#it's a scale from like. flat white with ice cubes in it to a full on coffee thickshake.

[nickandros]

i personally think one of the most exciting experiences at any given cafe is asking for an iced coffee and never being sure exactly what you're going to get.

[wilwywaylan]

The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below - Part 4

Fandom : les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire, 3473 words

Last part of the fic for the Same Prompt Challenge ! Finally, it’s done ! 

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Also on AO3 !

- 

Step one : wash self. It would do no good to present himself to Enjolras looking like some kind of cave troll. So Grantaire took a shower, taking great care to wash his hair and untangle the curls. Once mostly dry and dressed in clean clothes, he aimed for the kitchen. Not for the coffee, even if he started by making himself a nice cup, but for something far more ambitious : he was going to cook.

Four hours later, his kitchen was a mess, every horizontal surface was covered in flour and there was even some sticking to some vertical parts, the sink contained more dishes that he believed he owned, and he was in dire need of another shower. But there was a whole plate of cookies in the oven, and it smelled quite good. Not that Grantaire wanted to brag, of course. He didn't have any time for it, anyway, he was way too busy watching the biscuits by the small window. He didn't want...he couldn't mess them up. He didn't have the courage nor the ingredients to start again.

But luckily for him, the cookies got out deliciously golden, and absolutely perfect. He transferred them into a metal box, resisting the urge to eat one himself. After a second shower that got rid of most of the flour, he went to sit at his easel. Now came the third, and most important part. Cookies were a nice touch, but he wouldn't be forgiven just with this, Bahorel's super secret recipe notwithstanding. No, he needed to find the perfect present that would melt Enjolras' anger like a cube of ice during summer. And nothing could be more of a perfect present than something handmade, or in his case, hand-drawn.

The white page was almost intimidating, at first, more than during one of his assignments, even. Assignments, he could bullshit his way through them if inspiration didn't strike. But this.... this was way more important. Okay, no, maybe not. He couldn't claim a cute boy was more important than his studies. It was important in a different way, but he couldn't just pretend he knew what he was doing. He needed to know. He needed to make it perfect.

The first strokes were hesitant, almost shy, barely scratching the surface. But as he went, the picture in his mind grew clearer, his gestures became more assured, and he started working faster.

When he finally moved, the sun had set, his neck was sending jolts of pain up his skull, his fingers hurt, and his hoodie had lost all pretention to be an actual color. He stretched, sending his arms above his head, only realizing now that his stomach was growling. Probably loud enough to wake his neighbors up. But he didn't care. He felt well. The painting on his easel was probably one of his finest works since... oh, several years. Enjolras stood in the middle of it ; Grantaire had painted him dressed in a XIXe century style, with a red jacket with a cockade pinned on the lapel, a black cravat resting undone on a white shirt under a black waistcoat. There was a smudge of blood on the cheek, but he was brandishing a red flag above his head. The whole sky behind him was a brilliant whirlwind of pink, orange and yellow, and a timid sun was stroking Enjolras' face with gold rays. Any critic would have dismissed the piece as "overly pompous" and "pretentious", but Grantaire felt a mix of pride and anxiety watching it. It certainly was fine, but didn't he exaggerate, making Enjolras' face softer than it was ? Maybe his eyes weren't fierce enough, not full of fire enough ? And what if Enjolras didn't enjoy a portrait of himself ? Oh well, too late now, it was done. Tomorrow, he would make his move. But for now, he wanted nothing more than sleep. He made his way to his room, abandoning his clothes on the way, and dropped on the bed. The remnants of Bahorel's impromptu breakfast were still on the nightstand, and he devoured the rest of the croissants. Once sated, he wrapped himself in the blankets and just laid there, content and sated, for the first time in days. Maybe things were looking up, after all.

~*~

Next morning saw Grantaire up earlier than he'd been in months. He'd woken up almost with the sun, and had been since tossing and turning under the blankets, trying to keep himself busy until it was a decent time to put his plan in motion. He didn't know about Enjolras' sleeping habits, and didn't want to wake him up. That wouldn't put him in good dispositions. So he browsed the internet, trying to distract himself until it was time to move.

At around 10 AM, he decided to act. He rolled out of bed and got ready, going through the motions with application, concentrating on each gesture to ignore the way his heart seemed to try to get free from his chest. He took the box of cookies, the painting, and snuck out into the hallway. It was dark and deserted. Perfect. He went down the stairs, his socked feet silent on the tiles. Still no one. He managed to reach door 32 without a hitch, without any nosy neighbor opening their door to see who was playing spies in the hallway. He carefully put the painting down, put the box beside it, with a small message he'd spent at least fifteen minutes writing. Nothing fancy, just a heartfelt "I'm sorry I've been an ass". No need to start babbling on writing. Good.

He rang the bell... and ran away, up the stairs, almost falling down and hitting the ramp in his hast. He had barely reached his story, when he heard a door open. There was  a moment of silence. And a thought hit him right between the eyes : what if Enjolras decided to climb here to see who put the presents on his doorstep ? He'd see him crouching behind the railing like an idiot. He dashed inside his apartment, closed the door, then opened it a tiny sliver. No Enjolras materialized on the landing, but there was a rustling. Like things being picked up and carried inside. So he had found the presents. Very good.

Grantaire retreated inside, pondering on the next move for a second. He could start working on his assignments again, clean a bit of his flat, maybe scrub his bathroom. Things would go back to how they were before all these guitar shenanigans. But that wasn't what he wanted, right ? So he needed to follow the plan.

He needed to rummage a little (a lot) through the mess accumulated under his bed and in his cupboard, but he finally unearthed an old, battered case. The guitar inside had lost a bit of its shine, but the intricate patterns on it, flowers and clouds, were still as vivid as always. He took it back to his window and sat as comfortably as possible. It was out of tune, of course, after so much time in storage, but the gestures came back to him easily, and soon, it was fit to play. He stroked the strings, just enjoying the sound for a few seconds, then started to warm up. The notes flew by the window, carried by the wind, soft and round at each vibration of the strings, climbing the scales up and down. His fingers were dancing, almost on their own, modulating the melody almost perfectly.

Under him, a window opened. He didn't hear footsteps, but he imagined them all the same. Time to go to step five. Or six, he didn't remember. He abandoned the scales for real melody. Still no noise coming from under him. Oh well, he could still play for himself, couldn't he ? After all, he did like this song. And so, he started singing softly, almost under his breath.

Lay down in the stars, my bonny lass Lay down in my arms, we'll make it last The senses aspire to this far greater time As the rivers flow your heart will be mine

He played the song from start to finish, enjoying how easily it was all coming back to him, the lyrics and the melody, how delightful it was to play again. The last notes fled outside, fading slowly as the strings stopped singing. Grantaire leaned on the guitar, feeling the vibrations stop under his fingers. The silence after a song always had a special quality, soft and serene, like it was another part, something that completed the song.

- Are you there ?

Enjolras' voice cut the silence, made him jump so hard that he almost dropped the guitar. He did call for him. Enjolras wanted to talk to him ! Do not ruin this, play it cool. He walked to the window and leaned out. Enjolras was peering up at him, and Grantaire's heart gave a little tug at the beautiful eyes fixed on him, so large and so blue that they seemed to hold the whole sky. He also noticed that he didn't look as angry as yesterday. Or perhaps he was very good at hiding his feelings. Grantaire composed himself a friendly smile, and answered :

- I am, yes. Hello, Enjolras.

- Hello. I heard you playing, so I wondered....

- If it was me, or the ghost of Christmas past ?

Enjolras frowned, and Grantaire remembered that he was supposed to be nice and friendly, not rile him up again by making fun of him.

- Sorry, he added. What can I do for you ?

- Someone put a box of cookies and a very nice painting on my doorstep, and I was wondering if you knew something about it.

The urge to roll his eyes was stronger than ever, but he refrained heroically.

- Why yes. Do you enjoy cookies, at least ? Because I didn't really ask...

- Oh, so it was you ?

- Yes ? I mean, I signed the note, so....

Enjolras frowned again, more perplexed that angry this time.

- Yes, but.... you.... didn't really introduce yourself. Your friend called you "R" that time, but I didn't know that it stood for "Grantaire", so...

This time, Grantaire facepalmed. Count on him to be so stupid he forgot to officially introduced himself.

- Sorry. I'm Grantaire. Pleased to meet you.

- Pleased to meet you too.

Grantaire tried not to smile too wildly.

- So, what do I owe the pleasure ?

- I heard the guitar. Were you playing ?

- Ah yes, I felt like getting it out of storage and tickling the strings a little.

- That was really great ! I didn't know you were such a good player !

He really needed to stop complimenting him, because Grantaire wasn't sure he was going to maintain his composure for long.

- It's been a while since I've played, but....

- Do you think you could... come down, and we'll play ?

What ? Did he hear right ? Was he....? This was a dream. This could only be a dream. Did Enjolras really ask him to come back ? But he was watching him with his beautiful eyes, and still looking expectantly up at him, and pinching himself didn't suddenly wake him up. That was reality.

When the information reached his brain, Grantaire grabbed his guitar and, once again, ran all the way to Enjolras' door. As he knocked, he suddenly realized that he had bypassed shoes entirely. Too bad, Enjolras was already opening the door, his cat in his arms. Grantaire scratched the little head between the hair, refrained from doing the same to Enjolras.

- So, he said instead, I heard you wanted to play ?

Enjolras lead him to the balcony again, where two cups of coffee were waiting, smoking quietly. Grantaire was both oddly touched by the welcoming gesture, and impressed at how Enjolras seemed to be sure that he would come done. But then again, maybe Bahorel was right and his crush *was* visible from space.

- Anything you want to play ? Grantaire asked once he’d sat down on the rickety chair.

- Can you play Wonderwall ?

- Of course, I taught you. Together ?

Enjolras picked up his own instrument. He carefully placed his hands as Grantaire had shown him, tuned it a little, then turned to face him. Grantaire counted the rhythm as he had taught it, careful of not going too fast.

It was weird, playing together like this. Enjolras did lack a bit in rhythm, forcing Grantaire to adjust, but nothing he couldn't deal with. He didn't dare sing at first, rather enjoying Enjolras' voice, but after the first verse, he just let himself get carried away. It was great, moving like this, in unison, almost like they were two halves of the same thing. Grantaire didn't want to read too much into the situation, but it was... exhilarating. It felt like flying. Like being, for a few seconds, at the top of the world, with him.

It ended, because of course, it had to end, leaving Grantaire disoriented, and a little breathless. Probably the singing, of course. But Enjolras looked as affected as him, so maybe he hadn't imagined the connexion they shared for a minute or two. He tried to play it cool, picking at the keys to retune the strings. Enjolras watched him do with interest.

- Can you play something else ? he asked suddenly.

- Of course. What do you like ?

- Anything you want.

Anything ? Grantaire didn't have to pick his brain to find a song. Of course, that would be a very daring move, but Fortune favored the bold and all that. What did he risk, except a slap and being thrown over the balcony rail ? (probably not). He started playing the chords, softly at first, then seeing that Enjolras didn't run away, launched into the song.

Wise men say only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you...

It was a good thing he knew the words by heart, because Enjolras was so close their knees were brushing, and Grantaire had great trouble stopping himself from jumping each time he touched him. His heart was beating fast, so fast, and he was sure he could hear Enjolras', beating in tune. Or that may just be wishful thinking.

He didn't know how he got to the end of the song without running away or bungling anything. He was ready to jump out of his skin at each light touch. And as he lifted his head, it was to discover the beautiful blue eyes set on him, pinning him in place. He  couldn't turn his head, he couldn't say anything, he could just look at him, and hope his eyes would do the talking.

Suddenly, Jude jumped on his master's lap, almost knocking the guitar over, breaking the spell. Enjolras patted him as he kneading his pants, and asked :

- This song...

- Yes.... Did you like it ?

- A lot... It's very pretty.

- Very, yes.

Perfect. When did they land in a potboiler and get turned into shy teenagers ? Grantaire would have slapped himself if he didn't fear looking like an idiot. He'd always hated that genre, so to suddenly find himself like this, babbling and muttering, incapable of speaking his mind... They'd never get there, not like that. Someone needed to take the reins of the conversation for something to happen, anything. He opened his mouth, but Enjolras beat him to it.

- Did you choose it for a reason ?

Ah, short and to the point. Enjolras certainly didn't embarrass himself with subtleties. But now, he was expecting an answer. And this meant Grantaire needed to think very hard about the answer he was going to give, and quick. And Enjolras was still looking at him, so he needed to focus extra hard to not say anything stupid or incriminating. And he needed to think, and to think quickly, instead of being sidetracked like this.

- I....

Great start, Grantaire. Now say something, or he's going to lose his patience, and maybe his temper. But what could he say ? That he really, really wanted to kiss him ? Hold his hand and the rest too ? Set his life at his feet ? Well, yes, this was what he wanted. But he couldn't say it, or Enjolras would run away. But he needed to say something now. Anything.

- I like it.

Oh great. This time, he hit his head against the guitar, lightly, of course.

- Is that the only reason ?

Grantaire took a deep breath, lifted his head. There they were. No going back now.

- I....

It didn't want to come. He was ready to say it, that was the best moment, the only moment, it was perfect, the atmosphere, the guitar, everything, and he couldn't say it. Count on him to be so stupid he couldn't confess his feelings.

A hand closed on his and squeezed gently. He looked down at their fingers, then back at Enjolras' face, who kept his eyes down.

- I don't want your whole life, he said, but I could... take your hand, if you want.

Grantaire was a bit tempted to laugh, but he refrained.

- Would you, really ? He asked, very low.

- I want to try, at least. If you want to.

He was looking at him, now, with such an open expression that Grantaire almost wanted to scream and tackle him. But no. Act like a normal person. He lifted the hand Enjolras wasn't holding, stroked his cheek, very slowly. His movements were measured, to give him all the time he needed to move back. But Enjolras didn't move back. Not when Grantaire bent down, very, very slowly to kiss him. It was soft, almost too much. Clumsy, too, like Enjolras wasn't used to being kissed. They just kept like this for a moment, barely moving. Not enough for Grantaire, he wanted more, way more, he wanted to ravish him, to leave him red, breathless, to hold him tight and never let go. But it was perfect none-the-less.

They parted for breath, and because Grantaire's neck was starting to hurt. Enjolras was looking at him, his cheeks a little red, his smile a little shy. Positively adorable. Without letting go of Grantaire's hand, he moved his chair a little closer, until he could lean against his shoulder. It was not the most comfortable way to sit, but Grantaire wouldn't have let go for anything in the world. Still, he felt compelled to ask :

- Are you sure you want this ? I mean....

Enjolras moved a little, and he wanted to hold him back, but he didn't step aside, not even a little.

- What do you mean ?

- Well... I'm me, and....

This time, Enjolras shifted to be able to look at him without leaving his shoulder.

- Yes, I know.

- Are you sure this is what I want ? Because....

- I am sure, yes. I know what I'm getting, and what I don't know, I will discover. And I'm sure I will like it.

A very large emotion got stuck in Grantaire's throat, effectively cutting all the words he could have used. So he just held Enjolras' hand tighter, and twisted a little to be able to lay a kiss on his forehead.

They sat like this for a moment in silence, watching the sparrows fly by. Grantaire's thumb was stroking the soft skin on Enjolras' hand, very gently. Suddenly, Enjolras asked :

- It wasn't... too awkward, was it ? When I said... (He gestured vaguely with his free hand.) About your life, and....

- It was, Grantaire chuckled, but that was adorable. It's very... you.

Enjolras laughed a little.

- You better get used to it, it seems that I'm very clumsy at speaking my feelings.

- Don't worry, I like it a lot.

- Good. Now would you maybe play that song for me again ?

Grantaire let go of Enjolras' hand with a hint of regret, and took his guitar back. Immediately, Enjolras settled back against his shoulder. Grantaire didn't know if he could play with someone against him like that, but he certainly wasn't going to ask him to move. Certainly not. He stroked the strings again, and started the song a second time. Enjolras was warm and heavy against him, and it was perfect. The notes started to fly above the roof, to tell everyone listening that they had finally found each other.

-

Songs are True Life Song by Jon Anderson, and Can’t help falling in love with you by Elvis Presley

[jakelionstumblr]

as I entered his living room, everthing seemed the norm for an ikdea-fueled middle class suburban home. Thin side tables and small bookshelves lined the wall, more as out-of-the-way decor then anything useful. A few of those tacky, pressed-metal wall hangings composed of cubes, fleur-de-lis type garbage and patterns I guess to convince you it was from Africa? A decently sized 60″-ish television for watching the game.

But the room seemed almost, in the flatness of those objects, to be trying it’s best like a cornered mouse to recede as far away as possible from the chair at the room’s center. What would otherwise be an incredibly spacious living room, where one might fit a couch, armchair, coffee table and perhaps even a few wooden chairs, was completely dominated by what one might comically refer to as an oversized La-Z-Boy recliner. Were it not for the existence of chairs that already share the same name, you might not be deceived in thinking this particular chair was anything less then 10 feet square at the base. The pillowed gray monstrosity, the back of which was merely an inch of clearance from the can’t-reach-the-lightbulb-without-stretching ceilings, were as though you were witnessing a sleeping elephant, from an angle at which you could make out no definitively elephant-like features.

Wearing his Boston Bruins jersey, with all the enthusiasm one might expect of their friend on game day but with all the appearance of a child awaiting a bowl of ice cream be set in his lap, was Dave, seated squarely as one could be at the center of this mammoth piece of novelty furniture. It was, somehow, reclined, though I dared not imagine Dave, with his full weight and both arms pulling the lever downward, as the current situation was almost too much to bare.

Due to the scale of the chair, there was more then a couch’s amount of space on either side of him. He slapped his hand against the seat cushion, with a sound of someone spanking a fully inflated latex hot air balloon. “Hop on up!” he gestured, no hinting in his voice, face or mannerisms that this was in any way a situation outside of normal.

“I’ve got to use the bathroom first... want a beer?” I needed to delay my foray into this Spike TV reboot of Big Comfy Couch. As if sitting beside him on this chair might in some way turn us both into strange doll-like children, and before the day’s end we’d be rolling wooden hoops through a demon grandmother’s garden.

“Thanks buddy! Kitchen is just around the corner!” I left, step for step with a slow turn away that I hoped read as gradual as opposed to terrified.

The hallway from the livingroom to the kitchen had no inkling of novelty. Dimly lit to save on the electric bill, just a collection of photos on the wall. His wife passed me on her way to the bedroom, exchanging a pleasant nod as she was rather shy and I didn’t know her name well enough yet.

The kitchen beamed in flourescent greenish white - a stove, an island, a doubled breasted sink. 15 foot ceilings with a hanging chandelier, and a 15 foot tall refrigerator.

I had to get out.

[micaramel]

Artists: Uri Aran, René Daniëls, Rochelle Feinstein, Peter Hujar, Quintessa Matranga, Libby Rothfeld, Martin Wong

Venue: BUREAU, New York

Exhibition Title: Beauty Can Be the Opposite of a Number

Date: January 31 – March 8, 2020

Click here to view slideshow

Full gallery of images, press release and link available after the jump.

Images:

Images courtesy of BUREAU, New York

Press Release:

Dear Jenny, I’m working on an exhibition which I think is about naming and codes of language and how wonderfully slippery those codes can be: how a depiction of a thing is separate from its name, and the many ways that the depiction and the name can diverge and intersect. I wanted to write to you because so much of your poetry is about the slipperiness in constructing meaning, but also the belief in how words can be simple and economical while also bearing immense depths and intricacies. Our decades-long friendship has been built in part on an implicit love of language and its logic – and illogic. I hope you don’t mind that I used a line from your last book as the title for the exhibition, “Beauty can be the opposite of a number,” and here, the book’s first line:

“There is a window of time to make language how the mind works. Words as milk so the mind survives on language.”1

The exhibition is intergenerational and includes painting, sculpture, photography, and video. Two silver gelatin photographs by the late, great Peter Hujar are strange and beautiful outliers in the show. One features two scruffy dogs lying nestled in a dense mess of hay with oblique light streaming in from an out-of-frame source. It looks like a dusty barn in the morning. The other photograph shows an unbridled horse running towards the camera. Hujar is well-known for his portraits of humans – friends, lovers – but his animal portraits share the incredible empathy and pathos with which he captured his subjects. I’m certain that these two pictures of non-verbal beings is a kind of clue to the show. I’m probably projecting onto the animals as “innocent observers” of the mayhem of language found in the other works.

Uri Aran’s video, ‘Untitled (I Love You)’, shows the artist’s hands at a desk picking up small figurines of sea creatures from a shoebox full of maps. Each object is held like a talisman. The artist’s fingertips consider the objects haptically as he divines a meaning intrinsic to each one, which he then names with a word or phrase. The group of plastic animals is lined up and then played like a synthesizer; when touched, its phrase is recited: “I love you,” “Stay,” “I have respect for you and you’re beautiful…” The piece is so intimate and strange; the naming of these plastic toys feels so absurd and nonsensical but also so undeniable and true. I think the intimacy of the work comes from the feeling that we viewers are privy to the very personal space of the artist’s contemplation about a lover slipping away. It feels so candid and uncensored.

You know Alice and Dada were some of my first loves. I find a joy in the ease with which we can play with words and logic to say things which make no sense. The joy is now less freeing with the dissolution of truth in our current political state, but even more so, there is value in studying how pliable language and meaning can be. René Daniëls’s painting uses words to confuse the image he’s depicting; not in a straightforward non-equation like Magritte’s, but more enigmatic. In the painting, ‘Kades-Kaden’, Daniëls depicts a series of orange-faceted and green-shaded forms in the center of the canvas. Is the light blue background a sky? Is the horizon a shelf or a street? Scale is unclear, so perhaps we are looking at a group of books on a desk, or townhouses on a boulevard. Written over the orange rectangles, the word “Architecture” suggests buildings, but maybe it is a series of books about architecture? One unit is called Grote Zwaan, one Kleine Zwaan, big and little swan, respectively, in the artist’s native Dutch. The painting is, finally, I suppose, undecipherable, but a delight to puzzle over. Daniëls was famous for his mysterious scenarios, challenging the depiction of space and flatness on the picture plane. Flying above, in the cool sky background, is a kind of title, Blauwe Reiger: Great Blue Heron.

In a painting, a word can fly like a bird, or it can speak as the mouthpiece for the painting itself. In Rochelle Feinstein’s diptych, ‘Wrong Wrong’, the eponymous word appears multiple times: contained within comic speech bubbles and drawn out in the artist’s own hand-written font against stark and bright monochromes. The painting’s central axis, where the two canvases meet, serves as a mirror – the looking glass through which orange reflects as fuschia. On the left, where there is a slight suggestion of an illusionistic space, the words are written forward, on the right they are mirrored in reverse. Wrong Wrong. It’s a chorus of criticism, but the painting anticipates it and thus beats its detractors. The repetition brings a rhythm and humor to the word, an absurd mantra of incorrectness, a delight in just never being right. This painting makes it feel ok to rest our minds in a place without certainty because forwards or backwards, it’s always wrong, and that’s that.

Quintessa Matranga’s painting also considers the ‘wrong’. Rather than using words, the depictions suggest a phrase or state of mind where things do not line up or make sense. The doubling here is our vision: we, the viewer, are together with the painter in an unusually confused perspective from underneath a table, where a trio of beverages hovers dizzyingly at the edge. Perhaps they are revolving in an orbit of choices so seductive when full and so disorienting when nearly empty. Gravity seems to affect things differently on this planet; beer foams out of its pint and a pair of black and white, marbled ice cubes nearly escapes the warm comfort of the whiskey glass(es). The yellowing, lacquered table floats amidst a field of magenta snakeskin. Close in, the woodwork of the central table leg seems utterly clear and stable: a pillar to cling to.

When I talked to Rochelle about Libby Rothfeld’s work, we shared a look of excitement, agreeing that Libby had guts to use the numbers “2” and “5” in her work. We all have deep associations with simple signs, and these numbers – indivisible, abstract, and so real, too – loom large in our minds. Sculpturally, these iconic numbers also have a dominant, central position in the exhibition. Each integer sits atop a stepped, tiled base; each piece a small universe. The sculptures are patinated with the most beige, basic laminate and tiles, as if to suggest a theoretical realm, a constructed possibility, not a depiction of a place. Libby’s work often wrestles with the problematics of taste and how our banal choices construct our identity. What does it mean to place a number in space? We speak numbers, use them, play with them, show signs of them on paper and with our hands, but how do they stand? Her sculptures offer, to me anyway, an expression of how logic feels. We don’t often get to stand next to a number, to a choice, to look concretely at the building blocks of logic.

I am really thrilled to be able to show Martin Wong’s work in this context. The painting that we’re showing is one of his sign-language works. It has this incredible trompe-l’oeil tile frame, which I am excited to see in the same room as Libby’s work. I love the way Wong used bricks as a kind of repeating texture in so many of his works – within these patterned, crowded structures, intimate spaces and hidden identities emerge. Wong was obsessed with codes and language, too. Some of his paintings showed the zodiac, a system invented to make sense and stories of the stars. Taken from what was probably a tabloid paper, this painting shows a series of hands spelling out a headline in ASL: “doctors astounded / man carries / unborn twin / inside head / twenty one years.” What an idea: to draw hands spelling in ASL. Written words or a picture would have sufficed for a deaf person, but Wong wanted to employ a code to translate his subject and make it more obscure. Anneliis, who works on Wong’s estate at his gallery, also mentioned that he was really interested in the constellation of Gemini in particular and the nature of twins as the poetic potential of a perfect genetic match but an imperfect mirror.

This show features all sorts of translations and miscommunications through mirrors and double vision. In incantations and exclamations, we name in order to protect, confuse or enrich meaning. I like the idea of you experiencing this work first through my words – another translation.

Love, G

  1. Kronovet, Jennifer, The Wug Test, (New York: Harper Collins, 2016)

Link: Group Show at BUREAU

Contemporary Art Daily is produced by Contemporary Art Group, a not-for-profit organization. We rely on our audience to help fund the publication of exhibitions that show up in this RSS feed. Please consider supporting us by making a donation today.

from Contemporary Art Daily http://bit.ly/2vGjfbY

[thehowtostuff-blog]

The next time you’re looking for a unique dessert idea, try making your own edible Jello rainbow. While the process is a little time-consuming, it couldn’t be simpler, and the finished product makes a fun, vibrant treat for kids and adults alike. All you have to do is layer different colors of Jello in a baking dish, wait for it all to set, then cut it into squares and watch your guests’ faces light up!

EditIngredients

1 box each of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple Jello, 3 oz (85 g)

whipped topping (optional)

1 canister plain unflavored gelatin, 16 oz (450 g) (optional)

1-2 cans sweetened condensed milk, (optional)

Makes one x dish of Jello

EditSteps

EditPreparing the Jello

Pick up several boxes of Jello in multiple colors. To make a true rainbow, you’ll need one 3 oz (85 g) box each of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple Jello. However, you’re free to use any colors in whatever order you want.[1]

You may need to double or triple the amount of Jello you buy and use a larger serving dish if you plan on preparing the dessert for a large crowd. Alternatively, you could scale down the recipe by using only a portion of each box of Jello.

Rainbow Jello isn’t just a dazzling, delicious dessert—it’s cheap, too. All in all, this recipes shouldn’t cost you more than a few dollars!

Bring a kettle of water to a low boil. Fill your kettle with water and set it on the stove over medium-high heat. While it’s warming up, you can begin unboxing your Jello and gathering the other tools and utensils you’ll be using.[2]

Jello dissolves and sets best when you use boiling water. However, you can also simply run some hot water from your tap if you don’t feel like waiting for it to boil.

Pour your first color of Jello into a medium-sized mixing bowl. Tear open the packet and shake the powder out into the bottom of the bowl. For a realistic-looking rainbow, you’ll want to start with either red or purple Jello and work your way through the color spectrum from there.[3]

Make sure the bowl you’re using is roomy enough to hold of water along with the Jello powder. This will allow you to mix your ingredients more easily.

Add of boiling water and stir. Use a spoon or whisk to thoroughly mix the Jello powder into the hot water. As you stir, the powder will dissolve and form a thin, colorful liquid. Check to confirm that there are no bubbles, lumps, or dry pockets in your liquid Jello mix.[4]

Pour your hot water into a liquid measuring cup before adding it your mixing bowl to make sure you’re using just the right amount.

Let the hot Jello mixture sit for 3-5 minutes to cool slightly before you continue.[5]

Stir in an additional of cold water. As you add the cold water, the liquid jello mix will begin to thicken somewhat. Keep stirring the mixture until the second cup of water has been completely incorporated.[6]

Adding a few ice cubes to your cold water can help the Jello begin setting faster. If you decide to do this, make sure you only use of water to account for the extra volume.[7]

Be careful not to incorporate too much water, as this could affect both the flavor and texture of your finished Jello.

EditLayering and Refrigerating the Jello

Transfer the liquid Jello to a casserole dish or walled baking pan. Pour the mixture into the dish slowly to avoid making a mess. This will be the first layer of Jello in your rainbow. For best results, choose a dish that’s around x , which will allow each layer to come out about thick.[8]

You could also pour your Jello into drinking glasses, parfait cups, or other small containers to make single-serving treats that don’t require cutting. For this recipe, you'd most likely need 12-15 individual containers.[9]

Be sure to grab a clean mixing bowl or rinse out the one you used before starting your next flavor to prevent your colors from bleeding into one another.

Chill the first layer of Jello in the refrigerator for 25-30 minutes. Slide your casserole dish or baking pan onto one of the upper shelves in your refrigerator where you’ll be able to keep an eye on it. Make sure the shelf you pick out is perfectly flat so the Jello sets in an even layer.[10]

There’s no need to wait for your Jello to set completely—you just want to leave it in long enough to let it solidify to the point where you can add another layer without the colors mingling.

If the shelf you use is crooked, your Jello layers may come out thicker on one end than the other, which could throw off the look of your rainbow.

Spread whipped topping between the layers if you want to add contrast. If you like, you can spoon of whipped cream onto each layer of Jello after it sets. This will make the colors in your Jello rainbow pop even more and give it an extra sweet, creamy finish.[11]

For the sake of efficiency, use a tub of whipped topping rather than a spray can, which will take longer to apply evenly.

Another option is to use plain, unflavored gelatin to make thin white layers that blend better with the Jello. Mix 2 oz (56 g) of gelatin with of sweetened condensed milk, of hot water, and of cold water to make a single layer. Allow each layer to set for 20-30 minutes before adding your next color.[12]

Repeat the process with your other Jello colors. Once your first layer has had time to firm up, mix up your next color and pour it into your dish directly on top of your first color or layer of whipped topping. You’ll do this for each color you want to include.[13]

Don’t forget to alternate with your whipped topping or plain white gelatin if you’ve decided to separate your layers.[14]

To save time, start mixing your next color of Jello while the previous layer is chilling in the refrigerator.

You can make as few or as many layers as you like. A full rainbow will have 6 uniform layers, but you could stack up as many as a dozen, as long as you have a big enough dish, or stick to the primary colors (red, yellow, and blue) to keep things simple.[15]

Place your rainbow Jello in the refrigerator 2-3 hours to finish setting. After you’ve assembled all of your layers, cover the dish with a piece of plastic wrap and stick it back in the refrigerator one last time. This time, let your Jello sit for the full amount of time specified in the directions.[16]

You also have the option of simply leaving your finished Jello rainbow in the refrigerator until you’re ready to serve it, since you’ll need to keep it cool anyway.

Cut your rainbow Jello into squares before serving it. Use a table knife to carefully slice the single sheet of Jello into precise squares. Aim to make each square the same size so you won’t be left with any thin slivers or oddly-shaped pieces. Enjoy![17]

If you’re serving bigger kids and adults, measure your squares to be about apiece. For smaller children, servings should be plenty.

Cover your leftover Jello and store it in the refrigerator. It should stay good for a week or longer.[18]

EditTips

Add small pieces of real fruit to your Jello to make it more nutritious.

If you're a vegan, substitute a plant-based flavored gelatin made from agar, carrageenan, or vegetable gum for ordinary Jello.[19]

Rainbow Jello can make an attention-grabbing dessert for birthdays, baby showers, summer pool parties, and other colorful occasions.

EditThings You’ll Need

Casserole dish or walled baking pan

Medium-sized mixing bowl

Liquid measuring cup

Spoon or whisk

Knife

Tea kettle

Plastic cling wrap

Drinking glasses or similar small containers (optional)

Cookie cutters (optional)

EditRelated wikiHows

Make Easter Egg Jello Shots

Make Cosmopolitan Jello Shots

Suspend an Object in Jello

Make Papaya Sorbet

EditSources and Citations

EditQuick Summary

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from How to of the Day https://ift.tt/2SYOARv

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