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regrettablewritings · 4 years ago

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Soulmate AU: The First Drawing You See From Your Soulmate is Tattooed on Your Skin

A detective having a tell would probably be considered inappropriate to most people. Detectives were supposed to read tells, not have them. But then again, Benoit had never been much for keeping up appearances. Besides, what was the harm in rubbing his thumb along his right wrist? It helped him focus; it helped him think.

Or at least, that was what he’d told himself. He wasn’t entirely lying, either, rather the larger whole of it all was more so that when he rubbed that spot on his skin, he felt calm. Composed. He liked to think that that was the feeling his soulmate had intended when they painted that image, whenever they made or would make it. Whatever it was. After all, it had plenty of blue in it.

He was pretty sure it was meant to be a pond or some kind of body of water; that might explain the blues and greens and maybe the bits of white that he could make out. And if he squinted his eyes a little, he could swear there were little flecks of gold. Goldfish, maybe? Honestly, he had no clue. Benoit wasn’t much for complaining or expressing a lack of gratefulness, but he couldn’t help but sometimes feel envious of those whose tattoos covered a larger part of their body. Not a massive amount, but at least just enough to be able to tell precisely what the heck their soulmate’s image was trying to portray. Clearly, the image was larger than what that patch of his skin could afford, and honest to God, he’d spent a good part of his life trying to make out what it was!

(The embarrassment of it all, he would sometimes muse deprecatingly: That the acclaimed “Last of the Gentlemen Sleuths” could solve the most absurd cases in the country, yet had spent most of his natural-born life completely stumped by what might as well have counted as a body part!)

And yet, Benoit could never stay frustrated about it; not when his thumb gently grazed against the image, imagining the smoothness of his skin ebbing into the aquatic swirls of the proposed water. But just for extra precaution, he saw no harm in distracting himself.

That afternoon’s distraction? A quick skim of the local paper, accompanied by a mug of hot tea. He tried not to think of how such a method revealed his age, instead snapping the paper open to a page discussing the local goings-on. It was the usual sort of content: The community theater’s spring production was seeking house crew members, a mom and pop-style restaurant was having an anniversary special . . . It was the same sort of thing Benoit had grown used to expecting.

But what his pale blue eyes landed on next didn’t make the rest pale by comparison -- it downright washed all else from existence: An art show.

Benoit considered himself a well-rounded person, but it was more so in an almost tongue in cheek sort of manner: As a detective, it was his job to be appropriately versed in an assortment of fields. However, a jack of all trades was never truly a master of none. Benoit’s experiences with art theft and forgeries had lent him a hand in only about as much observation as was necessary for the respective occurrences.

But . . . he knew those swirls. He knew that blue, those greens, that white -- he recognized how the gold was patterned! Sure, the cheap ink job of a colored newspaper picture might have dulled the quality ever so slightly but there was no mistake to be made: That painting was his. No . . . It was theirs!

You tried to make calming breaths without making your anxiety obvious. A nervous but otherwise acceptable smile twitched into place, fooling the guests as they wandered about the gallery. Or, at least, you certainly hoped it was fooling them; but it was probably all to be outdone by the fact that you’d been nursing the same champagne flute for the last half-hour.

Is this what “making it” feels like? you wondered. Because if it was . . . you weren’t too fond of it. You felt bad for not relishing this opportunity; the art world was highly competitive, and you were more than blessed to have had the chance to not only display your work in a showroom, but to have said room be dedicated entirely to your pieces. But in that blessing was also a curse: The curse of criticism, of weary eyes, of people both waiting to pounce on you with ribbings of how you lack the magnanimity of the classics or the free thinking of the contemporaries --

Shitshitshitsmile! You did as you were told -- both by your brain, and by your manager earlier when they walked you through how you were to compose yourself through this entire ordeal. Just smile, enunciate when spoken to, and let the potential schmoozing flow and oh god, that Karen-looking lady who definitely owns a house in Martha’s Vineyard for when she wants to get away from her husband for a day totally hated that piece you’d spent months working on, didn’t she?!

The thought made your stomach twist, your already awkward smile along with it. You inhaled sharply. You had to find something to distract yourself with.

You turned and faced the painting nearest to you. Some might call it vanity, but you were actually quite pleased with this particular piece. That, and its blueness gave you a sense of . . . serenity. You imagined the ripples washing over you and into you, the scent and sound of the painted environment gently caressing your nose and drowning out both the stench of perfume and pretentious chattering . . . And also, apparently, the sound of approaching footsteps.

You hadn’t realized anyone had joined your side until the rumble of a southern baritone carded through the water.

“It’s gorgeous. Isn’t it?”

You hadn’t meant to jump and appear so clumsy.

“Oh, sh -- ” You cut yourself short as you eyed the droplets of spilled, room temperature champagne. If your manager found out that you had cussed around a potential buyer, they would’ve mounted your head on the wall. Thankfully, however, the stranger didn’t appear at all fazed. If anything, the chuckle he responded with sounded genuinely amused.

“Oh, my dear girl, I’m terribly sorry!” he insisted, holding up his left hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you; I can imagine most anyone would be mighty transfixed over a piece like this.”

You gulped as you looked up at your unintentional scarer. His eyes were the same blue as the one that brought you calm just moments earlier, yet they had the almost opposite effect to you now. As you looked into them, you didn’t feel calm; not necessarily: Instead, you felt your heart beginning to ripple the pattern of the painting, your cheeks burning as bright as the gold swirling amongst the little waves. And yet you found yourself transfixed by them, only offered freedom when the older gentleman offered you a hint of a smile. A warm one.

Crap! Uh -- Answer his question! Think of something to say! your mind scrambled.

“Uh . . .” you stammered. The only way to save what atoms of confidence you still had left was to turn your eyes back to the painting. “I -- I should hope so.” Smooth. You tried to remember your calming breaths. You heard the man hum, shifting his position ever so slightly in your peripheral.

“What can you tell me about it?” he asked, revealing just how close to you he truly was. You could feel the warmth of his person and the richness of his voice vibrating into you. Or perhaps it was butterflies? Maybe both? Well, whatever it was, it almost made you stumble over your words. You’d spent the entire evening up to that point rehearsing stories of your inspirations, recounting whatever education you had to people who probably didn’t give a crap.

But this instance was different: Maybe it was foolishness sourced from a sudden and sophomoric attraction, but you almost wanted to believe that perhaps this man genuinely cared. That he was genuinely interested in what you as the actual artist had to say and not you as some painting mannequin made to recite lines over and over.

The excitement of such a possibility broke through your nerves . . . and, unfortunately, right out of your mouth.

“I just really wanted to paint a mermaid in a mall coin fountain,” you admitted. You wanted to kick yourself. Up until that point, you’d been rather proud of your nifty little idea. But when you said it out loud, you sounded ridiculous! You could barely hide the reactionary wince, much less how your breathing hitched and hiccuped with nervousness. Just as soon as it had come, the hope that perhaps this man was different disappeared, leaving you awaiting his ridicule.

A ridicule that never came. Instead, there was quiet between the both of you. Perhaps he was at a loss for words?

“Mm,” he hummed, making you tense with expectation. You glanced at him just enough to see him nod, his blue eyes still focused on the canvas before him. “Go on . . .”

You blinked. Was he . . . for real?

“I . . . What more is there to say?” you wondered. The entire night, nobody had really asked for more on your part. They usually just took whatever purple prose you gave them and left it at that. Your initial assumption was right after all: This gentleman was cut from a different cloth from the lot.

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “What inspired this?”

“Oh, uh . . . Well . . .” Was it worth telling him? Aw, hell: you’d already made a bit of a fool of yourself being honest, so what harm was there in doing it some more? “I did it because I never saw anything about a mermaid that lived in a mall fountain, collecting the coins people toss in there.”

You didn’t even have a chance to worry about his criticism before the man’s features broke into a smile. It wasn’t like the others’ more courteous grins; this one reached his eyes, making their icy coolness warm and welcoming. You hated the cheesiness of it all, but for a very split second you wished that you could be a mermaid in them.

He chuckled once again. “Can’t say that I’ve ever seen anything concerning a coin-hoarding mermaid myself, let alone a professional art piece.” It was small, but the assurance made you offer your own smile.

“Well . . . But then maybe I have . . .” At that, your heart dropped. There it was: The anticipated criticism. He thought you were a hack after all: Uninspired, boorish, unskilled, whatever word there was to describe a person who didn’t know how to use a fan brush properly if any.

The wound stung as one so sudden should: Heavily and down to your core. You wanted the floor to open up and eat you whole. Or better yet: You wanted to climb into your apparently uninspired painting and drown in the mall fountain. But none of those could be an option, and neither was the possibility of hiding in the bathroom or an empty corridor. Instead, you had to put on a brave face and do your best to get through the moment.

“Oh?” you uttered. Your throat pained from the threat of anxiety. “Where do you suppose? I’ll admit, I’m not much into contemporary art so I don’t know the what’s what of what if you catch my drift.” You tried to weakly smile at your sad attempt for a joke. God, this so wasn’t what “making it” felt like.

But the man didn’t offer a courteous hint of laughter. Nor did he offer you a verbal response. Instead, he turned to face you. You did the same, even though you really didn’t want to. But it was the polite and expected thing to do when being confronted. Damn politeness and courteousness.

You weren’t sure how to respond when the man began to make work of his right sleeve, unbuttoning the cuff and beginning to roll the rest of it up. Your paranoia was unfortunately the first to respond due to your preexisting discomfort of the entire ordeal of an evening. You were just about prepared to scream, yelp, make any kind of distressed call -- only for it to trickle out into a gasp. An amazed exhale. The image the man presented to you on his wrist was small. Clearly, for it to be recognized for what it was, it needed a larger stretch of skin to belong to. But you knew what it was: You knew those swirls, the placements of those flecks of gold, those blues and greens surrounded by white.

For the umpteenth time that evening, your breathing changed. Only, you were pretty positive that none of your deep breathing would be necessary this time around; you would be more than happy to look at your painting on your soulmate’s skin for the rest of the night.

Epilogue:

“Mr. Blanc, please,” you insisted. “You’ve grown up with that thing on your arm, surely you’re bored with it by now. You can have your pick of the gallery. Hell, I’ll even make you something on request!”

Pickings hadn’t become slim, but the night had ended surprisingly successful. Well, surprising to you: You hadn’t expected anyone to buy anything of yours that evening, let alone six. You supposed that perhaps they just wanted to participate in the elitism brought on by owning newcomer art. Benoit, however, insisted that the buyers simply had functioning eyes. What a sweet-talker your soulmate was.

You watched as he shook his head stubbornly, eyes still fixated on the painting that adorned his wrist. He’d seen all the other remaining paintings, and even the ones that wound up selling by evening’s end. They were all gorgeous, he insisted, but . . .

“Benoit, if you will, Ms. (Y/N),” he corrected, apparently missing the irony. He gestured insistently at the composition. “And no. I . . . I truly would be quite satisfied with this one.” He heard you raspberry in defeat as you made your way back to his side, folding your arms in exasperation.

“Seriously, though,” you sighed. “Is a painting of a mermaid dwelling in, like, a fountain you can find nearby an Auntie Anne’s really . . .” You waved a hand as if searching for the right word. “. . . Befitting? Of a detective’s abode? I was thinking more of a bucolic piece or like a portrait of some kind or . . .” You trailed off, only to be met with an amused huff.

“Some detective I am,” Benoit muttered. He broke his gaze back to you and placed his hands on his hips. “Took me well over a damn decade or two to learn what it even was. And only because you told me!”

#benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc #knives out imagine #knives out imagines #knives out x reader #regrettablewritings #for anyone wondering: I think Reader's tattoo would be of a flower. Or a random doodle.#something Benoit made while not thinking and they just so happened to glance at it

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bathedinobscurity · 4 years ago

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Take some Ib (muse) headcanons based on my default / connected verse for the Ib crew, just because.

Prior to finding out the truth about the art gallery, Ib did have some vague memories and associations that came from her experience there, aside from the nightmares that ultimately led to her going back.

She specifically had an attachment to roses, and it was (and still is) a heavy part of her aesthetic post-gallery. She could never bring herself to harm a flower, both before and after finding out the significance of it.

She also had some weird fears crop up over time. She’d often be nervous around things like portraits that resembled the Lady in Red, store mannequins, and even dolls to some extent.

(Although Garry got the worst of the trauma when it came to the dolls.)

#ooc | muse stuff #ib | headcanons #//i'm constantly having thoughts about the ib crew don't @ me

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sciencespies · 5 years ago

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The Women Behind the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood

https://sciencespies.com/history/the-women-behind-the-pre-raphaelite-brotherhood/

The Women Behind the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood

SMITHSONIANMAG.COM | Jan. 22, 2020, 4:56 p.m.

The women of the Pre-Raphaelite sisterhood have gone down in history as muses. Despite being artists in their own right, they are remembered as symbols, rather than creators, of beauty. Now, an ongoing exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London gives these long-overlooked figures a space of their own, sharing their stories through works of art, poems and embroidery.

On view through January 26, “Pre-Raphaelite Sisters” centers on 12 women—among others, the roster includes Christina Rossetti, Effie Millais and Elizabeth Siddal—and their contributions to the male-dominated narrative of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, a circle of artists active between 1850 and 1900. The show draws on unseen works from both public and private collections around the world to reshape perceptions of these individuals as creative artists and poets who advocated for their own stories to be told rather than simply objectified muses.

“Visitors see these women’s own art, and their roles as collaborators and business partners, not just as lovers and wives,” writes the Atlantic’s Helen Lewis. “The captions restore names to the faces gazing placidly from postcards and posters.”

John Everett Millais, Sophy Gray, 1856

(Courtesy of National Gallery / Private collections)

Dante Gabriel Rossetti,The Blue Bower, 1865

(The Henry Barber Trust, the Barber Institute of Fine Arts, University of Birmingham)

In 1848, then-students Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William Holman Hunt and John Everett Millais founded the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in opposition to the more traditional art espoused by the Royal Academy. The original founders, all of whom were under the age of 25, soon invited four other male painters, sculptors and critics to join their secret society. Members heavily rejected the Academy’s promotion of Renaissance master Raphael, as well as the genre painting popular at the time.

Per Encyclopedia Britannica, the Brotherhood’s work focused on religious and medieval themes. Painted with maximum realism inspired by 15th-century Florentine and Sienese paintings, the young artists’ naturalistic creations were populated by beautiful women. The cryptic initials “PRB” appeared in the bottom corner of early Pre-Raphaelite works.

Simply put, the Brotherhood was a boys’ club that intentionally excluded women.

“Though its goals were ‘serious and heartfelt,’” explains Dinah Roe, a senior lecturer at Oxford Brookes University, for the British Library, “the PRB was founded in a spirit of waggish male camaraderie which expressed itself in pranks, late-night smoking sessions and midnight jaunts around London’s streets and pleasure gardens.”

The Brotherhood’s models, who often doubled as the artists’ lovers, were usually at the center of their creations. But some, like Siddal, used their seemingly passive roles as models to fund their own artistic careers alongside their elite husbands.

Evelyn De Morgan, Night and Sleep, 1878

(De Morgan Collection, courtesy of the De Morgan Foundation)

Siddal is among the Pre-Raphaelite women painted over by history. She started modeling not to gain the attention of men, but to fund her own artistic practice. Initially working part time at her parents’ hat shop while modeling on the side, Siddal gained an unprecedented amount of popularity in the Pre-Raphaelite circle, with her likeness becoming a symbol of feminine beauty.

Lying motionless, with her pale, delicate face encircled by a fiery halo of red hair, Siddal is the subject of one of the movement’s most famous paintings, Millais’ Ophelia. Following the success of this piece, Siddal became perhaps the face of the Pre-Raphaelite movement. She later married artist and Brotherhood member Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who drew and painted her “thousands” of times, according to the BBC’s Lucinda Hawksley.

Siddal’s own artistic journey was far more extensive than previously believed. As seen in the exhibition, she created paintings with archetypal Pre-Raphaelite qualities, including detailed medieval scenes and precise figures. She wrote haunting poetry, drawing on her experiences with drug addiction, an unfaithful husband and a stillborn daughter, but didn’t live to see them in print; the verses were only published after her death in 1862.

“Far from passive mannequins, […] these women actively helped form the Pre-Raphaelite movement as we know it,” says curator Jan Marsh in a statement. “It is time to acknowledge their agency and explore their contributions.”

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Proserpine, 1877

(Courtesy of the National Gallery of Art / Private collections)

William Holman Hunt, Il Dolce far Niente,1866

(Private Collection, © Grant Ford Ltd)

The exhibit, described by Lewis as “revelatory,” includes more examples of the Brotherhood’s depictions of its 12 subjects than works by the women artists themselves. This dynamic offers visitors a sharp contrast—one can see the Brotherhood’s interpretation of the models next to works that envision them as more than muses.

The Pre-Raphaelite sister who perhaps best exemplifies this dichotomy is Jane Morris. With her full lips and strong features, Morris caught the attention of several Pre-Raphaelite men eager to capture her beauty through art. Yet it was a portrait drawn by another woman, Evelyn De Morgan, in 1904, that depicted a more authentic version of Morris’ feminine beauty by showing her signature raven-colored hair turning grey with age.

Joanna Boyce Wells, Thou Bird of God, 1861

(Courtesy of the National Gallery of Art / Private collections)

In many ways, the work completed by these women can be seen as a rare act of feminism for the time period. By shedding light on these objectified women, “Pre-Raphaelite Sisters” gives visitors the opportunity to gain a holistic view of the groundbreaking sisterhood.

“It is not sufficient to merely add some women to the Pre-Raphaelite canon,” writes Elizabeth Prettejohn in The Art of the Pre-Raphaelites. “Instead, it is a matter of writing a wholly new, and different, story about Pre-Raphaelitism—a story in which the activities of women are no longer incidental, but necessary to the plot.”

“Pre-Raphaelite Sisters” is on view at the National Gallery in London through January 26.

#History

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erineverly · 6 years ago

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✦ = being well-dressed .

send a symbol for my muse’s reaction to your muse —

✦ = being well-dressed.

( main verse: 1990. ) / @thornrosed

Storming into the living room like an untamed hurricane of frustrations, Erin instinctively glances at the brand new clock ( the exact same one that Axl just yesterday hung on the wall ) and she knows for sure — they’re inevitably running out of time. The photographers and reporters will be here in less than an hour, and she’s still in her underwear, nowhere near being all dolled-up and ready to face them and their unforgiving cameras. The mere thought of something going wrong today is more than enough to stress her out. There is even a tenseness to her muscles that makes her move like a mannequin or a robot, anything but a woman of flesh and bone. “Axl, I can’t find my bracelet. Do you know where I left it? You know, the silver one with these tiny— umm.” Finally looking up at the singer who’s sitting on the black leather couch, Erin freezes in place. It feels like she’s just been struck by a lightning. Her rosy lips part slightly, forming a stunned, little o. Blushing uncontrollably, she immediately forgets how to speak. All of her worries are fading away, suddenly unimportant and silly.

Involuntarily taking her time to look him up and down, from these adorable white sneakers with his name written in red on them, through the fashionably unbuttoned at the top blue jeans to his bare, muscular chest adorned with nothing but a soft, velvety blazer and an oddly delicate for his liking cross necklace. “Wow,” emits from the lovestruck model, her ears and neck are already burning up. The sensitive skin on her face all flushed and painted scarlet. Besotted and infatuated with the handsome man, to say the least, Erin can’t take her eyes off of him. Her beautiful husband. Her husband. How can he be so perfect? He captures all of her attention just like the finest piece of art in a gallery, sculpted by an incredibly talented artist. Heart racing furiously in her chest, making the brunette worry that a few more seconds and it will just break free from its restraints. With a bashful smile gracing her warm features, Erin takes a few steps closer and carefully reaches out to run her fingers through his hair. Twirling her favorite fiery strands around, absolutely mesmerized by how soft they feel beneath her fingertips, how divine they smell. She can’t help but lean in and steal a kiss from his sweet cheek. “You look absolutely beautiful today.”

#thornrosed #☆┆ɪᴛ·s ᴀʟʟ ᴛᴏᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ sᴀᴍᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ.┆( memes. )#omgosh i loved this :') im so excited about the other one as well #these memes are so much fun #awww <3 #thank you for sending this

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clarafell · 6 years ago

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✎

10 headcanons : Accepting!

↳ @fiorescenced (ready for the super late but super happy post?)

One: In the IB verse where nothing bad ever happens to anyone, Homura is left alone after finding the fake rose that belonged to Mary. Left all alone with the paintings, the painting of Mary is replaced by a painting of Homura. A weak looking girl with beautiful black hair and such beautiful purple eyes that have a deep sorrow in them. She is not smiling. Most visitors are often drawn to this painting because of how deep her sorrow is, triggering many visitors to leave in a teary-eyed state. Any children visiting the art gallery often ask why the girl is sad and often brushes off the painting, preferring to see the more brighter and happier paintings. As if responding to their rejections, it was as if the painting grew sadder and colder. She is surrounded by purple roses and in her hand is a yellow rose that adds contrast to the dark painting. A spark of light in the darkness or a diamond in the rough. But while the painting is critiqued about how there is always light in the darkest of days and how the tragedy is not always going to stay, the people of the real world have no idea what the true meaning of the painting is. One of the more infamous and emotional works, people will either respond to the painting or they will reject it by calling it too gloomy. Rumor has it that the painting gets darker and sadder over time. Some might say that the painting has been shown to change…

Two: Each time that Mary visits the gallery, she might notice that the atmosphere is more strange. Chills will wrap around her real living flesh and eyes will follow her wherever she goes into the gallery. Whether the gallery is haunted or not, some say that the paintings seem to watch everyone and yet no one. The staff will jokingly remark that the gallery is haunted by the sad girl surrounded by purple roses. Jokingly, they say that she might be real and her ghost haunts the gallery. More reasons to avoid the creepy painting. Rumor has it that her painting has survived fires… But that can only be just a rumor, right?

Three: Paintings and the sculptures seem to have changed. Some are same as ever, some are untouched expect with minor details being changed, and then there are new creations that appear as if they were always there in the first place. One of the more infamous and creepier are these child-sized dolls built with such beautiful detail. Life-like and everything, each of them wear different but monochrome colors. Some of their different colored hair is long or short or even styled. Some of them have hats and yet all of them seem to have piercing blue eyes, pale skin like the Painting of Homura. They look like normal children expect their body parts seem to resemble the body of an old-fashioned dolls. They each have their own names and their seemingly own personality per say. As a group of fifteen sculptures, they are titled as the Clara Dolls. Some say that the dolls relate back to the child painting, adding an air of morbid curiosity to the painting once more. On the pamphlets and on description of the big dolls, there is said to be fifteen dolls. The last doll, Ai, is missing from the collection and this has brought concern and confusion on guests. Some say that it was a typo on the gallery’s part, sure. But the doll is real and missing and this has added more to the haunted gallery theory, increasing the popularity of the gallery in general.

Four: Due to the mysteries of the gallery, some teenagers had decided to break into the gallery during night to see if they can catch any evidence of the ghost girl or anything else that lurks in the gallery. One of them is determined to find the missing and fifteenth doll named Ai, wanting to see if the missing doll can be found or if it is even real. Some of them thinks it is funny to mess with the painting named Homura along with the Clara Dolls. Homura is known by many names. Some had bothered to ignore the creepy little girl’s name and description. After all, there is nothing interesting about her!

Five: After the break-in, one of the teenagers goes missing. The Clara Dolls seem to be smiling more as if they know what happened to the missing teenager that tried to ruin the good-for-nothing painting. The gallery is closed for a few months, only to re-open later. If anyone dares to come into the Fabricated World, the world is a blend of the old Fabricated World and the new Fabricated World. The ruler of this fake world is the lonely and tired looking girl - she is surrounded by a field of red spider lilies and black birds with weird heads. This is her home now. She has lost her mind in the world, mocked by her dolls. They kick the mannequin head at her. While Homura has grown to like the blue dolls because they are at least nice to her, her own dolls will destroy the blue dolls to make stress out Homura. The one who really likes to destroy the blue dolls is Jealousy aka Yakimochi. Nonetheless, the world of Homura is a blend of the old world and her world. As time goes on, Homura begins to change and her once real rose begins to change into that of a fake rose as Homura begins to forget her old life as a living human. Whether she has her memories or not, her loneliness and her pain is always seen. Whether Mary comes back to her former home or not, she will find that things are very much different for probably the worse. For good or for worse, Homura will be there. Waiting for Mary to come back as she can only recall the very faint face of Mary. Can she remember her own name? This is her home. It has always been her home… Her family will never miss her, anyway. Weak and plagued with a heart disease with little to no social skills, the once human girl had been abandoned in the hospital her whole life really. She was too sick to transfer into her new middle school (which crushed her emotionally + mentally since she was happy to leave the hospital) and so she would never meet any new friends. On that fateful day, a nurse had decided to give the depressed child some fresh air and take her to the art gallery out of pity for the lonely girl. The poor nurse had no idea that she will never see the sick girl ever again. Nor that the nurse or anyone remembers Homura. If it helps, Homura doesn’t remember them either and therefore no hard feelings. As a creative person herself, she can be found drawing out her nightmares and her whole life away. She has a routine in the expanded world filled with trickery and magic and mystery. But she is always trying to repair the wounded blue dolls and she always tries to talk to the citizens of her world. Without any memories really to call her own anymore and the torment from her dolls + some other creations, Homura would often isolate herself. She is waiting for anyone to visit her home. Will anyone hear her pleas? Will that golden haired girl come back or was even she just a figment of Homura’s imagination? Sooner or later, Mary also fades from her mind completely and all she has left is just her fake purple rose and her name.

Six: In the pmmm world where everyone totally doesn’t turn into witches and Homura finally gets to be happy… Things take a turn for the worse. Without knowing of Mary’s jealousy, Homura stumbles upon an upset Mary. When Mary becomes a witch, Homura is the first one to find her and watch her turn into a witch. It is also Homura who received the angry attacks from the transformed Mary. As Homura is the one who is attacked, Madoka is the one who rushes in to distract the jealous witch along with Mami. With how strong the witch is, Madoka and Mami end up using a lot of their magic. Madoka is killed suddenly by the witch herself and Homura is the one to kill off the witch with tears in her eyes and Madoka’s blood on her hands. Little does Mary know, Homura can relate to the jealousy and the pain of Mary because Homura too struggles to make such close bonds with others. Especially when Homura must reset the world over and over.

Seven: Believe it or not, Homura almost thinks that Mami and Mary are somehow related to each other due to their striking blonde hair. (Homura wonders how Mami can be so seemingly perfect and cool - while Mary can be so energetic all the time and never tiring herself out! Oh, how the pain burns! Is she truly so stupid and so pathetic like dirt? Madoka seems to be so protective of Mary and also looks up to Mami so much. Oh, how they laugh and laugh and laugh… Homura wonders if the world is mocking her, reminding her that she does not fit into the group…) Despite being only a year older than Mary, Homura finds herself to be quite self-conscious around Mary at first. Just like Mami, it seems like Mary is also destined to be beautiful on both the inside and outside seemingly. Despite feeling even worse about herself when she is around Mary due to how bright and how energetic Mary is, Homura does get drawn close to Mary. When Madoka isn’t around, Mary also brings her joy too! She would help read to Mary, knowing how to read faster than Mary since books were her escape from reality just like how her dress-up dolls were formerly her only company before meeting Madoka and Mami. Despite liking to spend time with Madoka as much as she can, Homura shares her time with Madoka in order to let Mary have some time with Madoka too. (All in all, Homura is truly alone and tends to stay in the background. Madoka, Mary, Mami, Sayaka, Kyoko, and even Kyubey seem to be such a great group… At least they get along better and at least Mary isn’t as useless as Homura. If anyone deserved to have friends, Mary deserved them. Homura was okay with being alone and watching them all be happy. It was fine. Right?

Eight: Despite helping Mary learn how to read better, Homura tends to stumble over her words and her reading voice has not a single trace of emotion like how storytellers should have. But Homura has a big collection of different books. Homura gives Mary a few art books that contain tips, history, and of course art pieces with colored pages. Homura also gives Mary a book on how to garden and folklore centered around nature. From books on the meanings of dreams, flowers, and stars - Homura was always pleased to see the look on Mary’s face. On each book was a handmade bookmark with aspiring artwork on each cover. One of them was a sketch of Mary with watercolor and falling yellow petals showering down over her. Among the falling petals were also blue and red and even a faint hint of purple. On the back of this homemade bookmark is the words: For Mary: please remember to keep smiling and never lose hope in your dreams. Homura tends to like giving gifts to Mary and also to maybe the other girls. But she tends to do it more in a secret manner, too scared that they might be disappointed these mystery gifts are from her. If they find out the gifts are from her, they will most likely not care about the gifts. Homura does not tell anyone that she has been giving each of them gifts once in a blue moon.

Nine: When Mary becomes a witch, Homura is the first one to find her and watch her turn into a witch. It is also Homura who received the angry attacks from the transformed Mary. As Homura is the one who is attacked, Madoka is the one who rushes in to distract the jealous witch along with Mami. With how strong the witch is, Madoka and Mami end up using a lot of their magic. Madoka is killed suddenly by the witch herself and Homura is the one to kill off the witch with tears in her eyes and Madoka’s blood on her hands. Soon after Madoka is killed and the witch of Mary is slayed by Homura’s own hands, Homura would soon later take out Mami before Mami could kill her off in pure denial and shock. With the mixed blood of three dead girls, Homura would mourn the rest of her days until it is time to reset the timeline. The day that Walpurgisnacht arrives, Homura is leaving the shelter and stopped by the grieving Kaname family. Junko recognizes Homura as the sickly girl Madoka spoke of during dinner time and tells her to stay in the shelter, not wanting to lose another one. She already lost her daughter, how could she stand there and let another child perish? Unable to look the mother in the eye, Homura runs off to fight in the storm. She fails to win and resets the timeline, too weak after the mourning of all three girls. It is all of her fault. If it weren’t for the fact that she wanted to save them again in a new timeline, Homura would have allowed herself to waste away in her lonely home in order to punish herself. She was so, so, so stupid and their deaths were on her hands… She will make it right and fix things this time or so she thought.

Ten: When all is said and done, Homura fails like always. So, when she is caught in the experiment of the Incubators - Mary is one of the magical girls dragged into the fake barrier. Instead of being alone, Mary seems to be living with Mami and also Bebe too in a happy little family. The Clara Dolls tend to interact with Mary a lot, making flower crowns for her and then also being quite creepy too. In the barrier and the overall fake city, Mary is trapped in a happy picturesque illusion. Some themes of the art gallery, such as the mannequin heads, can be seen in Homulilly’s world along with many of her own creations inspired by her own imagination or her own memories. Everything seems so perfect for Mary in Homulilly’s world. She never wanted it to end, it seems. But then the world begins to set aflame and the the true nature of the world is revealed. After the fight is done and over with, Mary returns to the isolation field with the others to witness the beautiful sight of the Law of Cycles descending to whisk Homura away to paradise. Right before the very eyes of Mary, betrayal blossoms and intense colors begin to lash out as the Law of Cycles is torn apart. The ending of this story is also the beginning. The betrayal and the very last option from Homura gives birth to a whole new world. This new world and this new universe is at the command of Homura. In order to fulfill her promises, she creates a better world where you can be alive. Not a goddess or a painting or dead or a witch. In this world born from seemingly betrayal, everything is better. The world can spin again and the seasons can change and people can grow instead of constantly living in loops. As the self-proclaimed devil of the universe, Homura knows everything including Mary’s little secret. But Homura keeps her lips tightly sealed with a knowing glint her those tired, damaged eyes. It would be rude to ruin the peace, right? Homura will not tell a soul. After all, she has a universe to handle right now and this time - there will be no more trouble. No more deaths. Or so she tries to tell herself as she looks up at the equally damaged moon on lonely night.

#❛ ✧ ┊ the fairy tale gets a little darker after midnight. answered.#fiorescenced #(WINKS)#(My most favorite part of writing this mess was the first five parts.)#(thanks for sending this in AND i hope that i made the long wait worth waiting for)#(Feel free to reblog this!)

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lukissed--a · 8 years ago

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Fabricated World Playlist (Chapters 0 - 2)

((Some of you may remember that I’ve started making playlists for this verse. I’ve done them chapter by chapter, so there are a total of three playlists thus far. One for Chapter 0, the other two for the other two chapters and their interludes.

I’ve decided to compile them here (and maybe change/add some songs because I wasn’t satisfied with some of them/some of the videos I used before were taken off), for the mere sake of having everything together in one place. Enjoy?))

Theme Song

All The Rowboats - Regina Spektor

Chapter 0 - Don’t Eat the Roses

Waking Up

Mary

Tablet Get!

Tension

No Canoodling

Mary’s Punishments

Nya!

Dolls (Passive)

Chapter 1 - In Marble Walls

Mary’s Time to Play (Motive Drop)

Nostalgia

The Gallery (Day Theme)

The Gallery (Night/Exploration Theme)

Group A / The Lady in Red

Group B / Secrets Uncovered

Group C / Paintings

Tragedy on The Stage (Ryouta’s Body Discovery)

A Moment of Silence

Grief

Investigation

Calm Before the Storm

Trial

Derailment

The Accomplice Cracks

Voting Time

The Killer Is…

Eternal Beauty

New Exhibits (Chapter 1 End Theme)

Chapter 1 Interlude

CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.

Mannequins

More of Them

Adachi Kicks (The Bucket)

Dolls (AGGRESSIVE)

Chapter 2 - Hush Little Baby

Don’t Fall Asleep at the Helm (Chapter 2 Theme)

Coffee-Tea

Falling Asleep

The Boogeyman

Missing

Dried Tear Tracks (Breeze’s Body Discovery)

The Hanged Man (Komaeda’s Body Discovery)

Breeze’s Messages

Guillotine Discovered

Here We Go Again

Team Ichimatsu

“Why would the killer….?”

A (Rightly Deserved) Boot to the Head

The Wayward Detective

Paintings

Redrum (also this)

Three More Dolls (Chapter 2 End Theme)

Chapter 2 Interlude

Thirteenth Floor? (New Area Discovery)

Elevator Shenanigans

A Pool

Blue’s Punishment

Friendship

Will I Be Next?

A Long Wait for Something

#v; fabricated world #out of tempo #((I'm gonna be back on my laptop in about an hour so I'll submit my app then))#((but in the meantime have this?))

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micaramel · 6 years ago

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Artist: Ezio Gribaudo

Venue: Etablissement d’en Face, Brussels

Exhibition Title: Logogrifo, Palm Tree, Cactus, De Chirico, Dino, Pinocchio, & Publishing

Curated By: Lilou Vidal

Date: March 2 – May 5, 2019

Click here to view slideshow

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

Images:

Images courtesy of Etablissement d’en Face, Brussels

Press Release:

Could it be that a job other than the one undertaken at the studio is able to define the intrinsic principle of the artist’s work rather than hinder its development? The book and the printed page as an editorial endeavour, object of research, space of production, of collaboration and of visual and artistic experience is what lies at the origin of Ezio Gribaudo’s work.

Trained at the Brera Academy of Graphic Arts in Milan and at the Polytechnic Faculty of Architecture of Turin, Ezio Gribaudo (born in Turin in 1929) began a career as an artist while engaging in activities dedicated to typography, printing and publishing. In 1955, at twenty-six, he began working as a draftsman at the famous Nebiolo foundry factory (1) and developed his taste for typefaces and printing machines. He learns to arrange the characters on the page while focusing on new industrial printing technologies. Four years later, in 1959, he is invited to head the Fratelli Pozzo Moncalieri company in Turin (initially specialized in the printing of railway schedules), which he soon turned into a publishing house dedicated to art books under the name Edizione d’Arte Fratelli Pozzo.

In the context of this Piedmontese industrial revival, the artist likes to recall the symbiosis of energy that existed between work and culture in the printing company where employees, artists and Ezio Gribaudo worked together with a shared passion and curiosity and experimented with new machines to become operators of the printed page. At the time of the development of offset printing, his friend Pierre Alechinsky writes him, “Perhaps I’ll have time to go to Turin in October to try the new machine, I’m very curious to see it, but at the same time, the four colours make me a little scared!”(2)

All of Gribaudo’s work evolves alongside his role as publisher and supporter of the artists of his time. In 1963, he starts to collaborate with editions Fabbri and publishes more than 30 monographs of artists from the international avant-garde (Le Grande Monografie) while collaborating with authors, critics, poets or other publishers such as Einaudi.

The book, Il Peso del Concreto edited by Ezio Gribaudo (Edizione d’Arte Fratelli Pozzo, 1968) is an example of this type of artistic, publishing collaboration. The artist invites one of the leading figures in experimental and sonorous poetry, Adriano Spatola, to conceive an anthology of concrete poems on the basis of black and white photographic reproductions (sometimes in macro) of his works in relief, the Logogrifo. A work in which the industrial material of text and image acts in a relationship of visual and tactile interdependence.

The relation between the image and the printed text physically affects the essence of the artist’s work. This will lead to the first Flano and Logogrifo, fruit of his activity as publisher, of his fascination with new industrial printing processes (monotype and linotype) but also with typographic characters and relief matrices. The Flano works, exhibited for the first time in 1961, are based on typographic printing plates (stereotypes) which were cast from flongs—papier mâché molds—and which allowed to make clichés that were adaptable to the printing cylinders of the presses used to produce most newspapers until the appearance of offset printing.

Gribaudo became interested in these postindustrial residual forms, these kinds of technological ready-mades, which he alters by erasing the original traces (ink and colour) by covering them in white. This neutrality echoes the concept of the blank page while the arabesques of the shadows of the reliefs reveal the negative forms of a printed page. In these white monochromes, the hierarchy between the text and the image of a page of the newspaper Stampa, for example, has disappeared, the text becomes image and the image becomes language.

Ezio Gribaudo’s Logogrifo (3) belongs to an equivocal non-verbal entity: “The Greek ‘logos’ for speech and ‘grifo’ for fishing net is used for every enigmatic discourse that is intricate and hard to understand: more in particular, it is a sort of riddle consisting of verses, which consist of an equal number of enigmas to be figured out, and from which, once they have been guessed, letters or words must be drawn in order to form the solution to the main enigma. (4) ”

The logogriph is a syllabic or pictorial enigma, an anagram, a rebus or a puzzle. Technically it is made according to an embossing method applied to blotting paper, on the basis of the imprint of a matrix. These works—which earned him the Graphic Arts Award at the Venice Biennale in 1966, and the Sao Paulo Biennale in Brazil in 1967 —are of great precision and graphic sobriety. However, they thwart the rational rules of the universe from which they originate and maintain their poetic ambiguity through the original and anachronistic use of an associative process involving typographic forms. The result is a repertoire of white mnemonic forms, sometimes textual, sometimes figurative or topographical (even orographic), recalling the gravity of a concrete world that has become fictitious.

The relation to this corporality, this “weight of the concrete,” (5) and the imaginary is reflected in Gribaudo’s fascination with the iconography of dinosaurs. Upon entering Ezio Gribaudo’s brutalist-style studio in the via Biamonti in Turin (6), one discovers a whimsical world of sculptures of these prehistoric vertebrates made by the artist. Just before crossing the door, one comes across the fossilised imprint of a dinosaur body. The archetypal image of a trace, of the imprint both concrete and fantasized (since never seen by man) the bodily presence of the dinosaur emerges from the positive or negative shape of their absence. This subject reappears as a leitmotif in many works of the artist from the 80s onward, in the form of series of paintings, drawings, sculptures and Logogrifo.

As early as the 1950s, Ezio Gribaudo creates a series of Indian ink drawings of Pinocchio, another favourite figure and subject of the artist. The character of Pinocchio also permeates several registers of his work, as if it were the moving matrix of a reproducible image. This wooden puppet invented by Carlo Collodi has become a model in itself. Apart from the different symbolic interpretations that spring from Pinocchio’s story, he embodies a subject in search of an identity and a social and political order. Born from the craftsmanship of a woodcarver, it is for Gribaudo a form that is shaped, reproduced, never ceasing to multiply without becoming anything other than itself. A prototype.

It is therefore not surprising that Gribaudo was also interested in the wooden mannequins of Giorgio de Chirico’s paintings. In 1968, Gribaudo realizes a series of 21 paintings as Homage to de Chirico. They are a reinterpretation in a Pop-like style of the work of a master of metaphysical painting. The latter will never cease to fascinate the artist and publisher Gribaudo who will dedicate three major books to him (7). The friendship towards de Chirico and the deep knowledge of his work becomes the fruit of new experiments. Decontextualized from their original pictorial framework, the subjects borrowed by Gribaudo from de Chirico’s work become graphic shapes painted with the direct virtuosity of the drawn line, set against neutral and monochrome backgrounds without any hierarchy of perspective. They are basically painted drawings, contours in relief, that have seemingly emerged from matrices of engraving plates. The tribute, the act of borrowing, also becomes an imprint.

The palm trees that appear in the series of paintings in Homage to de Chirico, found their origin in works created following his stay in Cuba in 1967. Upon the initiative of the Cuban artist Wifredo Lam (to whom Gribaudo, incidentally, devotes a monograph in 1970) Ezio Gribaudo is invited by the Cuban committee to participate in the Salon de Mai 1967 in Havana and collaborate on the collective wall project of revolutionary mood, Cuba Colectiva.(8)

Upon his return from his Cuban journey, he develops a series of works of palm tree paintings in an equally Pop-like and graphic style in which the repetition of patterned lines seems to indicate hollow areas, colourful winks to the engraving and printing process. Also noteworthy is the very graphic appearance of the palm tree leaves (also hollow and reflecting light) that slice through the Cuban sky with their silhouettes while casting their shadows on the ground. We find these same graphic qualities in the series of cactus drawings made during his trip to Arizona in 1965.

Gribaudo’s editorial adventure in the early 1960s coincides with his meeting and further collaboration with the French intellectual and art critic Michel Tapié, inventor of the concept of Art Autre (“Art Informel”) and founder of the ICAR Art center (International Center for Aesthetic Research) in Turin in 1960 for which he will produce many publications, including Devenir de Fontana, among others. This reference book reveals both Gribaudo’s deep affection for the work of the artists he used to work with, for his profession as a book architect and the sensibility with which he renders, in this case, the spatial essence of Fontana’s work with both rigor and tactility.

Almost all the books he made for Edizione d’Arte Fratelli Pozzo bring the text to the fore. Printed in large black typeface, the text becomes as much a reading experience as a visual exploration. Books designed by an artist, for artists. By the way, these are the books that led me to his work.

Ezio Gribaudo has just turned ninety. If you visit his studio, you may leave with a dinosaur drawing made in broad strokes by means of four markers of different colours, a gesture of generosity and an echo of the screen of a four-color printing process that has, once again, become manual.

Lilou Vidal

Special thanks to Paola Gribaudo and Ezio Gribaudo

1. Nebiolo, founded in 1880 in Turin by Giovanni Nebiolo, is a former Italian company specialized in the foundry of typefaces, the manufacture of printing machines and cast iron objects. 2. Letter from Pierre Alechinsky addressed to Ezio Gribaudo for a collaborative book project, 25 September, 1967. 3. The artist chose the word Logogrifo, taken from the book of the Piedmontese engraver, printer and typographer, Giambattista Bodoni “Manuel Typographique”, 1818. 4. Text of the exhibition Trent’anni di flani e logogrifi di Ezio Gribaudo, Galleria d’Arte Narciso, Turin, November, 1996. 5. Title chosen by the artist for the book Il Peso del Concreto, Edizione d’Arte Fratelli Pozzo, 1968. 6. The studio has been designed by Ezio Gribaudo and realized in collaboration with his friend and architect Andrea Bruno in 1976. 7. 194 Dessins de Giorgio de Chirico (Edizione d’Arte Fratelli Pozzo, 1968), the first work dedicated exclusively to de Chirico’s drawings from 1918 to 1967; “De Chirico Com’e”, a book of photographic portraits of de Chirico in the different places frequented by the artist in Rome, Milan and Turin (Edizione d’Arte Fratelli Pozzo, 1970); The monograph Giorgio de Chirico (Fratelli Fabbri, Les Grande Monografie, 1968). 8. The Salon de Mai of 1967- borrowing its name from the famous Paris Salon de Mai of 1945 – brought together the works of more than one hundred artists including Picasso, Calder, Magritte, Miro, Arroyo, among many others. The collective project of Mural Colectiva was initiated in Havana, on the night of July 17, by 100 Cuban and foreign artists, painters, sculptors, intellectuals (a segment of the mural was reserved for Fidel Castro, but was never filled-in by the latter). In addition to his intervention in the collective mural, Ezio Gribaudo published in 1970 the book, Mural Colectiva, Salon de Mai 1967, (Edizione d’Arte Fratelli Pozzo, 1970).

Link: Ezio Gribaudo at Etablissement d’en Face

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

#micaramel

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thelioncourts · 6 years ago

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Have you started writing any Captive Prince? *chin hands*

! i have, just a little! writing both damen and laurent terrifies me, but it’s been so much fun playing around in a new universe. i’ve written some of my mannequin gallery ‘verse and i’ve started on some kink bingo stuff that i am absolutely horrid at writing (one of the kink bingo stories is fluff, okay, i’ve tried to make it kinky and it’s like...fluffy angst).

here’s some of the mannequin gallery ‘verse if you’re interested

It had been a Wednesday. The slow beginnings of spring had given the air a sun-kissed warmth that echoed in the light still bouncing off the water from the Seine even at six o’clock in the evening, and it had been a welcome sight to all those leaving the Palais Bourbon. Limbs had been stretched, eyes had adjusted to the outdoors, and it had been the perfect photo opportunity to showcase a successful meeting of the National Assembly.

Focus had turned to Aleron DeVere, the president of the National Assembly, as he greeted his wife, Hennike, with a camera-ready smile. Hennike had had perfectly coiffed blond hair, and her body language had matched Aleron’s own so well that when the bullet ripped through the space between her neck and shoulder, it continued to soar, directly into Aleron’s right arm. Even the speed shutter on a camera couldn’t have caught the miniscule expression of registered pain on Aleron’s face before the second bullet entered between his eyes.

Headlines screamed across the world: “French National Assembly President Assassinated.” Subheadings included his wife and the article mentioned their surviving children.

Almost a year later, news centers held a similar, but even more devastating, headline: “Assassinated National Assembly President’s Oldest Son Dead in Car Crash.”

At the Père Lachaise Cemetery, the DeVere mausoleum had two empty spaces left. Both were for brothers left behind.

(this is not an ‘auguste lives’ au 3)

#nice human #kirsten answers #captive prince au #mannequin gallery verse #Anonymous

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themegamenarablr · 7 years ago

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Simple Guide To California Apparel Photography For Amateurs

By Mary Anderson

Photography is an art that has been in existence for many centuries. In the past, photographs were used to keep memories of events. This is not the case in the modern world where everyone has access to cameras. Individuals use photographs to promote their businesses both online and offline. If you are in online trade, the best photographs will boost your e-commerce. Invest in California apparel photography to enjoy numerous benefits. Photographs are inexpensive if you are well versed with different types of cameras. You do not need to hire a professional to take images especially if you are getting started. Hiring a professional is expensive for any business trader running on a limited budget. Make use of simple items used by professional photographers to capture appealing photos. The only disadvantage you will experience as an amateur is lack of standard equipment. However, you can create amazing photo galleries for your online shop with readily available photography equipment. Apparel photography focuses on garments and clothing accessories. Pay attention to the quality of your products before advertising them online. Your goal is to attract buyers. Inspect the garments you intend to market online. Some clothes look worn out because of creases, others have unwanted strings attached, tags, stickers, and dust. Perform any repairs needed and clean the garment. Straighten the cloth using steam and iron. Preparing your garment for a photo shoot is essential, it saves you the burden of editing. Prepare ahead of time for the photo session to ensure your garment looks perfect. A well-designed studio is not expensive as you think. Many professionals utilize space in their house or workplace. Simple items like stand, backdrops, lighting, and cameras are essential parts of a studio. The set up of your studio determines the end results. Shop around to find out what you need to improve image quality. Invest in portable studio equipment to enhance quality when taking photos of accessories like jewelry, handbag, and wallet. Choosing the right backdrop is essential to ensure your images do not have negative background effects. Purchase a seamless white or grey paper from a photography supply store. Place the backdrop on a stand and sweep it on the floor to block distractions and creases. In case you do not have a stand, tape the paper on the wall or ceiling. It is always good to place a mannequin in the middle of the backdrop to get perfect shots. A camera is an important asset in apparel photography. Purchase a simple camera with the right exposure and aperture settings. Mount your camera on a tripod to avoid camera shake. Place your camera directly to the mannequin or model to get a perfect shot. Light determines the quality of photographs. The perfect lighting will capture details of the products you intend to sell. Natural light works best if you set your studio near a window. If you intend to take photos any time of the day, consider buying a lighting kit. It allows you to take appealing photos in a dark room. It is wise to use a mannequin for product photography. Mannequins are less expensive compared to real life models. Fit a garment on a mannequin and make any adjustments required to create stylish looks. Potential buyers want proof the garment fits perfectly. Take several shots and edit photographs using the right editing application. Post different photos of the same garment to emphasize on the design, style, and size.

About the Author:

Find an overview of the benefits of using professional California apparel photography services and more info about an experienced photographer at http://ift.tt/YuLt36 today.

Simple Guide To California Apparel Photography For Amateurs amaraweb http://ift.tt/2oGtOUP via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Blogger

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thelioncourts · 3 years ago

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Laurent DeVere (born March 20, 2000) is a French model. In 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, and 2019, he was voted “Model of the Year” by industry professionals,’ Damen read. And as much as Damen wanted to click on the Personal Life section, he was drawn to the Early life section which was long and detailed. It read, ‘DeVere was born in Paris, France to politician Aleron DeVere and former Swedish teacher Hennike DeVere (nee Kempt), and was raised in Paris. DeVere had an older brother, Auguste DeVere (born November 9, 1988 and died September, 13, 2013).

#laurent of vere #mannequin gallery 'verse #captive prince #laurent's instagram continues to be the prettiest thing i've ever made #damen of akielos

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thelioncourts · 3 years ago

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I hope this doesn't come across as mean because I'm really just curious, not trying to insult or anything, but I've been reading the mannequin gallery (which I love btw) and Laurent is. very feminine in his physical descriptors. Is that how you view Laurent? Or is it how Damen views him?

hi, anon!

first of all, I'd like to thank you so much for reading TMG. second of all, I'd like to thank you for reading it and for being curious about aspects of it.

your questions don't come across as mean at all. it's a fair question, and one I'm more than excited to answer because it's something I've actually discussed with what few Capri friends I have that read what I write.

Laurent in TMG is by far the most feminine Laurent I've ever written, and will probably ever write. Now, when I say feminine, I mean in the ways we as a modern society view this sort of "ultimate femininity:" thin, long legs, long and blond hair, manicured nails, curled eyelashes, often sporting makeup and, even when not, maintaining a perfect complexion via skincare routines, (etc. etc. etc.) and a lot of stereotypical female clothing, like tights and heels and corsets and lots of jewelry, etc. etc. etc.

I didn't do this because I see Laurent as a girl, by any circumstances, nor is he the "girl in the relationship" or anything like that. TMG!Laurent is a mixture of canon!Laurent's androgyny (because he is androgynous and has certain feminine features, something I wish some people weren't so hesitant to dive into (but at the same time I understand the complications of Laurent being feminized, etc. etc. etc.)), 90s/2000s modeling standards, and the Regent's own idea of -- how his boys should dress.

Now, we don't know what the beauty standards for women in the Akielon/Veretian world are, but Laurent is described so often as "lovely" and "beautiful" and has men desiring nothing more than him in a way that suggests he is miles and miles above the beauty of even a standard beautiful person. We also have Nicaise described several times, Nicaise who is beautiful and effeminate and who is compared to Laurent in many ways, going as far as to having Jord mention that Laurent at Nicaise's age was ten times more beautiful and ten times smarter. We also know what pets wear in the Captive Prince universe: silks and sheer tops, jewelry from head to toe, makeup/paint, truly anything that we would probably describe as alluring or equivalent to feminine lingerie.

All of this paired with, as I said, the idea of the 90s/2000s modeling standards of tall, thin models is what created TMG!Laurent. TMG!Laurent is not canon Laurent; he's never trained with a sword, he doesn't really get to ride horses or anything, he is -- trained like a supermodel. So, in turn, those broad shoulders of his in canon aren't really there, the musculature of his physique is less pronounced. This isn't me trying to make Laurent feminine as much as make him a result of his intensive modeling from a very young age, modeling that has been controlled by a man who, in canon, is notorious for choosing and keeping beautiful boys.

Damen sees Laurent as -- Laurent. Damen is a straightforward kind of guy, he calls things as he sees them. Laurent is beautiful, and that's what Damen knows.

I hope this makes sense? I hope it explains some things and clears up anything for anyone who maybe was questioning the take on TMG!Laurent. I promise my other Laurents are not like this, but this one is sort of a play on nature v. nurture via his physicality.

#captive prince #laurent of vere #mannequin gallery 'verse #tmg

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