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mothervonmayhem · 8 months ago

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Battle of the Bands

Hobie, Miguel, Gabriel, Gwen and 1st person pov OC / MC

New Adult magical realism AU (obvi) brain worm that has grown from a 2-shot screenplay for some fun comics into a monster. This fic is like Tremors in my brain.

The summer before college MC, Gabriel O'Hara, and Miguel O'Hara go on an international road trip with their metal band, Neon Requiem. Destination? BandFest, the Battle of the Bands in London guaranteed to secure the winning band a record deal. They meet other ATSV characters along the way.

No mention of Y/N / Reader, written from 1st person POV. Self-insertion is made easier by fewer details about the MC.

Notes on language: Tried my best here, if you are a native speaker of French, let me know if the MC's French is unnatural and I will love you forever.

Romance, angst, and poorly understood music concepts are often written as having a distinct visual component because I am an artist first. <

@pinksugarscrub @the-kr8tor I DID THE THING!

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Chapter 1 - “Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l’oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire”

The Rusty Nail's neon whir and raucous rhythms had been muted to a melancholy hum that evening, it was a ghost town, the emptiness of the dimly lit bar echoing with decades of unfulfilled longings. I nursed my drink, letting the smoky burn of liquor etch contours of quiet contemplation onto my throat as I surveyed the handful of kindred souls keeping solemn vigil. Life had been feeling heavy, and I needed to write, to make art, and to get lost in music.

At the far end of the bar hunched a beautiful wraith, his slim, angular frame sheathed in torn denim and studded leather. Something indefinable shimmered around him, unsung poetry, snippets of melodies, a symphony I could see and hear and almost touch. Drawn like a moth to the lambent glow of the music, I slid onto the stool beside the ethereal punk spectre. In my mind's eye, I crowned him the prince of punk, a fairy tale rebel.

Our bodies brushed intimately in the cramped space, raising ghosts of sensation along the exposed skin of my fishnets. "Wozzat, luv?" he murmured, kohl-rimmed eyes flickering over the point of contact with a soldering heat.

Mon dieu, {My God} Had I spoken my admiration aloud? A flush crept up my cheeks as I scrambled for a response.

"Désolé. Je répétais quelque chose pour ne pas l'oublier… Need to write it down before I lose it," {Sorry. I was repeating something so I wouldn't forget it…} I mumbled, a flimsy excuse for my wandering mind.

Fumbling through my bag ,I pulled out my tattered notebook, fingers trembling as I scribbled down a scrap of verse inspired by the punk's incandescent presence beside me. I scribbled my observations in hasty strokes. The dying light of day bled into night, a liminal space that begged for a soundtrack. I could almost hear it, a melody just out of reach, shimmering in the smoky air.

"The liminal light of late afternoon, yawning into early evening…" I muttered, pulling on the strings of the melody, trying to draw it back to me. "I don't want to be loved for the things that I don't do. I don't want to be just a pretty face, I want to be a work of art…We are all just works of art."

The jukebox fell silent, making my mutterings around sift and strange, slightly unhinged---but the punk prince remained---his gaze heavy on my skin. I met his stare, unflinching. Unabashed curiosity flickered in eyes, wide brown and doe-like, framed by lashes so lush they seemed to blur the line between masculine and feminine, earthly and ethereal. I found myself dizzied by warring impulses - to flee this unsettling intimacy, or be consumed by it wholly.

He was a changeling, gorgeously androgynous: part punk Mona Lisa with a Cheshire cat grin, part Jean-Michel Baptiste, part force-of-fucking-nature. He made me feel like a background character in his story, could be a punk fairy princess, and I would be the dragon. My thoughts raced, fragments of poetry and half-formed desires. I scribbled faster, chasing the threads of inspiration, but a nudge from my prince brought me back to earth.

Snatches of poetry, raw and unfinished, that I urgently longed to refine on the page before they dissipated like the last wisps of smoke in a spent ashtray. But the punk's aura dragged me too deeply into devotional reverie. I glanced up apologetically as my concentration scattered, the thread of inspiration slipping through my fingers once more.

The bartender had sprouted up directly in front of me, and she eyed me expectantly. Her hair was a shock of blue curls and silver streaks shorn close to her scalp, it made her eyes seem more gray. Her skin etched with lines that mapped out the years like a roadmap. I felt the familiar pang of a poem lost to the ether.

"Un…Jack Daniel's, s'il vous plaît," {A…Jack Daniel's, please} I said, no longer able to filter its lilt from my words, as I wasn't paying attention to dulling it.

"Blimey, that's a proper choice, innit? You 'ere for the battle of the bands event this week, love?"

"Oui, how did you know?" {Yes, how did you know?}

"Just a…sense," he demurred with a wicked grin. "Call it a punk's intuition, darling. I'm in the mix too, y'know."

The bartender chuckled as she set my drink down. "You mean because everyone is here for Bandfest? Don't listen to this one, lovey, he's incorrigible. The crowds will be in later on, but you're a bit early."

"Shh, Roz. Who's up tonight?" The prince asked, a wicked gleam in his eye.

"Oh, you want insider information? What's in it for me?"

"Givin' away free tattoos, could autograph yer arm, love."

"I'll pass, thanks. The brackets are up in an hour anyway. It's Night Terrors vs. Death Rapture, Blood Prophecy vs. Cherry Bomb, Spider Punks vs. Neon Requiem…"

"Why are the punk bands going up against the metal bands?" I asked, just as the prince inquired about Phantom Pulse.

"There wasn't a lot of quality competition this year, or that's what the sponsors said, so they automatically advance to the semifinals since they won last year."

"Bollocks!" The prince cried, his outrage palpable.

"Oi Punk, you don't want to sign with Vic Luna at Zenith Music Group, anyway."

"Tu…ne le fais pas? Mais pourquoi?" {You…don't? But why?} The words tumbled out, my curiosity getting the better of me. At her blank stare, I repeated the question in English, heat rising to my cheeks.

Roz leaned in, her voice low, "Look kid, it's complicated…"

The prince rolled his eyes, a sneer playing at his lips. "Betrayed a lot of good bands."

"You don't need to remind me, Punk, I lived through it. Despite the changes at Zenith Music Group, they still organize the annual Bandfest, which showcases both established and emerging talent in the punk and metal scenes. The event is highly respected within the community and provides a platform for bands to gain exposure and connect with fans," the bartender continued, her words stilted, rehearsed.

"Ay, and they are the sponsor bringing in your crowds." The prince's voice was sharp, laced with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

"The only time we're out of the red, punkass. We'd have to shut down if it weren't for the Battle." She said heavily, "Which is the greater evil, we are a place of refuge for several members of the community, not just you."

"You don't need to remind me Roz, I'm living through it. Right, I'll stop ragging on the corporate sods for now, until you have some plausible deniability." He raised his hands in mock surrender, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

"There's a good Punk." Roz smiled, sliding him another pint before retreating.

I made a mental note to warn my bandmates about Vic and Zenith's sordid history. We were in this for the music, not the money, no one played metal for the money--but it never hurt to be cautious.

"Roz is like the den mother of the London punk scene, a living testament to grit and resilience, and screaming yourself hoarse at basement shows. Dream t'be like her when I grow up. To listen without judgment, offer advice without preaching, and know when to slide a shot of whiskey across the bar and when to cut you off. She has a way of looking at you, really seeing you, like you matter… like you are more than just another face in the crowd." His voice trails off, heavy with emotion. He blinks and shakes it off.

"Can I see it?" The prince's voice cut through our lost thoughts, his fingers reaching for my notebook.

I clutched it to my chest, a knee-jerk reaction. "Can you look into my very soul, like Roz?"

His smirk widened, that Cheshire cat grin that set my heart racing. He nodded, a challenge in his eyes.

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," he purred, and I felt my stomach flip. I repeated the phrase in my mind, first in French, then in English, just to be sure I'd heard him right. Wasn't this some flirty idiom?

"You have a book of poetry somewhere hidden in those skinny jeans, mon ami?" {my friend?} I ask, hesitant, double-checking his meaning. He flirts like others breathe.

In lieu of an answer, he produced a sharpie from thin air. Before I could protest, he had my arm in his grasp, his touch electric against my skin. I shrugged off my leather jacket, baring my arms to his ink-stained fingers. Roz chuckled as she set another drink before me, clearly amused by the prince's antics.

"You'll need it…I see you took this wanker up on the free tattoo offer. Don't let him draw any on your arms."

"Any? …Any what?"

"Wankers," she clarified with a laugh. It clarifies nothing, I need to study my British slang.

"I would not mar the flesh of such a beautiful and willing participant, Roz. Kindly fuck off," the prince mumbled around the sharpie cap clenched between his teeth.

Between the verses he scrawled, he peppered me with questions, his voice a giddy whisper.

"So, who's your poison, love? Which bands get your motor runnin'?"

"Ah, j'adore Rammstein, Gojira, et bien sûr, Motörhead. And so many others, doesn't even scratch the surface. Et toi?" {Ah, I love Rammstein... And you?}

"Proper choices, those. For me, it's the classics - Sex Pistols, The Clash, Buzzcocks. Real raw, in-your-face stuff, y'know?"

I leaned in, excited, but too close. I nearly jumped as my lips grazed the dusky shell of his ear. "Ah, un homme de bon goût! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, c'était incroyable!" {Ah, a man of good taste! I've seen the Buzzcocks live, you know. Pure chaos, it was incredible!}

"No bleedin' way! Metal chick like you? I'd give me left bollock to have seen the Sex Pistols live. But I did catch The Clash back in '07. Changed me life, it did."

"Lemmy, sans aucun doute. The man's a legend!" {Lemmy, without a doubt.} I declare into the bar.

"Oi, don't go disrespectin' Johnny, now! The bloke's a punk icon, 'e is!"

"You're a punk icon!" someone shouted from the back, but the prince waved them off with a grin.

"Oh, I didn't catch your name," I said, with a sudden shame, my brow furrowed.

"Everyone just calls me Punk. You can too. Just not dirty punk, we don't want to come to blows, do we, love?"

"I'd kick your ass, mon ami. Pas grand chose à donner, mon petit prince des fées… eh mon prince dégingandé, right? I would not describe you as petite even if you are skinny." {I'd kick your ass, my friend. Not much to give, my little fairy prince… eh my lanky prince, right?}

Miguel was at my side in an instant, all rippling muscle and furrowed consternation. "Carnalita, {little sis} why did you sneak out on practice just to drink in this hellhole?" he rumbled, disapproval lacing every sonorous word. Tenderness faded a bit.

I met his gruff chiding with an insouciant toss of my hair. "Salut, Miguel. Ça fait longtemps." {Hello, Miguel. It's been a while.}

"Is that Jack? No puedo mas… Carnalita…This shit is bad for you." {I can't take it anymore…little sis...}

"Je nais etre rond comme une queue de pelle. Tu es vraiment un trou de balle quand tu dis des choses pareilles!" {I would be round as a shovel handle. (Idiom, essentially she is saying ~ I was born to be drunk) You are really a dumbass when you say things like that!}

Miguel's grumbling stream of Spanish reprimands washed over me as I settled into our familiar dynamic - the tender yet terse cantata of friend and protector that had composed them score of our relationship since childhood. For all his bluster, I knew every arrhythmic cadence encoded Miguel's steadfast affection.

Only Gabriel's soft interjection could salve the rising discord. "You worry too much, Miggy. We've been practicing all week."

He cast me a plaintive glance, silently pleading for conciliation, and I grudgingly obliged with an internal eyeroll. "Qu'il aille se faire! C'est vraiment chiant tu te rends compte." {Let him go fuck himself! It's really annoying, you know.}

Heedless of my saucy french asides, Miguel merely drew a fortifying breath before continuing in that maddening timbre of unrelenting reason. "Gabri and I could have come out with you. You shouldn't go out alone in an unknown city - it's not safe for you, mi carnalita."

The prince leaned towards us with a lazy smirk, "S'not that serious. The Rusty Nail is safe enough." He paused as the bartender snorted in agreement before continuing, "We're keeping the lady safe, mate…you can trust me, I'm one of the Spider-Punks."

Miguel simply sneered at the prince's proffered handshake, dismissing it out of hand. "You have arms like sticks. How would you keep her safe?"

The punk's smirk widened as he shrugged. "Ah, one of those. Never skip leg day, eh bruv?"

I strangled a guffaw as Gabriel hastened to run interference, engulfing the punk's hand eagerly. "We've heard of you guys, the local punk band, yeah? Your drummer is…gahh…Ah-Mazing! You think we could meet?"

"You call that punk noise "rock"?" Miguel scoffed. "Metal is where the real skill lies…Real talent is in the complexity, the technical skill. Metal pushes boundaries, takes you to new places. Punk's just three chords and an attitude."

I rolled my eyes. At this rate, I'd have to drag Miguel out before he started a brawl.

"Ah, mais non, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, non?" {Ah, but no, Miggy. There's art in simplicity too. Punk, metal, it's all about the energy, the message, right?}

Miguel grunted, but squeezed my hand.

I stood, motioning for him to lean in close. "Allez, let's save the competition for the stage, d'accord? I learned some things about the record company. We should talk in private." {Come on, let's save the competition for the stage, okay?}

The prince unfolded himself, towering over me. "Tell you what, mate. Let's settle this on stage. We'll let the crowd decide who's got the real chops," he challenged.

Gabriel chimed in, "Pero, mana's right, Miguel." {But, sister is right, Miguel.}

Miguel looked ready to explode, but Gabriel's eyes held him in check.

"Music's music. Let's just focus on putting on a good show, and maybe we can learn something from their band, eh?" Gabriel said.

The prince leaned in, lips grazing my cheek. "Aye, love. Can't wait to teach your wall of meat here a thing or two. How about we give 'em a show they won't forget…later?"

I grinned, "Oui! A collaboration? Here… Ça ne casse pas trois pattes à un canard…mais, pour vous. I want it back later." {Yes! A collaboration? Here…It doesn't break three duck legs (Idiom ~ It's nothing special) …but, for you. I want it back later.}

The lanky punk sauntered off, his studded boots leaving faint trails of glitter on the barroom floor. Miguel's scowl deepened as he watched him depart, fists clenched tightly.

"Is that your poetry notebook?" he growled, voice rumbling low.

"Yes, I traded it to the punk faerie for these tattoos, I smirked, revealing the vine-like scrawl of ink now adorning my flesh like raised scars from whipping brambles.

Miguel's face darkened further, storm clouds gathering at my words. "The one you never let anyone touch or read…"

His voice strangled to a whisper, and I could not parse the complex calculus of emotions flitting behind his eyes

Gabriel placed a calming hand on his brother's arm.

"Easy, hermano {brother}. He's not worth it," Gabriel said in a soothing tone.

"Be nice, Punk is a good guy. I like him," I countered softly, a warm glow blossomed within me as I realized my entire arm was now a crawling garden of sentences entirely in French.

Miguel opened his mouth, undoubtedly to unleash a heated retort, but Gabriel cut in, "Should we go look at the brackets to see who we're facing?"

"It looks like my entire arm is covered with quotes from The Little Prince, which happens to be my favorite book. It's actually quite a sweet gesture," I said softly, fingertips grazing the raised words like treasured runes.

With renewed curiosity, I examined the ink quote now etched on my skin: "Vous êtes maître de votre vie et de vos émotions, ne l'oubliez jamais. Pour le meilleur et pour le pire." {You are the master of your life and your emotions, never forget that. For better or worse.}

I didn't mention the lone scrawl that could have been a phone number hidden amidst the literary foliage now vining my limb. Miguel was in full-on Dad mode, and I didn't need to add fuel to that particular fire.

"I already know the competition for the quarterfinals, we don't need to waste our time. Come on, manos {used as slang for brother}, we're going to kick some ass!" I giggled brightly, elated at my new 'tattoos' scrawling up my arms. I didn't put my leather jacket back on, I didn't want to cover any of it up.

Miguel's glare never wavered, his eyes fixed on the far side of the bar where the prince had disappeared into the crowd. "Don't tempt me. Let's go, carnalita {little sister}, time for practice."

With a resigned sigh, I surrendered to my brothers' insistent tugs, allowing them to lead me from the Rusty Nail. But the punk prince's parting words still reverberated through my mind like the lingering notes of a siren song. Later, he had purred, that single hushed syllable seeming to contain all the intoxicating lure of a siren's call - equal parts velvet promise and brazen challenge, twined inextricably into an enchantment I could not resist. The whole damn bar was a sailor's nightmare.

#across the spiderverse #hobie x reader #hobie spiderverse #hobie fluff #hobie brown #astv hobie #spider punk #au spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel fanfic #hobie fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #gabriel o'hara

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neshatriumphs · 2 years ago

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Dark Skin Directory

I did one of these for my sideblog BlackFemmeCharacterDependency (BFCD) and... While it’ll take longer on this end to do because there are more prominent figures here than on that one, I thought it would be good to also have one for my main...

EDIT: Okay, so the one that I did for BFCD does not work, so I am posting this one to see if it works, and if not, they’ll both be WIPS until I have the time to repair them

For the purposes of this list and on this page, whenever I say “dark skinned,” I mean a traditional brown crayon or darker. I grew up around Black people, so the words “dark skinned” do not mean the same thing to me as it do to nonblacks.

Queen Quet | Quiana Welch | Quinta Brunson | Quvenzhane Wallis

Wakeema Hollis | Whitney Houston | Whoopi Goldberg | Wunmi Mosaku

Xosha Roquemore

#to add to darkskin directory

Aliet Sarah

Tricia Akello

Sokhna Niane

Rashida Renée

Javonna Charde’

Ajak Deng

Edun Bola

Pretty Tye

Herieth Noela

#NeshaTriumphs Dark Skin Directory #4th #December #2022 #December 4th 2022 #Dark Skin Directory

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adeadlysong · 3 months ago

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Maria stared at Lena with pleading eyes. "please ask for more time. Pleaseeeeeeee...." Oh come on, we haven't even gotten tot he good stuff yet! If they leave now, we'll lose the opportunity for Lord Sukumara to confess his feelings to her at some point!

DeRosa groaned softly as he looked up at Lena.

"Ah. You. Hi." He cleared his throat after realizing how hoarse he soudned, tilting his neck from side to side before answering. "Yes, I'm aware that i'm away from Luxendarc. I'm still in Melodia, right?"

"Yes."Maria answered, before handing DeRosa a glass of water. "But why the heck were you in the clutches of evil dragon people?'

"There was this kid that scouted me out and brought me all the way here!" DeRosa shook his head, a groan leaving him. "She said that there was this lady named DeRogna who was impressed by my research prowess and said she needed help on a research project about dragons."

Luciano frowned. "Did you just say a research project on dragons...?"

"Yeah!" DeRosa looked toward him, nodding. "Look, I don't know if you heard, but I'm kind-of at risk for losing my job at Al-Khampis right now. Any excuse to find new work that suited my skills was welcomed, so I figured I'd go meet DeRogna and see exactly what she wanted." He then frowned, shaking his head. "Turns out that was a total scam - she and her mooks immediately overpowered me and captured me. Don't know how long I've been held captive, either - I didn't have a way to count the time because of all the drugs they pumped into me."

"They've drugged you before?" Loreley noted, frowning, before handing DeRosa a glass of water. "Did you try to escape...?"

"Of course. Wasn't successful." DeRosa swallowed the contents of the glass, to his relief. "I have no idea whether that one kid was working with them or absolutely oblivious that her mission to escort me here was a lie."

"What happened to the child?" Rafaele frowned.

"Can't tell. That was when I got stuck fighting for my own life before getting captured. However," DeRosa's nose wrinkled as he looked between everyone, "She had pretty powerful illusion magic. Carried a teddy bear that she called her 'friend.' Kept muttering things about contracts under her breath, too. She seemed...familiar, from the training game I went through before..." A little chuckle left him as he eyed Loreley. "I'd like to hope you're not an illusion, beautiful. That would be a shame."

"Ah." Loreley glanced toward him, then Rafaele. "I think I get what you mean by him being a flirt, now."

[ Lena Patches Up Sukumara ]

#stxrrbright #muse: Maria Himura #muse: Siobhanm #muse: Loreley #muse: Rafaele Baptiste #muse: Luciano Kay #guest muse: Fiore DeRosa #Enchanted Aria (Main verse)#maria: lena you have to stay! We haven't attempted shipping you with lord sukumara yet!#me: LOL #in which derosa spills how he got captured and mentions mona

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ofmythsandmists · 2 years ago

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Sooo I don't know if someone already talked about it but...

Have you ever noticed the similarity between Armand and Gian Giacomo Caprotti, aka il Salaì (1), favourite pupil and (almost surely) lover of Leonardo da Vinci?

If not, here some basic infos:

He was born in 1480 near Milan, we know it because we have Leonardo's diary saying that Giacomo joined his bottega in 1490, "when he was ten" (2);

He was nicknamed "Salaì" ("devil") because he was, apparently, quite a pest :)))). He was, in Leonardo's words, "a thief, a liar, stubborn, and gluttonous";

Leonardo was born in 1452, which makes him 38 years old when Giacomo joined his household (yes, the age gap);

Salaì stayed with Leonardo almost till his death and was the model for many some of his paintings and sketches (3), some of which are erotic ones;

In 1523 he married a woman called Bianca Coldirodi d'Annono.

Last but not least, Salaì looked like THIS

This is a portrait made by another (anonymous) pupil of Leonardo.

I MEAN.

He was the model for the painting Saint John the Baptist by Leonardo (on the internet, you can easily find the NSFW sketch for this painting so... yeah).

So if we look at Armand's backstory (at least, the one set in Venice with Marius), I think it's pretty easy to see the similarities:

Armand states in The Vampire Armand that he was born around 1480-81;

He was (and continue to be) a pest *affectionate*

He has a relationship with Bianca;

Marius is very Leonardo-coded for many reasons (age-gap aside, I'm really talking about his personality and attitude);

I don't think I have to comment on the features of Salaì, do I?

In conclusion, I don't think any of it is random. Anne was a fan of Reinassance Italy, I'm pretty sure she did read something about Salai and Leonardo and decided to use it in her books.

Notes

Shortcut for "Sala[d]ino" which means "Saladin" but was used at the time to say "devil" because... well, period typical islamophobia. But you have to admit, the fact that his nickname was Devil, is something.

The Italian Wiki also gives a birth date: 27th December but I don't know the source (however, this is really funny to me because I've always headcanoned Armand as a Capricorn).

There is also this theory according to which he was the model for the Mona Lisa, since, yes, Salaì did actually modelled for paintings of women.

#all my knowledge on the topic comes from high school textbooks and wikipedia #so pls if there is an art historian who wants to correct me or add things feel free #also i cannot find the exact point when armand talks about the year he was born #i'm just remembering stuff #armand #amc interview with the vampire #iwtv #interviw with the vampire #the vampire armand #gian giacomo Caprotti #long post #salai #the vampire chronicles #i just wanted to talk about armand #amc iwtv #iwtv 2022

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 2 years ago

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Black Femme Character Dependency Dark Skin Directory || Entertainers Pt. 1 (A-N)

*I am attempting to redo this list that will not show up for some reason...

#BFCD Dark Skin December #BFCD Masterlist #BFCD DS Directory #Black Actresses and Female Entertainers Masterlist #Black Women in Entertainment #Flooding Your Dash with Black Lady Face #A-Z #Tags Masterlist #Masterlist #List will be updated as needed #BFCD Dark Skin December 2022

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rabbitcruiser · 6 months ago

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National Smile Day

Wear your best smile to this party as we celebrate National Smile Day every year on May 31. Founded by dentists Dr. Tim Stirneman and Jim Wojdyla of Compassionate Dental Care in Lake in the Hills, Illinois, this day is meant to, you guessed it, “Share with the world what the power of a healthy smile can do!” The best part, this day heralds the beginning of National Smile Month!

History of National Smile Day

The history of the smile can be traced back to monkeys and apes, according to primatologist Signe Preuschoft. These animals bare their teeth in a facsimile of a smile to show dominance or warn off predators. The theory is that humans copied this behavior and, over time, the smile evolved to show amusement and enjoyment. Research indicates that on the way to portraying happiness, smiles were a way of attracting mates among early humans.

If you’ve ever wondered why older portraits often showed unsmiling people, it was because people in that era had a lot of tooth rot caused by sugar and a poor diet. Plus, more common was the aristocratic perception that smiling and laughing was indecorous, and showed a lack of self-control or good manners. One of the few exceptions was Leonardo da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa,” although the portrait’s ambiguity is part of its fame. As dentistry and an attitude of authenticity developed, people began smiling even in portraits, this time with their teeth on display.

Studies of yearbook photographs over the years point to the breadth of smiles increasing over the years. The study indicates that because participants had to hold the pose for longer periods in the earlier days of photography, their smiles gradually dimmed. The prevalence of smiling in the recent past is linked to culture and traditions and varies from country to country. Some regions with high individualism and low population density had a higher incidence of people who smiled. A study found that the biggest reason people smile, however, can be attributed to a country’s tradition of diverse immigration over time. So places like Brazil and the United States, where people do not share common customs or languages, see higher incidences of smiles. The study states that this is because the smile is part of a universal language.

A French neurologist, Guillaume Duchenne, who studied the mechanism of facial expression, discovered there are two types of smiles: a Duchenne smile and a non-Duchenne smile. The former smiles with the eyes or is a genuine smile, whereas the latter is an ambiguous, non-genuine, or simply polite smile.

National Smile Day timeline

1700–1780s The French Now Smile with their Teeth

French portraits of people show smiles with teeth, which is a new occurrence.

1702 Rules of Decorum Still Frown on Smiles

French priest and educational reformer Jean-Baptiste de La Salle publishes “Rules of Christian Decorum and Civility,” which advises against smiling and laughing, since they are ‘indecorous’ displays of emotion, according to him.

18th Century Dentistry Emerges in France

This is a turning point in social practices.

1950s Smiles are Common in Portraits

It becomes the norm to smile in photographs.

1962 Laughter is Contagious

In Tanzania, students at a school break out into fits of uncontrollable laughter, which eventually spreads to their parents and their acquaintances.

How To Celebrate National Smile Day

Smile!

Make someone else smile

Visit your dentist

The best way to celebrate this day dedicated to smiling is to smile, of course! Spread some good cheer around and grace another person with your smile. We often don't realize that we wear a frown for most of the day. Share a smile with someone just for a moment and see the difference it makes in your everyday interactions.

Do one thing to bring a smile to someone else’s face. Start small (tell them a joke) or go big (volunteer at a children’s home). Whatever you choose, cherish the feeling of being able to light up someone’s life, and keep bringing smiles to everyone you meet.

Since this day was created by dentists, delight yours by giving them a visit. Go for a dental checkup to make sure your smile is in tip-top shape.

5 Fun Facts About Smiling

Smiling is less taxing than frowning

Babies are better at smiling than you are

Babies can fake it too!

We know when a smile is fake

Laughing for the heck of it

It takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile.

Babies smile about 400 times a day, while, on average, adults only smile about 20 times.

At only nine or 10 months of age, babies have learned to offer fake smiles to strangers, reserving real smiles and laughter for people they are comfortable with.

Our brains have evolved to such an extent that we can see a fake smile a mile away — also, our brains automatically mimic the smile we see, which means we give a fake smile for a fake smile.

A study on why people laugh found that 80-90% of all laughter is in response to simple statements like “It was nice meeting you”, or “I’ll see you later.”

Why We Love National Smile Day

Smiles hold power!

Smiles have health benefits too

A smile is the best accessory

Not only do they automatically make you feel good (yes, even fake smiles!), but they also create a temporary bond between the people sharing a smile. Data shows that over time, smiles can increase productivity and creativity in workers, and make people seem more competent and trustworthy.

The more we smile, the healthier our brains become. This is because smiles make us happy, thus reducing stress. Smiles are also known to reduce our blood pressure, heart rate, and pain. Smiling can increase endurance, strengthen our immune system, and even help keep the cells in our body healthy.

Smiling shifts our mood, tipping it into the ‘happy’ side. A happy person is a more confident person. Walking into a room with a smile is better than wearing fancy brand-name clothes or shoes. There’s no downside to smiling, not in the way it looks, nor the results it brings us.

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studiesinconnoisseurship · 1 year ago

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Salvator Mundi - master of the dead eyes

Salvator Mundi, various attributions (Louvre Abu Dhabi)

The Salvator Mundi painting, widely touted as a Leonardo, seems to have disappeared into the limbo of the Saudi Royal family’s treasury where it will doubtless lie, like an ingot of gold in a vault, unseen by most and unappreciated by its owner except as proof of the great wealth required to secure it. Frequent mention, however, is still made of this picture, and while that continues, so does the undesirable confusion that is spread by any demonstrable misattribution. This Brief Study is intended to provide that demonstration.

From left: Head of the Young John the Baptist (Drawing from a private collection, featured in an auction catalogue from 1934 as ‘School of Leonardo’) ; Salvator Mundi ; Head of a Woman (Musee du Louvre?)

Drawings, as always, are helpful. Here are two, to set beside the Salvator Mundi: on the left of it a drawing of a young John the Baptist, on the right a drawing of a young woman, possibly at the Louvre. It is enough to compare, and find similar, the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the treatment of hair. If likeness means anything, it ought to obtain in a juxtaposition such as this. As soon as it becomes clear that these two images are products of the same hand, it becomes clear also that the artist who made the drawing cannot be Leonardo, who never drew like this, and therefore Leonardo cannot be responsible for the painting either.

Of course the Salvator Mundi is Leonardesque. It is by an inferior artist (perhaps Salai, as once suggested by Suida) who has latched onto the ‘sfumato’, or smoky mysteriousness, that is displayed – for some tastes, to excess – in the late Leonardo Saint John the Baptist at the Louvre and copied by this artist in a painting at the Walters Museum. This mysteriousness, the smoky atmosphere implied in the etymology of the Italian word, is indulged in by this artist as if it was all that mattered in Leonardo’s art. The result is that Christ stares out at us, like a ghost from another world, with those strange, ‘dead’ eyes.

Left: St John the Baptist by the follower of Leonardo – Walters Museum, Baltimore ; right: Leonardo’s original – Musée du Louvre

Comparing the earlier drawing with the two paintings of John the Baptist

Comparing the earlier drawing with the two Baptist images either side, one by the copyist, the other by Leonardo, reveals as much as the difference in colour, the ‘Salvator’ eyes, nose and mouth.

Both attributed to the School of Leonardo, Left: ‘Head of a Youth’ – Ambrosiana, Milan ; Right: Portrait of a Lady – Columbia Museum of Art, South Carolina)

Another drawing , of an androgynous-looking youth at the Ambrosiana, shows the same rather long eyes whose lids are more prominent than anything between them . This might almost be a study for the no less ghostly Portrait of a Lady at Columbia Museum of Art in South Carolina. The same artist’s draughtsmanship (or lack of it) is seen in a drawing (Mona Vanna) and a painting both featuring a naked Mona Lisa. A weak sense of form is disguised by a quantity of perfunctory smudging of charcoal or graphite. His admiration for Leonardo is matched by his failure to understand how necessary a proper grounding in observational drawing was to Leonardo’s painted work. A similar failure attended the followers of Turner.

Left: Mona Vanna, attributed to Leonardo ; Right: Female Figure, attributed to Salai

If we return to the Salvator Mundi, we can observe the unconvincing treatment of drapery folds and the way in which ornamented braidwork is not adequately integrated with the rest of Christ’s robe, but lies across it in two, rather than three, dimensions. When our eye moves to the orb, it is equally dissatisfied by the lazy depiction of it, with no attempt at highlight. The orb is as dead as the eyes.

The draperies, braidwork and orb from Salvator Mundi tell us this is not Leonardo’s work

Colour is always a significant indicator in paintings. In this case we have a near-Prussian blue with chestnut browns trailing off into a deeper brown penumbra. This is the palette of the Lansdowne Madonna (‘Madonna of the Yardwinder’), a more impressive work than the Salvator Mundi but displaying a similar tendency to wrap figures in a haze of sfumato.

Left: The Lansdowne Madonna – Private Collection – features the same colour palette and ‘sfumato’ as the Salvator Mundi

Clearly I do not hold this artist in much esteem. Plutocrats are welcome to spend a fortune on his work, but the rest of us should keep our eyes peeled for quality and not allow our vision to be blurred by the ‘Leonardo mystique’ and the floaters of dubious attributions. What this case highlights, not for the first time, is the regrettable necessity for connoisseurs to apply themselves to mediocrities. In an ideal world they would not need to, but they often have to because one person – an originator whom others follow – has ascribed a work by an inferior artist to a vastly superior one. These words, inferior, superior, imply what is at stake: a difference of quality. The exercise I have conducted here will have some value if it succeeds in demonstrating that difference. A painter who has little sense of form cannot disguise the fact, try as he may, with ‘mystery’ that has no depth or substance; it is hollow and spectral, like the dead eyes. If we cannot definitely name him, let us nickname him the Master of the Dead Eyes.

#leonardo #leonardo da vinci #salvator mundi #connoisseurship #studies in connoisseurship #art history #attribution #painting #louvre

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