#matthew james collins

[fyblackwomenart]

Loredana by Matthew James Collins

[contemporaryartsgallery]

Pandora, oil on linen, 70cm x 80cm, in progress - Matthew James Collins

[portraituresque]

Matthew James Collins (American, 1970 ) - Self-Portrait

[rohsolism]

Just remembered how Grace had men in her life wanting her for her beauty and never bothering to know about her other qualities and Christopher Lightwood being the first man who admired her for her intelligence and her brain and Sophie after her scar said that now she will know who loves her truly and how Gideon Lightwood told her that he admired for her character, bravery and her beauty. Oh Lightwood men you will always be loved by men.

[bossybigeyes]

[edwinspaynes]

the nature of love

Love is complex. It's a convoluted, messy web, and no one knew that like the girl with the second clockwork heart. With clever eyes as gray as her name, she looked on at those around her scrambling to grasp love's straws between world-weary fingers, trapped in a spiderweb of her own that tore her heart into two evenly-broken parts.

But love was also devastatingly simple.

She sat on the couch with her husband, meeting his bright laugh and blue gaze with a smile as he looked down at her. Her head rested against his shoulder, the stubble on his face scratchy and comforting against her skin, and suddenly she was overwhelmed by raw emotion. His warmth, his smile, his silly songs and ridiculous notions. Everything that made him Will was the perfect mesh for everything that made her Tessa, azure and slate paints stirred into the hue of a stormy sky.

She couldn't help herself. She kissed his shoulder.

-

Tessa Gray-eyes-and-painfully-real-emotions was not the only one who understood the devastatingly easy affection of a shoulder kiss. Her son did, too. He sat across from his wife in front of a chess board, her blazing red hair framing her shoulders in thick curls, her kind but capable mouth twisted into an expression of contemplation. She reached out one elegant hand to move her pawn before his king, and he realized with a daunting feeling that those lips were shaping the words "checkmate."

The light gleamed off the golden globe necklace around her neck, and James Herondale thought in that moment that no one could ever be as blazing as his brave Cordelia, the woman who could slay armies with nothing more than a pawn.

So he stood up to get her more chai from their kitchen, placing a hand on one of her silk-cloaked shoulders as he moved around her. When she turned to giggle, he placed a quick but heartbreaking kiss on her breathtaking shoulder.

-

Sometimes, though, a shoulder kiss could breathe life into another. Across London, Cordelia's brother sat before a fire with his arm intertwined around his partner's, his hamsar-am's, his breath's. The fire crackled in both dark brown and hazel irises as they quipped over the film reviews between the newspaper's black-and-white lines.

Alastair, whose inkstained fingers were getting smudges onto Thomas's arm, insisted that the ridiculous columnist simply did not see the vision of the story; Thomas, who noticed the smudges but accepted them with grace, listened to the animated brushstrokes of his voice speak in the bright, colorful hues that a film reel could not yet capture.

He spoke deeply; he spoke with feeling. There was passion there, but Thomas's heart was calm as he leaned down and kissed Alastair's shoulder with an almost devastating gentleness.

With that tenderness, Alastair stopped quibbling. Instead, he exhaled, at peace with both hands now resting on Thomas's.

-

Shoulder kisses were for both children and their parents, and somewhere far, far away, Thomas's mother was getting one of her own. Sophie Lightwood slept peacefully in bed, her head resting on her husband's lap as he stuck his finger in the raspberry jam on his plate. He did not like scones, never had, but he enjoyed the sweetness of the jelly as he brought it to his mouth. The explosion of flavor was a confection, a conglomeration, as complex as the idea of love was.

But Sophie slept on, and love felt easy. Love felt like peace. Much like it did for his son, love felt like home to Gideon Lightwood.

So he set the jam aside on his nightstand. He lay down beside his wife and reached out to pull her in close with still-sticky fingers. And he pressed a kiss to her shoulder before falling asleep with his face resting there, quietly and quickly, asleep but alive in all the ways that mattered.

-

But shoulder kisses were not only for the living.

There was a girl, once, who tried hard to forget her name, the name that her mother had told her in a hard voice between harder slaps. That monster of a woman was gone now, but she still could not get it out of her mind.

Now, she sat before a lab table, mixing chemicals and starting the fires that her love had once adored so. Sometimes, if she got a formulation perfectly, she would hear the name that she only loved on Christopher Lightwood's lips: Grace.

Sometimes, when an experiment went perfectly, she could feel the ghost of soft pressure on her shoulder. And somehow, she knew that he was there. That she was not alone, and that she was not a monster.

-

And some people did not even need another to give them the love that lay in a shoulder kiss. A boy with golden hair sat somewhere in South America, his arms wrapped around a mug of black coffee and his elbows resting on a copy of Dorian Gray. But he was not paying attention to any of that; he sipped idly, watching the people go by in their colorful clothes, with their bright personalities.

Hand-in-hand. Arm-in-arm. Love was simple for them in a way that it had never been for Matthew, who had felt it as bitter as his coffee.

But loving himself had proven a simple challenge that he had not foreseen conquering, so when no one was looking, he pressed his fingers to his lips and tapped the pads in the shoulders of his brocade jacket.

-

Many years later, Tessa Gray-skies-but-the-sun-is-coming-out did the same thing. Matthew was long gone by then, in America or China or South Africa, and her beloved Will had gone to the place where memories were silent.

She had thought there would be no more shoulder kisses, but love in all of its simplicity was also complex.

One day, it would all come back to her.

And eventually, decades later she sat on the couch of a massive manor house, one that had known many shoulder kisses from when Thomas and Alastair had made their home there. And her second husband would smile as she rocked their daughter, and he would walk over to her. "Wo ai ni," Jem Carstairs would whisper to both of them, his rune-scarred cheeks pulled upward into a smile and his dark eyes danced with life.

He leaned down and kissed Tessa's shoulder.

He kissed Mina's, and Tessa's heart melted.

Because love was not temporary. Love was not an ephemeral thing meant only to last one lifetime. It binds us through the ages, a pulse that beats after all other pulses stop.

Love, in all of its complexities, is the best thing we do.

@themimsyborogove, thanks for ruining me with that shoulder kiss post!

[justrandomthougt]

I NEED THIS MAN IN A WAY THAT IS CONCERING TO FEMINISM RN

[daisymydaisycarstairs]

Eugenia Lightwood—fascinating facts

Eugenia doesn’t want to hear about Matthew’s dull friend Snorgoth the Skullcrusher

Eugenia tosses around Matthew like a rag doll while dancing

Eugenia just can’t manage Augustus lurking about like he wants to waltz

Eugenia once burnt her hair trying to curl it for a party

Eugenia ships Jordelia.

Eugenia is protective of Matthew

Eugenia is a Thomastair shipper.

Eugenia is a toast-eating fiend who teases her so-in-love brother by making him momentarily horrified by the clothes he picked for shadowhunter-date

Eugenia vows to move out of her parents’ house and in with Thomas and Alastair if her parents turn out to be homophobic

and the champion fact:

10. Eugenia thinks that one could never truly to hope to unravel the beautiful mystery that was Thomas

(Reblog/tag any I’ve forgotten)

[jamiespoon]

“Come out Fairchilds!” This implies charles’s presence I presume? I think by this point of the book Matthew and Charles have already talked, and this makes me happy bc it means charles got his redemption arc :DDD (maybe I’m overthinking but anyway).

Or this could imply the TID gang presence in the final battle, where children and parents are probably fighting together :’)))

[chlochette-sunde]

One week until Christmas!

[idealuk]

When even the end credits are cinematic and moving upon re-watches ...

... well done, Matthew, well done with so beautifully capturing why your perfect cast was, in fact, perfect! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

[kaixcastiel27]

does anyone agree that james Dashner, Suzanne Collins and Veronica Roth should come together and write a crossover novel/book of Maze Runner, the Hunger Games and Divergent to be made? or to write a movie script for it? I think a crossover would be totally awesome over these amazing books or at least a movie!

[portraituresque]

Matthew James Collins - Self portrait

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: James Waudby

Photo credit: Matthew Sturgess

James Waudby has been in bands for decades, starting in the late 1990s with Salako, which made three records and a Peel Session and toured with Pavement. Pavement drummer Steve West later tapped Waudby for his Marble Bay project and the musician also sings lead in Horse Guard Parade. On the Ballast Miles, however, resembles none of these projects. It’s a spare, lovely 1960s’ influenced folk classic and one of the best albums of 2023 so far. In his Dusted review, Christian Carey observed, “Waubdy’s guitar-playing, in particular, displays an intricacy that belies its dynamic level. Harmonics, pitch bends, dissonant verticals, and drones create an atmosphere that sits astride blues and folk.”

Here’s a list of some of the albums that I continually return to. I suppose they could be filed under good tunes played in an interesting way.

Royal Trux — Cats and Dogs

I used to listen to John Peel’s late-night Radio One show in the early nineties when one night, as I was dozing off, “Spectre” by Royal Trux came on and it totally changed everything. I realized there were no rules and nothing was off limits. You could write a good tune and play it any way you liked.

Townes Van Zandt — S/T

I listen to Townes Van Zandt, and I believe everything he says. Undiluted, raw song craft. Some of the bleakest songs, but also very beautiful. “Waitin' Around to Die” is the classic, but every song on this record is genius.

Shirley Collins and Davy Graham — Folk Roots New Routes

The arrangements on this album are mind blowing. In some songs they fit together effortlessly and in other songs you marvel at how Davy Graham came up with such inventive arrangements. And throughout, Shirley Collins’ voice serenely sings in her own beautiful style. It must have been amazing to hear this album when it first came out.

Matthew J Rolin — S/T

Matthew J. Rolin by Matthew J. Rolin

There’s so much great instrumental guitar music coming out at the moment and all the players have their own style, but Matthew J Rolin is always so tuneful. I love all his records, but this one just pips the others as my favorite.

Neil Young — On the Beach

If I could only listen to one artist for the rest of my life it would have to be Neil Young. There’s so much depth in his work, especially the first decade period. I could have chosen any album, live record, or bootleg, but the lyrics on this LP are some of his best. Another week I might have chosen After the Gold Rush. It’s all amazing.

Plush — More You Becomes You

It is so hard to make an album sound this simple and convey so much feeling in such a short selection of piano-led song sketches. Just stunning from start to finish.

Karen Dalton — In My Own Time

This album is perfect. Not sure there is anything else I can say about it.

Toby Hay — New Music for the Twelve String Guitar

New Music For The 12 String Guitar by Toby Hay

A brilliant Welsh guitarist who has been producing some great instrumental records on his own and with Jim Geddes. I think this one works the best as a whole piece of work. The recording envelops you and he has a beautiful guitar.

Robert Wyatt — Ruth is Stranger than Richard

This album should be a multi-million seller. I can’t understand why it is never in the top ten lists of all-time best albums. Robert Wyatt’s body of work will stand the test of time, but this record stands out. Playful, great tunes, insightful lyrics — what more could you want?

Bert Jansch — Jack Orion

The best album ever made? I think so. With similar tunings throughout, and the same guitar riffs reappearing, the album feels like a suite of folk music rather than a collection of songs. Tracks like “First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” and Jansch’s masterpiece, “Blackwater Side,” stand out, but the sequencing of the songs to create an ebb and flow draws you in so you can’t stop listening until every note has finished.

[ragesingoddess]

on icarus.

(Attributed to Oscar Wilde//Sigmund Freud- Interpretation of Dreams//@meanwhilepoetry//Herbert James Draper- Lament for Icarus//Joseph Campbell//Hozier- Sunlight//Rainer Maria Rilke- The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge//Mary Oliver- The Sun//Vincent Van Gogh- The Sower//Matthew Ward- The Collected Stories//Florence and The Machine- Falling//Billy Collins- The Art of Drowning//Renè Milot- The Fall of Icarus//Hozier- I,Carrion (Icarrian)//Virginia Woolf- The Waves//J. Bengt- Icarus Flew//??)