growth of their human ties.  If only they could separate those ties,  then what was to transpire might have been avoided.

The first sign that something frightening had occurred was when the Tweedles,  amidst their fighting,  noted a strange inky puddle bubbling up from between the edges of their square and another.  It was as though someone had cracked a jar of India ink and left it for another to clean.  And sure enough,  the twins,  so alike,  did think to clean the mess.  It might only stain their brand new rattles,  after all,  and they could not let that be!  But upon making contact with the freshly spilled ink,  it sank into their skin and turned their bodies into glass vessels.  They were the first corrupted by the Overblot which was consuming Alice Underhill.

They would not be the only ones who were corrupted by the blot.  To feel the affects of the corruption seeping beneath the surface.  Skin ripping,  tearing,  muscle turned to filament used to bind panes of glass.  And innards becoming a thick inky ooze.  All rationality and individuality cast aside for an all consuming hunger for something unknown.

The Queen of Hearts, who knew of the spreading corruption,  and had foreseen the events in a dream,  sent forth the Clover and Diamond from Wonderland to seek out another Alice,  any who could assist in keeping the blot from Wonderland.  Who could obliterate the curse which was feeding onto this once gentle land.  For Wonderland was defenseless to the ongoing crisis,  as they could not sever Alice’s ties to the land.

Try as they might,  the two could find no youth who could stand up to the Blot,  for each child named Alice was ultimately drawn into the despair and regret the phantom brought with it.  These children who were marked as powerful magicians in training could scarcely handle the weight of the blot,  as it consumed their magic and their will.  Trading hopes and dreams for crushing despair and unknowable suffering.  They buckled,  they all did,  beneath the weight of the Phantom,  allowing their very souls to be burned away so this being may continue onward,  the process of which often includes some form of suicide,  be it by hanging or walking into the puddles of blot scattered across the board.

Over time,  it was not safe to even think of dragging an Alice into Wonderland,  for fear that some member of the Land of Grief might come to know of this Wonderland beyond Twisted Wonderland.  And so they attempted to close the gates,  to seal the mirrors,  and hope the phantom would fade on her own.  Of course,  with land so rich in magic,  it would exist far longer than any could fathom.

That is,  until four o'clock in the afternoon on one grim day that it reached out with coiling tendrils of ink,  piercing the heart of the Clover,  known as White Rabbit,  seeking a new seedbed in its desperation to claim existence.  And for a time the White Rabbit could move through Wonderland without the interference of the heavy despair which rooted itself inside of him.

As the phantom consumed the rabbit from the inside out,  he began to nurture it instead.  As a father ought to,  he named the phantom Mary Ann for an assistant he could neither see nor hear,  who was as faceless as a ghost.  It is in that moment that the phantom ever-present in his heart manifested at long last,  not as a creature of ink and glass and tattered cloth,  but as a girl of some small stature,  whose appearance was like a washed-out memory of a child he had once known some years ago.

Mary Ann,  he insisted,  was a Queen of Wonderland,  an heiress to a throne on the other side of the board,  where the board had grown black with ink,  and the monstrous shapes of the chess pieces had become glass soldiers sloshing around with ink spilling from every crack.  It wasn’t difficult to raise Mary Ann from a nameless phantom of horror to a Queen worthy of this forsaken land.  And he loved her,  or so the survivors of this hell believed.  He loved her as if she were his own child of rot.

There are consequences,  of course,  for blessing a monster with sentience.  Although Wonderland had ceased to merge with Looking Glass,  they could scarcely separate their edges,  for the corrupting blot had spread far and wide across the board by the acceptance of this Queen. Not that they had much of choice.  Not that they could ever stop it.

Hope,  they could hope for the day when the Queen of Rot,  of the Blot,  might one day fade from existence,  and Wonderland might one day be freed.

As Mary Ann grew tired upon her throne of glass,  she heard an all too familiar voice crying about the time.  About a pair of gloves and a fan.  It was enough to stir the Queen of Rot from her throne,  from the blot which oozed between the cracks in her throne.  She would follow that familiar voice,  that familiar rabbit.  And the further she followed,  the more memories she would lose until the only memory she could cling to was a name.  Marianne.

         A phantom of Alice Underhill.  Marianne Liddle.

[perpetuallylocked]

Tag Yourself: Nancy Drew Game Aesthetics Edition

SCK: opening a new book for the first time, the nostalgia of VHS tapes, coca cola in a glass, remembering your locker combo, letterman jackets, watching true crime documentaries, empty high school hallways, 1950s diners, cramming before an exam

STFD: boxes of chocolates, tape recorders, the click-clack of typewriter keys, catching a taxi, shadows on the wall, stained coffee cups, sitting down to rewatch a tv show, perfume bottles, 1990s fashions

MHM: the sight of dust mixing with light, sightreading old sheet music, crystal chandeliers, old floral teacups, crystal balls, old rotary phones, grand staircases, intricate wooden floors, never-ending house projects

TRT: the glitter of diamonds, worn chessboards, snow-covered gardens, ink-covered hands, butterfly collections, cold tile floors, dull suits of armor, dusty history tomes, footsteps muffled by carpets

FIN: plush red velvet, the scent of popcorn, drawing art deco designs in the margins, worn carpets, old playing cards, the feeling there is still magic everywhere, meeting a childhood idol, movie posters on the wall, catching up with a childhood friend

SSH: jade carvings, steep stone steps, chocolate bars, being the only person in a museum gallery, clean lab coats, amazing sights through a microscope, visiting the hospital, remembering facts you've only heard once, checking the mail for your package

DOG: log cabins, the flapping of bird wings, the distant howling of dogs, the odd sensation when you can see the moon during the day, the scent of pine trees, old glass bottles, strolls along the lake shore, admiring 1920s fashion, long walks in the woods

CAR: antique roller coasters, old postcards, the golden light at dusk, loud band organ music, sounds of a carnival at night, ice cream sundaes for dessert, the delight of riding the carousel for the first time, paint-stained clothes, winning a prize from a carnival game

DDI: a steaming mug of tea on a foggy day, sea caves, light from a lighthouse piercing the fog, messages in bottles, approaching deep water, the sound of seagulls, vintage blue bicycles, spotting a whale on the horizon, crumb-topped blueberry muffins

SHA: worn plaid shirts, sunsets on the horizon, the clip-clopping of hooves, antique blanket chests, forbidden romance, mason jars of flowers, brown and blue eggs, playing piano by ear, faded rugs

CUR: leather-bound books, small potted succulents, curving staircases, old portraits, family secrets, four-poster beds, hearing strange sounds at night, food cravings, spending all day on your laptop

CLK: the ticking of an old clock, pearl and cameo jewelry, the scent of a pie baking, the whir of a sewing machine, reading in a window seat, flouncy dresses, bridges over creeks, driving around a small town, reading Shakespeare for your own enjoyment

TRN: ballet slippers, snow mixed with smoke, faded pastel embroidery, the far-off sound of train whistles, old parchment and wax seals, unwrapping a piece of salt water taffy, quirky local museums, organizing your collections and belongings, light shining through tiffany lamps

DAN: light streaming through stained glass windows, bold red lipstick, freshly baked cookies, tales from your grandparents' youth, long-lost love, twirling in a tulle skirt, the overwhelming desire to visit paris, planning out your outfit for the next day, park benches

CRE: wind in the palm trees, footprints in the sand, rustling in the jungle, small seashells, rope bridges, fruity shave ice, waves tickling your toes, the tangy taste of pineapple, watching surfers from the beach

ICE: frozen lakes, sitting by a crackling fire, snow-covered piles of logs, worn leather ice skates, paw prints, staying in bed after you've woken up, seeing your breath in the cold air, unexpected snowball fights, leather-bound journals

CRY: shadows emphasized by candlelight, dirt-caked fingernails, exploring a cemetery at night, wrought iron fences, the smell after it rains, shelves lined with tchotchkes, going back for second helpings at dinner, moonlight streaming through the window, a grandfather clock at the end of the hall

VEN: gelato cones, orange and brown buildings, soft italian songs, gold lockets, buying flowers for yourself, cobblestone courtyards, leaning over the balcony rail, the overwhelming desire to reinvent yourself, dancing like no one is watching

HAU: ocean waves hitting cliffs, hanging herb bundles, old stone fortresses, white lace and promises, wilting flower bouquets, whistling to keep yourself company, distant celtic music, simple diamond rings, sitting in a peaceful garden

RAN: old gold coins, wading in the cold ocean, a slow-moving hourglass, seeing where the sky meets the sea, old pirate legends, sand between your toes, looking down through clear water, buying yourself new clothes for vacation, eating fruit salad for breakfast

WAC: exploring a college campus, old trophies, distant cello music, milk and cookies, cardigan sweaters, texting your friends, bare tree branches, anthologies of stories, school supply shopping

TOT: wind rustling through wheat fields, creaking wooden staircases, white curtains on the window, golden hay bales, old fences lining the road, watching a storm from the porch, buying a new camera, hanging out in your favorite professor's office, sitting on a tire swing

SAW: the faint scent of cherry blossoms, origami cranes, taking a bath, hearing a new language for the first time, shards of glass, seeing your reflection in the water, buying a new stuffed animal, trying a new food on vacation, listening to your grandmother's stories

CAP: rereading favorite fairy tales, blood-red garnets, red hair in braids, mist in the forest, local legends, playing board games on rainy days, remembering your make-believe games of childhood, puffy-sleeved blouses, watching glassblowers make magic

ASH: blue roadsters, rapidly melting ice cream cones, white picket fences, pastel shop awnings, hand-lettered signs in front of shops, the act of simply being with your friends, revisiting your childhood bedroom, spending all day in an antique shop, visiting your friend's house for the first time

TMB: wind-blown sand, straw sun hats, the warmth of the afternoon, chipped statues, well-used research books, having an egypt phase as a kid, planning your next adventure, drinking cold water on a hot day, pushing your hair out of your face

DED: pencil-covered hands, well-oiled gears, the crackling of electricity, eating your favorite flavor of gummy bears, group projects, keeping to yourself at work, unironically wearing ugly sweaters, publishing your research, organizing your messy desk

GTH: peeling paint on a once-grand house, angel statues, sheet-covered furniture, porch swings, lit matches, lace masquerade masks, grand ball gowns, drinking a hot cup of tea and lemon, looking for treasures in the basement

SPY: old leather suitcases, distant memories, the lingering touch of your true love, piano keys, adrenaline rushes, popped trench coat collars, hugging your mom after not seeing her for ages, looking out the window on a train ride, hearing movie soundtracks in your head

MED: the view from the top of a mountain, the rushing sound of waterfalls, freshly dyed hair, shooting stars, wandering off the trail, vintage comic books, philosophical thoughts, binge-watching reality tv, feeling the sense of deja vu

LIE: hands coated with clay and paint, laurel wreaths, pomegranate juice, books of Greek myths, gold sandals, memorizing a monologue, flowing white gowns, spending all day in a museum gallery, exploring ancient ruins

SEA: the twinkling sound of old music boxes, a night shining with stars, cozy knit sweaters, curling up with your dog, model ships, old barrels, learning your town's history, watching gently falling snow, the beauty of the aurora borealis

MID: the dark colors of herbs, edison bulbs, copper kettles, slowly changing leaves, road trips with friends, carving a jack-o'-lantern, exploring cemeteries at night, small shops surrounding a courtyard, thinking you saw a ghost out of the corner of your eye

[amnesiac-pawn]

Brandishing his persistence was an easy task to fall back on. He hadn't presumed that he would go all the way around the roster, touching base with people who he thought he had lost in transition. But since he found plenty of them last minute, Henry swore on his hand that they had been hiding from him all this time!

So many Ylissians had a pronounced presence at the Academy— he couldn't recognize if it was because he was looking for some semblance of home or because they were the only ones he'd recognize in a crowd. Either way, the game of hide and seek had to end eventually. Starting with the kids. You know. The kids, who had to eat their hearts out. The kids, who watched their parents fall. The kids, who had nothing but each other after the world had ended. Those kids. "Morgan! I wanted to say good bye before we went our seperate ways~"

One in particular that always cared to ruffle his feathers (in the nice way!) was Morgan, whose presence glittered in a sort of brilliance only untapped potential would show. Their hide and seek had ended pretty early, actually! Since he found the boyo teaching seminars just for the hell of it. A pearled sheen rested in his palm, before passing it neatly into Morgan's as a baton of sorts. Opaque glass met his palm, shaped carefully like a pawn.

"Don't hang your head low, okay boyo? And don't give in without a good fight. Promise me, even when things get tough, you'll fight for your life out there."

If there was one thing Morgan could be thankful for in all of this, it was the knowledge that his family would always have his back.

There was a time when it was hard to accept the people around him as family. They weren't his family—weren't the people he had grown up with. Those people were dead, victims of the Fell Dragon; victims of his mother. How could he ever replace them in his heart?

But he did.

And he doesn't regret it. How could he ever, when people like Henry smiled at him the way they used to when Morgan was but a child?

(The guilt faded long ago. The Henry he once knew would want this—would want Morgan to be happy with his old mentor, to laugh and smile and move on from the pain he has been dealt.)

He stares down at the little glass sculpture nestled in his palm. A pawn, like he often saw himself; a pawn, like he learned to be, a piece to be moved along a chessboard by someone smarter than himself. Controlled by a higher power. Mere fodder.

Yet, there would be no game without them.

"I won't be taken," he swears, solemn. "I've fought too hard to get this far in life. There's not a chance in hell that I'm going to fall here, or anywhere—especially outside of Ylisse."

Ink-stained fingers curl around the chess piece. Mage smiles up at mentor, eyes shut to accentuate a delighted grin.

"Both of us, Henry—we'll be back here real soon." 

[eventideluminary-games]

Poll for the future??

You know, I've been sitting on this for a while, and I know I can really only handle 2 WIPs at once. My other two WIPs have blown up practically over night and I find myself more on those blogs answering asks and posting lore than I do here.

I've been thinking about putting Under the Eyes of Themis on hiatus simply because of low interaction and interest. I wouldn't abandon the project, but it's simple supply and demand. It's obvious that The Vermillion Court and The Ink Stained Chessboard are my more popular stories/games, by far and, logically, while Eyes of Themis is my first IF, it would make more sense for me to focus on the other two. Also partially for financial reasons as well. I can't exactly keep writing and developing if I put out a product not many are interested in, lmao.

So, I suppose this is more to see where the dispersion of my readers are so I can allocate my resources appropriately.

I'll interpret the results as the highest percentage being my 1st priority, 2nd highest percent being 2nd, and 3rd being put on hiatus.

[ninemoons42-lestallumhaven]

(this one is for promnis friends.)

Quick Fic Pick 85: crumb-trail

It’s the sun, peeking out of its veils of cloud, that suddenly lights up all the breadth of the empty street -- corner to corner, nothing moving except for the wind moving through the old trees that seem to just miss touching, high overhead -- and he aims his camera up at the spiderwebbing gaps of light between those branches, their bright cargo of shimmering leaf-shadows. 

And then down, at the shimmering play of faint sunlight on the bare asphalt, the scattered bits and pieces of fallen petals, the play of colors on windows and awnings and shop-doors brightly opening.

Here’s the coffee shop that he’s supposed to be checking out today; he’s supposed to be taking pictures of the cakes and the pastries, for a school assignment on local color and local flavors, and though he dearly, dearly wants to also cram a slice of cake into his mouth, he’s already stuck on a different idea entirely.

A different idea of cake. Leftovers, surely, as it had only been half a slice that had been passed hastily on to him, the plastic fork still bearing Noctis’s ink-stained fingerprint, and the paper plate already drooping at the edges. 

But the cake -- that cake, so miraculously light and sweet and tender and he’d almost cried as he put that first bite into his mouth. He’d licked the plate clean, too, when it was all gone (gone too soon!), never mind the paper-chalky taste that left on his teeth. Golden crumbs of golden cake and the flowery scent of it that had nearly swamped him, left him sighing and sniffling and laughing at himself. 

From the first bite of the cake there’d been no doubt in his mind as to who might have made it -- and here Prompto sighs again, heavily this time, because -- he’d be such a pain in Ignis’s ass, if he dared to ask for a slice of cake, or for something similar, and so. He’s here at the coffee shop and whatever they have here, will already only be a pale and secondary imitation of that glorious half-slice --

He plasters on a smile and a cheerful look, and goes in. Asks the questions he’s supposed to ask. Permission, and the waiver slip with the school logo on it, duly accredited and all that, and he’s carefully maneuvering a neat stack of blondies into a more picturesque heap, more ramshackle, when there’s a cough at the door and the scent of very strong coffee. 

A voice that Prompto knows: “Oh. Good morning.”

“H-hi!” But he’s grateful to be focusing on the blondies, grateful his hand never shakes on his camera, and he tilts the whole thing a little more to the right and takes another shot, and then he straightens and braces himself. “Hi Ignis.”

“Schoolwork, I see.” Quiet smile, the careful line of Ignis’s arm and his pointing finger, at the form on the counter.

“If it gets me out of the classroom on a nice day,” Prompto says, locking his knees together so he doesn’t fall over.

Ignis laughs, softly. “Yes. I know the feeling. It’s better to be out enjoying the sunshine. Don’t let me get in your way, please; I am only here to pick up an order for Iris.”

“Tell her hi for me?”

“I shall.”

He gets through the rest of the morning easily: it’s easy to take pictures of cupcakes, of iced buns, of a chocolate cake frosted in a gorgeous chessboard pattern -- and he laughingly accepts an offer of a chocobo-yellow cupcake, peaks of sweet cream dotted with silver sugar -- he’s cramming the second bite into his mouth when he clatters out onto the sidewalk and --

Car, idling, and Ignis rolling the passenger-side window down. “Let me drive you back?”

“I thought you had to deliver stuff?” Prompto hesitates for a long moment, until the door opens, and then he has no choice but to clamber in.

Paper cup of coffee in the central console, steaming, and Prompto only watches the movement of Ignis out of the corner of his eye: a series of short sips, and a long breath of the coffee-scent. “I can do that now.”

“Am I cargo, too? Deliverables? Hahahaha, sorry, I’m holding you up for the rest of the day.”

“Surely not. Please believe me on that.”

The cupcake loses a little of its savor -- he’s too busy watching the tap of Ignis’s fingers against the steering wheel. Listening to the quiet murmur of his voice -- Prompto now knows Ignis talks to himself -- he hoards the experience, secretly, sadly, his fingers twisting in his lap over the remains of his morning, the strap of his camera.

(continued in qfp 87: star-path)

[edennohebi]

after only 12 days of suffering, one would figure that the snakes would leave you to adjust to your surroundings. they had offered you promise of freedom from not only your impediment, but from the hell around you -- all for the price. you were instructed to commit a murder; to stain your hands in red & get away with it, as if they had been pure & cleansed all along, your sins washed away without ever coming to true light. that was their “bargain” -- philosophies whispered themselves on the wind’s trail, only uttered in the hissing of snakes that ‘grand wishes had come at a grand price.’ it appeared that your captors were stubborn on the matter: there would be no flexibility, no loophole for you to worm your way through in an attempt to be rid of this binding, constricting world.

yet even then, no one had stepped up to the plate. why, you had wondered? were they waiting? planning?

whatever the reason may have been, you wouldn’t be gifted the time to think it over: clearing eyes himself had demanded that you all find your ways to the castle grounds. though he was not the Queen, it was within your best interest to listen; the cries of snakes that filled even the deaf’s minds had insisted so & his violent nature had suggested it even further. of course, he had threatened: when you were ordered to come, you would obey it no better than a dog would. if you had refused ( or perhaps if you had no idea of it due to your disability; but that mattered not to him. whether it was your choice or not, you would be forced just as anyone else ), then his snakes would drag you there themselves: they cared little for the livelihood of pawns on his chessboard. snakes would wrap themselves around your limbs & sink their teeth in, & your body would skid through dirt, mud & stone until you were where you so needed to be. whatever state you’re in at the end of it matters not to him, but simply that you are there at all, even if it was against your will.

it seems that the courtyard is packed with your fellow players, the sea of bystanders bustling & drowning out any audible conversation pieces to pick up on. not that it was necessary -- not with how clearing rises from the ledge he’d seated himself upon, & the way he stalks forward so effortlessly; even to the blind, every step he took still carried his presence through vibrations on the ground.

( was he to relieve you of your burdens for this? the answer was clearly no -- those who could not see, could not hear, would receive a different telling of this foreboding story. were the best tales not ones you were forced to interpret? the serpent promised wisdom -- & so he would deliver upon those who were fortune, & those who weren’t would need to grasp at straws. )

❝   have you finally decided to surrender yourselves? ❞ it’s a sick joke -- he knows more than well that he left no options of refusal. his boots scuff against the ground as he stops. ❝  how kind of you.to showcase your miserable forms at last -- honestly, how long had i waited for this? ❞ a self-satisfied hum rumbles out of his chest, eyelids lowering. ❝  decidedly, far too much. still, i welcome you & that curiosity of yours. ❞

❝  though, ❞ his eyes graze among the crowd, as if counting heads, ❝  i’m certain some of you haven’t the faintest of idea of what’s going on -- tragic, is it not? to be so robbed of your senses, unaware of your surroundings -- so i can’t help but to wonder, what’s stopped you from regaining them? ❞ his eyes narrow, pupils sharpening in acid-shaded hues. ❝  could it be fear? are you all too cowardly to butcher those around you, like mice? or is it a misguided belief that you may all survive on a pacifist’s agenda, & we will grow bored & set you free in due time? ❞ the words tumble out in between laughter, cruel entirely as he heaves out a sigh of, ❝  such stupid things. ❞

❝  perhaps you need a farther push -- an example of how this is not a waiting game. ❞ as the words hiss off of his tongue like poison, snakes emerge from the darkness once more. their beady eyes lock onto one soul in particular; one that saeru had handpicked from the very start of it all. 

“ --- huh ?”

in an instant, they move -- their speed is beyond comprehension in itself, striking out & wrapping around HIYORI’S ankles & wrists tight enough to bruise & break blood vessels. 

“ NO -- ! s--stop, it hurts! what are you doing? stop it, let me go! ”

as quickly as they come, they pull back with their grip entirely vice -- her body is forced forward, pathetically so, chin knocked into the harsh, unforgiving earth & her body dragged towards him. as he glowers down at her, those who would have attempted to stop him, to object, are found to be bound by snakes as well -- they constrict themselves around the crowd’s ankles to root them in place. interference is far from preferred.

a hand reaches down, & fingers knot in her hair to yank her up onto her knees & face the crowd. this is a show -- they will bear witness to this event whether they want to or not.

❝  the thought has crossed your minds once before, has it not? this game promises you freedom -- but is death not an ‘out’ of this world? perhaps, you’ve wondered, what will become of the dead’s bodies? ❞ the smile he wears is sick & twisted, teeth bared for all to see his fangs. ❝  i wonder, i wonder! ❞ though his tone had remained on a manic, gradually raising high, it soon drops into a whisper: 

❝  have you ever watched a child die? ❞

( he knows well of the mothers here, of those with weak hearts for children -- their suffering will be delicious. )

“ stop it !!! ”

she’s sobbing now, trembling within his hold -- incessantly begging a variety of ‘please stop’ and ‘don’t do it’ born from the lies she was prior fed. why was this happening ? she wasn’t a part of the game , right ? kagerou wouldn’t lie to her about that, he wouldn’t of done this --- and hibiya! oh god, hibiya -- he’s here, he’s right there in the crowd. she’s sorry, she’s so sorry, she hadn’t even had the nerve to approach you and apologize for FAILING . 

but here she is, letting him down yet again. with vision blurred by tears and a frightened gaze -- his name wants to leave her lips, but it hangs dry in her throat. she’s sorry -- for once in her last moments she can’t force a smile nor mouth her final words for only hibiya to witness -- only succumb to what very well may be her millionth demise.

the moment he dares to release her hair, serpents rise above to wrap around her, lacing & lacing time & time again, squeezing & crushing bone as they further harshen their hold. fangs rip through her skin & suffocate her in complete darkness as they gather, one after another. it becomes apparent then, that they are mere entities: ones that use their shadows to consume her whole, shrouding her figure in complete, utter darkness. it’s a disgusting sight in its own right, to see one’s body outlined by nothing but scales & hungry reptiles; & oh, how clearing laughs & laughs, looking so pleased with himself. he even sighs.

❝  a shame, truly, that those of you without hearing, ❞ a hand raises & a finger taps to his headphones. ❝  cannot bare witness to these magnificent screams of agony! wonderful, truly wonderful! ❞

clearing allows himself to laugh -- his moment of pleasure as the snakes slowly begin to disperse & melt off of her very form like nothing more than ink. they drip & drop onto the ground around her like a blackened puddle, staining her now whitened skin. 

what was once a girl by the name of hiyori now stood something far different -- though structurally the same, her hair had been singed, & her skin had been dyed a white & icy blue hue. whatever life radiated in her eyes is long gone, dead with her very soul; instead blank, lifeless eyes & an even more lost expression remained. if you were to stand too close to her, perhaps you would feel a chill. 

dying down from his laughing fit, the snake sneers & draws closer once more -- hands resting upon her shoulders far too casually. ❝   ahh -- i can see it in your face! surely, you must all be wondering what’s happened to this child, hm? simple: when an ego dies, the corpse is useless -- & “we”, ❞ he drawls the word with specific emphasis, as if he wishes to hold no direction association, but is making a point, ❝  desire bodies -- what better than those with life torn from them?  ❞

his fingers drum against clothed shoulders, & his head falls to the side. ❝  this must be a relief to some of you, yes? my, how unfortunate in your case -- as their memories & selves has been wiped. they are nothing more than husks -- but please, be at ease. at least you’ll still see them, you know? ❞

he leans forward somewhat, smile still intact. ❝  of course, this brat is a special case -- she has been gifted a snake that contains a world, whereas your measly lives will not be so lucky, only left with the bottom of the barrel. really, it is quite funny, ❞ his nails dig into her shoulders. ❝  those of you who believe so blindly in your faith -- did you believe that this was Hell? a child like this, bearing your proclaimed innocence -- she is your “Heaven” that you so desire. but she-- ❞ his hands slither upward, fingers knotting over her throat & his palms squeezing against her neck, 

❝  --can die just as easily once more. ‘Heaven’ is a concept here, one that can be crushed. ❞

but his hands drop once again, & his body pulls back, curling into himself. his mouth opens, & then it hesitates -- a tremor can be felt in the ground, & the air suddenly spikes up in heat. you can feel the sky becoming foggier, more blurred as the temperature rises & haze scorches at your skin. clearing, however, seems anything but startled -- his brow furrows as he glances into the distance, but his temporary scowl twists into a satisfied smirk.

❝  do with that information as you all will -- if you value your lives so much, i’d advise you kill before you turn into nothing more than a shell. such a fate would be worse than dying in itself, don’t you think? but if you continue dragging this out,” his eyes flick back sharply, pupils mere slits, ❝  one by one, will you be slaughtered by my hand & turned into nothing but tools for the Queen. understood? ❞

the silence in the crowd, the lack of your voice -- he takes it as confirmation.

❝  delightful. now disappear. ❞

slowly do the serpents that kept you locked in place vanish, & clearing turns sharply to take his leave, heading towards the castle. 

> CONTINUE?

UPDATES:

✘ for better or for worse, the kogoeru daze has been born from hiyori’s unwilling sacrifice. ✘ hiyori is now considered dead as the white haze holds no memories or recollection of hiyori’s personality. you can now access the OBITUARIES PAGE. ✘ HOWEVER, the white haze is now an NPC you can interact with through the ENH askbox as well as through hiyori’s blog. she will not be permitted to commit murders and you cannot kill her, but she can participate in trials if she wishes.  ✘ depressing as it is, hiyori had left behind a will. all of her items and coins have been split between @heathazetired , @raginxtempestas and @harukanosekaijiju. you can find the list here: [ GOOGLE DOC ] . ✘ the haze is unstable with a constantly fluctuating temperature now. something must be wrong with the queen’s son. if not careful with where they stay, players can suffer from sunburn or heat stroke.

[approtis]

(13) - Skeletal Warlord - If these guys were a piece on a chessboard, they'd be a mashup of the King and Queen. In charge of everyone on their squad, they are extremely ruthless and efficient. They rampage through villages, and with every death, another warrior is added to their ranks. They especially love wading through swamps, as it cleans out all the blood stains from their bones. However, they really hate it when their armour starts to stain green. Which is why they always carry a tiny bottle of lavender and vinegar to help remedy the situation. #comicart #comics #card #art #comic #drawing #illustration #design #Magic #skeleton #artist #creature #fantasy #warlord #ink #work #sketch #horns #artwork #cartoon #digitalart #eyes #sword #armour #artistsoninstagram #green #instacomics #igcomics #digital #orange https://ift.tt/30PCw5C

[porcileorg]

On the group show ‘Greater Than the Sum’ @ Jahn und Jahn, Munich (2019-10-24 – 2019-12-14)

Participating artists: Kerstin Brätsch, Michaela Eichwald, Helen Marten, Sarah Ortmeyer, Laure Prouvost 

Author: Magda Wisniowska - Munich, November, 2019.

Citing Synergy I am guilty as much as the next person of name-dropping philosopher’s names in discussions about art. So, while I have a lot of sympathy for how the curators choose to frame the exhibition “Greater than the Sum” at Jahn und Jahn, I also wonder at their reference to Aristotle’s claim, “The whole is more than the sum of its parts.”

In their press release they write,

Each artistic position shown in this group exhibition appears unique, original, and complex. Through their combination, the works solidify into a new formation, encouraging a re-examination of the whole. Borrowing from Aristotle’s claim that “The whole is more than the sum of its parts”, Greater than the sum reveals new synergies [click link]. 

The lack of further context makes this reference to the concept of synergy difficult to place. Very simply, why Aristotle? And why now, when the concept’s heyday was the interwar period of the psychological theory of Gestalt? At the time, research into synergy had a bearing on an art history rooted in the psychology of art, but this was tied to the pursuit of naturalistic representation that art has long since abandoned. Maybe it is precisely this troubled history that makes the reference to synergy interesting, but it also makes the exhibition easy to dismiss as a collection of moderately successful artists from whom the gallery can profit. Or more generously, perhaps it gives the viewer a rare opportunity to focus on the work outside of an established discursive frame.  What kind of “new synergies” does the exhibition reveal?

Fragments Without a Whole The first work to see when you enter is by the award winning English artist, Helen Marten. A face the same colour as your desk is like many of her sculptures, a tightly controlled collection of odd objects, some familiar, some personal and some downright bizarre. A small and much too narrow whitish desk stands assertively yet precariously, its extravagant base kept from wobbling by a number of folded bits and pieces, far more than necessary. There are a few things on the desk and many more in the wastepaper laundry bin close by. One of a series, this work was shown for the first time to mark the opening of the Kunsthalle Zürich, in the exhibition “Almost the Exact Shape of Florida”, 2012. A later version was shown at the Chisenhale in 2013, launching the artist’s career and leading to her Turner prize nomination in 2016. At these earlier exhibitions the work was always part of a larger installation, standing behind the totemic One for a bin, one for a bench, but even in its current much reduced form, Marten’s aim of rendering linguistic operations physical through displacement, rearrangement and juxtaposition is very much apparent. On Marten’s “highly wrought” work, Guardian critic Adrian Searle wrote that you cannot “tell the detail from the main event” [click link], nonetheless I cannot help thinking that her arrangement of details is such that it never quite forms an entire whole.

Deferral of the Whole Behind Marten’s work is a painted collage by German artist, Michaela Eichwald Memory-Klinik-Notluke-Persönlichkeitsschale. Again, the piece is an older one, shown previously in 2012 at the Mathew gallery in Berlin. Aiming to resist the perceived exploitation of subjectivity by the neoliberal social media, this earlier exhibition was organised around the idea of the personal that refused to be subsumed under the category of personality. Certainly, the personal has a complicated history in this particular painting, one fragment previously part of a different collage, No drink No talk Just beautiful, in turn first a drawing on an invite for a show by a friend of the artist, Gunar Wardenbach. The idea of the fragment is important to the work, but once again, this fragment is of an imperfect and incomplete kind, where formation into a whole is continually deferred.

A Lost Whole? On the other wall and in the other room are paintings and objects by the Vienna-based Sarah Ortmeyer. Ortmeyer is relatively well known in Munich, having had a large show at the local Kunstverein only last year. The work she presents at Jahn und Jahn is similar to that she had shown earlier, a couple of her chessboard paintings and ostrich egg objects from the previous exhibition. In the paintings a checkerboard obscures an image of the sky; the eggs act as anthropomorphically stylised chess pieces. But where her investigation into the game’s principles and its gender attributions made sense in the large space of the Kunstverein, here, in smaller rooms and separated into two by a dividing wall, it gets lost. Like a chess game it very much needs all sixteen pieces in order to begin play.

Undermining of the Whole New York-based Kerstin Brätsch also had a large exhibition in Munich recently, at the Brandhorst in 2017. The piece she shows here is again familiar from that exhibition - one of the large scale paper pieces utilising marbling technique framed by neon tubes - but this time, the work is given (no pun intended) space to shine. Covering one whole wall at the end of the room, it has an altar-like quality, lending credence to its reference to the Hawaiian snow goddess Poli’ahu and her three sisters. Red eyes rimmed by vivid green really do seem to acquire a preternatural glow, demonstrating the truth of Beau Rutland’s observation for ArtForum, that the “proliferation of voices” characteristic of her work, can in some cases be a burden [click link]. In the Brandhorst, the work was presented as one of a series and had to compete for our attention, not just within the series, but with the stain glass works Brätsch made in collaboration with Urs Rickenbach. The more formal type of work on paper was also distributed throughout the museum, making it easier to compare the artist’s particular kind of mark making - its billowy formations, rainbow striations and sharp awkward angles - from one body of work to the next. Surrounded as it was in the Brandhorst by such abundance of collocations, precursors, models, genres and disciplines, it is easy to understand Daniela Stöppel’s claim, that the work both exemplifies the kind of contemporary art that belated brings traditional aura-laden painting into an expanded field, as well as disrupting this narrative [click link]. At Jahn und Jahn however, the work’s elusive materiality comes to the fore. Just as with the stain-glass pieces, where work’s physicality is undermined by its transparency, here the surface is rendered fragile, the resulting layer of ink as much a product of the chemical make-up of each pigment or the wave patterns in the liquid, as it is of the artist (and her collaborator’s) hand. It has a presence yet threatens to dissolve right before our eyes.

Wholly Confused French Laure Provoust is another Turner prize winner known for her video, installation and performance work. Like Ortmeyer and Brätsch she had already shown in Munich, having the exhibition at the Haus der Kunst in 2016. She also famously represented France at this year’s Venice Biennale with her complex transformation of the French pavilion space. She is therefore perhaps the best-known artist of the five. Which makes the gallery’s choice of work very curious because it is so uncharacteristic - not a video but a painting-type work, not part of an installation, but a stand-alone. You Could Hear this Image (2017) is a tapestry first shown as part of a group in the exhibition “LOOKING AT YOU, LOOKING AT US” at Galerie Nathalie Obadia, Paris, itself a reference to a previous exhibition and collaboration, “The Aube’s cure Parle Ment” at the Kadist Foundation in 2017. The tapestry belongs to a complex narrative highlighting the notion of obscurity, its construct explored during the latter show. At the Obadia exhibition, metal men and metal women, stick figures with LCD screen heads far too big for their bodies, would greet you and invite you to walk around a central platform - the tapestries, as the artist states, “sewn by grandma,” decorate the walls so that you can contemplate parle ment’s affairs [click link]. Yet without knowing all of this, one is left with a woven, grey negative image of a trumpet player, uncertain of whether to view it conceptually or formally, a fragment or part of a whole.

[downtroddendeity]

Umineko: *conversation between Beato and Battler about how the island/chessboard has been stained pitch black by ink*

Me: Yeah, all that Beobato kismesitude really gets into everything.