#its like a self portrait. if abstract

[gorgynei]

about inner identity

[mychapel-004]

a note on "fordtramine"

just a thought while im working on a comprehensive history of bill.

by now i'm sure it's common knowledge that stanford's favourite colour is "fordtramarine", a colour only him and bill are able to see due to bill rewiring his optic nerve as a gift, but something i find very interesting is this page from thisisnotawebsitedotcom.com

specifically, that note at the bottom on the "beautiful" paintings ford submitted to (unsuccessfully) demonstrate the colour. most of them are normal, including a self portrait in gouache until you get to "(E) A muse, oil on canvas".

not only that, but in the abstract ford writes that "specific two dimensional entities may act in the same way as a prism, refracting light.... new perceptions"

something something devoting a painting to your muse in the colour that they let you name, that they gifted you with the ability to see. something something bill acting as a prism, like the crystals ford keeps all over his house, that ford can look through, like a doorway into a world entirely made of the weird and wonderful that you connect so deeply with. a world that you can never show anyone else, your canvases are always blank and no-one else has the eyes that you do, your study is rejected and no-one will hear you out.

do you think bill felt that way? growing up, able to see what others couldn't, "its not your fault you have that strange eye", "the doctor says three sips a day will make the visions go away", able to see an entirely different dimension to his own parents, always too different and too strange and too weird.

CODES: "THEY'LL SEE" "THEY'LL ALL SEE" "THE EUCLYDIAN DEPT OF VISION SUPERVISION"

growing up in a world where it seems that seeing beyond the norm is heavily punished, it's kind of telling that bill's gifts to ford are often relating to seeing or knowing things that ford would never experience without bill (new colours, new directions for his research, his mindscape, the portal). the gift of vision from a god who grew up being blinded. bill really is his all-seeing eye, in a lot of ways.

in the same way, fiddleford's gifts to ford almost always revolve around very human comfort (gloves to fit his hands specifically, a pet to keep him company, a snowglobe reminder of the time they spent together) comfort that he was too distracted to devote to his wife and child, only ever to ford who broke or threw them away.

fiddleford accepted ford for who he was, and he showed that through his gifts. all of ford's strangeness and brilliance, gloves made specifically to protect and warm six fingers, a pet that looked like him for him to ramble to when fidd is gone. bill's gifts were brilliant and tailored just for ford, but they were isolating. experiences he could only have with bill, things that made him stranger, more alone, pulled him further into the weirdness, the grey area. all in preparation for the day bill would take things too far, and pray ford, so alike to him, would join him.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

ok here's my half-hearted attempt to figure out the tripolar singularity

[ID: First image is a screencap of Fukuchi holding the space-time sword at his side; the blade glows bluish purple. The second is a colour portrait of Fukuchi from the manga. The last is a screencap of the Holy Sword from the anime, wreathed in blue light against a dark backdrop. End ID.]

The singularity is comprised of three components:

Shintō Amenogozen - The space-time sword, which allows the wielder to cut through time and space in a limited capacity. Created by an ability user to be used in shinto rituals 1500 years ago, Fukuchi used it for combat which made him nigh-unbeatable due to his ability amplifying the sword's range - from around 12 centimeters to a hundred-fold more: 1200 centimeters, or 1.2 meters. Interestingly, the original time limit seems to be the same - a limit of 12 seconds - so Fukuchi does not seem to have enhanced it temporally. An interesting line about it from chapter 86: "A katana infused with both the ill-omened and divine... At that time and place, what was unexpectedly materialized resembled the very law of the universe." Another from 114.5: "The space-time sword, said to have God himself dwelling within it."

Mirror Lion - Fukuchi's ability, which allows him to enhance any weapon he gets his hands on by a hundred fold. From his use of Shintō Amenogozen though, it seems as though he can amplify speed, strength and range but in only spatial dimensions, not temporally.

The Holy Sword Soluz Levni - The sword used to seal Bram, forged from an ability user who died and had their body turned to metal. It both attached to the brain of its victim and placed a Holy Seal on the hand of the one who wielded it, which is what allowed Fukuchi to use Bram's ability. It does this by consolidating "body" and "ability" into one, thereby merging the physical with the abstract. Bram has been stabbed with it twice.

As with any singularity, the key is to find the paradox or contradiction - as the space-time sword was the last component that set off the actual singularity, that's what we need to be looking at most closely. A singularity also takes one of two forms that we've seen so far - one, the clash of two or more similar abilities with no clear victor creates an unforeseen third effect (Odasaku vs Gide), and two, an interaction of ability on the self or with another ability creates a feedback loop that amplifies indefinitely and becomes much more powerful than its host (Rimbaud, Chuuya, Verlaine).

In order, Fyodor stabs Fukuchi with the Holy Sword, fusing body and ability. This may already cause a singularity - the physical and the abstract has been merged. We still don't really know what this means, but if you recall from Dead Apple, abilities can be temporarily separated from their "hosts", and from Stormbringer, abilities require a human or human-like soul/will to exist (with the exception of singularities), so while we don't know the true ramifications of this merge, we do know it's... significant, in some way. This part here is the big question mark to me.

But in this case, the result should be inert. This shouldn't cause anything in particular to happen - but it does, we assume, allow Fyodor to wield Mirror Lion through wielding the blade.

So when he stabs Fukuchi with the space-time sword, this is where, presumably, the feedback loop is created.

Mirror Lion is bound to Fukuchi's physical form and able to be controlled by Fyodor -> Shintō Amenogozen is stabbed into Fukuchi -> Fyodor holds the hilts of both swords, allowing him to amplify both simultaneously with Mirror Lion as the conduit -> ??? evil profit???

My current thought (really more of a shot in the dark than anything) is that Fyodor amplifying the Holy Sword also binds Shintō Amenogozen's ability to Fukuchi's body (so there are two abilities bound to one body now - one space-time cutting and the other constant amplification). This amplification is likely the source of that feedback loop that would amplify the ability into a singularity (so presumably, bye Fukuchi, for good now - he's ceased to be human, most likely), and now that both abilities are bound to Fukuchi on a physical plane... I suspect the time range can now be extended. It allows Fyodor to increase the range of time the sword can jump through far past its limits, and if Fyodor is now in control of how this time-cutting ability is directed, then theoretically, Fyodor may now be able to jump through time and space and alter the outcomes of various points in history. If he wants to rid the world of ability users, this would be a control freak's best means of doing so, I assume.

"Two heavenly blades bring forth unto this land, a miracle."

Essentially Fyodor may want to rewrite ability users out of the narrative, and so in order to use the Book (potentially) to do so, he needs to "prepare" the timeline so that removing abilities makes logical narrative sense (in keeping with the rules of the Book). Alternatively, he cannot use the Book because it may have been created by an ability user, so this would be an unalterable contradiction - he is forced to remove ability users by going back to do things manually, perhaps even by killing the original creator of the Book.

I am definitely going to turn out to be completely wrong on this, but I hope it was fun to read, nonetheless!

[thecommunityfridge]

It's Abstract

cw: beginnings of cg/l and md/lg

Georgia shook her head. “It’s wrong.”

“How can it be wrong?” Leaning over her shoulder and regarding the shapes on the canvas with a supportive lack of comprehension, Sophie took the opportunity to sneak in a kiss. “It’s abstract, right? It doesn’t have to look anything like me.”

The artist gave her girlfriend a look which they were both very used to by now. “Just because it’s abstract doesn’t mean it doesn’t have to be right.”

“But how do you tell?”

“You just do.” Georgia sucked the end of her paintbrush and frowned. “It’s hard to explain. It gets kind of… deeper. More real. It comes alive.”

“Your paintings come alive?” Sophie studied the whirl of violent colours and tortured shapes again, with a degree of concern this time. “No offence or anything, babe, but maybe it’s better if this one stays wrong.”

“Ha, ha.” She exhaled. “I don’t think I’ve ever really got one right yet. Maybe I never will. But I guess I thought if I had you as a subject…”

“That better not be going somewhere soppy.”

“Sorry.”

Sophie kissed her again, pushing between the paints and the painter. “You have one of me already, remember? I don’t want any painted competitors coming alive and fighting me for your hand. I’m not Lancelot.”

“Did he have painted competitors?”

“I dunno. He went to jousts and things, and fought over a girl’s glove, right?”

Georgia shrugged.

“Anyway, I’m not offended or anything, ok? I can be your girlfriend without being your muse.But you gotta do without your model now, because I have to be in town.” She gave the brunette a playful pat on the head.

And Sophie went to town, and Georgia watched a TV show, and later they both went to bed. And that might have been the end of it, except that it wasn’t.

Actually, it was 3am when Sophie, unable to sleep, went to get a glass of water and found herself standing before the canvas. Maybe it was sleep deprivation, maybe something deeper, but she suddenly felt she knew what Georgia meant. There was something shallow about the whole thing. Colour, and shape, and perspective, all carefully manipulated, all carefully interwoven — but really, she mused, no more meaningful than a toddler’s finger-painting, with long smears of green grass below and blue sky above and nothing at all to join the gap. Stick figures with stick arms and endless grins.

She’d never touched her girlfriend’s work before. She didn’t interfere. But now she’d seen the error, she positively itched to fix it. Sophie knew exactly what was needed — just a touch here, and another here, and almost before she knew it, the brush was in her hand and careful strokes were transforming the whole picture. 

Time lost all meaning, but nevertheless went by. The grey dawn light crept through the windows, brushing curious fingers over the edges of her work. The birds began their chatter outside, debating its merits. And Sophie sat back, exhausted, her fingers stained in oils, her eyes dark with sleeplessness, the work finished at last.

It was probably kind of weird to make your first piece of art a self-portrait. But it felt so right, it felt so deep, it felt so much like her, that she couldn’t bear the thought of anyone criticising it. 

Maybe it made sense. She knew herself better than Georgia knew her, after all, however deep their connection. There were parts of her that she had never dared share with the beautiful brunette she’d brought into her life. 

Up to now, that was. Because as she cast a final glance over the product of her efforts, Sophie’s eyes widened and she realised that she had given her work a title, spelled out in broad capitals for all to see. 

MAMA.

The picture wasn’t wrong any more. And she had to concede that Georgia had had a point. Suddenly, it felt very real.

There was a creak from somewhere behind her, and Sophie looked around with such intense love in her face that Georgia, who was just wandering out of the bedroom, stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide, wondering what was going on.

“Come here, baby girl. I think you need to do another pretty picture for me.”

A/N: Thank you so much for this project! You’ve given me the nudge to finally stop lurking and start trying to create a little…

[void-ink-studios]

The Existential Horror of Prismo the Wishmaster.

This has been buzzing in my brain for a week now, and after a discussion with a friend egged it on, I need to inflict in on the rest of you.

Also, this thought is at the very least cannon to Wrath of the Wishmaster.

I have so many Thoughts about Prismo, and his relationship with Old Man Prismo. How it seems that Prismo the Wishmaster and Prismo the Old Man are completely disconnected, but threaded together in a weave that simply can't be unraveled. The two don't seem to share memories, but Prismo clearly recognizes the sleeping old man as his mortal body. He knows he's staring at himself, and he seems pretty uncomfortable to acknowledge it.

So, the discussion expanded on it.

Because something I noticed is that Scarab as a projection was pretty much just one to one with his real personality. It was just Scarab in a different form, down to realistic proportions, anatomy, and physics.

So, I propose a thought: What if, once upon a time, Prismo was like that too?

What if, when first put to sleep, Prismo the Wishmaster and "Young Man" Prismo were pretty much identical? That Prismo was pretty much just an extension of his sleeping body.

But, while Scarab has only just been put to sleep, Prismo has been asleep longer. Much, much longer. Hundreds of thousands of years longer. Potentially millions of years longer.

Prismo is ultimately the dream of (presumably) a human. While it's clear Old Man Prismo can't seem to die of old age, he is noticeably aging (look at Prismo pointing out he's hairier and balder than last he checked).

Not to mention, in the brief moments we see Old Man Prismo awake, he's very clearly confused. He mistakes the Lich to be his son, asks where his wife is, and immediately wants to go back to sleep. While this could be due to the fact he just woke up after lord knows how long, I assert it might've been deeper than that.

And it was that rewatch that I had a thought. What happens to a dream that goes on far longer than it's ever meant to?

I think the Prismo we see, in the modern age, is not just a dream. He's a dream of essentially an Alzheimer's patient. He's abstract and gigantic and wraps around in impossible ways because his host's sense of reality and self-image has pretty much been turning to mush in his deep sleep. He's not just a dream, he's the half remembered abstracted idea of what Old Man Prismo might've been like in his much younger years. Prismo the Wishmaster is a memory locked in time, but one that's been put through Google translate several times and told back to the viewer by someone who just woke up and barely speaks English.

It struck me what Prismo reminded me of.

This series of paintings:

A series of self-portraits done by a man (William Utermohlen, btw) with progressing Alzheimer's, based on what he remembers himself to look like.

So, my friend and I are left to ponder the horror of Prismo's situation. He's a mortal brain, that has been faced with an eternity that mortal brains aren't meant to begin to comprehend, much less live through. He's put under sleep young, probably with the understanding that it'd be forever (And the fact OMP references a wife and son leaves him agreeing to that with upsetting implications), and his dream is of himself, as he was when he was put under.

But then the years and decades and centuries and millennia go bye. The human mind begins to atrophy, but the dream still persists. The dream experiences life on its own, and his mind of origin begins to fail and rot.

Thus, we get Prismo the Wishmaster. Prismo who can no longer access any of his old memories, just left with the vague impression of something lingering in the dark corners every once in a while. Vague ideas that something's familiar, but he can't explain why.

It's no wonder he seems uncomfortable at the look of his own body. That man is practically a stranger to him. And yet, achingly familiar. Like looking in a fun house mirror. You recognize the reflection as you. But it isn't you. Not anymore, at least.

Would he recognize himself, if he saw the version of him he was when he was first put to the task of Wishmaster? Maybe, maybe not.

And then, the Lich kills Old Man Prismo.

And all that's left is a dog's memory of the current version of Prismo.

Which means that the original man Prismo once was is gone. Forever. Irreparably. If our current Prismo is a story, this is a story who's original copy was burned, and has been passed down to us thousands of years later, with all the translation errors, additions, subtractions, revisions, censorship, restorations, retellings, and reinterpretations that entails.

What does that do to a mind, to know you're a copy of someone you used to be, but never can be anymore? To know you're not your own person, but the person you're an extension of simply does not exist anymore?

Reminds me a bit of the clones from "The World of Tomorrow" by Don Hertzfeldt.

It's probably for the best if Prismo doesn't think about it too much.

[the-s1lly-corner]

may we please request gn porcelain doll!reader whos on the verge of abstraction (but has zero idea how to stop it and is afraid to admit it) x jax and maybe pomni (separate) ? ot I love how canon your writing is !! have an amazing day/night :3

Jax and Pomni x porcelain doll!reader whos abstracting !

cracks my knuckles. a TADC angst request? dont mind if i do eheheheh! and ueueueueu thank you anon! i gotta admit im really self conscious about writing characters, doesnt matter how long ive been writing them i always feel that i could do better with their characterization... but im so so happy to know that theyre not too OOC!! that means a lot!! got a little too silly on jaxs part so its longer than pomnis i hope thats okay!!

POMNI:

gosh imagine this is the first time shes seen someone actively abstract... like yeah sure shes seen kaufmo in his abstracted form, but seeing the aftermath/complete transformation is totally different than being there in the moment. i think she would.. be all over the place. i mean youre at your worst and you dont even understand whats going on... and pomni doesnt know what to do or what she can do to ground you. can you even be grounded back to the present moment? can you even back up and regain yourself? is that something someone can do? i think her panic makes you panic, which ends up making your.. situation worse.. i think pomni would try to keep you together as best as she can; physically and mentally. i got the image of the readers face cracking open and the abstraction stuff peeking out and pomni just... trying to push the pieces back together... its a horrible situation, and before long you're fully abstracted and pomni just stands there. im not even sure if she would have the mind to run away, probably too caught up in trying to bring you back to her.. i think sometimes she would stop in front of your old bedroom door and just. stare at the brand new red X over your portrait

JAX:

unlike pomni, i think he can more easily catch the signs of someone abstracting, though i dont think hes seen someone actually lose themselves right in front of him and transform right there... hmm... but unless you and him are very close i dont think he would bother trying to check in on you. i mean, if youre not, why would he? but... lets say youre both friends, or even partners, and he notices that youve been acting off.. i think it would still take him a little longer than id like to admit for him to actually come to your room to check in on you. perhaps he wants to give you space, or feels youre just going through something and thats your business, or maybe he didnt feel obligated to ask how youre doing as horrible as it sounds (i feel this is more likely if you guys are just friends, though, perhaps not close but still friendly with one another).. gets tipped off that something is wrong when he sees a stray (and glitching) piece of porcelain on the ground... which turns into two pieces, then three. a trail, leading right to your breaking form. i think at first he would think its some joke, before realizing that this is actually happening. unfortunately, i dont think jax is the best comforter so even in your last moments of being conscious and aware would still be spent in fear and confusion.. but at least theres an attempt to try to help you, right? i think jax would actually try to call for help, at least he might be able to admit hes unqualified to help you.. but regardless of if anyone hears him its too late for you.. i like to think he keeps some of your porcelain shards, on the off chance theyre still hanging around even after youre sent to the cellar

[unexpectedbrickattack]

bro your pepperman and peppino comic hasn’t left my brain since i saw it. i just love the dynamic of a ginormous freak and peppino being both intimidated and flustered.. bro i wish there was more of those two

I should draw them some more bc i really like the dynamic ive written for them 😊 For u anon, i will share some minor (silly) thoughts ive had about them

-Pepperman absolutely has a little baby crush on this man. TEENY TINY. The kind of crush that means nothing- hes a little 💅🏾 and hes an artist like ur gonna be a little gay w all of the friends you make; thats just the way it goes 😭 Like Peppino is sooooo handsome and soooo strong and he can cook and hes smart and he doesnt stand down when confronted (he LOVES this the most). So people in Peppermans Rich Friend circle notice the complete 180 his personality does when Peppino is invited to outings. Its not that Pepperman is being weird and shallow or fake, its that Peppino is probably his First Friend that wasnt rich and snobbish in anyway. Some part of him really REALLY wants to impress Peppino and it makes him act a little ‘foolish’ heehee 😊

-Following up on this, Pepperman visits the pizzeria out of the blue like MONTHS after he first invites Peppino out for the art sessions and like okay maybe they are friends MAYBE…but like he is still kind of anxious bc the last time he came here he almost got his skinned so part of him is like ‘maybe hes only amicable bc feels obligated to cooperate within the walls of my studio…’ BUT he shuffles awkwardly into the shop and Peppino not only waves but SMILES at him while hes attending to a customer and Pepperman is like ‘HEEEHEEUHEEHOOO………….’

-Peppermans art is worth a fortune; he is very well respected in the art world and any pieces hes made (including self portraits) are absolutely stunning. His abstract art is as beautiful as his realism; auctioning them off and doing occasional commission work is how hes acquired most of his wealth. Because of this, it is a MASSIVE show of good faith and comradery that Pepperman will often gift art to Peppino. Unfortunately, Peppino will not accept statues or huge marble sculptures BUT Pepperman is delighted to see Peppino accept paintings and mini sculptures, even if he LOOKS a bit confused about it 😭

-SO… when Pepperman comes by the shop some weeks later, he is overwhelmingly excited to see one of his pieces hung up on the walls. The feeling of having his art fawned over in an art exhibit does not even BEGIN to compare to the excitement of seeing his art being displayed in this common mans shop. Its a portrait of Peppino, stylized, w some funky lookin colors. Nothing fancy or particularly evocative. Just. Peppino! Looking a bit wistful with colors winding around him.

Even Peppino is like (snrk) “Dont you have your fancy arts in a museum or something? Dont see the big deal ‘bout ‘a this.” But its HUGE its like…suddenly it is not just his muse entertaining his artistic vision…his muse VALUES his artistic vision………..it makes him SO happy. He thinks about it for days. Its like; he had no idea that this is what it felt like to have…inspiration and motivation from an Outside source. His art, while breathtaking, felt like it lacked something…Rich. Years and years of self reflection and introspection and Never expanding his horizons, never realizing he was Capable of expanding his horizons until now…he is just a lucky little pepper 🫑🌶✨

[rinayeas]

puking out some mercs drawing hcs bc i have nowhere to put them mwak

Best artist to worst real quick: scout, medic, demo, spy, engie, sniper, pyro, heavy, and solly

Scout is self explanatory, he's loved drawing since he was very young and his love for comic books only served as fuel. Is the only one with a well developed, intentional style. That style obviously being 2004 cartoon network, sans the fact they live in the 70s

medic had to learn lots about drawing anatomy to make diagrams while he was in med school so he has an uncannily realistic style and is very good at portaits (skeleton portraits are also a specialty of his). He hasn't bothered to experiment with this skill surprisingly, he likes drawing things as he sees them

Demo and engie make their own schematics for their work so they got that down but engie doesn't have an artistic bone in his body sans playing guitar, he can draw a sentry and all its parts perfectly but still draws stick figures. Demo has dabbled in drawing and doodling on the corner of his schematics so he has a bit more range (more than he gives himself credit for)

Spy is crazy good at painting, his use of color is incredible and can capture light and moods perfectly. But he is absolutely fucking terrible at actually drawing things. His anatomy is all fucked up and he is REALLY bad at perspective. Insists that it's his artistic vision but on the inside he is fuming.

One time Scout gave him the idea to 'collab' and he begrudgingly accepted. But the end result of one of Scout's cartoons combined with his coloring made him a bit more emotional than he wanted to admit.

Sniper can only draw animals. He doesn't see the point in drawing but one time on a trip he saw a really cute dog and he hadn't bought a camera yet nor could he take it back home so he just drew it and showed it to his mom as soon as he got back. He got better over the years but doesn't know how to draw anything else

Pyro draws like a kid but they put the most passion and love to her drawings so they look particularly cute and colorful. He and scout have drawing sessions in the mess hall where whoever is in there w them chooses the theme and each of them draws their version, they surprisingly learn a lot from eachother.

Heavy is a man of words. Mostly because he loves them but also bc he finds drawing absurdly hard. Resorts to drawing stick figures all the time but he's very competent at making his point while using the bare minimum

Solly's drawing are just a mess of scribbles with the ocassional color, nobody knows if he's an abstract genius or just a terrible artist. Exclusively uses the american flag colors. One time Spy jokingly asked him why was he using the french flag colors and after choking the shit out of him Soldier stared at the wall for a good two hours in contemplation.

[jaylienpotter]

October 5th @prongsfoot-microfic prompt "chain"

Instagram post

Potter scrolled through Instagram, liking all of Starsirius_art's posts. Black really had it in him. He used coal, watercolors, digital drawing using different styles and techniques (realism, cartoon, semirealistic...), even did some abstract paintings sometimes, although not as frequently.

The viewer took in one of the posts. It was a digital drawing of a pale boy with light blue eyes and short black hair (he assumed it was a self-portrait of his younger self), underwater and tangled with chains, a hand reaching up.

«I love this one. It's very powerful. Does it have any meaning?» He decided to shoot him a DM. Maybe it would be a good way to approach the gorgeous man in a low-key way.

«yeah» Good, he only took 16 minutes to reply- Not that James was counting.

«my little brother committed suicide when he was 18» Shit.

«its him in the drawing. he drowned himself, the chains are a symbol of how he felt trapped in his body and in our household. also like a weight pulling him down»

«Oh my god... I'm so sorry, that's terrible...»

«How long has it been, if you don't mind me asking?»

Typing. Seen. Typing again.

«2 years ago»

«Fuck... My condolences mate...» He probably doesn't want to talk much about it...

«thx»

«how's padfoot?»

«He's good! He liked you.»

«You're doing commissions, right? Could you draw him? You capture emotion so well, and he has a tough background. I found him young next to a road, abandoned. He was too thin, limped really badly and was afraid of everyone. I took him home, fed and bathed him and went to the vet. He had no chip and so I kept him. Slowly he started trusting me and now he's my best friend.»

«awww! yeah ofc! i'd love to! what style??»

«Up to you! I trust your work.»

«thx James x»

James.

It was his name, nothing special about that word. But it seemed intimate from Sirius. It felt like the two had grown close in those few exchange of texts. Potter hoped to get closer. He just had to find a way to talk to him without coming off odd.

[ani-antiquities]

The Melancholic Woman: Eva Hesse, Ennead (1965), and Trauma, De-strung

(source: ICA Boston)

I will open this essay with a line from art historian, Anne M. Wagner’s essay, Another Hesse, on her journal October, vol. 69 – wherein she writes of our subject, American sculptor Eva Hesse:

Hesse’s self-scrutiny, we learn once again, is a means of coping with “environment” – with the inheritance of the past. But it is also the measure – even the proud badge – of her “difference”, the difference, we remember, of being an artist. (p. 131)

Anne M. Wagner’s essay on Eva Hesse will be one of the main sources of this paper.

Here, we will be able to trace Eva Hesse’s art and its asymbolia to the artist’s melancholia and her journey of sublimation and working through. We will also thereby arrive at more questions to ponder Hesse’s life, and inquire about the connections among art, melancholia, and the semiotic – and possibly ponder a perspective that ties the end-goal of these Kristevan concepts together.

(Before I go on, I just wanna say that this essay may draw on similarities EVA HESSE: POST-MINIMALISM INTO SUBLIME, by Robert Pincus-Witten. I wrote this specific essay more than a year ago for my Cultural, Literary, and Critical Theory class, and I only found this essay just today, as I am writing and doing more research for this piece. LOL. However, I would like to justify that the content of my essay is to draw connections between Hesse’s art and Kristeva’s psychoanalytic theory. I did enjoy Witten’s essay, though!)

(Source: pbs.org)

Eva Hesse

At the height of Nazi Germany, Hesse’s family fled to America for protection from religious persecution, but it was not long until sanctuary proved to be fickle as well, in the land of the free. Due to trauma implicated by the Second World War that vehemently caused the deaths of Hesse’s extended family, the serious circumstances of (Eva Hesse’s mother) Ruth Marcus House’s bipolar disorder worsened. These events dominoed to Wilhelm Hesse’s divorce from Ruth Marcus, and Ruth’s suicide. Adding salt to the wound, Wilhelm would marry a woman named Eva. Upon the new marriage, the young girl and her step-mother would share the same name.

Identity crisis aggravated young Eva’s trauma – from the persecution of family whose faces she had never known, to losing her to suicidal mother at ten. It seemed like grief was her very being.

Graduating from Yale, she exhibited works whose style displayed that of Abstract Expressionism and paved the way for Minimalism.

Art historians speculate how these traumas were sublimated into her art. Her self-portraits showcase distorted images of faces and figures. They are almost like a child’s attempt at creating a figure painting, except that their tone is so somber that only an adult can express such a feeling.

(Untitled, 1965, oil on canvas: From: mutualart.com)

However, the most intriguing work of Hesse does not come from two-dimensions – but three. This includes Hesse’s sculpture, Ennead (1965).

(Ennead, 1965, oil on canvas. From: icaboston.org)

Eva Hesse’s Ennead (1965)

All that there is to the piece: acrylic, paper mache, some resin-coated strings, plywood, some plastic, and a title possibly referencing the Egyptian pantheon.

The Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston, describes the artwork as such:

The orderly, formulaic application of the threads devolves into an increasingly chaotic composition as they accumulate and tangle toward the floor. A few strands are affixed to the adjacent wall, cordoning off a wedge of space that becomes part of the sculpture itself. This gesture also draws the viewer’s attention to the corner of the gallery, activating this normally overlooked area. Additional material hangs to touch the floor, thus uniting three planes. “Ennead” means a group of nine, in this case referring to the nine points from which the strings extend.

How can we interpret art whose surface presence is devoid of any points from its meaning? Baroque art can be so interpreted by its gargantuan number of details that fit on a four-cornered canvas. Poetry can be dissected among its metaphors, language, and enjambments. How can we possibly describe a sculpture so bare of material and overly abstract in its form? Was it meant to be this way – stripped down and bare?

Asymbolia and Melancholia

Many of Hesse’s works portray a distinct use of asymbolia, and the stimulation of asymbolia to its audience.

It is impossible to speak of Ennead without speaking about Hesse – primarily because Hesse and her art are one. Hesse even says: “My life and art have not been separated. They have been together.”

Ennead is no exception – however, with absolutely little to no “initial and final'' interpretation of meaning when you see the sculpture. What can we then say about Eva Hesse through the piece? Even art historians themselves, up to this day, consider Ennead to be an enigma on its own – its minimalism minimizes itself, to the point of devoiding any meaning, making us doubt if there is any at all.

First, we must discuss the asymbolia in Ennead – the art itself. Though by instinct and intuition, the substance of Ennead is uninhabited on its own, I would like to shed a few pointers on the piece and its asymbolia through its deliberate absurdity.

The strings were meant to be orderly at first, until its tail-end, wherein Hesse describes them as a jungle. Hesse even took in the effort to dye the strings to possibly add more aesthetic depth to them. Hesse describes the process of this piece in one of her journals.

The further it went toward the ground, the more chaotic it got; the further you got from the structure, the more it varied. I've always opposed content to form or just form to form. (Quoted in L. R. Lippard, op. cit., p. 62)

However, even when Hesse describes her decision to irrationalize the hinds of the strings, the art still talks gravel to the path towards the most inane question: What does it mean?

So, we shall secondly address the audience’s confusion, that stems from the asymbolia of the audience themselves – the very inability to attach any familiarity or meaning to the symbols the art presents, because of the very fact that it lacks anything.

The only thing that makes sense of Hesse’s art is nonsense – the asymbolia found in Hesse’s art, that stems from dissecting, stripping down, and representing her trauma. Hesse states in one of her interviews: “There is no abstract art. You must always start with something… A painter paints to unload himself of feelings and vision.”

Must her own “something” be from her depression – from the trauma of losing her mother, identity, and other factors throughout?

We take the theory behind this inquiry from Julia Kristeva’s illustration of asymbolia and melancholia in her book, Black Sun – “The negation of that fundamental loss opens up the realm of signs for us, but the mourning is often incomplete. Melancholia then ends up in asymbolia, in loss of meaning…” (p.42).

Hence, to study the bare Ennead is to study Hesse’s bare melancholia.

We may never have the opportunity to bear witness to Hesse’s trauma, as only she and herself can live it, so we turn to her journals,

Throughout her life, Hesse seems to be on good terms with working through with her depression, as she sublimates it with her art – if it means going against the conventions imposed on her by four-cornered dimensions of papers and canvases, and the one-platform norm of past sculptures (Ennead takes up two adjacent walls, and thereby two dimensions).

Asymbolia and the neglect of the pre-conceived semiotic can be seen in her journals – which instead of letters and intelligible words, consist of drawings that penetrate any dividers and lines.

Kristeva furthermore explains this psychoanalytic mechanism as she illustrates the control of the preverbal in aesthetic creation: “When the struggle between imaginary creation (art, literature) and depression is carried out precisely on that frontier of the symbolic and the biological we see indeed that the narrative or the argument is ruled by primary processes” (p.65) – explaining the subnormality of Hesse’s art and entries, and how the manifestations of obscurity stem from the mere struggle of Hesse’s melancholia.

(Figure 3: Hesse’s journal. From: sugarcandymtn.com)

Other than these, her excerpts write of her own feelings of depression and anxiety: “I must write, my sanity is involved. I cry and cry, the pages are wet. I have no one, to go to and the edge of hysteria and insanity is not far apart” (October 19, 1964).

Anne M. Wagner writes: “Anyone who wants to make a serious contribution to remembering Hesse will likewise have to speak about a wound. For what is striking about Hesse’s art is its utter inwardness, with artistic languages of the day: her imagery and effects are not learned by rote, only to be parroted back more or less unchanged” (p. 159)

With this: Must her melancholia still be the root of her asymbolic art? Or was this art a testament to her ability to self-scrutinize all along? Furthermore, will there be anything to self-scrutinize when there is no trauma?

Conclusion: The Futile Point of Interpretation

Hesse intended her work to be autobiographical, but never understood – and thus reflecting the paradox of identity: to know, but never understand. Even her journals were not meant for the purpose of understanding: “Hesse’s journals and their users have meant that it is no longer possible for viewers “not to know the artist” – or at least, not to feel they know her, and to prepare themselves accordingly when looking at her art.”

Yet, even when we have read Hesse’s journals, watched documentaries, and studied countless journals from art historians – the impossibility to fully understand still looms over her audience. So then we ask the question: What should we feel to know of Hesse? The illness caused by both personal and socio-economic circumstances of her time? Must her works be cursed with the fallacy of perpetually being tied to her trauma.

On Dostoevsky, Kristeva writes: “Works of art thus lead us to establish relations with ourselves and others that are less destructive, more soothing.” Hesse’s artifacts are therefore not records of her mania, but documentations of her survival from it. Her illness, therefore, is not what should be reflected of her life – but her sisyphean triumph over it.

Maybe it is for the better – as the point of art itself is to sublimate the traumatic aggression of the artist, and (like a monster) to never let it out of the cage of the canvas. Kristeva can even attest to this, saying: “Art seems to point to a few devices that bypass complacency and, without simply turning mourning into mania, secure for the artist the connoisseur a sublimatory hold over the lost Thing” (p. 97)

Hesse did this concealment well, so much so that it is said the artist herself might not have realized this. As Wagner would write: “If Hesse’s life did enter her art, it did so by a process that Hesse herself was in a position to describe. We would be looking for ways (Hesse’s unconscious) repeatedly configured. I think such imagery exists in Hesse’s art, and I take it to concern the artist’s feelings toward her mother above all” (p. 165) So much so, that even daring to question the trauma behind Hesse’s art, we do not only turn a blind eye to the artist herself, but arrive at a futile destination when we do: “Yet, in asking them [questions on Hesse’s art] we risk losing sight of the workings of Hesse’s unconscious – a notion that, after all, was the motivating impulse of this discussion. But the artist and her unconscious are not far away.” (p. 173)

Conclusion

I will close with another one of Wagner’s concluding lines:

“To claim that Hesse’s art aims to remember and express a common human quality or experience is not the same as attributing to it some universal force or purpose. It gives its own account of that experience.” (p. 186)

This aim of art is reminiscent to how beauty sublimates melancholia in the form of art, much like giving its own account of an experience. Kristeva writes:

“Beauty emerges as the admirable face of loss, transforming it in order to make it live. Melancholia to the point of becoming interested in the life of signs, beauty may also grab hold of us to bear witness for someone who grandly discovered the royal way through which humanity transcends the grief of being apart.”

(p. 100)

Hesse’s journey as an artist is proof that asymbolia – another result of melancholia – paves the way into sublimation. Art is therefore not rooted in the melancholic, its her way of forging a path deeper underneath it. Art is agency from the trial of inner-disagency. Art is therefore the artist’s most individual and subjective struggle, not of her depression, but one of working through. Precisely through this art, we unlock the beauty sculpted from the marble of melancholia. Hesse and Ennead are just among the myriad of melancholic beauty in the realm of art.

SOURCES

Kristeva Julia. Black Sun : Depression and Melancholia. Columbia University Press 1989. https://archive.org/details/blacksun00juli. Accessed 27 Feb. 2023.

Artincontext. “Eva Hesse - The Brief Life and Incredible Works of Eva Hesse the Artist.” Artincontext.org, 4 Apr. 2022, https://artincontext.org/eva-hesse/.

Branaman, Bianca. “Love - Eva Hesse.” Sugar Candy Mountain, Sugar Candy Mountain, 4 Sept. 2018, https://sugarcandymtn.com/blogs/the-brand/love-eva-hesse.

“Ennead.” EVA HESSE, https://www.christies.com/en/lot/lot-315751.

“Ennead.” Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston, https://www.icaboston.org/art/eva-hesse/ennead.

Evemy, Benjamin Blake, et al. “Auctions, Exhibitions & Analysis for +500K Artists.” MutualArt, MutualArt, 17 Feb. 2023, https://www.mutualart.com/.

“The Sickness of Being Disallowed: Premonition and Insight in the 'Artist's Sketchbook'.” O A R, https://www.oarplatform.com/sickness-disallowed-premonition-insight-artists-sketchbook/.

[contemporaryabstract]

The Evolution and Impact of Contemporary Art

Contemporary art, a vibrant and dynamic field, transcends traditional boundaries to explore new mediums, themes, and techniques. It encompasses artworks created from the mid-20th century to the present day, reflecting diverse cultural, social, and political landscapes. This article delves into the multifaceted nature of contemporary art, its evolution, and its impact on society.

The Evolution of Contemporary Art

Contemporary art emerged in the post-World War II era, a time marked by rapid technological advancements and significant socio-political changes. This period saw a departure from the conventions of modern art, embracing a more experimental and inclusive approach. Key movements that paved the way for contemporary art include Abstract Expressionism, Pop Art, Minimalism, and Conceptual Art.

Abstract Expressionism

Abstract Expressionism, primarily an American movement of the 1940s and 1950s, emphasized spontaneous, automatic, or subconscious creation. Artists like Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko focused on expressing emotions and ideas through abstract forms and bold colors. This movement laid the groundwork for future artists to explore new ways of conveying meaning beyond traditional representation.

Pop Art

In the 1960s, Pop Art emerged as a reaction to the elitism of Abstract Expressionism. Artists like Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein drew inspiration from popular culture, mass media, and consumerism. Their works often featured everyday objects, celebrities, and advertisements, challenging the distinction between "high" and "low" art.

Minimalism and Conceptual Art

Minimalism and Conceptual Art, emerging in the late 1960s and 1970s, further expanded the boundaries of contemporary art. Minimalist artists like Donald Judd and Agnes Martin focused on simplicity, using geometric forms and industrial materials. Conceptual artists like Sol LeWitt and Joseph Kosuth emphasized ideas over aesthetic value, often creating works that required audience interaction or interpretation.

Themes and Techniques in Contemporary Art

Contemporary artists continue to explore a wide range of themes and techniques, often addressing critical issues such as identity, globalization, technology, and the environment. Their works challenge viewers to rethink their perceptions and engage with complex social and political narratives.

Identity and Representation

Identity is a recurring theme in contemporary art, with artists exploring race, gender, sexuality, and cultural heritage. For instance, Kehinde Wiley's vibrant portraits celebrate Black identity, while Cindy Sherman's self-portraits challenge traditional notions of femininity and self-representation.

Globalization and Technology

The impact of globalization and technology on society is another significant theme. Artists like Ai Weiwei and Hito Steyerl examine the implications of digital culture, surveillance, and the global flow of information. Their works often incorporate digital media, video, and interactive installations, reflecting the increasingly interconnected world.

Environmental Concerns

Environmental issues are also prominent in contemporary art. Artists like Olafur Eliasson and Agnes Denes create works that highlight the urgency of climate change and the human relationship with nature. These pieces often use natural materials and immersive installations to foster a deeper connection with the environment.

The Impact of Contemporary Art on Society

Contemporary art plays a crucial role in shaping cultural discourse and fostering social change. By addressing pressing issues and challenging societal norms, contemporary artists encourage critical thinking and inspire action.

Cultural Dialogue

Contemporary art facilitates cross-cultural dialogue, promoting understanding and empathy among diverse communities. Exhibitions and biennials, such as the Venice Biennale and Documenta, bring together artists from around the world, creating platforms for cultural exchange and collaboration.

Social Activism

Many contemporary artists use their work as a form of social activism, raising awareness about human rights, social justice, and political oppression. For example, Banksy's provocative street art and JR's large-scale photographic installations draw attention to marginalized communities and global inequalities.

Public Engagement

Contemporary art often extends beyond traditional gallery spaces, engaging with the public in innovative ways. Public art installations, participatory projects, and community-based initiatives create opportunities for people to interact with art in their everyday lives, fostering a sense of collective ownership and participation.

Conclusion

Contemporary art, with its diverse range of themes, techniques, and perspectives, reflects the complexity of the modern world. It challenges conventional boundaries, fosters cultural dialogue, and encourages social change. As we continue to navigate an ever-evolving landscape, contemporary art remains a powerful tool for understanding and engaging with the world around us.

[kavehnanginto]

pot, meet kettle

pairings: kaveh, itto x reader

synopsis: whiny and hot men smartly decide to date the only one who can match and even beat his charisma and annoying remarks, and everyone is stuck dealing with both of your dramatic characters

tags: you are very much annoying, sweet names except for babe or baby because i hate it, fluff and cuddles, they are very sweet, fun fact the creation of this fic was made because a little birdie told me to do this i just added itto because he is my man,

Kaveh swears he is a logical man, a rational man who desires nothing more than peace and tranquility. no one really agrees with him, with all the bickering with alhaitham and squabbles with dori his reputation of being sensitive is set in stone.

But with you around it truly feels that what he said was right. Compared to Kaveh and you, Alhaitham would rather spend time in hell and dead in a casket. So whenever you were around and in his house, the scribe just seemed to disappear out of nowhere. And you were now always alone with your man.

"Why would you use that as a painting, its too abstract?" you comfortably conquered the couch while watching Kaveh hang the ugliest portrait you have ever seen since the last time he hung one. "I literally went on this five minute walk to Alhaitham's house just to see you hanging this ugly portrait rather than spending time with ME."

He gasped at such comment, he can't believe he heard such nonsense from someone as attractive and ethereal as you.

"Darling, this isn't just some painting, this cost me--"

"So? Is my worth also measured in material value? Hang that painting in the wall or you'll continue to be my lover." With the painting out of the way, you were soon delivered with happy cuddles from a beautiful portrait such as he.

"Now will I continue to be your one and only?" you pat his head, thinking about it.

"Do you really think such measly act is worth my time," he shook his head. "Now let's sleep."

He obeyed and went to sleep smoothly and always remembered to bring you to every art auction after.

Everyone had their own opinion about Itto. He was loud, obnoxious, and the reoccurring theme about his public display of affection. It was getting out of hand, even to some member of his gang (Shinobu). But to you, it was simply not enough, the mediocre singing, the wilted flowers and most recently, your very own cow.

You keep on telling him that this is not what you want and say that you will eventually return feelings once he had given you the right thing. The fact of the matter is you already fell, but he really thought a cow will make you happy. I mean it did, but let your pride take you away.

Also a goat will be nice next time, and then you saw him once more, no longer with his trusted companions, but just him.

"So pumpkin, how is your amazing self today?"

"And that is the first thing you say to me? I am here offering my time and company for you!" you huffed and he immediately apologized. "Also I'm doing great! Want to commit some crimes today?"

And just like that both of you went on a spree, you insisted he holds your hand or he never will hold your hand ever again, and also that he will bring the cow with you. It seemed that Shinobu has a lot of explaining to do, but it seems you are not in trouble.

As the day came into a close, Itto realized that commiting war crimes are even better if the person he likes is around him. But as the day comes to close, and this day of temporary joy has reached its end. The lovebirds said goodbye.

"Until we meet again, my dove." you walked away slowly, the sunset brightening you eyes.

"Farewell, my fair master." he bowed and...

You saw each other again after 45 minutes.

[shmowder]

Hii I’m cringe free so here is my self-insert as I don’t have any other pathologic ocs :(

Name: Katerina Katina

Age: 27 years old

Job/Credentials: painter! I imagined she would do portraits for the Kains and the other leading families but can also do paintings for anyone in town

And she would just be an NPC

Katerina was born in the town and has lived her whole life there, though she did want to go to the capital to study in art but unfortunately for her she took too long to decide and ended up married to a guy who wants her to stay so she does

She does like the town and since she feels it’s too late to study art anyways she doesn’t want to leave anymore, maybe she’ll just visit the capital one day

She doesn’t have much friends she just talks to the Stamatins often, she WAS once friends with Vlad Jr. but not anymore (I thought he was just a pathetic kinda guy but nope I do not fuck with racists)

Also friends with Verdell Popov another oc which I hope my partner submits here!

She believes in the Mistresses at least Nina and Victoria still not really sure about Katerina Saburov or both of them for the matter

She does believe the steppe legends as she is friends with Verdell who is from the kin and even enjoys hearing about them

Not sure about authority she tries not to get in trouble and doesn’t really like any of the families especially after doing portraits for many of them

Definitely tries to help the Haruspex the most even if she was scared of The Ripper at first, later she’ll offer him to sleep at her house if he needs and if her district is plagued would give him quests and when he’s done she’ll give him food in exchange

Sorry if the writing is wonky somewhere I’m not good at telling info in English shshdh also I’m including a drawing I made of her in Pathologic 2 dialogue

Yes, a painter! I always wondered where all the ruling families got their portraits from? Especially since the paintings shared a similar style, one which clearly contrasted with Peter's more abstract and fluid works.

She is woven into the story seamlessly, I really like the fact that she has an already repeated name. It makes it just more realistic, yk? It makes sense for the most popular names of the time period to get repeated a bunch in a town this big.

Saburov and Block, Victor and Victoria, it's a small detial but provides a touch of realism. We've all known multiple people who shared the same name throughout our lives.

Her connection to Andrey and Peter does make sense. They're both interested in steppe legends and art. Maybe she did the paintings in the brokenheart pub, too?

I love her blue scarf. I know it's not intentional, but it matches Artemy's blue sweater. Poetic how he's the one she'll willing to help the most, does she believe in his cause and the Termite ending? In destroying the Polyhedron, despite the agony, it will put her two friends–the Stamatins–through?

Including the wedding ring in the art is such a good detail too, her curly/wavy hair is very lovely. God, I wish we could've seen more diverse hairtypes in pathologic.

It is lowkey ironic that she doesn't like to get into trouble yet befriended The Stamatin and used to be friends with Vlad Jr. Honestly, even if she does, she is a little too useful to the ruling families for them not to let her go with a slap on the wrist.

Keeping such a talented painter under their thumb and inside the town? Especially an artist who never went to art school, so she doesn't realise her actual worth or talent. Her only other point of reference is Peter, a literal genius in his field whose talent is beyond comprehension. So much so, Nina had to drag the twins to town no matter the cost.

It's also sad in a way, like a beautiful buttefly who may never see its own colourful wings. Who's trapped inside an artificial greenhouse, never wandering to the lush garden outside, and for love to be the one thing chaining her too? That's just amazing.

Your art is amazing! I can tell a lot about Katerina from the body language alone, the nervous side glance, the tendency to touch her fingers.

The wedding ring being silver rather than gold. Ouch.

"I shouldn't have yelled at him" Is she referring to her husband? Do they fight often? Or someone else entirely.

What a lovely and flushed out OC you have! <33 I'm so happy you told me about her, I can't wait to see your partner's OC as well. It's a unique thing for two OCs to have a slightly intertwined story, to be friends in every universe.

-

unrelated, but I wanted to thank you for the lovely ask you sent before. Encouraging me after the person pretending to be a different anons thing. I never got the chance to reply because the matter was resolved. Still, thank you greatly for your sweet words.

[ochrearia]

okay yeah GF's synes portrait is definitely being finished today holy shit I forgot how fast I can do my super abstract paintings when I'm mentally ill and obsessed with a thing. I've been in such an art rut for like 2 years and its because I wasn't addicted to a piece of media I guess LMFAO WHAT THE FUCK

I'm gonna have to go into super detail about my process too because all these years later I'm still a bit self-conscious about my synesthesia... people really do just latch onto anything not "normal" to fuck with you for man

[blackvahana]

NSFW warning. Explicitly detailing gorey sex. Thanks.

I get a night with him, finally, where I can be myself and play hard. I am overwhelming, I am Death, I AM - thanks phone - I am Destruction, I always have to restrain myself. I keep returning to a form lately of being laughing crows, bordering on scream-laughing. When I made that weapon of mine I felt so giddy and crows heads writhed and pierced out from my head and I was laughing. Laughing. Red has been scream-laughing over battlefields before in red slaughter and I feel it in my blood. No, I feel it in my skin, my hands. This is no past tense. I am that. My energy boils with piercing, violent laughter in a thousand voices. All I can do is laugh.

Here, though. He was sat wiping blood from the trishula I used to spear myself and... More. Oh. Finally. We dance around gore, just like there's a fine line between BDSM and abuse, there is one between Astral goreplay and outright violence. We know that line. We know what it's like to be the Carrion Crow eating bodies, we know where the line lays between that and lovers inside each other's bodies.

Pierced, penetrated, stabbed with his tendrils thick and black. My body gives way like clay around him, blood licks him, organs are eyes which watch him and from which tendrils of sight trace his form. Not the cold steel of swords but the colder flesh of abyssal aquatic life. "Deep" no longer describes it, he doesn't go "deep" he fully leaves the other side, through like a machine cutting holes and stitching flesh - and yet so smooth, so laced with organic suggestions. His coding speaks to mine, even in externally violent action every bit of his form tells mine at every moment that this is intimate, this is not the cold detachment, this is being alone on the long Irish beach in autumn. He tells me at every point that he is answering my call.

Penetration. Every hole you have has it's own feeling, every place you fuck receives it in its own way. Vagina, anus, mouth, all have different feelings. The guts don't differ. Sentimental almost, the feeling of being grabbed from inside, almost drowned out by the overwhelming that comes from any other place so thoroughly explored... It brings organic self-states to the surface. My own form, my own self, I'm learning my languages: eyes bubble forth from my organs and I am what they call eldritch, my mind is the beach, eldritch is where metaphor becomes indistinguishable from reality, where vision becomes manifest self. I am not playing pretend. The incomprehensible gathering of eyes and tendrils and wings and hands are mere metaphor for what I am, because metaphor has to stand between reality and my truth. The Almadia keeps being shown in masks as if it was exactly like what is shown, because even God wonders what I look like.

My own body is an excitable oil lamp, pierce it with enough displacing strength and the fire will flow into the oil, it will catch fire, it will explode. I grab with the gore exposed now to him, abstracted, like a painter took a portrait of my human form and tore it open to reveal layers and layers of deep red clays. I grab, I am extensions of my own viscera. I hold each and every tendrils pierced into me, pull it closer, push, twist, grab.

I asked him whether what I was seeing was what he was seeing, he showed me. Oh, I know, I felt it. My own guts and blood turned to tendrils-cum-tongues-cum-intestines, some obscure and unknown sort of flesh manifestation of ancient non-carbon-lifeform. I was strangling him almost, run up and down him in flower-petal arrays of some kind of...

But none of this touches on what I want to talk about. Just kidding, all of it does. In a space between, the Mental, we fight-play, but in the Astral the Almadia expands into the maths of the universe. Untold doors open, boats are sent to the shores far and wide. Emanations happen. The Mental here and now is the people outside the cave and the Astral is the shadows on the wall, what I do in the Mental, the intense sex of opening bodies is a ritual of opening gates. Its violence-love is the shadow on the way for I move when I am unseen; I distract God with the revelation of my body splayed and displayed while I take his Trident-Key to the Locks and alter my reality with my own hands. Time waits for no man, but I have been early.

[bwhitex]

Echoes of Elegance: Unveiling the Abstract Portrait of Personality

In a world where the essence of a person's being can be as captivating as the most breathtaking sunset, there exists a personality so finely tuned to the frequencies of human emotion, it can only be described as a masterpiece of psychological craftsmanship. This portrait of character, while not attributed to any one individual, paints an abstract of traits that many might find within themselves or aspire to encounter in another. The beauty of this personality is not just in its parts, but in the harmony of its whole, resonating with a formula that speaks to the soul: Beauty equals grace divided by the sum of pleasure and harmony, all multiplied by goodness.

Beauty = grace / (pleasure + harmony) good

The equation of Beauty = grace / (pleasure + harmony) good encapsulates a beauty that is not confined to the surface but is woven through the very fabric of being. It is the result of a harmonious blend of grace, pleasure, harmony, and goodness, creating a personality that resonates with the profound allure of an unspoken sonnet, the quiet dignity of a shared smile, and the steadfast warmth of an open hand.

This anonymous personality, a hypothetical figure sculpted from the finest psychological elements, reminds us that within the vast expanse of human diversity, there are those whose very existence is a testament to the beauty of the human psyche. They are the nameless ones we find in love, in friendship, in leadership, and in every walk of life, who, through their grace, pleasure, harmony, and goodness, elevate our understanding of beauty.

Grace

There is a certain lightness in being that comes with a high measure of agreeableness. It's a grace that endows one with the ability to glide through life's complex social labyrinths with ease and warmth. Those graced with this trait carry within them an ocean of empathy, where every wave is a gesture of kindness and every tide a testament to their genteel spirit.

Pleasure

In the sphere of extraversion, pleasure is a beacon that draws others in, a lighthouse of delight in a sometimes-dreary world. It's not just about basking in the sunlight of one's own joy; it's about casting that light wide so that it brightens the path for others. It's a pleasure that's contagious, spreading like wildfire, leaving a trail of laughter and light-heartedness in its wake.

Harmony

Imagine a personality so serene that its very presence could still the waters of a restless ocean. With a low inclination toward neuroticism, this personality trait is a bastion of balance and stability, offering a sanctuary of peace that quiets the noise of the world. Harmony is the thread that weaves through interactions, binding people together in a DNA of tranquility.

Good

Conscientiousness may not always manifest as meticulous organization or relentless productivity, but rather as a goodness that’s found in the earnest efforts of those who act with integrity. It's the good within that prioritizes meaningful endeavors over mere efficiency, valuing the spirit of the task above its completion.

Beauty

Openness, with its twin jewels of intellect and aesthetic appreciation, gifts its bearer with the ability to see beauty in the windswept plains of thought and the rich valleys of creativity. It's a perspective that finds wonder in both the grand and the granular, recognizing that beauty is not just seen, but also understood and felt.

This abstract embodiment of character traits, unclaimed by any name or face, serves as an archetype of the nuanced layers that compose human nature. The beauty of this personality blueprint is that it mirrors the potential within each person to cultivate a life rich in grace, pleasure, harmony, and goodness. It's a reminder of the intangible yet profoundly impactful ways we can touch the lives of others, simply by being embodiments of these qualities. Far from the anxious quest for self-discovery, this concept offers a tranquil reflection of the timeless virtues that resonate deeply within the human experience, inviting us to appreciate the art of character as the most authentic form of beauty.