#modern wall art nyc

[daisiedee]

New York Large Wine Cellar Inspiration for a large contemporary porcelain tile and gray floor wine cellar remodel with display racks

[caughtinahustle]

New York Display Wine Cellar Medium-sized minimalist wine cellar image with display racks and a marble floor

[galerijaskc]

Contemporary Living Room - Living Room Example of a large trendy loft-style light wood floor and beige floor living room design with white walls, no fireplace and no tv

[payetafamille]

New York Display Wine Cellar Medium-sized minimalist wine cellar image with display racks and a marble floor

[migvintof]

Medium New York

Wine cellar - mid-sized modern marble floor and white floor wine cellar idea with display racks

[brainfatigue]

Hall Mudroom Hallway: A small, modern entryway idea

[11oh1]

[longlistshort]

The images above are of Terence Gower’s El Muro Rojo (Barragán), 2005, from the group exhibition Color Effects at Galerie Lelong in NYC last year.

From the artist’s website about the work-

A large black and white photograph of the roof patio of the Casa Barragán is mounted on an enormous red wall. The photograph is a copy of Armando Salas Portugal’s famous 1953 photograph (this time commissioned from architectural photographer Jorge del Olmo), and shows a corner of Luis Barragán’s roof patio with its famous coloured walls reduced to grey tones. The work separates a tonal and planar understanding of the architecture from the “emotional” encounter with colour that Barragán aspired to.

From his statement about his practice-

I work on a number of bodies of work at once, each developed over several years. In the past decade my work has focused on a critical re-reading of the modern movement and its utopian bent. A desire to reexamine the notion of progress—a term corrupted by the excesses of technological modernism—has fueled my research on the post-war period and has led to a search for models from the past that might still be relevant today.

Below is the Armando Salas Portugal color photo referenced by the Gower work.

Armando Salas Portugal, “Barragán House”, Mexico City, 1948. View of the roof terrace in the late 1960s. Image via Barragan Foundation

Armando Salas Portugal is known for his photographs of the Mexican countryside and the architecture of the city. He captured the work of several famous architects, in addition to Luis Barragán’s projects.

From Wikipedia about the influence of modernism on Barragán and his concept of “emotional architecture“-

Barragán visited Le Corbusier and became influenced by European modernism. The buildings he produced in the years after his return to Mexico show the typical clean lines of the Modernist movement. Nonetheless, according to Andrés Casillas (who worked with Barragán), he eventually became entirely convinced that the house should not be “a machine for living.” Opposed to functionalism, Barragán strove for an “emotional architecture” claiming that “any work of architecture which does not express serenity is a mistake.” Barragán used raw materials such as stone or wood. He combined them with an original and dramatic use of light, both natural and artificial; his preference for hidden light sources gives his interiors a particularly subtle and lyrical atmosphere.

[dantesdickferno]

amaretto

Miguel/Reader | Explicit | Chapter 1/?

a/n: I brought this blog back from the dead to post this so I hope y’all enjoy. Gonna be a few chapters but not sure how many yet. Femdom reader, Bartender Miguel basically. Horny and angsty modern NYC AU, no powers. Bit of a slow burn (ish). Enjoy lol

***

The Basilica is, for all intents and purposes, a mediocre bar.

There’s a pothole steps away from the bar’s entrance that customers have to maneuver past in kitten heels and designer sneakers, and the embossed metal sign at the front of the door is almost completely covered in rust. It’s clearly an establishment that’s too pretentious to be a dive bar, but not exactly up to code enough to be an upscale cocktail bar either.

Recent attempts to rebrand the place as a hole-in-the-wall speakeasy have been successful, meaning that it’s now the common haunt for every art history graduate student, Bauhaus enthusiast, and unattainably gorgeous bisexual poet in lower Manhattan who’s willing to spend 17 dollars on a drink.

You stumble across the small chipped navy blue door after a brutal day at work. The patrons at the luxury handbag store you have the distinct displeasure of interacting with were particularly snippy today, and your pair of not-yet-broken-in oxfords feel more like a prison than a fashion statement at the moment. You need a drink to help forget the past ten hours ever happened just so you can do it all over again tomorrow. You’ve never heard of this place, but you don’t feel like getting on the subway just yet and looking for a bar that’s closer to home. This vaguely sketchy place will have to do.

The cozy interior of The Basicilia smells of cigar smoke and melting wax. Lit partially by candlelight, the brick walls and small antique cherrywood tables feel distant, yet homey. There are large gothic-style lanterns hanging from the low ceiling, and servers expertly move through the crowd carrying stainless steel trays full of thick-cut fries and bowls of green olives.

Despite the bar being relatively full, only one other person is sitting at the actual bar when you approach it—everyone else appears to be relegated to the various tables and benches strewn about the space, or hugging the walls holding glasses of craft beer.

With all of the fuss that sitting down on a stool, pulling off your winter coat, and hanging your things on a hook underneath the bar causes, it takes you a moment for you to see him.

But you do.

There’s a blur of movement in the corner of your vision as a tall man in a black button-down with rolled-up sleeves vaults over the bar wall and stalks over to the other end of the restaurant before knocking on a solid black door with the sole of his boot.

“Hey! You awake in there? They need help running food!” The man shouts, not waiting for a response before rushing back across the room and climbing back into the bar.

The sound draws a few eyes, but no one appears to be shocked—it seems to be a common occurrence here, judging by the way the person who appears to be the manager steps out of the previously kicked door looking bleary-eyed and sheepish, a pair of noise-canceling headphones around his neck and a set of keys jangling at his belt.

But your attention has been drawn elsewhere.

The man is tall enough to reach for a bottle of Belvedere vodka on the top shelf to hand to a nearby barback without straining. You notice his hands first—broad, veiny, with nails cut down to the bone. There’s a bandage wrapped around the middle finger on his left hand. A smattering of hair on his triceps, which are all muscle and sinew. And two tattoos—-a fang on his right bicep, and a bundle of marigolds on his left forearm. He leans onto the bar table to address you, his button-down snug around his chest.

Jesus fucking christ. If you had a drink you would certainly spill it.

“What are you getting,” he says—his voice raw from shouting, you assume—and his voice trends downward at the end of the sentence, as if he doesn’t want to ask you, as if it isn’t a question. You can’t even pretend to be offended—working in the service industry is a thankless task, and you know that well enough. But even you can admit that the level of tension in his jaw and the shuttered look in his eyes is disconcerting in a way that has to do with more than the fact that he presumably hates his job.

“A mojito, please,” you say, with less confidence than you’d normally have. You’re used to sitting at bars alone and making conversation with the bartenders, but tonight doesn’t seem to be going in that direction.

“A mojito?” The man repeats, and you know it’s the wrong choice somehow. Other than an almost imperceptible eye roll, he nods, turning his back to you to grab the right ingredients.

Still. It makes you curious.

“What’s wrong with a mojito?” you ask, watching the way his shoulders stiffen. It’s like his entire being is on constant guard, waiting for the other shoe to drop–you can see it in the way he turns back to look at you, his jaw set as he sets down a collins glass and starts picking damp mint sprigs out of a chilled metal container.

“First time here?” he says, and again, it isn’t a question. He places the mint leaves on a paper towel to dry before rubbing them on the rim of the collins glass and putting them in a separate pint glass.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with a mojito?” Normally you’d take your cue from the bartender and quit trying to make conversation, but something about him makes you want to poke and meddle, like touching a live wire with the tip of your finger.

“Nothing.”

“I won’t get offended. Is this one of those ‘what your drink of choice says about you’ things?” you probe, leaning onto the bar top. The other conversations seem to fade to a lull in the background of your mind, your sights set on tormented brown eyes and tense, broad shoulders.

“No.”

“Because that kind of seems like what this is—”

“No.”

“Then what is it? If you don’t mind me asking. I hope I’m not committing a major bar crime, or something.” He clearly minds, and the sigh he lets out is nothing short of torturous sounding, but he seems to indulge you anyway. You briefly register his hands reaching for various cups and bottles at an even tempo, his movements intentional as he makes your cocktail. He crushes mint and lime and sugar together with a blunt tool before opening a carafe of ice. A shiver runs through you, completely against your will, as you watch him work. You’ve always had a soft spot for competence.

“It’s more of a practical thing,” he explains, and you settle onto your stool, sensing a tangent incoming. “Mojitos aren’t complicated to make, but they take time. They have a lot of moving parts. And then once one person orders it, I get ten more people who saw me making it asking for it too, and I have to start the process over again. And then more people order it, and next thing you know I’m making mojitos for the rest of the night.”

“So when I ask for mojitos at other bars and they say they’re out of mint, are they lying?” you tease. He places your drink in front of you then, topping it off with a mint spring and a lime wedge at the rim of the glass.

“...Every bartender hates you,” he says in response, leaning in, and you give him a soft smile, sipping from the glass. It’s one of the best drinks you’ve ever had.

There isn’t an ounce of enjoyment to be seen in his eyes, or in the shadows of his face. But you swear you see a flicker of something there, like something that has long since lain dormant coming back to life—if only for a second–before it dissipates.

“What’s your name?” you ask, pushing your luck. Any spark that had once been lit is extinguished. He backs away, the lanterns from overhead casting shadows across his features that make him look like a stranger again. You silently curse yourself.

“I don’t do that,” he shakes his head, before venturing to the other end of the bar to help a seemingly new bartender whip up a martini. You wait patiently, watching the way his mouth moves and his hands gesture as he corrects the bartender on their…technique, or something. You have no idea. From afar, he looks equally as intimidating, if not more so. The lines of his body don’t indicate any kind of softness, and his shoulders are slightly hunched as if he’s ashamed of himself. You wonder if he does bicep curls in a concrete room for hours until he sweats out all of the vulnerability. Or maybe he runs from it, in the early morning, breath labored and lungs aching until his sneakers are worn out.

“You don’t do names?” you ask him as soon as he returns, and his time he doesn’t even pretend to hide his exasperation, rolling his eyes again before resting his elbows on the bar so that his face is inches away from yours. Your heart lurches. A quick glance around rewards you with a few of the patrons regarding you with a vague amount of interest—and concern.

“Listen. I’m not a therapy session bartender,” he says with enough disdain to cause your eyebrows to raise in surprise. “I like the theory of it. The drink making. That’s it. Talk to that guy,” he continues, gesturing to a fellow bartender with a man bun and gauges who’s currently chatting up the only other person sitting on the other end of the bar. “He’s chatty.”

This close-up, you can see the dark circles around his eyes, his slightly chapped lips. You get a brief urge to trace the wrinkles across his forehead with the pads of your fingertips, but you hold off, of course. The man seems like he’s too old for anyone. He’s lived a million lifetimes.

“I don’t want to talk to that guy,” you say, feeling emboldened. I want to talk to you. “No offense.”

Something in his expression flickers back to life once more, like a butterfly trying to fly without one of its wings.

“Miguel,” he says after a while, sounding pained. You tell him your name, and he gives no indication that he’s registered it.

“Do you wanna open a tab, or close it?” Miguel asks then, and his voice sounds weightier.

“...Keep it open.”

***

The bar is sweltering, but the cold, sour tang of the mojito keeps you cool as you watch Miguel make his way across the bar to help mix drinks for other patrons. You feel pinned to your stool somehow, like a bug under a microscope, even though Miguel doesn’t spare another glance in your direction. The music in here is alright, but not noteworthy. You wish you had someone to dance with.

The bartender with the man bun makes you another mojito before you can say otherwise, but it tastes different somehow. Too much mint maybe. Not enough bitterness. Miguel’s theory seems to be wrong; you scan the bar for other tall glasses with sprigs of bright green mint and find none. After brief consideration, you decide not to bother him any further by informing him of this fact.

The bar gets increasingly more crowded as the night goes on, and it becomes abundantly clear that Miguel isn’t going to check on you again. You want to believe it’s because he’s too busy, but you wonder if you made the wrong impression somehow. You wonder why you care. You hate that you do.

You settle your tab and gather your things before buttoning your coat and setting off into the night. Your two drinks have muddled your senses just so, but not enough to be completely disorienting. On the precipice of happy, maybe.

As you zip your coat up to your chin and walk down the sidewalk, you think about going home to your studio apartment and cuddling with your cat Cinnamon. You think about hopefully getting a few hours of sleep before the workday comes back around in the morning to swallow you whole once again. You think about the harsh line of Miguel’s jaw, about the fact that he’ll likely forget about you come morning.

“Every bartender hates me,” you repeat to yourself—a truly harrowing fact—before shaking your head and walking down the steps into the subway.

a/n: lmk if you enjoyed/if you wanna see more—mwah x

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Oh, if only. This Beaux Arts townhouse mansion on the Upper West Side of New York City has a mansard roof and took from 1899 to 1902 to build. It has 5 floors of living space with 5bds, 5full and 2 1/2baths. It's priced at $24M.

This is a multi-family home and we're looking at the main residence. Isn't the entrance hall stunning? I wasn't expecting black, and with it's modern art, it's certainly not stuffy and dated.

Lovely sitting room and look at the whimsical fireplace.

I know that the furnishings aren't included, but the artsy wallpaper will remain.

Isn't this stunning?

They did millions of dollars worth of reno in this home. Look at the marble walls.

This is the elevator.

I'm assuming that this is the main bedroom. What wallpaper.

Wow, what a bathroom.

Beautiful home office.

Have you ever seen a kitchen like this? The fireplace, crown molding, and gray cabinets are so different.

Here's a tranquil sitting room off the kitchen.

Interesting. This room has the coffee table set with dishes. Must be a place to entertain a smaller group.

This has to be the trippiest kids room I've ever seen.

Every room in this home is so beautifully done in a different style.

Bath with two-tone tile.

This lounge has a bar.

Pretty guest powder room.

Wow, it has gargoyles.

What a stunning home, inside and out.

[visit-new-york]

New York City

New York tumblr more photos here New York City, often simply referred to as NYC, is one of the most iconic and vibrant cities in the world. Located in the northeastern part of the United States, it is situated on the southeastern tip of the state of New York. With a population of over 8 million residents within the city limits and over 20 million in the greater metropolitan area, it is the most populous city in the United States.

Geography and Layout: New York City is composed of five boroughs: Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx, and Staten Island. The city is located on a series of islands and connected by bridges and tunnels. Manhattan, the heart of the city, is where many of its most famous landmarks are located. It is divided into several neighborhoods, each with its own distinct character and atmosphere. The city is known for its impressive skyline, dominated by iconic skyscrapers like the Empire State Building, One World Trade Center (Freedom Tower), and the Chrysler Building.

Culture and Diversity: One of New York City's defining characteristics is its incredible diversity. People from all over the world have made the city their home, resulting in a rich tapestry of cultures, languages, cuisines, and traditions. This diversity is celebrated through various cultural events, festivals, and neighborhoods that showcase the heritage of different communities.

The city's cultural scene is unparalleled, with world-class museums such as the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), and the American Museum of Natural History. Broadway, located in the Theater District of Manhattan, is synonymous with American theater and is famous for its top-tier productions.

Economy and Business: New York City is a global economic powerhouse. Its financial district, centered around Wall Street in Lower Manhattan, is home to some of the world's largest and most influential financial institutions. The city's economy is incredibly diverse, encompassing finance, media, technology, fashion, tourism, and more.

Education and Research: The city boasts some of the world's most prestigious universities, including Columbia University, New York University (NYU), and The City University of New York (CUNY) system. These institutions contribute to the city's reputation as a hub for research, innovation, and intellectual exchange.

Cuisine and Culinary Scene: New York City is a culinary melting pot, offering an array of dining options that reflect its multicultural makeup. From street food carts offering hot dogs and pretzels to high-end restaurants serving international cuisines, the city caters to all tastes and budgets. Iconic foods like New York-style pizza, bagels, and deli sandwiches are part of the city's culinary fabric.

Transportation: The city's extensive public transportation system, which includes the subway, buses, and ferries, is a crucial part of daily life for millions of residents and visitors. The yellow taxi cabs are also an iconic symbol of the city's transportation.

Landmarks and Attractions: New York City is home to an impressive array of landmarks and attractions. Some of the must-visit places include:

Times Square: A bustling commercial and entertainment hub known for its bright lights, theaters, and New Year's Eve celebrations.

Central Park: An expansive green oasis in the heart of Manhattan, offering a retreat from the urban hustle and bustle.

Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island: Iconic symbols of American freedom and immigration history.

Brooklyn Bridge: A historic suspension bridge connecting Manhattan and Brooklyn, offering stunning views of the city skyline.

Rockefeller Center: A complex of commercial buildings, famous for its ice-skating rink and the Top of the Rock observation deck.

The High Line: A unique elevated park built on a former railway track, offering a serene escape above the city streets.

Museums and Art Galleries: In addition to the aforementioned museums, NYC is home to the Guggenheim Museum, Whitney Museum of American Art, and more.

Challenges and Opportunities: Despite its allure, New York City also faces challenges such as high living costs, traffic congestion, and issues related to affordable housing. The city has shown resilience in the face of challenges, and initiatives are continually being developed to address these concerns and create a more equitable and sustainable future.

In summary, New York City is a dynamic and multifaceted metropolis that captivates visitors and residents alike with its cultural richness, economic vitality, and unparalleled energy. Its ability to constantly reinvent itself while honoring its history makes it a truly remarkable and enduring global city.

[sataniquepanique]

New York, I Love You.

Summary: Eddie plans a trip to NYC for your anniversary, but becomes distant once you land in the city that never sleeps. You know he's hiding something, but you're not sure what.

Genre: fluff, angst, older!Eddie

Warnings: mention of depression/intrusive thoughts

A/N: I'm getting married in 2 weeks (fucking yikes), so I wrote something based on my fiancé's actual proposal to take my mind off of planning shit for two fucking seconds.

“Have you heard about the theory that Van Gogh didn’t actually kill himself?” You chime, looking over the museum map, eagerly tracing an invisible tour path through the winding galleries.

“You’ve only told me about it a million times over the past seven years,” Eddie chuckles as he stares down the entranceway of the Museum of Modern Art. The two of you look incredibly out of place; stark white walls, juxtaposed with tattoos and leather. The soft squeak of your Docs reverberate through the winding hallway, adding to the anxiety that’s been building since stepping foot in New York City two days ago. Something was off with Eddie, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. It started at the airport, he had stopped talking after getting to the gate; chalking it up to nerves about flying, you ignored it. The first day in the city was the same, barely any conversation unless you initiated it, and even less physical affection on his part. Maybe he was still tired from the trip, or maybe he just hated the city? A third reason rears its ugly head and starts to burrow deep inside your conscious; maybe he was getting tired of you. After seven years of being together, of cohabitating in a small apartment outside of Hawkins, of two cats and a dog later, maybe the love of your life was pushing away. 

A hand on the small of your back snaps your attention back to the map. The 1880-1940’s collection is on the 5th floor, allowing you to traverse through the rest of the museum before seeing the one piece this entire trip was centered around.

———

New York City was actually Eddie’s idea, though it doesn’t seem so from his current disconnected behavior. A few months prior he had bounded into the living room, smiling like he had just won the lottery.

“Baby,” he sang in his best, most innocent voice, “how would you feel about going to New York City in July?” 

Your head slowly rose from the book you were buried in. His particular tone was usually only reserved for when he was already in trouble, or plotting something mischievous. 

“What’s your angle, Munson?” Shifting forward on the couch, your eyes narrow in suspicion.

Hand over heart, he looks at you with faux offense, “How dare you think so little of me. I just think we should do something cool for our anniversary this year.”

All your wariness fades to glowing endearment.

“Oh Eds, that’d be amazing! Of course I’d love to go to New York!” 

His face relaxes as he huffs out a relieved breath, “Oh thank god, ‘cause I already bought plane tickets—“

You smile at him, impressed that he had actually planned something ahead of time instead of waiting until the last minute like usual. You’ve been together almost 7 years, and as time went on celebrating your anniversary became less and less theatrical, now consisting of take-out from your favorite Chinese place and a movie of unanimous choosing. Low-key, comfortable, but still full of love, just like you and Eddie.

“—and I also reserved two tickets for the Museum of Modern Art.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your head, “That’s where—“

“—Starry Night is. I know, that’s why I’m taking you there.” He flops down onto the couch, throwing a casual arm around your shoulders as you melt into him.

For your entire life, or at least as long as you can remember, Van Gogh has been your favorite artist. Doing master-copies of his paintings in high school, trying to hard to get his technique just right, obsessing over his use of color to convey emotion. In college you majored in Art History, specializing in Post-Impressionism, spending long nights pouring over books about Vincent’s life and background. As much as you love his work, his story made him that much more intriguing. How a man struggled with such a tragic life and still managed to see the beauty in the world was nothing less than astounding. 

You’ve seen a few of Van Gogh’s pieces in person at museums in the tri-state area, but you haven’t traveled much further. Money’s been tight ever since you and Eddie moved in together a few years ago, but you’ve always had the bug, itching to go far away and see the world with all it has to offer. Eddie shares the same desire, always talking about dream trips and planning fake vacations, waiting for the day you can make them a reality. 

“Eddie, where did you get the money for this?” The thought of possibly spending rent money on plane tickets makes you panic, but he’s is quick to shrug it away.

“I picked up some extra shifts at the shop, we’re fine don’t worry.”

———

Eddie is usually very physically affectionate, constantly having a hold somewhere on your body; but through 4 floors of galleries he hasn’t so much as touched your hand. The lack of contact is all you can think about, barely able to take in any of the artwork you’ve traveled all this way to see. As you make your way to the 5th floor, Eddie trudges behind silently. The awkward tension is killing you, and you’re not sure how much more you can take.

Turning into the 1880s gallery, a small crowd of people gather around the far corner. A glimpse of familiar cerulean and marigold swirls, the same brushstrokes you’ve studied for years, peaks over the top of their heads. You swiftly push to the front, and all of the air is crushed from your lungs. 

It’s other-worldly. 

Every photo you’ve ever seen of The Starry Night doesn’t do it justice, not even remotely. The peaks of paint that dot the surface of the canvas, the brightness of each color, none of it can be properly depicted on the pages of a textbook. After so many years of studying this painting, seeing it in the flesh is almost like seeing an old friend. There’s a calmness in it, admiration mixed with giddiness.

You’re close to tears as you feel Eddie’s presence beside you.

“It’s amazing…” his voice is low, partly because of the subdued setting, but also in awe.

All you can muster is a nod as your eyes drag over every inch of the painting, committing it to memory. 

You have to practically rip yourself away, buzzing from the entire experience. 

Eddie waits by the entranceway with his hands in his front pockets, “Do you wanna go get dinner? I’m starving.”

“Sure,” still unnerved by his demeanor, your tone is stoic and emotionless, “Where do you wanna go?”

He scratches the back of his neck, something only done when he’s uncomfortable, “Uh, there’s this pub across 52nd if that’s cool?”

An audible stomach growl answers for you.

Eddie keeps a few feet of distance between your bodies, weaving through groups of people on the crowded sidewalk. You’ve never seen this many people in your life, even at college in Indianapolis. Growing up in Indiana, your hometown was so small that everyone knew each other, same with Eddie’s upbringing in Hawkins. City life always intrigued you, and up until this moment you had thought of Indianapolis as a “big city”; but it was nothing compared to New York. After high school you moved away to college to study art, choosing Indiana University for its busier atmosphere. 

A month after graduating with your BFA, you met Eddie by accident. Moving back home to live with your parents was the last thing you wanted, but finding a good paying job was proving to be more difficult than anticipated. 

Depression started to sink it’s disgusting claws into your psyche; you felt like a failure. 

One night, in a valiant attempt to bring some joy back into your life, your best friend dragged you to a bar in the next town over; the promise of live music and alcohol extremely enticing. Hawkins wasn’t known for much, except for the weird rumors about mysterious disappearances over the years, so you weren’t expecting much from this hole-in-the-wall bar. The Hideout was kind of gross, but in an almost endearing way. The floors were sticky and the air almost unbreathable, but the staff was kind, despite their rough appearances. The bartender chatted the two of you up for while, making jokes and letting you sample whatever beer you wanted to try, all while some metal band played on the rickety stage in the back. 

A little before midnight, the band had packed up and the crowd inside thinned out to just regulars and a few drunk stragglers. As you sat at the bar and waited for your friend to get back from the bathroom, a stranger sat next to you and ordered a beer, greeting the bartender like an old friend. After exchanging a few light-hearted jabs, the stranger smiled and looked over at you. 

“Cheers—“ he holds out the neck of the bottle towards you.

Taken aback by his boldness, you return a small grin, “Cheers to what?” 

He shrugs, sucking his teeth in thought for a second, “To metal? To surviving another gig? I dunno.”

The guitar pick around his neck catches your eye, “Was that your band playing earlier?”

He gives a shy nod, smile stretching wider and accentuating a dimple on his left cheek.

“You guys sounded really good,” You hold out your own bottle towards him.

“I’ll cheers to that,” he taps against yours, a small clink echoing in the almost empty bar. 

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Y/n. It’s nice to meet you, Eddie.” Normally, you would rather die than talk to a random person at a bar, but there was something about this boy that drew you in. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was how ethereal he looked under the neon bar signs, either way you were captivated.

You stayed at the Hideout longer than intended, long after your friend had decided to go home. Eddie made you laugh with stupid jokes and weird stories, sharing your mutual love of horror movies and fantasy books. You were so enthralled that you hadn’t even noticed it was closing time. Apologizing to the bartender, you asked to use their phone to call a cab. Eddie immediately offered to drive you home, promising he wasn’t a serial killer when you profusely questioned him. 

The drive was filled with loud music and scream-singing on both of your parts, Eddie drumming on the steering wheel to the beat as you headbanged beside him. When he pulled up at your parents house, you quickly pulled a pen out of your bag, scribbling your phone number onto his forearm. He winked before driving away, having stayed a few extra minutes to make sure you got inside safely. Every thought for the rest of the night was consumed by Eddie; something was tying you to him, and you wanted to follow that invisible tether all the way to the end.

———

The 52nd Street pub was empty, something that was shocking upon entry, but you were nonetheless a little grateful for it. The quiet was a welcome change from the overwhelming sounds of New York, a small corner of solitude in the center of the city that never sleeps. Welcome almost as much, are the beers that you and Eddie down immediately. 

Though he normally cannot stop talking, Eddie is being uncharacteristically mute. You have to practically drag out any bit of conversation, forcing small talk until the food arrives and you can focus on that instead. 

After a silent meal, the portly older waiter drops off your check and strikes up a conversation with Eddie about your trip and why you were visiting. Eddie put on his polite voice, smiling and laughing along with man’s questions. This stranger was receiving more from him than you had in days. 

The nagging voice in your head struck up again: he’s tired of you.

You stopped paying attention to Eddie’s side-conversation as annoyance consumed you. There was an emerging throb in your head, the physical pain matching the emotional hurt of Eddie’s complete disdain towards you. At this point, all you wanted was to go home.

The sun was setting as you walk out onto the corner of 52nd, and you squint down the street searching for a cab. 

“Hey—“ Eddie smiled at you for what seems like the first time all day, “—wanna go to Central Park?” He points down the street, and you can make out the tops of the trees seven blocks away. 

You shake your head, “I’m really tired, and my head is killing me. I’d rather just go back to the hotel honestly.” 

Eddie’s face falls a little, and you feel slightly guilty, but then remember how uninterested he was all day. 

Again, he glances towards the park, “Are you sure? It’s just a few blocks away—“

“No, Eddie. I just want to go back to the room.” Your voice was stern, annoyed that he only now wanted to spend time with you. A yellow cab crested over the next block, and you raise a hand to get the drivers attention.

“I would rather share one lifetime with you—“ Eddie mumbles behind you. Only half listening, you swear he’s grumbling about not being able to go to the park, and it sets off a rage flare.

“—What?” You snap your head around to face him, eyes narrow and angry, bracing yourself for an argument.

He’s standing a few feet away, one hand in his pocket, the other holding up a diamond ring. Your lungs constrict, an audible gasp escaping as you stare at him wide-eyed. He grins sheepishly as you freeze in place.

“Eddie…what?” 

“I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone,” He repeats, returning your stare with his soft brown eyes. 

“…are you seriously quoting Lord of the Rings to me right now?” You laugh, all tension leaving your body. 

“Did you expect anything less from me?” His deep eyes search yours, silencing the menacing voice in your head, “Marry me, Y/n. I love you more than anything—“

“—more than Gollum loves his precious?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and snorts, “Obviously, you fucking nerd.” 

Scoffing dramatically, you smile and take the ring from his outstretched hand, sliding it onto your finger. 

“Of course I’ll marry you, Eddie Munson. I thought you’d never ask.” 

Finally, after days of anxiety and frustration, he kisses you, smiling the entire time. You can almost physically feel the stress leave his body as you hold onto him.

Pulling back you grab his hand, interlocking your fingers, “Is this why you’ve been acting weird?”

He chuckles, “Yeah, I was super nervous. I honestly planned on doing it in front of The Starry Night, but I freaked out when I saw how many people were around.”

Your heart soars at the sentiment, and you look down at your hand in his, the little diamond sparkling in the fading sunlight. 

[fromchaostocosmos]

The flags of Hamas's Izz al-Din Qassam Brigade, Hezbollah, and alleged Popular Front For the Liberation of Palestine subsidiary Samidoun Palestinian Prisoner Solidarity Network as Within Our Lifetime were unfurled, and protest organizer Nerdeen Kiswani described the massacre exhibit as "nothing more than Zionist propaganda."

As participants marched through Wall Street with the Hezbollah and Al-Qassam flags in plain view, one sign  could be seen in a WOL video that said, "Zionists are not Jews and not humans." The protest was part of a "citywide day of rage for Gaza" organized by WOL, in which participants were encouraged to engage in protests before dispersing into autonomous groups to rally against "cultural institutions invested in genocide" such as the American Museum of Natural History, the Metropolitan Museum, the Museum of Modern Art, the Whitney Museum, and the Brooklyn Museum. Before marching to Wall Street, where the exhibit was held, demonstrators rallied at Union Square. The Hezbollah flag and PFLP were prominently displayed at the protest, according to the WOL video, and the activists holding the Hezbollah flag wore a Hamas headband. According to Freedom News, Protesters unfurled a banner with the Samidoun logo that read "Long Live October 7th." 

[lazymonth]

Part 1 Winter-spider’s suits!

The idea is from @hollowsart about if spider-sona having a game for them self. And now she have a different suits to wear and a special ability or boost in some suits!

small descriptions :

Default : nothing are good then the classic one. Win still remember the time when Vulture showing up with this amazing suit. Well, of course only her stupid mind can’t make like web shooters and web-wigs right?

Western : silly cowboy suit that Win have a little reference when she’s fought with Shocker. She’s always surprised him when showing up in this suit, maybe he like this style. Who knows? ( this suit unlocks the special rope, when you throw it at the enemy it will automatically tie it and you can swing them around )

Chinese : in the name of Asia people of course Win went to Chinatown sometimes both fight with inner demon and just relax. This little fancy suit is a little gift from people in here. Kinda heart warming ( boost speed and physical attack )

Back home : even it’s have a thai community in LA but not much in NYC so Win trying her best to being a little soft power of thai people in this city. And there come of this suit, represent the thai cultural mixing a little bit with modern booths

Renaissance : Win is a artistic and for some reason she feel like her grandpa, The Vulture is too. While she's walking around the house Win sneak into Adrian's room and accidentally found a big renaissance art on the wall, it's kinda unexpected a bit if completed with other stuff in the room like punk rock looking poster and.. skull? But at least she know her grandpa have a beautiful art picture in his room

Homemade : the beginning of hero life is this suit. Even she doesn't have a web shooter or any gadget but hey, this is a good start!.. i think?

Believer, Follower, Forever ( Mysterio suit ) : even she's the person who put Quentin Beck into jail but he's one of her most favourite person too, both her co-worker and a good friend. Surprise to Beck, one day before Villains con event his enemy coming to ask him to make a suit for her but— Mysterio can't reject his fan club so.. here is it! ( Have a special ability to dash by turning herself into a green smoke and the enemy can't making any damage while she's dashing. She's also turn into smoke when using web-wigs mode )

[evelyns-nyc-fashion-study-tour]

Blog Post #1: "Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion" Exhibit

This past Thursday, August 29, 2024, our Study Experience for NYC Fashion Students course visited the "Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion" exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art (The MET) in Manhattan. Before the visit, I had only a limited understanding of the collection. Although the theme is well-known due to the famous gala, I was less familiar with the inspiration behind it. I was intrigued to learn more about the curation process and the ideology driving the exhibit.

In my research, I discovered that the name "Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion" reflects the reanimation of historical or retired garments, allowing them to be experienced as originally intended. The exhibit incorporates modern technology, such as artificial intelligence and computer-generated imagery, with traditional methods like x-rays, animation, light projections, and soundscapes. After learning this, I was eager to see how the curators combined past works of art with contemporary technology to create this sensory-driven experience.

I first encountered this blend of technology and historical fashion upon entering the exhibit. On one side of the wall was a 19th-century gown with intricately designed beadwork depicting a sky with the sun emerging from behind clouds. This gown, designed by Charles Frederick Worth, had suffered beadwork deterioration over time. The MET curators revived this garment through a three-dimensional animation of a woman dancing. This computer-generated imagery demonstrates how the gown was designed to move and flow with the wearer, further providing the viewer with a more profound insight into 19th-century fashion.

One of my favorite sensory experiences offered by the exhibit was the "Blurred Blossoms" collection. I found it fascinating how many garments from different periods featured a similar blurred floral pattern. For example, an 18th-century robe à la française showcased this fabrication design, achieved through a process called chiné à la branche. During this process, warp threads are dyed in groups before weaving. In order to create the watercolor effect, the weaver would slightly pull the threads. In contrast, a 1950s gown in the same collection had a similar blurred floral effect but used a different technique. The chiné à la branche method, which was less labor-intensive and costly, allowed this optical illusion. Although both garments provide the same sensory experience, each reflects the fabrication techniques of its time. I enjoyed witnessing the evolution of dyeing processes used to achieve these captivating effects.

[otrtbs]

PSA: Nat’s ranting abt art! (again) What’s new?

for context ,, some people went to the museum of modern art in nyc and made a tiktok where they jokingly posed in front of all the paintings “they could’ve easily done themselves” and I knew scrolling through the comments would be a masochistic move even if the video itself was funny ,,, but I did it anyway and was punished for it 😭 like,,,

anyway,,, thinking about when Walter Benjamin said the rise of cinema and television and ad culture has led the masses to contemplate true art as a form of seeking out distraction:

“Reception of art now normally happens in a state of distraction. […] The public is an examiner, but an absent-minded one.”

People are no longer looking at art to seek but they’re looking at art to tell. Rothkos and Kleins don’t provide the adequate distraction for the public eye. The art and artists demand you seek outside of the work, or else it feels like a comical joke (if you’re not willing to do that). A joke that you’re not in on. Which is why so many people have so many problems with Modern Art.

Historicizing Art would tell you that the blue square was a completely new handmade pigment that had never been seen before! It was a completely new color that the artist had made! It would also tell you that the the technical level of artistry required to paint the blue completely smooth canvas was profound. Even the smallest brushstroke or fleck of dust on wet paint would cause texture and unwanted dimension. Furthermore, monochrome paintings were not common during this time. In fact Ives Klein’s blue square was one of the first of its kind. He wanted to viewer to spend a great deal of time with his paintings so that they would get lost in the color as one gets lost in the vastness of the ocean or the infiniteness of the sky. He wanted viewers to appreciate the color he so masterfully crafted. (he did not account for viewers looking at it for .2 seconds, scoffing abt how easy it looked to make, and then writing it off as a money laundering scheme) He not only invented a new painting but a new way to look at art. It’s a painting about the artists’ process, about his artistic mastery and level of skill. Its also about breaking the mold. That’s what it’s means. None of these things you could know from simply looking at the square. No one would expect you too. But asking questions, researching things that don’t make sense to you, talking to a museum curator, reading the wall text, popping onto to google, these are easy things to to do.

Also fun fact: A color blind Eddie Redmayne wrote his thesis on Ives Klein Blue because he was actually able to distinguish it from other hues for his Art History Thesis! That’s pretty cool!

Anyway, the point is, it makes me sad how quick people are to write off things they don’t understand. They don’t want to bother learning especially when it comes to art. Because the paintings no longer spell out exactly what is there and what it’s trying to say for the viewer, they become useless. Any further need for explanation is written off as pretentious. You don’t have to love modern art! But it would be nice if more people were at least open to trying to understand it a bit better.