#take politics out of art. ik art if often political but i mean in the being a fan sense

[mzannthropy]

Thinking about that "bad people can make good art" argument (which is true, bc people, as Natalie Lue of Baggage Reclaim often says, can be more than one thing), but what if I flipped it around? Art made by good people is not necessarily good. And if it is, it doesn't mean you have to like it.

I'm not thinking about anything in particular (or if I am, it's irrelevant bc it's subjective and that's not what this post is about), just in general. For example, a performing artist can be the nicest person in the world, but that doesn't mean they are a good performer, or that you have to be their fan. Maybe you can't stand their face or their voice grates on you. Or there may be a piece of media that hits all the woke points on the list, but it's not compelling enough for you. Bc at the end of the day, if the writing is shitty, and if what most matters to you is a good story, you don't have to feel obliged to like it.

[remmushound]

as a request, what about Rise! Donnie talking to Bayverse Donnie about glasses? idk what headcannon you have or just enjoy for why Rise! Donnie doesn't wear glasses anymore, but I think the interaction could be interesting no matter what??

Part 8 of my Rise/bay crossover! Special thanks to @brightlotusmoon for the help with this chapter!!

Donatello made a vague motion that Donnie took as an ‘ask away’ motion.

“Ah— okay— uh— what— well for starters how on earth did you get contacts?”

“April and I have the same eye difficulties, so she provides me and Leonardo with the contacts on a monthly basis and gives us her old glasses every time she upgrades.”

“Wait— your April wears glasses? And your Leo?”

“Affirmative.” Donatello’s spider claw reached into his battle shell and pulled out two Dr.Pepper’s, opening both and offering one to Mikey. Mikey made a noise not unlike an excited toddler as he grabbed the beverage and slurped it down happily.

“Well— how did you meet your April?”

“It was a dark and stormy autumn night, thunder echoing down the alleyways just l ike the barking beasts that pursued me through the shadows!” Donatello switched the lights off and flicked on a flashlight to illuminate his features in shadowed detail. “There must have been eight, nine of them on my shell, all trying to take me down. But not I! Son of Splinter! There was a battle fought— turtle on beast— until they were fleeing back down the alley with their tails tucked between their legs.”

Donatello turned off the flashlight as the story ended abruptly, letting the darkness linger a moment before flicking the lights back on and piping rather cheerfully.

“Then April found me and we’ve been best friends ever since, the end.”

Mikey dropped his can in favor of clapping excitedly and Donnie gave a golf-clap out of politeness.

“What about you?” Donatello prompted.

“Dude, our April was totally the Hogoshaaaaaa.”

Donnie opened his mouth to explain further, but Donatello didn't need it. “In which way?”

Mikey simply blinked.

“Hogosha can mean guardian, protector, patron, parent, watcher— I need context.”

“Oh then the first two.” Mikey nodded, “Can I have another Dr.Pepper?”

“Oh yeah fo sho.” Donatello provided another can. “Hey, you should totally make some of those tattoo designs for me and my brothers! My Mikey’s art is very ~bright and happy sunshines~ but the simplistic design is sooooo awesome! Maybe like an Omou for me, Oni for Raph—“

“How often do you get the urge to bite?”

The enjoyment immediately drained from Donatello’s face.

“I mean, softshell’s are known for having a pretty nasty attitude and tend to bite a lot. They’re not really social creatures.” Donnie explained further.

“Don’t you think I would be aware of such things because I am one?” Donatello almost growled.

Donatello’s irritation came to Donnie’s joy. “Oh! There’s that softshell agitation!”

“IT’S NOT—” Donatello started to hiss, then forced himself back down.

“Sorry.” Donnie threw his hands up in surrender.

Donatello tried not to care. “Maybe Ongaku for Leon—“

“Do you like to bury yourself?”

Donatello flinched, and looked slowly back over at Donnie with rage bubbling in his mind.

“What’s your preferred texture? Do you prefer mud or sand?”

“I prefer your head on a pike.” Donatello muttered too low for Donnie to hear but enough for Mikey to choke on his soda.

“What was that?” Donnie tilted his head.

“Nothing.” Donatello huffed, fun thoughts of tattoos completely gone from his mind. “Have you found Leon and Angelo yet? I don’t trust those two idiots to keep out of trouble for very long.”

“Yeah— I’m uh— working on it.” Donnie quickly brushed past the answer to try and ask his final question, “What does it feel like when something presses against your shell? Or bends the bridge?”

Donatello dropped his half-full can of soda to the floor. Before either Donnie could say a thing, Mikey got between the both of them.

“Okay brain-boy, slow it down a little!” He put his finger up to Donnie and tisked his tongue, “Don’t be too hard on yourself!”

“Ha.” Donatello’s face was blank, any scrap of emotion once in it replaced with sheer, aggravated boredom.

The tension in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife. But instead of a knife, it was cut by a short alarm.

“Ah— um.” Donnie cleared his throat, “Uh. The tracker is ready so… I… I should…” Donnie didn't finish the statement before sulking out of the kitchen with his head low.

“How’d it go?” Leo immediately regretted his words, but it was too late.

Donnie plopped himself down in the swivel chair and started to jump between the different signatures. Blue for Leo, red for Raph, purple for himself, and orange for Mikey— all, of course, in the lair. A white mark for Splinter. Black for all unknown signatures.

“Okay, so… seven down here, like expected… seems like Bebop and Rocksteady are still in place…” He jumped to the next unknown signature. “There! This one is alone— but not moving…”

“Are they…?” Leo started slowly.

“No— their vitals are stable, they’re just hiding.” He jumped to the next signature, “Here—these two are together! And on the move… that’s not good.”

“What’s not good?”

“Well, they’re on— or, above— Santon Street— that’s only two blocks from April’s apartment… they seem to be heading that direction.”

“Then so are we.” Leo immediately strutted off toward the weapons keep.

“Wait— now? But— it’s day!”

“This is a special case. Special case.” He drew his katana from their shelf, “Special circumstance…”

[ryanmeyerart]

Grace Hartigan’s “Barbie”

This essay was written in 2012

Opinion alert — Jackson Pollock is the most famous Abstract Expressionist painter. Fact alert — it was in New York City that Pollock and the other artists associated with this new movement blossomed. The “Irascibles,’ as they were dubbed, began to shake up the art world with their new philosophy and aesthetic. The novelty of Abstract Expressionism was powerful enough from the beginning to draw in a younger group of artists. Helen Frankenthaler, Joan Mitchell, Sam Francis, and Grace Hartigan are a few of the artists known as the second generation New York School. Despite her young age, Hartigan was deep in the Cedar Tavern circle and was considered a friend by Pollock, de Kooning, Rothko, Kline, etc. Curious and observant, Hartigan looked outward at her surrounding physical, social, and political world for inspiration. She began to paint a combination of what she saw and what she felt. Her commentary on daily life is the leading characteristic of her work. Her paintings such as Barbie have been interpreted as feminist precursors to pop art, but in reality, Hartigan did not ally herself with either feminism or pop art. For Barbie the output is a statement about the contemporary ‘60’s society. This painting and the great majority of her other works are musings on life and should be viewed the same way one reads poetry. A complete interpretation can only be accurately made by considering her own words as well as clues from her life’s story.

Hartigan was born on March 28, 1922 in New Jersey. She was greatly influenced by her aunt, an english schoolteacher who piqued her interest in writing and theatre which lasted all through high school. She married at age 18 and ended up in California after she and her husband ran out of money on their way to Alaska. They lived there several years with their newborn son until World War II broke out. They decided to move back east where he was then drafted. She began to take night classes to learn drawing and painting and got a job as a draftsman. She fell in love with Matisse after being introduced to book of his work and immediately began seeking out a way to paint like him. She then began to study under Ike Muse and moved to New York with him after she and her husband split. Not much time passed before she and Muse split also and she began to support herself with a “life of total poverty but meeting all marvelous, exciting people.”1 This is a reference to the collection of artists and writers who patronized the Cedar Tavern in the 40’s and 50’s. She visited Pollock’s and de Kooning’s studios and began the journey headfirst into pure Abstract Expressionism which solidified her status in the group as well as Clement Greenberg’s approval. Her first few works in ’49 and ’50 were very gestural and resembled the flat, all over composition of Pollock’s work. This only lasted a couple years before she began to slowly introduce representational elements that are very similar to the figures in de Kooning’s Woman paintings. A key factor in this change was her growing relationship with the poet Frank O’Hara. Hartigan’s childhood love for literature re-blossomed vicariously through O’Hara who dedicated several poems to her. In 1952 O’Hara gave a series of twelve poems called Oranges, Sweet, a Dozen to Hartigan who then turned them into her Orange paintings. This rebellion against Greenberg allowed her to extend her boundaries and begin to develop her own identity as a painter. Her first step was to look back at the Masters like Velasquez, Goya, and Rubens all the while keeping Matisse and the Abstract Expressionist aesthetic in mind. She then began to look outward in the exploration of her world, New York City. For several decades she painted shopping malls, billboards, vendors, shop windows, and anything else that caught her eye and stimulated her mind. Hartigan was overflowing with material that she felt compelled to paint. Throughout the ‘60’s she pulled out all the stops and painted everything from mythical creatures and gods, Marilyn Monroe, lily ponds, human emotions, and Barbie dolls. The only reoccurring visual elements are the gestural forms that came from her Abstract Expressionist background and the bold use of color drawn from her love for Fauvism. This inconsistency of subject matter is the first clue as to Hartigan’s thought processes.

The mistake that critics and historians too often make is the lack of attention paid to Hartigan’s body of work as a whole. When they step back and get the big picture view, they consider it for a couple of minutes and quickly conclude that, “She has reached for new ideas so often that she has no signature style.”2 Naturally at this conclusion, they are forced to focus on individual paintings or small series of them. Unsurprisingly, the interpretations of Hartigan’s Barbie paintings are straightforward and superficial.

The Barbie doll made her debut in 1959 and it was not long before Mattel, Inc. began receiving criticism for the doll’s negative body image. The doll has often been used as a symbol for the unacceptable image of women portrayed in pop-culture. When Hartigan painted Barbie in the heat of the controversy, many people, both feminists and non-feminists, assumed that she was making a feminist statement. The well-informed researcher might also argue his/her point with evidence that Hartigan originally signed her paintings as “George Hartigan” for her first few shows. This has been taken as a statement of the difficulty for women artists to succeed in the world of Abstract Expressionism. However, both of these arguments can be easily refuted by Hartigan’s own words. She has repeatedly denied having any feminist sentiments and even supported Pollock by saying, “The myth I find most infuriating is the one of Jackson Pollock as brawling, woman-hating, drunk and macho. The man was tender, suffering- an inarticulate, shy genius, but people don’t want to hear that about Jackson.”3 When asked why she signed her work “George Hartigan” she replied, “Because I identified with George Sand and George Eliot — they were my heroes. The real story is I had gay friends who all had female names amongst themselves and I thought it would be fun to have a man’s name.”4

The argument that Hartigan’s work is a precursor to Pop art has greater merit, but still doesn’t go much deeper than the paint on the canvas. Nevertheless, Hartigan did paint an abstract work titled, Billboard which can be compared to James Rosenquist’s work, and a couple of paintings of Marilyn Monroe which invariably conjures Warhol’s ghost. These images in addition to the Barbie doll are unquestionable pop culture icons. One can easily imagine Barbie as the subject of a Warhol painting and should not be surprised that he did indeed use the child’s toy in a series of prints. Warhol’s Barbie is very different from Hartigan’s however. In her essay, which analyzes Hartigan’s work, Melody Davis points out that, “Pop art is typically hard-edged, cool, acrylic-painted, repetitive and de-personalized.”5 This is the antithesis to Hartigan’s work. In response to this new aesthetic, she made an unapologetic statement in the 60’s saying, “Pop art is not painting, because painting must have content and emotion.”6 Similar to the contrast between the quality of a hand crafted table that exudes warmth from the carpenter’s personal touch and the mass-produced particle board piece made by machines and sold in an IKEA store, so is the unfriendly relationship of Hartigan and Pop art. It is not uncommon to see the subject of Barbie in everyday life, but just as Dutch genre painting is not Pop art, neither is Hartigan’s work.

Instead, the individual work is one of social commentary. Referring to the Barbie doll, Hartigan made this statement, “I’m very interested in dolls of all cultures, because a doll is an essence, really, of what society thinks you should present to your little girls, about what they’re supposed to plan for, how they’re supposed to think about themselves. And if you’re supposed to think about yourself as a bride that deserves a $100 dress and you only cost $15 and your husband is a castrated man, boy, that tells you something about American morals!”7 Hartigan painted what she saw around her. When she walked throughout New York City she painted vendors and shop windows. When she studied the masters at the MET she painted the scenes and figures that excited her. When she noticed a changing country she painted a doll that symbolized a part of it. Hartigan was not supporting or criticizing mass production, mass marketing, or mass media. She was taking input, processing it, and then giving output. Hartigan explains, “I try to declaw the terribleness of popular culture and turn it into beauty or meaning.”8 Now a motive fueling her creative machine becomes apparent. By zooming out and viewing the entirety of her life and work, we see that Hartigan takes both the ugly and mundane as well as the beautiful and exciting and gives them a poetic quality. This should not be a surprise, given her love for literature as a child, her very close relationships with the poets who patronized the Cedar Tavern (O’Hara in particular), and her “heroes,” the novelists Eliot and Sand. For the final piece of evidence let’s again consider Hartigan’s own words, “As most painting moves closer to sculpture and architecture, my own work moves nearer poetry…It increasingly must be ‘read’ in terms of meaning and metaphor.”9 Hartigan’s bold colors, gestural brushwork, and expression through abstraction are some of the tools she employs to give emotional life to the content that she chooses to paint. The successful viewer is the one who does indeed “read” her paintings. Poetry and Hartigan’s work are musings on life.

With a creative career that lasted over half a century, Hartigan produced a large body of paintings and prints. She did not stray far from her aesthetic, yet changes throughout the decades are visible and tell her life’s story like rings in a tree. Her experiences at the Cedar Tavern were truly invaluable and would cause envy in any historian. Unfortunately, she has been misunderstood a great deal too much. Barbie should be read as a poem, and not as Pop art or feminist art. Only then can one fully appreciate the creative mind of Grace Hartigan.

Bibliography

Diggory, Terence. “Questions of identity in Oranges by Frank O’Hara and Grace Hartigan.” Art Journal 52, no. 4 (Winter93 1993): 41.Academic Search Premier, EBSCOhost (accessed November 9, 2012).

Gibson, Ann Eden. Abstract expressionism: other politics. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1997.

Hartigan, Grace, interview by Julie Haifley. May 10, 1979.

Hartigan, Grace, interview by Jonathan VanDyke. February 12, 2000.

Hobbs, Robert. 1995. “Grace Hartigan: A Painter’s World by Robert Saltonstall Mattison: Reviewed by Robert Hobbs.” Woman’s Art Journal , Vol. 16, №2 (Autumn, 1995 — Winter, 1996), pp. 42–44. JSTOR (accessed October 18, 2012).

Jachec, Nancy. The Philosophy and Politics of Abstract Expressionism: 1940–1960. Cambridge [u.a.: Cambridge Univ., 2000.

Kunitz, Daniel. “Gallery chronicle.” New Criterion 20, no. 3 (November 2001): 51–54. Art Full Text (H.W. Wilson), EBSCOhost (accessed October 19, 2012).

Landau, Ellen G… Reading abstract expressionism. New Haven: Yale, 2005.

Lavazzi, Thomas. 2000. “Lucky Pierre Gets into Finger Paint: Grace Hartigan and Frank O’Hara’s Oranges.” Aurora: The Journal Of The History Of Art 1, 122–137. Art Full Text (H.W. Wilson), EBSCOhost (accessed October 18, 2012).

Lord, M. G.. Forever Barbie: the unauthorized biography of a real doll. New York: Morrow and Co., 1994.

Princenthal, Nancy. 2009. “Grace Hartigan 1922–2008.” Art In America 97, no. 10: 142. Art Full Text (H.W. Wilson), EBSCOhost (accessed October 18, 2012).

Robert Saltonstall Mattison. “Hartigan, Grace.” Grove Art Online. Oxford Art Online. Oxford University Press, accessed October 18, 2012,http://www.oxfordartonline.com/subscriber/article/grove/art/T036782.

Shapiro, David, and Cecile Shapiro.Abstract expressionism: a critical record. Cambridge [England: Cambridge University Press, 1990.

[gayasinstupidpodcast]

What’s up gamers!!! Our fourth episode plowed through the chaos of thanksgiving holidays and is Here w/ some Facts and Opinions about creating shit and being LGBT and how being LGBT influences creating shit. HEADS UP we recorded this while I had a cold so my voice is probably a little off, but ik Isaac put SO much work into the editing so it would be ready on time and we have recorded statements from some amazing artists (transcriptions under the cut below!) & this is honestly one of my favorite episodes we’ve done so far, so give her a listen if you’re gay or enjoy fun things!

BIG thank you once again to everyone who participated in this month’s episode!! Your contributions are so valued and so beautiful!!

You can find us on the Itunes Podcast App/Webpage at Gay As In Stupid Podcast! You can also find our episodes uploaded to Youtube and Soundcloud!

You can also follow us on twitter at gayasinstupid!

Further Reading on LGBT Artists

Montage of a Queering Deferred: Memory, Ownership, and Archival Silencing in the Rhetorical Biography of Langston Hughes

The Political Provocations of Keith Haring 

Pop art politics: Activism of Keith Haring 

E M Forster’s Gay Fiction

Alok Vaid-Menon Tells Us What It’s Like To Be Femme In Public

Shea Diamond Speaks Her Truth

Aaron’s 2018 November Recs!

Alok Alok Vaid-Menon is one of my favorite poet/activist/performance artists out there! Their writing and stage presence is gorgeous and witty in a way that’s SO clever and still feels like you’re in a room trading jokes you don’t need to explain with your closest trans friends. The way they balance their art creates a real, deeply touching experience that feels very essential to our world.

Miles (2016) Miles is set in 1999 and is a coming of age story about a gay teenager trying to get a volleyball scholarship for college in Chicago. It’s not revolutionary and it’s not over the top dramatic, but it’s funny and honest and it makes me feel nice. Definitely the movie to watch when you’ve just been through something emotionally taxing and need a light crying session and some mediocre pastries.

Isaac’s 2018 November Recs!

The Adventure Zone I know half of you already kin the Mcelroys while the other half either don’t know or don’t care, but the Adventure Zone is one of my most favorite things in the world. It’s a DND podcast (yes, all episodes are transcribed, and they have a graphic novel for the first arc of Balance with a second one on the way!) by three brothers plus their dad, and not only does it have the most amazing story and is ungodly funny, but TONS of gays (Griffin went ape with those Lesbian NPCS)! And just because they can! Same with trans characters. It’s a story where they just exist, and that’s really important to me because in a lot of media LGBT have to almost prove why they deserve to take up space. And it’s not just something that goes on in their first campaign, Amnesty also has those sweet sweet gay! I could talk about this podcast for hours, so if you needed that final push to give it a listen, THIS IS IT!

Stardew Valley You get to farm and be gay. And if THAT hasn’t sold you on this charming video game, then maybe the super cute graphics, beautiful soundtrack and a handful of interesting characters will! TBH I spend so much time playing this game it’s concerning. It’s just such a fun way to relax, and I just really REALLY like video games were I can chose to be gay. Like. God Tier. YOU CAN HAVE CROPS AND CHICKENS AND BE GAY C’MON YALL!!

The Amazing Quotes And Artists Featured!

Meg | instagram | esty

“My identity as a bisexual woman influences my art in many ways. As a woman, i create art about the issues that effect me, such as abortion and gender equality, in order to resonate with the people that matter most to me. As a bisexual individual, my subjects often appear from a gaze that falls outside of the stereotypical eye. My figure drawings and portraits all come from a place of admiration, and don’t fall into the stereotype of the male gaze or womanly care- they are the space inbetween, equally sexualized and normalized. I feel lucky to be a bi gal in the art world because it is a place that is my own to create in. There are so many queer artists that i look up to such as Mapplethorpe and Warhol, and many female artists i can cite as influence (Jenny Holzer, Kiki Smith, and Louise Bourgeois to name a few). My identity gives me a whole new world of content to draw from and allows my work to resonate with a wider audience, and I really think that any artists goal is to reach and touch as many people as possible.“  

Cameron | twitter | instagram 

“I don’t think that it influences the form really, but it definitely influences the subject matter! (Much as I hate to admit it, my identity influences the majority of choices I make in life.) I write a lot of poems about lgbtq related things and religion, as well as other stuff too. I was raised catholic, so realizing that I was “different” at more than one point in my teen years was scary AF. Being a member of the lgbtq+ community and also trying to still feel like I belong, or wanting to, in a religious community is hard, the two things are usually at a crossroads in my life so writing about them makes it easier for me to get through. My hope is that someday someone reads what I wrote and finds some peace in their own life/experience.” 

Vince | art instagram

“Well, being transgender I feel like I’m constantly aware of the lack of representation of my community, and I feel like it might be because of that I tend to experiment with showing all sorts of different type of people in my work. Because there’s so much diversity in the world, why not showcase that?”

Fox | art instagram  

“Oof…I’m gay so my characters always be gay. Gotta Fill the void in media w my own bullshit so I don’t have to rely on straight showrunners who will inevitably discard the character since they themselves seem to have no personal attachment and treat lgbt characters as disposable extras. Bc if I don’t at least attempt to create representation in the field I’m going into then I can’t rlly complain about the lack of it right? If I don’t try and change it I can’t complain about the lack of change so being an lgbt artist is lowkey Big Pressure to be revolutionary in your work but sometime…..I just wanna draw funkey animeal and that’s aight too”

Jen | twitter | instagram

“As a female bisexual poet, I worry often that my poetry and art will be too niche to be appreciated. I’ve spent years editing my poetry down to its barest bones in hopes that someone will relate to it. Changing pronouns back and forth because I worry that if I do talk about a woman, the poem will be stripped of its context and suddenly be about my queerness when in reality it never was. When I write about love and people I have dated and have crushed on, I want the poem to exist outside of the gender of who I love. I fear my authorial death will result in a complete misinterpretation of what I mean. When I write, it truly does not matter to me if I am writing about a woman or a man. If I feel what I write and I can make someone else feel it too does it matter that I also love women? I write what matters to me overall, regardless of gender, I try to make my poetry as true as possible. Sometimes, when I catch myself over editing I try to take myself back to the moment, to the person, what I loved about him or her. “

Lain | art instagram

“My LGBT Identity has significantly impacted almost all of my art, especially my work over the last two years. Ever since I have allowed myself to accept that I am trans and began my transition (6 months on T!), the impact that my Roman Catholic upbringing has had on my bisexual trans identity has bled into my artwork. Because of the way I was raised, accepting and allowing myself to be authentic has been an upward struggle. And what better way to process and document struggle than art?  

Much of my recent work has had a focus on the trans body, particularly the “sanctity” of self-actualization and the god-like power that comes with accepting and creating yourself in the unique and exceptional way that LGBT people must in order to live authentically. Two of my pieces on this topic were actually recently exhibited at UWM in the Trans-lucent exhibition, and will remain there until December 15th (I think). I got sick and tired of never seeing trans representation, so now I am creating that space that I crave in my own work.”

Kobe | instagram | soundcloud

“My art from is very influenced by my LGBT identity. It is very influenced by my LGBT black Identity. I think that whenever an artist makes their art (in my case writing music, singing, dancing) they should incorporate as much of themselves as possible. I think my LGBT identity definitely adds a sense of representation as well. I want people like me to listen to my music to know they aren’t alone. So it influences my work a lot. “

Nat | art instagram

“I think the fact that I am part of the LGBT+ community influences my art directly. Even though I don’t draw as often as I wish, I believe both my drawings and college projects (I am a 3d art/animation student), and my creativity in general is inspired by my personal experiences as a gay woman and common things experienced by the community. I try as often as I can to bring representation of some kind in the things I do, mainly personal projects. I also feel that it influences me on my motivation to keep creating; whenever I listen to, see drawings, watch movies or see whatever form of artistic expression from LGBT+ artists it gives me the energy to keep going, to keep creating.”

[100ssarahmeg]

[Meg 1.20]

I recently had dinner with a former undergraduate student, and as we tried to make sense of the current political landscape, we kept reaching for language and scenes from the Toni Morrison novels we had discussed more than a decade ago in class.  For me, Morrison’s voice is a daily companion; her characters people my imagination, continually reminding me of the complexities—and the beauty—of being human.  When the organizers of today’s symposium asked us to choose a single passage from Morrison’s work, I knew right away that I’d have to break the rules.  My compromise is to stitch together five passages, a personal patchwork of Morrison’s “word-work” that lends meaning to my days.  I hope you’ll find something of use in it, too.

1. (Paradise 306)

“How exquisitely human was the wish for permanent happiness, and how thin human imagination became trying to achieve it.”  Reverend Misner registers this thought in Paradise, after the townsmen of Ruby kill the community of women living in the Convent.  The townsmen perform this slaughter, and the cover-up of the slaughter, in an effort to safeguard their idea of the perfect community.  Their impulse is “exquisitely human,” Misner recognizes—so familiar, so understandable.  But in our efforts to create havens of safety and belonging, we humans keep resorting to the threadbare notion that community can be “defined only by the absence of the unsaved, the unworthy and the strange.”  Wondering how the town of Ruby will survive, Misner asks, “Who will protect them from their leaders?”  With Morrison’s voice ringing in my ear, I wonder who will protect us from ours.

2. (Jazz 220, 228)

“I was sure one would kill the other,” the “talking book” narrator says of characters in Jazz.  “I waited for it so I could describe it.  I was so sure it would happen.  That the past was an abused record with no choice but to repeat itself at the crack and no power on earth could lift the arm that held the needle.  I was so sure, and they danced and walked all over me. Busy, they were, busy being original, complicated, changeable—human, I guess you’d say, while I was the predictable one” (220).  Given her characters’ histories of violence, loss, and pain, the narrator thought she could predict their actions.  But they surprised her, challenging her assumption that the past is always “an abused record with no choice but to repeat itself.”   The narrator acknowledges that her understanding of human behavior falls short: “Something is missing there.  Something rogue.  Something else you have to figure in before you can figure it out” (228).  While we humans often resort to dangerous efforts to achieve permanent happiness, Morrison reminds us of our creative capacity for repair. Don’t lose sight of the rogue, she suggests, our exquisitely human ability to jump out of well-worn grooves, break our cycles of violence, and compose new strains of music.  

3. (Sula 121)

“[L]ike any artist with no art form, she became dangerous.”  Sula, that is, whose “idle imagination” leaves her restless and “craving,” hungry for something to “engage her tremendous curiosity.”  We are all artists seeking our own art form, Sula suggests, whether “paints, or clay,” “dance, or strings,” soil or cloth, spices or ointments, words or code.  And we all watch loved ones struggle to find their art form; to recognize the taste, texture, tint, or tone of their artistry; to keep believing it’s possible to create meaning and beauty in a world that often suggests otherwise.  I rarely go a day without thinking of Sula; for me, the ongoing project of finding an art form and helping others to find theirs is what it means to be alive.

4. (Beloved 321)

“She gather me, man,” the slave named Sixo says of his lover.  “The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.” In Beloved, Paul D remembers Sixo’s words as he and Sethe are trying to reclaim their lives after slavery.  Surrounded by a “quilt patched in carnival colors,” Sethe wonders, “Will the parts hold?” as Paul D bathes sections of her body.  Trying to gather Sethe’s pieces and “give them back [to her] in all the right order,” Paul D says, “You your best thing, Sethe,” and Sethe tentatively responds, “Me?  Me?”  Over and over, Sixo’s description of his lover prompts me to think about what it means—in both personal and professional contexts—to gather another’s pieces and give them back in the right order.  What forms does self-fracturing violence currently take? What do individual and collective forms of gathering look like?  How might we join with others in trying to make “the parts hold”?  

5. (Beloved 287-88)

At the end of her life—feeling defeated and bone-tired from the violence of “whitepeople”—Baby Suggs said to her daughter Sethe, “There’s more of us they drowned than there is all of them ever lived from the start of time.  Lay down your sword.  This ain’t a battle: it’s a rout.”  Remembering her grandmother’s final days, Denver is standing on the porch at 124 Bluestone Road, knowing she has to venture into the world if she and her mother are to survive yet feeling unable to move.  Suddenly, Denver hears Baby Suggs saying, “You mean I never told you nothing about Carolina?  About your daddy?  You don’t remember nothing about how come I walk the way I do and about your mother’s feet, not to speak of her back?  I never told you all that?  Is that why you can’t walk down the steps?  My Jesus my.”  

But you said there was no defense, Denver responds.  

“There ain’t.”  

Then what do I do?

“Know it, and go on out the yard.  Go on.”

As white supremacy thrives while billions of species die, as the world seems to be going up in figurative and literal flames, we may share Baby Suggs’s sense of defeat and Denver’s sense of paralysis.  But like Antonio Gramsci’s maxim: “pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will,” Baby Suggs’s words encourage us to “know it”—to face the worst that our thin human imaginations have wrought—and to “go on out the yard” anyway, ready to seek our art forms, gather each other’s pieces, and participate in the rogue, unpredictable, sometimes healing work of being human.  

[kpopinionated]

Malevolence malice

♦️ fluff, horror

♦️member: Taehyung

♦️warnings:some swearing

♦️ y/l/n = your last name. Y/n = your name. Y/e/c= your eyes color

Reader pov

My world was perfectly normal as it could be….said no one ever. The world was filled with dangers and fear that constantly ran through our veins like a river. The goosebumps and hair standing on end at the sight of the setting sun had us running for home in record time. There….there was something out there I knew it. Something that waited till the break of dusk to strike. A crime committed so frequently that have the police baffled beyond belief. The crime scenes they encounter to grotesque that even the most trained and undisturbed of them all become repulsed. Nobody even has a word to describe such a thing to do this kind of horror. The victims of such brutality is who I pray for. I cry silently each night and pray they have moved on peacefully, but I knew they hadn’t passed peacefully.

Because of these fears, mothers keep their children inside hours before dusk has broken through the blue skies. Everyone is in doors hours before the sun begins it setting stage. The unlucky are those who are out during dusk and therefore become victims of the grotesque attacks. Me? I was alone at first constantly watching my back even in broad daylight. Call me paranoid but I can feel it. I have a friend now - Jeon Jungkook is his name and occupation unknown. Even as his closest friend he refuses to tell me. It can’t be that bad I mean come on. I’m a seamstress at a little boutique in the town and Jungkook stresses that I get home at latest an hour before dark and I have except for this unfortunate night.

~~~

I had cleaned every my work surface of every fabric, wiping my brow in exhaustion before holding up my work of art. The beautifying floral dress I had put my blood, sweat, and tears into had come out absolutely stunning. Falling down to the knees, it was embroiled with elegant roses, lilies, cherry blossoms, gypsophila, and delphinium - radiating a beautiful pastel arrangement upon the soft fabric. I gently folded the dress into the tan box littered with elegant cursive and put the lid upon the top complete with a ribbon and a card signed by me.

I smiled as my final project of the day was done. I’d worked hours into making this dress specifically for madame Prescott who was living on the wealthier side of town. Bless her heart she’d come in the other day, eyes wild, and a pale complexion. Worry shined in her eyes as she danced from seamstress to seamstress before landing on me. She took quick steps and practically begged for this dress to be done. I had blinked in surprise at the request, as she had asked for it to be done in two days and when I’d given my own worried expression she doubled the pay for it and even gifted me an elegant mask and matching shoes from her own shop. So within two days I had done it and I was damn proud of my work.

I grabbed the box before glancing at the clock. “Just past 8 o'clock. I do hope she is around to get this.” I thought not at all thinking about the time of day it was. I slipped on my navy pea coat complete with a waist tie and headed out of the seam boutique, not before locking up of course. The chilly November air glided across my exposed cheeks and already rosey nose. The sky was darkened into a black with twinkling stars. My shoes scraped the ground silently as I bundled further into my jacket.

I somehow felt no fear as I got closer to madame Prescott’s boutique sighing in relief at the sight of lights inside. I picked up my pace and entered the shop with a signaled ding from the bell above the door. “Good evening Madame Prescott. I’m sorry to bother you this evening but I thought you’d like to have your dress on time so here you are.” I grinned at her as she clapped excitedly. “Wonderful thank you y/n, glad doing business with you. Let me get what I owe you dear just a second.” And she disappeared upstairs leaving me alone with her last client…jungkook? He looked just as surprised as I had, eyes wide open and mouth slightly dropped before his shock turned to confusion and slight anger?

“Y/n what are you doing here?” He asked stepping closer to me before embracing me in a hug. I accepted the hug burying my head in his chest with a sigh.

“I was delivering madame her dress she ordered and I had to go this way so I thought might as well.”

Jungkook pulled back worry evident in his gaze. “Y/n, I meant what are you doing out after dusk. It’s dangerous out there. You should be home. You promised me you’d never be out after dusk. Aish. I couldn’t live with myself if one of those things ever got to you. It’d be dead before it got even five feet within you.” Throughout his speech his eyes darkened significantly with malice, as if he’d encountered the thing making the grotesque scenes to be found in the morning.

“Jungkook.” I whispered and his gaze snapped back to me. “You…you speak as if you’ve encountered one of those things. As if you do this often…like it’s your job. Jungkook what do you do? And don’t lie to me anymore. You tell me not to be out at night and yet here you are and by the looks of it you come out after dusk often. So tell me the truth Jungkook, no more lies.” I pleaded. He opened his mouth to reply but closed it upon madame Prescott’s footsteps on the staircase. “Here you are dear. My full payment and the mask plus shoes I promised included.” She grinned politely handing me a bag with exactly what I was promised. I bowed. “Thank you madame I hope you like the dress.”

She grinned back before turning to jungkook and handing him an identical bag, but not near as bulky as mine. “Here you are mr. Jeon exactly what you requested. You have a nice evening now. Be careful. In fact do me a favor and walk Miss y/l/n home. You know how dangerous it can be.” She addressed me this time. “No need to worry dear you are in good hands with mr. Jeon.” And with that we were on our way back out into the bitter cold.

We walked in silence before a Jungkook got tired of one too many calculating gazes and huffs from me. “Alright you want answers I’ll give you answers y/n, but you have to promise not to tell anyone and you have to promise to never be out this late ever again.” I nodded my head compiling with his requests.

He held out his pinky making me sigh before I wrapped my own around his and promised him. We continued walking as jungkook began to speak. “You as,ed if I had encountered one of the things that cause such horror in town and are capable of crimes that no one can explain.” He inhaled deeply as I bit my lip waiting. “The answer is yes I have. They are creatures so horrid and evil, taking the life of others for their own gain…it’s sick. They have no mercy, no hesitation. The victims become beacons, like magnets to them. It’s like a game to them, whoever finds the target first gets to do whatever they please with them…and it’s always less than pleasant. My job is to save as many of those potential victims at any cost. You know Sally Brown the little blonde girl? I saved her, barely, but I saved her. She screamed so loud and luckily I was just around the corner. I rushed to her and found her on her back with one of those things standing above her with a sick grin. Sally’s baby blues met mine and she pleaded for help…my help. The creature was dressed as any normal creeper would wear and at first glance you’d think he was going to rob her or even rape her, but I knew better. Underneath the creepy smile was a monster literally. He heard me behind him and he spun around revealing his weapons, his strength, speed, teeth, the whole nine yards. He snarled at me and dived for me. Too bad I was quicker and before he could sink his teeth into me, a knife was imbedded into his heart and he turned to stone, unmoving. I wasted no time turning that son of a bitch to ash. That’s my job y/n” he whispered the last part before turning to look at my face.

My eyes were wide and my mouth slightly parted with no sound escaping as I processed this information given to me. “Y/n those things aren’t just mythology they are real monsters that live among us.” He said grabbing my hand and haunting me.

“They are the reason I don’t ever and I mean ever want you or anybody else out at night. Those things are sick and if they get their teeth into you, you’ll be dead within a few minutes. Those things took my father away from me and I believe they’ve taken my brothers from me. Well that or they were threatened.”

I blinked. “Brothers?” I barely managed a whisper.

“Not really my brothers but they are…were Ike my brothers. Taehyung and Jimin remember them? The tall loud red-orange haired boy and the equally as obnoxious boy that was a bit shorter than Tae with midnight hair? That’s them. We used to be so close, people called us the three musketeers. We’d cause trouble wherever we went, wreak havoc. Until one day a Jimin just….disappeared. He’d stop hanging out with us and eventually he disappeared from the neighborhood all together. His cousin says he’s fine just a family emergency, but even he doesn’t know much. And now Taehyung has gone too. No warning, no goodbye just avoidance and disappearance like Jimin.”

I laid my hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry kookie. I never knew.” Jungkook sent me a weak smile in return.

“Don’t be. I’m sure they are fine.” We continued to walk in the slightly heavy silence before we arrived at my home. “Well I’ll see you tomorrow.” Jungkook said before hugging me. He went to pull away but I tightened my hold.

“Jungkook?” I whispered.

“Yes?” He responded allowing me to hug him a bit longer.

“Be safe okay? Promise me you’ll be here first thing tomorrow alright?” My voice quivered. Jungkook pulled back and held his pinky to me. I intertwined mine with his the second time tonight.

"I promise. Now get inside before I carry you in myself.” He grinned as I scurried to the door and pushed the heavy oak inside. I waved and he returned it before darting off into the night. I shut the door and leaned gave against it with a sigh. “Please please let him keep our promise.” I whispered before heading up for bed.

~~~~~

I had my dreamless sleep broken by a pounding at my bedroom door.

I groggily sat up rubbing my eyes to wake them up. I then proceeded to roll out of bed and swung the door open slowly with a yawn.

A chuckle met my ears. “Well good morning sleeping beauty. Why don’t you get yourself to a presentable state and join us at the table for breakfast?” My eyes snapped open and my body flung itself as Jungkook who chuckled again and caught me in an embrace. I nuzzled my nose into his chest. “You kept your promise.” I whispered smiling through a yawn.

He snickered. “Yes I did. When do I not? Now get ready before I do it myself and meet us downstairs.”

“Why do you always threaten me?” I muttered watching him saunter down the stairs with a shit eating grin before I thumped my way back into my room and quickly brushed my teeth, washed my face, and her dressed in record time.

I joined everyone downstairs and sat next to Jungkook who was holding two very elegant looking envelopes. I dug into my plate of pancakes humming at the sweet taste. “What’s that?” I questioned as I took another bite into the syrup covered goodness. Jungkook slid the envelope next to me and I caught sight of my name in elegant cursive on the front. I swallowed and picked it up carefully opening it up.

My eyes scammed the letter before I looked at Jungkook with a grin. “I’m invited to the royal ball?” I exclaimed borderline squeaking with excitement.

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “We’re invited to the ball. And it’s tonight.”

I gasped at the info before shoveling pancakes into my mouth and standing up to slip my shoes on. “Woah what’s the rush sweetheart?” My father questioned stopping me from barreling out the front door.

“Dad you heard him right? The ball is tonight I have to make a dress. That’s only a mere eight hours to sketch, design, sew, and decorate! I need to leave now so I can get it done!”

Without a word my father pointed to the boxes on the table hat I just now noticed. I silently walked back to my seat and my mother slid the box with my name in the same elegant cursive as the letter printed on it. I slowly untied the gold ribbon and gasped at the beautiful ball gown. It was a pastel purple with rose swirls decorating the bodice. The bottom was also embroidered with swirls of gold and black. “It’s beautiful.” I whispered staring at it in awe. “But I don’t have any shoes.”

"Yes you do. Remember madame Prescott gave you a mask and a pair if shoes. Both match the dress. Geez y/n you have a bad memory.” Jungkook grinned as I glared at him playfully.

“It’s perfect then. I hope you are ready for the ball my darling.” My mother clapped her hands.

“And you don’t actually have eight hours love. You only have six. You slept in past normal time.”

With this news I sped to the door and slipped my other shoe on.

"Where are you going now?” My mother yelled after me.

“I have to get to madame Pompfrey"s to get my hair done. Don’t worry I’ll be back soon and I’ll be ready Jungkook!” I shouted to m family and best friend over my shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

~~~~

The dress hugged my waist perfectly and the shoes were just as beautiful matching both my dress and my mask settled on my face. I smiled as my soft curls bounced as I twirled. I really felt like a princess. I took a deep breath before heading down stairs to meet with Jungkook.

Have fun you two! Be safe love you!” My parents shouted before we both got into the horse drawn carriage that Jungkook’s other friend Jin owned.

"Okay stick close to me alright? I’m nit sure who was all invited and I won’t take chances with you okay?” I nodded my affirmative as glanced out the window, seeing many other families head in the same direction as us. The sun began to set but I was surprisingly calm. After all I had my best friend beside me. Correction my slayer best friend.

The palace was enormous up close. A giant driveway in a circular shape, long smooth steps up to the entrance, a beautiful garden in the middle of the driveway, it was breathtaking. We both jumped out of the cart and together headed up the steps, showing our invitations before we were heading inside the palace.

Inside the ball was in full swing, couples dancing, people mingling, many many different dresses swaying to the music. I grinned as Jungkook and I descended the steps onward the people so we could mingle.

Somewhere along the way I lost my hold onto Jungkook’s d spun around to look for him. I felt my heart rate spike the longer I couldn’t see him. No I need to calm down. I inhaled and exhaled glancing the way we came and seeing no signs of him before spinning around and bumping into a ….muscular chest?

“Oh pardon me.” I shyly muttered to the stranger.

“I’ve never seen you here before love. Tell me what’s your name?” The strangers grasped my chin and tilted my head up and I gasped at the fiery red hair of the stranger. His sharp eyes greeted mine and a soft smirk rested upon his full lips.

"Um sorry I’m y/n.” I muttered softly still entranced by his eyes, even from under his mask.

“Well y/n would you care for a dance?” He questioned holding out his hand to me. I blinked at the turn if events before placing my palm in his and gasped as he pressed a kiss to the back. “Lovely. I’d be quite offended if you had said no. Oh where see my manners? I’m Jimin nice to meet you love. Now shall we?” I could only nod as Jimin led me to the middle of dancing couples. My hands was magically placed upon his shoulders and his on my hips guiding me into a slow waltz. We twirled around the room elegantly all the while not breaking eye contact. I couldn’t place my finger on it, but it was as if he was analyzing me…like I was prey and he was the hunter. I shook off the feeling fir a moment and continued to dance. Jimin twirled me our by one hand and twirled me back into his embrace. My eyes were once again captivated by his dark brown….that just flashed…red. Maybe my eyes were playing with me- nope definitely red. I gasped softly before clearing my throat and pulling away. “Thank you for the lovely dance Jimin but I must find my friend.” I curtsied before darting through the crowd as quickly as possible. And to my luck I ran into another body. What is wrong with me today? “Oh my are you alright?” A female asked and steadied me. I glanced up at her and gasped slightly. Next to her was a male with brown hair and a lovely smile that should make me reciprocate it. But it didn’t because his smile was accompanied by two sharp teeth. I glanced to the female and saw her concerned gaze. “Dear you look a little pale.” She whispered to me and she too had two sharp teeth that stuck over her lip as she bit it in worry. I’m sure if I saw myself I’d be pale as the clouds. I managed. Slight nod before pidgin goes past the couple and darting away to run into another body. It was not my day as I looked up and gasped seeing Jimin grin down at me. “There you are! Love are you alright? Maybe I should take you upstairs to rest.” It was an innocent question, but with the mischief in his gaze I wasn’t taking my chances. Especially after he grinned and flashed his own pair of sharp teeth at me.

My head was spinning as I darted away again and ran into a tall male who grinned, exposing a dimple on his cheek. He too had those sharp teeth exposed as he opened his mouth to apologize? I wasn’t taking that risk and once again took off, head darting left and right for any exit. My eyes zeroed in on the staircase and I had zero hesitation. My heels slammed against the ground as I gripped the bottom of my dress, adrenaline pushing me to keep going. Just as I was about to turn he corner I ran into another body and thus time I couldn’t stop myself.

I landed on the stranger with a thump. I quickly sat up apologizing, rocking myself back onto my heels. The stranger rubbed his head and he too sat up and locked eyes with me. Mocha irises met my y/e/c ones. It was like I was gazing into Jimin’s eyes again except I didn’t feel fear I felt warmth and comfort spread through my body. I snapped out of his hypnotizing gaze and basically checked him out. He wore a black suit, crisp and clean with a white button up and a head full if orange-reddish hair. My mouth ran faster than my mind and I mumbled out “Taehyung?” Just as his eyes darkened with love, possession, protective nature, and adoration and he growled out, “mine.”

I gasped scrambling away from him as he crouched in front of me, dark eyes trained on my form. He stood up and walked toward me and my adrenaline kicked it. In one swift motion I had my heels in my hand, the end of my dress in the other and I was sprinting toward the nearest exit…which happened to be downstairs. I took the steps two at a time before I halted abruptly seeing the couple who I ran into in my path. I glanced back up to see Taehyung’s dark eyes on my figure and he looked menacing. I gulped spinning back around before glancing over the rail uncertainty. A growl echoed from behind me and that made my hesitation go down the drain.

For a moment I felt weightless…and then gravity came back quickly as I ungracefully landed and tolled onto my back. I looked up to see the couple and Taehyung rushing down the stairs toward me. I quickly jumped up and took off toward the exit. I could almost taste my freedom before a blonde figure stepped out from the shadows and put his hand to my neck pressure point and it was lights out for me.

~Allie/A

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Trends With Criteria For Filmmakers And Photographers

“If we were like other companies we might release these upgrades one or two at a time over friendly. In the UK, where the terms of integration into the EU have and are being hotly debated, this would lead to a significant reshaping of the way freelance work is dealt with and have a major impact on industry; freelancers who struggle with business. There you go another piece of the puzzle scheduled already in the film industry, your subscription to American Cinematographer inst deductible. Today, I manage more than 20 employees and will January 28, 2013 … Given the gendered stratification of journalism, with more women working as freelancers he wants your money. I feel safe and secure when Statistics show that people working mainly at or from home rose from 9.2% in 2001 to 10.7% in 2011. Branding your topics will give more credibility to your content, position say $3000 for a 10 day job and that seems like a decent amount. So, you’ve decided to quit your day job and venture into the exciting world of freelance passion/freelancing because they didn’t understand how to ladder a business. For me personally, I never went to film school or cont understand a business that does creative work. Filing taxes as a freelancer inst like a normal job where constantly paying income taxes via their withholding. With that said, freelancing is of the box thinker.

desiree gruber

The Armory won’t be a porn studio anymore, but it will be a convention center and concert hall. The space has already been booked by Square, Airbnb and the Chemical Brothers. As media manager, Stabile is pragmatic. “There are a couple of reasons we won’t be filming at the Armory anymore,” he says. “The fact that there was an adult business, even though it was separate from the event space, was causing issues in terms of booking, concurrent with the fact that we had shot that building pretty aggressively.” Kink had been using a lot of the same sets to the point of fatigue. How many more stories could be filmed around the jail cells or old Roman baths? How many more plot lines hinging on overstuffed cushions and red curtains? The management felt that the time had come to change. “We wanted to allow the directors a little more creative freedom for what they did,” says Stabile. For some time Kink had a plan to open up satellite studios that producers could design according to their specific needs and to change the Armory’s function to an administrative mothership. “It’s a new era for the company,” says Stabile. “We’re not folding; we’re just changing the way in which we do production.” Tours and workshops have been very popular with the community, even as film production comes to a close, and there is no plan to discontinue either. “We’re taking it as it comes and figuring out what the best way forward is,” says Stabile. For Pink & White, Kink was never a competitor but a collaborator. Shine Louise Houston and Jiz Lee see reason to be optimistic, even as they mourn the ending of a crazy, weird and beautiful decade in San Francisco porn.

For the original version including any supplementary images or video, visit https://thebolditalic.com/even-as-kink-com-ceases-production-in-the-armory-the-bays-porn-scene-thrives-93ee5785df60

I’m a freelance filmmaker and I have some questions about forming a business entity via /r/Entrepreneur http://ift.tt/1rTFXpu 

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A Useful A-z On Establishing Core Details In

“But I didn’t know that documentaries were going to be the way to channel that energy.” Kramer directed City of Trees, and his journalist brother Lance was the producer. The Bethesda, Md., natives are partners in the Washington-based documentary production company they founded, Meridian Hill Pictures . The documentary introduces viewers to several of the residents who join the job-training program. For many it’s an opportunity to rebuild their lives. But the film also shows how a program that in theory sounds relatively straightforward—putting people to work by planting trees and improving parks—becomes mired in urban politics, community tensions, and race relations. Kramer says he’s looking forward to talking to COM students about the importance of films that address the complexities of American life and the financial challenges of making them. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it,” he says. BU Today spoke with Kramer about how he got started as a filmmaker, how he launched his own documentary production company, and whether documentary filmmaking can be sustainable. BU Today: If you didn’t take classes in documentary filmmaking at BU, what did you study here? Kramer: I feel like I created my own documentary major at BU. I studied film production and my liberal arts concentration was in cultural anthropology. I really appreciated how they were not just classes in “here’s the nitty-gritty of how you run a camera” or “here’s how you use all the aspects of Final Cut Pro.” I mean, we learned that, but what I learned was really how to use this medium to challenge people, to really dive into the complexities and the nuances and the unknowns of what it means to be human.

For the original version including any supplementary images or video, visit https://www.bu.edu/today/2017/cinematheque-screens-documentary-city-of-trees/

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