#the dressings surrounding it are more what drew my criticism and that’s another discussion. but that’s not what will make or break it

[crowlore]

not at all to say i don’t have criticisms of veilguard but it’s kinda funny watching people say they hate it for dropping plotlines and that it “should have been more like mass effect 3” as if we didn’t hate mass effect 3 for how it culminated the trilogy…like it’s okay to not like this game idc but don’t lie and say it should have been like another game we tore to shreds lmao let your opinions stand on their own

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Cruel Summer Pt. III

Summary: Based loosely off of Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift. Things seem to be on a roller coaster, highs and lows and jumping emotions. A discussion about one of the pivotal points of their relationships that could either be the start of a new beginning or the awakening of a terrible ending.

Word Count: 1818

Warnings: Angst, fluff, manipulative-ish speech, very slight age gap, implied smut, almost ddlg elements but not quite (Please let me know if I missed anything, I will be happy to add on)

A/N: Tags are at the bottom. I am so sorry this took literally a lifetime to write and get out but its FINALLY HERE. Will be added to AO3 at some point. NO spoilers, takes place before the events of Knives out. Read Part One Here // Read Part Two Here

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs, likes, comments, and constructive criticism welcomed and highly appreciated.

Hummingbirds sang their beautiful song, fluttering through the evening sun. Wind bristling through the trees, the faint sound of wind chimes and a bird splashing in the bird bath. The outside air; light and warm, a breath of life and happiness. Almost taunting with how it didn't change from how it was left. 

It was a stark contrast to the nearly tangible heaviness that cast itself inside, sitting thick and awkward. The sound of a metal spoon clinking against glass nearly drowning out the sound of the help Ransom paid to stay and make dinner. The warmth of the cup of tea keeping thoughts from straying too far as tension begin to settle. 

Uncomfortable shifting in the dining chair, occasional, timid glances to the man next to you. Never had you ever seen him look so raw. His hair pushed back from running his hands through it so many times, instead of from the numerous products you knew he had stocked in his closet. The sweater he wore, albeit already worn, was so stretched out from him pulling on the cuffs that it naturally just rested against his palm. One hand fiddled with the fabric as he bit at his nails on the other. 

The last time he even looked remotely this nervous was after a few drinks when he showed you some writing he had done, something he hid but was proud of. And that was easily more than a year ago. But now, now was different. This almost looked like regret. 

After a quick sip of the warm liquid to calm your nerves, you cleared your throat, looking over at him. Ransom's gaze quickly snapped to focus in on you, waiting for you to speak.

"You asked me to stay, so what is it you could possibly want to talk about now?" You hadn't meant to sound so rude, but the exhaustion and irritability of the situation had settled heavily. You'd give anything to just have this over with, to be able to be alone and process everything. 

Ransom opened his mouth to speak, but closed it before letting out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. "I just don't understand how we're somehow on the same page and not at the same damn time. Frankly, I don't understand how we were both there and you somehow… came out feeling like, like that about it, about me."

A scoff escaped from you, shaking your head and looking at him with utter bewilderment written on your face. "Ransom, you truly don't see how I could have fallen in love with you?" His only response was a look that was somewhere between confusion and certainty, as if he was confused as to how love was even an option. 

"Okay then," you took another sip of your tea before staring back at him, determined at this point to at least make him see it your way, if not to even hurt him a little. "Tell me, how do you remember our trip to Paris?"

He huffed out a chuckle that was void of amusement, eyebrows scrunched as he shrugged, "I don't know, it was about a month after I started fucking your brains out. Woke up one morning and told you to pack a bag, which you did because at that point you did whatever I said, and we flew to Paris in my private jet. We spent a week there, having sex and eating at fancy restaurants. I bought you a bunch of clothes and jewelry. Then we came home."

Your eyes had fallen shut, shaking your head and clicking your tongue as you opened them. He looked smug, but his attitude quickly changed when he saw the anger and disbelief pouring itself out of you. "That's truly how you remember that trip?"

He shrugged, "Yeah," his voice faltered softly as he continued, "How do you remember it?"

Some part of you begged not to open that door, not to go diving in to memories that would no doubt leave you even more hurt than before. 

Delicate touches and even softer sheets, a soft breeze rustling the sheer curtains that led to the balcony overlooking the city, intricate smells - a warming mixture of coffee, baked bread, and a touch of nicotine.

Everything about it screamed Paris, the city of romance, the city of love and adventure. The city that undoubtedly shifted the emotions that flowed. 

"I know you're awake, baby girl," your eyes hadn't even opened yet, a smile creeping on your lips as your skin warmed at the sound of the pet name. 

There was that low chuckle, the one the vibrated the chest your head rested on, that made you melt and float at the same time. The delicate touches, the soft swirls he drew on your back turned to a firm squeeze on your hip. "Get your sweet ass up, I'm taking you out." 

Ransom slid out from underneath you, soft whines leaving you in protest as you finally opened your eyes to look at him. You were met with his bare backside as he made his way to the bathroom. "I'm too sore to move," you called out with a pout. 

He stopped at the door way, looking over his shoulder at you, eyes dark and a shit eating grin on his face. "Well, I suggest if you want me to kiss it better, you better get your ass in the damn shower."

-

"Where are you taking me?" The words came out as a giggle as you clung onto Ransom's arm, blindfolded and letting him lead you to God only knows as. The ground beneath gradually became flat and smooth, unlike the walkways of the streets. 

"You're not selling me off, are you?" You teased.

Ransom chuckled and you could feel his body move as he shook his head. "No, sweetheart. You're worth much more than everything you're about to see. It'd be hard finding someone willing to pay that much."

He stopped moving, reaching up to slowly pull the blindfold off. "You used to talk about visiting art museums all across the world when we were little, so I figured this'd be a nice little treat."

You squealed softly and you took in your surroundings. You were standing in the middle of the Tuileries garden at the Louvre, beautiful sculptures and flora overwhelming your senses. "God! You really do spoil me," you look at him with a bright smile. "Come on, I'm dragging you through as much as possible before you decide it's time to leave."

He smirked and shook his head, "Well, we have reservations at 6 for a restaurant not too far from here. But other than that, the day is yours, princess."

"You're letting me decide what we do for a whole day?" You raised your eyebrows at him. 

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises," that cocky tone was something you were coming to love more than tolerate, "Lead the way."

-

It was no wonder Ransom made you wear a nicer dress that day, insisting on you putting a little more effort into your appearance than usual. He never asked for anything like that. You found it odd earlier that morning as you smeared his favorite red lipstick across your lips, but as you stood outside the restaurant where meals cost easily as much as your phone bill, you understood. 

A balcony seat with a view overlooking the city. The sun was just starting to set, spreading hues of pink, purple, and gold in the sky as the lights from the Eiffel Tower could be seen glowing in the distance. People were still bustling in the streets, couples hand in hand, kids running and laughing, the occasional Parisian leaning against the stone building with a cigarette. It hit you then that there was no one else you'd want to be in Paris with. 

Already, Ransom had pulled your seat out for you and pushed you in, ordered your drinks and food for you, and as you looked back at him you caught him staring. For just a split second there was something more to the look on his face, a glisten in his eyes you'd never seen before. But, just as soon as you saw it, it was gone. A smirk spread across his lips, his eyes set back to their normal hue and you wanted nothing more than to smack it off his face. 

Not because he was being an asshole or because he was right about something (and knew damn well you were wrong), but because you knew this time that smirk was hiding something. But the time to pester and whine was neither here nor there when you were surrounded by riches, lavished in the luxury that was Paris, the upscale restaurant, and the company of Ransom. 

-

The cool metal of the railing nipped through the material of your shirt as you overlooked the now dark city from the comfort of your hotel room. A few glasses of wine you normally wouldn't drink, a shared cigarette you didn't quite like but did anyway because "it's a part of the experience"; and quite honestly, Ransom could get you to try anything at least once. 

The padding of his bare feet across the floor and onto the patio pulled you out of the replay the was looping in your head. The soft smiles, the feeling of his hand in your, the laughter and warmth that filled your chest all day quickly being pushed to the side as he reached his arms around you, quicker than you could turn around. 

Ransom clasped a necklace around your neck and when you looked down to examine it your heart swelled. A dainty, chain with a nice size diamond laid against your skin. If you didn't know any better your say it resembled a heart but… maybe that was just wishful thanking. 

"Ransom, you didn't have to ge-"

"I wanted to," he quickly cut you off, "And be a good girl for me and don't ever take it off." He looked at you expectantly as you looked back at him, eyes glossy and a slight pout to your lip as emotions overwhelmed you. "Promise?"

"Promise."

Reaching into your bag you pulled something out. Without even looking at it you tossed it at him, annoyance and hurt written on your face as you both watched the diamond necklace skitter toward him and stop by his hand that rested on on the table. 

You watched as Ransom picked it up, swallowing hard and jaw setting as he examined the piece of jewelry. A sigh and shake of his head as he eyes fell to the little "H" he had engraved on the backside of it. 

You smirked, huffing and biting the inner corner of your cheek before speaking, "Go ahead and tell me again how this was just an arrangement."

Taglis (cross through means you were unable to be tgged)   @sweetlittlegingy @star-spangled-steve @jessiejunebug @fresa-luna @thegirlwithpaperheart @jesaigne @introvertedmouse @sinner-as-saint @sp2900 @qrndevans @dammitcaswhy @livsheph @darcia22 @paranjaperiyauniverse @dramaticsassmaster @rose-k @lovemesomeavengers @steeeeverogers @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall @bemysugarbean @dreamlesswonder86 @ambrosixx @heyiamthatbitch @daazzeey, @fresa-luna @bitchcraftandwitchery @thatoneslytherinbeater @breezyfreezey @quesadellacatburglar @renxzs @imsonick @sambucky8 @honeybabybubba @lover1307 @marvelismysafezone @bxby-kittxn @nibbles7192 @21stcenturywitchcraft @ssworldofsw @im-married-to-chris-evans

[boyslaughplus]

2nd Brassica Bonus Short Story

We spontaneously wanted to do something nice for April Fools this year but ended up posting this story days later on our Blog. Now we resurrect our Tumblr by posting this here as well. Have fun reading this cute story from when Hans hasn’t turned into a flirt yet, and was still a teen! (oﾐﾟﾛﾟﾐ)o

On the first day of the fourth month, almost a full decade ago, the rulers of all kingdoms allied with Auxtome convened to discuss and negotiate matters that were of little interest to a certain adolescent princess named Avril. Matters like infrastructure, trade agreements, and other things that made her yawn just at the thought.

Within Poisson, her country, the princess was quite famous for being energetic and mischievous, rather fitting with the deep red color of her hair. But no one minded because she was also aware of her duties and never failed to fulfill them. Still, full days of economic discussions were just about last on the list of things Avril wanted to spend her time with.

Thankfully, her parents were the ones attending the conference. She only accompanied them to make her debut among all the young royals that would be at the palace. And while that too had its downsides as far as she was concerned, the prospect of spending two weeks in Auxtome and meeting new, possibly interesting people still left her excited.

Their carriage was passing through Auxtome’s capital, its streets adorned with flowers and decorated festively to welcome the esteemed guests from all around the continent. Even as her mother spoke to her, Avril could hardly tear her eyes from the window.

“The conference begins right after we arrive, but the crown prince of this land, Prince Hans, has volunteered to give all young royals a tour of the palace. He is about your age. I trust you will dress… appropriately for the occasion?”

Avril had no need to look at her mother to recognize the look she was giving her, and the meaning it was meant to convey.

“Of course mother, I have brought garments suitable for every occasion,” she replied.

“Good,” her mother acknowledged, pleased, and turned back to her husband now that they were nearing the palace grounds.

Avril smiled to herself. An entire day without her parents or retainers promised to be delightful. And she had a plan to make the most of all the possibilities that were already racing through her mind.

Atop the foyer stairs of his family’s palace, Prince Hans was waiting for his guests long before the first one arrived; his posture sublime and his smile well practiced. At only 13 summers he was quite young to be given such an important duty, but he had long established himself as reliable and well-versed in social affairs. Next to him stood his half-brother, Lorens, a few years younger and much more prone to show it. Hans didn’t dislike him per se, but it was always exhausting to have him near during official business. Or when he wanted some quiet. To his relief, he would only stay through the greeting.

All around the room were attendants to aid the guests and lead them to their quarters before escorting the princes and princesses back once the tour was set to begin.

“Could you quit your fidgeting?” Hans asked his half-brother as he glanced to the side. “You’re representing our family today, just what would our guests think of us if they saw you right now?”

Lorens sighed deeply and tried his best to copy Hans’ demeanor.

“But no one’s here yet. It’s tiring to stand still for so long.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Hans replied sternly. “You’ll learn to endure before long.”

Before long unfortunately only described how long it took for Lorens to forget his discipline again. But Hans was used to this.

As the first guests arrived, Hans stepped down the stairs for the greeting and raised his charm to the max. Lorens remained in his shadow, politely participating in the greeting but drawing little attention. Although he didn’t show it, Hans felt quite relieved.

The guests were so plentiful that even the astute crown prince had trouble remembering all their faces and names immediately, but he knew there would be a second greeting once all the young royals assembled for the palace tour, and the coming days left enough time to memorize all the names of their parents.

And thus, the time for the tour quickly arrived!

About a dozen young royals now gathered in the foyer, from nearly just as many kingdoms; one of them from the kingdom of Radix and another, the youngest prince hailing from Theotherkingdom. Although Hans couldn’t seem to remember his name, or face, no matter how hard he tried.

The last royal to introduce themselves was one with hair as deeply red as cherries, who was dressed in clothes so dashing that even Hans felt a hint of jealousy.

“I am Avril of Poisson. Pleased to make your acquaintance, everyone.”

“Likewise, Prince Avril. Thank you for joining us today,” Hans smoothly replied and proceeded to announce the schedule for the day.

Unbeknownst to him, Avril smiled to herself that her deception was a success. Everyone seemed to share Prince Hans’ impression that she was a prince—a boy—and while she felt no desire to be one for more than a few hours, Avril was quite thrilled to spend the day as the other princes’ equal and not a potential future bride.

With the introduction out of the way, Hans lost no time to begin the tour, leading the group of royals past every notable part of the palace. As such, it went on for quite a while!

As he talked about his home and its long history, Hans couldn’t hide his pride. He made sure not to ramble, still there was no shortage of anecdotes coming from the young prince. Most of his guests seemed quite captivated. But Avril felt her boredom reach critical mass.

“And here we have our palace’s library,” Hans continued, elegantly gesturing towards it, ever unaware of the princess’s disinterest. “No other library in the entire kingdom, maybe even the world, has such an extensive collection of magic tomes. Some of them are so rare and powerful, that they are locked within a separate chamber.”

For the first time since the tour started, Avril’s ears perked up.

“Not even I am allowed to enter it, but rest assured, the rest of the library is still as exciting as it is stunning.”

The tour continued and Hans led everyone past the royal family’s private chambers, through luxuriant halls filled to the brim with paintings of all the noble figures of Auxtome’s history, and many more attractions until they reached one of the larger banquet halls the palace housed. Prince Hans turned to his guests, an unwavering smile still on his face.

“Now then, I’m sure all this walking on top of your travels has left you with quite an appetite. Our chefs have prepared all of our kingdom’s finest specialties, so eat to your heart’s content. If there is anything you need, our attendants will be right at your service.”

As he wrapped up the tour and exchanged some more pleasantries with a few of the other royals, Hans looked around to make sure that everything was in order.

The first thing he noticed was the absence of his half-brother. He had been sure Lorens would have joined again by the time food was served. Not least of all because Lorens’ mother probably urged him to build connections with the other kingdoms’ royals.

And then Hans realized that a certain red-haired prince was missing as well.

Politely excusing himself from the conversation, Hans beckoned his personal attendant over.

“Say, have you seen Prince Avril?” he whispered so no one else would hear.

“No, my lord. By the time we reached the banquet hall, he was already gone.”

Just for a second, Hans furrowed his brow.

“And you thought not to inform me of this? We have to find him immediately!”

The attendant apologetically bowed, but Hans was already rushing towards the door, slowing down halfway as he realized the others might notice something was wrong if he didn’t.

His pace quickened again as soon as he was out of sight. As he backtracked the path they took to the hall, Hans looked around, growing tenser by the second. If something had happened, it would be his responsibility.

A commotion near the library finally drew his attention. Most of all, a voice he knew well.

“Lorens? What is going on here?” Hans asked as he saw the younger prince standing inside the library, shaking, surrounded by a group of tense looking guards.

Lorens’ face lit up as he saw the other.

“Brother! You need to stop them!”

Hans shot a questioning glance towards the guard closest to him who gulped, before stumbling over his words.

“M-my Lord, it is not how it looks. We heard a sound within the forbidden section of the library and came looking for an intruder, only to find that one tome is missing.”

He hesitated, glancing over to his fellow guards who were suddenly immensely captivated by the floor.

“A-and Prince Lorens right next to where it should have been.”

Hans sighed and slowly turned to his brother, raising a brow.

“I didn’t take it!” Lorens protested, immediately understanding the unspoken question.

“You heard him,” Hans said to the guard, primarily out of a sense of obligation. “You don’t intend to question the word of a prince, do you?”

“O-of course not!” replied the guard. “We never suspected Prince Lorens, but we still have to inform the king and queen of the missing book and his trespassing.”

Now it dawned on Hans what his half-brother wanted him to stop. Once more he turned to Lorens, who he’d never seen with such a pleading look on his face. For a moment Hans thought about what he would say. Then he turned back to the guard.

“I shall give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that you mean to fulfill your duty, but all such a report will accomplish is that it draws attention to the fact that someone could steal one of our most prized artifacts from right under your noses. You’ll be lucky if you just lose your jobs.”

The guards flinched.

“But what should we do then, my Lord? Hiding the theft would surely be worse!”

“Isn’t that obvious? Search for the thieves! Who knows how far they might have gotten during all this time you wasted here.”

“Y-yes! Of course!”

The guards frantically spread out to search the area, leaving the princes on their own.

“Thank you, brother! I knew you would help me,” Lorens chirped.

“It was nothing. Had you been more confident, you could have solved this on your own; don’t forget that you are a prince!”

The younger prince’s enthusiasm dampened a little, but he nodded in understanding.

“So what were you doing in the forbidden part of the library?” Hans asked, his suspicion that Lorens might have taken the book not entirely quelled.

“I just… I wanted to learn. I’m not making any progress with my magic training.” Lorens quietly replied, a pout forming on his face. “The books there are about powerful magic, right?”

“They are. But that’s hardly where you should look for knowledge if you are struggling with the basics. Now let’s get you out of here.”

Hans didn’t wait for a reply before turning around and walking out of the library.

Lorens only hesitated for a moment, still he had to run to catch up with his brother.

“Wait, where are we going?” he asked, slightly out of breath.

“Your room. If there’s a criminal on the loose, you shouldn’t stroll around the castle on your own.”

The young prince stopped in his tracks, visibly displeased at the notion of having to remain in his room for a yet undetermined amount of time, but he continued to follow without complaints.

Once his half-brother was within his chambers, Hans turned back to the door only to be held up by a hesitant voice.

“What about you?” Lorens asked.

“I’ll have to take care of our guests until the situation is resolved.”

“That’s not fair, I want to help, too!” the younger prince protested.

Hans looked at the other, giving him as much of a sympathetic smile as he could muster.

“You’ll help me by staying out of trouble.”

“Okay…” Lorens relented.

Back in the hallway, Hans gestured the guards to lock the door to Lorens’ private quarters.

While it hadn’t been a lie that Hans worried about his half-brother being on his own while an intruder roamed the palace, it was only true in the case that Lorens himself wasn’t the thief. Locking him in for the time being was sure to avoid further problems in either case. Hans was quite pleased with his pragmatic decision. But the issue of the vanished Prince Avril still weighed on his mind, so Hans hurried back to the banquet hall. In the best case, Avril had joined the others by now. And even if not, Hans couldn’t stay away for too long or it would reflect badly on his hospitality.

Prince Hans did his best to appear more composed than he felt as he strode through the doors into the hall. The other royals seemed to enjoy the buffet, and there were no signs that anyone had caught wind of the commotion at the library.

Stifling a sigh of relief, Hans joined in with the crowd just to be seen, hoping his brief absence hadn’t been noticed by too many. He had barely finished a first round through the room when something red caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

Avril was back.

Making sure to appear unfazed, Hans approached her.

“Prince Avril, we haven’t had the pleasure of conversing since our greeting. I hope the tour was to your liking?”

Avril smiled at him, a hint of mischief in her eyes, but Hans didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh yes, it was quite long, but your palace is impressive indeed.”

Hans relaxed at her words, sure she would have said something if her brief absence would have been due to unpleasant reasons.

“The library especially,” Avril added, looking into Hans’ eyes just a little too deeply, a knowing grin on her face.

Confusion overcame the prince. Was Avril insinuating that she saw what happened there? Or might she be the culprit?

“That’s true, the library is among my favorites as well,” Prince Hans said, for the first time struggling to keep up his smile. “Would you like to visit it again? Maybe pick up a book or two?”

Hans failed to hide the silent accusation within his questions, leaving Avril visibly amused.

“Why, that sounds wonderful. Another book would certainly do no harm.”

Now Hans was sure that she was toying with him, but without proof he could not accuse her so lightly.

“Great, just give me a moment, then we can leave.”

Hans gracefully stepped on a small stage near the buffet, usually used for musicians, and it didn’t take long until all royals in the room had their eyes on him.

“My esteemed guests, I hope the food was to your liking. From now until dinner, you are free to spend your time however you like. You can return to your quarters or enjoy some recreation at one of the many facilities you have seen today. If there is anything on your mind, do not hesitate to approach me or the attendants that will be serving you for the duration of your stay.”

As soon as it was socially acceptable for Hans to leave, he returned to Avril, who he had never let out of his vision.

“Well then, shall we go?” he asked, his smile more forced than usual.

The walk towards the library was tense. Should Hans be mistaken, an accusation of this scale would surely cause heavy repercussions not just for him but potentially their standing with Poisson as well. If he was right though…

They passed Lorens’ quarters, and a thought made Hans stop in his tracks. Did his half-brother maybe see Avril in the library? Was he not the thief but a witness, perhaps?

“My apologies, I just remembered that I have to ask my brother about something. It will only take a second.”

Tensely, Hans made the guards unlock the door and stepped into the room. But the prince he was looking for was nowhere to be seen.

“Lorens?” Hans called out as he looked around the room. “Now is not the time to play tricks, I need to speak with you!”

Avril followed him into the room and promptly walked towards the bed.

“Hey, what’s that?” she asked, holding up an old-looking book and feigning ignorance.

Hans paled on the spot. It was a tome he had never seen before. Surely the one that was stolen!

His mind was racing. So was Lorens the culprit after all? Did he escape somehow after realizing that Hans still suspected him? But then why was the book still here…

The grin on Avril’s face ultimately told Hans the truth.

“It was you, wasn’t it?!” he let slip more bluntly than he had ever spoken to another and immediately covered his mouth in panic.

Avril simply laughed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she teased and started flipping through the book.

“Stop that! What have you done with Lorens?”

Hans slowly regained his confidence now that he was sure he found the thief, but her casual demeanor still confused him deeply.

“Nothing. I just took pity on the poor boy. Locked away by his own brother, it was quite heartbreaking to watch.”

“Half-brother. And this room is certainly not a prison!”

Avril closed the book and stepped closer to Hans.

“You're right, breaking him out wasn’t even difficult.”

Hans gasped at the ease with which Avril admitted breaking into a prince’s quarters and taking him away.

“Where have you taken him? What do you want? Money? Is this a scheme to gain the upper hand in the negotiations?”

Avril’s smile briefly faded before she burst into laughter.

“Why are you always so serious? No wonder the tour was duller than Poisson’s tundras. I just want to have some fun!”

Hans blinked in confusion.

“Fun? This is a game to you? Stealing an ancient artifact and abducting a prince are grave matters!”

Avril sighed theatrically and tossed the book over to Hans, who clumsily caught it before checking frantically if it was undamaged.

“Relax. I never meant to keep it, and your brother is just fine. He even went with me voluntarily.”

“Of course he did,” Hans cursed under his breath but felt some relief that Avril seemed to harbor no malicious intent. Her actions caused him a major headache nonetheless.

“Well, fine. I’d be willing to let all this be bygones if you just tell me where he is.”

Disappointment showed on Avril’s face.

“What? But it just got interesting…”

She fidgeted a little, clearly reluctant to say anything more. Hans remained stern.

“Alright, I give in,” she eventually said. “He’s at the top of the eastern watchtower.”

“Atop the—” Hans blurted out, unbelieving, but quickly found his composure again. “That is absurd. You would have never managed to take him there in such a short amount of time.”

A hint of a smile reappeared on Avril’s face.

“Are you sure? I also broke into the forbidden part of the library and this room with no one noticing. I’m quite skilled~”

Hans opened his mouth to retort, but paused. Avril was right, she had already done what he believed to be impossible. At least a chance that Lorens was really in the tower existed.

“Fine, but you’ll come with me. I won’t let you out of my sight again until this is resolved!”

A broad grin spread across Avril’s face.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Prince Hans did his best not to complain as they ascended the stairs of the eastern watchtower. Not just because it took them minutes and climbing stairs wasn’t exactly his favorite pastime, but because Avril kept whistling a cheerful song. Drifting slightly off-key every other bar, and he could tell it was on purpose.

Two flights below the top, he lost his patience.

“Is it your goal to torment me, Prince Avril, or is there a deeper meaning in this noise I just can’t see?”

“Prince Hans, how could you insinuate such a thing!” Avril replied, acting playfully hurt. “I simply like the echo within this tower. And the face you make when you’re trying to hide your annoyance~”

Hans paused and turned to Avril.

“What face?” he asked, genuinely unsure.

“This one,” Avril said cheerfully. “The fake smile you just barely manage to keep up. Unless someone looks you in the eyes for too long, or notices that it’s just a facade, or maybe both, and—”

“Enough!” Hans shouted—his face bright red—and turned away. “I don’t know what I did to you to deserve this, but please cease this mockery.”

For once Avril stayed quiet and the two of them silently continued their climb. Shortly before they reached the top, she softly spoke up.

“There is no deeper meaning. And I’m not trying to torment you. I simply thought you could benefit from loosening up a little.”

“Loosen up?” Hans asked unbelieving. “I’m the crown prince of this land, such a luxury isn’t within my grasp.”

“See, that’s why you’re so boring,” Avril said and passed Hans, who had stopped on the stairs. “Being the crown prince is all the more reason to let loose any chance you get. As long as you fulfill your duties, no one can even get mad at you.”

“And just what would you understand of—” Hans began to retort as he followed Avril up the stairs, but then they reached the top of the tower.

Which was utterly empty?

“You lied to me!” Hans complained as he stomped up the last few steps. “Lorens was never here, was he?!”

“How mean! I think I just misremembered. Maybe he was in the western watchtower?”

For just a second Hans contemplated the possibility, but he had given the red-haired royal the benefit of the doubt too many times already.

“Oh no, I won’t believe another word you say! You sent me on a wild goose chase for nothing but your own enjoyment.”

“I think a wild goose would be much harder to catch than that docile little brother of yours,” Avril replied matter-of-factly.

Prince Hans stared at her for a moment, overflowing with a powerful mixture of anger, annoyance, and a few other emotions he had trouble deciphering this very second.

“You… I… gah!”

Without another word, he stormed off as Avril burst into laughter behind him.

He could hear her follow down behind him not long after, and even as he sped up, she suddenly appeared right next to him.

“Wait up, where are you going?”

“Downstairs,” Hans grumbled, not keen to be roped into yet another of her pranks.

“Aw, but you didn’t even take in the view, it’s quite stunning.”

“I know, I live here.”

Avril fell back a few steps as she noticed his disdain, but she wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Maybe I overdid it a little. How about I tell you if you’re getting closer to your brother’s location to make up for it?”

Hans quietly contemplated her suggestion. Of course it could be another ploy to make him run in circles. Still, maybe Avril really was remorseful and if he had to search the entire palace anyway…

“Very well, my prince. But if I sense so much as the hint of a lie, I’ll inform our parents of your misdeeds today.”

Avril promptly picked up pace and caught up to him.

“That won’t happen, promise!”

Hans wasn’t entirely sure if it was the first time he had seen the other royal smile without any kind of mischief in mind or if he just hadn’t seen her smile so up close, but he felt a lightness in his stomach that he had trouble rationalizing.

He couldn’t like her; not like that. Especially because she was a boy! Or so he thought. It was quite the confusing situation for the young prince.

The two of them had soon searched the entire eastern half of the palace. Avril did little but nudging the other prince into a different direction when he appeared to be stuck, but she thoroughly enjoyed their unconventional game of hide and seek. Hans on the other hand grew ever more flustered to spend so much time alone with the red-haired prince. His mind was racing, trying to come up with explanations for the surge of new feelings he experienced while they were in close proximity.

As time went on, his searching became less and less thorough, eventually just boiling down to a question of “Is he around here?” that was always answered with a simple “No.”

When he grew tired, Hans sat down in one of the palace’s lounges and Avril slouched down next to him with posture so unbecoming of a royal, it was almost offensive to Hans. As if out of reflex, he straightened his own to be even more perfect.

“Say, are you sure you’re not a peasant who just happened to sneak into this tour?”

Avril looked shocked, or maybe just surprised, but she heartily laughed before replying.

“So your silver tongue does have some edge to it. If I pester you a little more, do you think you might permanently lose that stick up your a—”

Hans jumped up, a distraught look on his face.

“Prince Avril, don’t utter such a vulgar word within this palace!”

“So if we go outside, it would be okay?” she asked, amused.

“Well, I mean…”

As many other times this day, Hans was at a loss for words. He still wasn’t used to this feeling. No one else had ever made him feel like he wasn’t in control, and the more it happened, the more unsure he was if he truly despised it.

He took a deep breath.

“I don’t know? Get your a-ass outside and try it if you want.”

The deep blush that appeared on Hans’ face was about as amusing to Avril as the words that caused it, but most of all she enjoyed watching him lose the need to always be proper. Some might call her a bad influence, but she truly believed she was doing him a favor. And herself. Because her day had become significantly more enjoyable since coaxing the crown prince out of his shell.

“Shouldn’t we find your brother first?”

Hans’ expression darkened slightly.

“We’ve already searched almost the entire palace, and all remaining rooms are off limits. Besides, what need do you have for finding him? You know exactly where he is!”

Avril feigned mulling over his words.

“Off limits? Just which rooms might you be talking about?”

A realization dawned on Hans, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Oh no, you didn’t,” he whispered sharply before storming out of the room, his destination more than clear.

“Did what?” Avril asked innocently as she jogged up to him.

“Don’t act like you don’t know, you’ve hidden him in my personal quarters, haven’t you? The one place no one but me and a select few servants are allowed to enter!”

Avril chuckled.

“If you put it like that, it makes me want to go there all the more~”

Without another word, Hans hurried to his room. The guards were still in place, and normally he wouldn’t have believed that anyone could get past them, but as he stepped inside he saw… Lorens. Lying on Hans’ most luxurious carpet surrounded by a pile of his magic books.

“Brother!” Lorens happily exclaimed on reflex before his expression turned sullen. “You found me.”

“Of course I have! But what were you thinking, hiding in my quarters?”

“Prince Avril told me to. He said he’d let me look through the stolen book if you didn’t find me.”

Upon hearing this explanation, Hans shot an angry glare towards Avril, who sheepishly smiled back at him.

“You should know better than to take part in such foolish ploys! Don’t you realize that he simply used you; made you complicit in his crimes?”

“No offense,” he added towards Avril before questioning just who he was angry at.

“I’m sorry,” Lorens grumbled and got up from the pile of books. “I just want to become a better mage. Like you.”

The words got stuck in Hans’ throat, but he had no chance to reply anyway, as Avril stepped in.

“Aw, you can’t get angry at him, can you? He just wants to be more like his big brother!”

“W-well, there are better ways to go about that,” Hans deflected, still flustered.

“Why don’t you teach him? You even have that special book with you.”

Just then Hans realized he was still clutching the book Avril stole from the library. He went through multiple stages of panic that others might now think he was the thief before concluding that no one else in the palace would even know what the book looked like.

“It is not yet my place to teach,” Hans said sternly.

Avril now joined Lorens to put on her best puppy eyes.

“Aw, please, just a little. I wanna see some magic, too.”

It took quite a bit of begging, but eventually the two of them wore Hans down.

“Okay, fine! But I’ll just go over the basics. We need to return the book before my parents hear of its absence.”

A celebratory cheer went through Hans’ chambers and its perpetrators expectantly sat down on the chaise longue. Hans began reciting what his magic instructor taught him years ago, much to Avril’s disappointment who had expected a much more hands-on presentation.

“In essence, the core of magic is to manifest a will, and turn it into reality. Our world, however, does not allow its balance to be upset. Anything you gain will be taken away in equal measure. Estimating these risks is the greatest skill a mage can have.”

The only one still captivated by Hans’ lecture at that point was Lorens. But even his enthusiasm dampened when the words sank in.

“Wait, no matter what you do, there will be downsides to your spells?” he asked, for the first time grasping this most basic concept their magic entailed.

“Indeed, though not all consequences are negative per se.”

The younger prince seemed to think for a moment, only to get up, suddenly looking rather bored.

“Hm, I’m not sure if I want to be a mage then. I’m gonna get some food.”

And with that, he was gone. Hans stared at the door, both caught off guard and somehow unsurprised that his half-brother would be so quick to give up for such a half-hearted reason.

Avril stifled a laugh but spoke no further of Lorens’ sudden departure.

“What a fool,” Hans mumbled to himself. “But maybe I’m the fool for expecting any different.”

“Well, to be honest, you didn’t exactly make magic sound exciting,” Avril said and promptly yawned. “Can’t you just show off a spell or two? That’d be much more fun than all that boring theory!”

Hans sighed and began returning all the books that were strewn around the room back to the shelf Lorens took them from.

“There are no spells, like you’d find them in fairy tales. The technique is always the same, just the will you manifest differs. Of course, the difficulty increases the more complex said will is, but—”

“Then show me that!” Avril interrupted him, her excitement rekindled. “Do you think I could learn it, too?”

Hans hesitated as he looked at Avril, who stood so close to him he thought he could feel the warmth of her smile. He averted his gaze, a soft blush on his face.

“W-well, if you have talent, it might very well be possible.”

The crown prince proceeded to explain the basic technique he spoke of and showed her an application of it that had no significant downsides: making a piece of paper float through the air. Upon completion of the spell, it would simply fall to the ground where it would remain for as long as it floated previously.

As simple as it was, Avril was delighted. Hans even made it fly in ornate patterns, which made her want to try it all the more. For a while that was all the two did, Avril concentrating on her will and the piece of paper she meant to free from gravity’s effect, while Hans observed, correcting her form and giving advice from time to time.

“There! I think it just moved!” Avril exclaimed excitedly, but what little distance the paper may have floated upwards became nothing again right that instant.

“Don’t let up your focus. A half-manifested will harbors unpredictable dangers!” Hans said, still deep in his instructor role.

They continued for a short while longer, but Avril could not repeat her earlier success.

“This is harder than I thought…” she grumbled as she sank down to take a break.

“Don’t fret, most magic novices need at least a month before they first see any kind of success,” Hans tried to comfort her. “Still, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we really need to return the book! Dinner is only an hour away.”

“Alright, alright, just give me the book and I’ll put it back.”

Avril got up again to reach for the stolen tome, but Hans quickly grabbed it.

“Oh no, I’ll go with you. I won’t leave you on your own with this book again!”

“I can’t break into the library if I have to take you with me,” she retorted slightly irked that he still didn’t trust her. Though she couldn’t fault him either…

“Why not? How have you broken in, anyway?”

“Duh, I climbed in through the window,” Avril replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

At first Hans thought she was joking. But as she quietly looked on, it dawned on him she spoke the truth.

“Through the window?! Do you know how far up we are?”

Now it was Avril’s turn to look at him in disbelief.

“Yes? But if you don’t lock your windows, that’s still the easiest way inside.”

“Well, I will not risk my neck by clambering up the palace walls! We’ll have to sneak in through the door.”

“Fine, but don’t blame me if we get caught,” Avril relented and took Hans by the hand to lead him out of the room. Hans hardly managed to form even a single coherent thought until she let go again.

By the time they reached the library, most guards that Hans had sent to search for the thief had returned to their positions. They didn’t think twice about Hans entering the room or even about the book he was carrying, but going through the door to the forbidden section would be another story.

Hans led Avril to a part of the library where they were on their own to think of a plan.

“And if I try to distract them?” she suggested.

“That won’t work. They’re more alert than usual, so at least some would remain at the door.”

“Then I’m out of ideas. Why don’t you just use magic?”

By now Hans knew Avril well enough to realize she wasn’t joking, but the idea still seemed absurd to him.

“Magic? I may as well stab a knife into my leg right here and now. Who knows what may happen if I just willed this book back to its rightful place.”

Avril shrugged.

“I didn’t say to teleport it back, we could just turn ourselves invisible and walk right past the guards.”

Prince Hans drew breath to object, but as he thought about it, he had to admit that the idea wasn’t half-bad. He cleared his throat as he composed himself again and calmly replied.

“Very well, I still don’t like the risk, but we may as well try.”

He had never attempted to turn invisible before, but it shouldn’t pose any more problems than another form of transmutation. As he began to put a spell on them, Avril joined in, following through with what she had learned earlier. Whether it actually helped was hard to discern, but soon they were invisible! Even to each other.

“It worked!” Hans exclaimed, unable to hide his excitement at the success. “But I can’t see you, Prince Avril. M-may I hold your hand again? Just… to know where you are?”

He half expected her to laugh, but instead he felt her hand reaching out to him. The prince clumsily took it, and the two made their way to the door of the forbidden part of the library.

Hans’ heart was pounding as they sneaked past the guards, not just because of stress. To his relief, the spell held up, and they made it inside with no problem. Avril lead him to the shelf she had stolen the book from, and Hans quietly returned it.

“That wasn’t so difficult now, was it?” she whispered.

“N-no,” Hans replied, ever conscious of her hand in his. “Now let’s return before we’re visible again.”

No longer than it took to go back, were they invisible, and Hans let out a sigh of relief as they reappeared. Avril let go of his hand, and as disappointed as he was, he felt quite glad too because his own had started to become rather clammy.

“That was fun!” Avril said with her usual carefree smile that no longer irritated Hans.

“Indeed, it was,” he admitted truthfully. He couldn’t remember when last he felt so free of his princely burdens. “Now shall we get ready for dinner? I feel rather peckish.”

To that Avril agreed quite readily, and for the first time in hours, they parted ways to each go to their quarters.

For once, Hans wasn’t the first to arrive. It took him quite a while to pick out his outfit, since he wanted to impress. More than usual. He was only apart from Avril for a short while, but it made him realize something that had crept up on him the entire day. He felt drawn to this prince. Like he had never felt before. And even at the risk of sullying his reputation as a perfect crown prince, he wanted to confess to him just what he felt.

The hall was already filled with many royals, even more than earlier that day, since even the adults were present now. As he looked around hopefully, he couldn’t find who he was looking for. His heart ached a little as he strolled across the room, turning his head towards anything red he spotted. But it was never the prince he longed to see.

Just as he began to doubt if Avril was even there, he felt a gently tap on his shoulder. His hope renewed, he spun around and saw… a girl. In a dress more beautiful than he had ever seen. A girl with deep red hair and a smile he would never mistake for someone else's.

“P-prince… Avril?” he hesitantly asked.

“Princess. But otherwise, yes,” she said cheerfully.

Hans still couldn’t believe his eyes.

“B-but, earlier you were—”

“Wearing more practical clothes. It’s not that easy to climb in a dress, and I didn’t want all the princes to approach me during the tour.”

Prince Hans nervously swallowed. Just as he accepted having fallen in love with a boy, Avril sprung yet another surprise on him! But his feelings hadn’t changed. Unlike his assumptions of who he felt attracted to.

“So… have you no interest in being approached at all?” Hans asked and blushed further as he realized how transparent his question was.

Avril raised a brow but still appeared cheerful.

“What, you’ve seen me in a dress for just a minute and already feel the need to confess to me?”

“N-no! That need was there even before!” Hans blurted out and quickly looked around if anyone had overheard.

Avril laughed warmly.

“So it wasn’t my imagination then. I suppose I don’t mind if it’s you who expresses interest~”

The relief Prince Hans felt was immense. He once again composed himself and looked at Avril, who suddenly seemed even prettier than before. Hans could hardly tear his eyes from her. So much so that…

“Oh no,” he whispered as he realized. “Our spell from the library… I’m afraid it’s recoil just began.”

All across the room, the royals turned their heads to the stunning young couple. Even besides being good looking under normal circumstances, now they weren’t just visible, they were hyper-visible. No one in their vicinity could look away from them without considerable effort!

“My, then we better look deserving of all this attention,” Avril said, not fazed in the slightest, and linked her arm with that of Hans.

At first the prince felt a little self-conscious under everyone’s stares. But as the evening progressed, he rather relished them. Before long, the magic induced stares had faded but the two of them were still more than eye-catching.

“Why did you play all these tricks on me?” Hans asked when quiet had fallen over them for a short while.

“Hmm,” Avril replied thoughtfully. “You were just there. And I was curious if there was more to you than that boring, perfect prince you always try to look like.”

Hans appreciated her straightforwardness, but was a little disappointed that was all there was to it.

“I already told you, I have to act that way since I am the crown prince.”

“No, you don’t. I’m the crown princess of Poisson, and I’m doing just fine.”

Prince Hans gasped.

“You are what? And no one admonishes you for your mischief? Or your manners? Even dressing as a prince to fool other royals?”

The princess laughed once more, and the sound filled Hans with warmth.

“When you put it like that it sounds pretty bad, but I promise I can act the part when I have to! In fact, I work all the harder to fulfill my role if it means I can afford such freedoms in return,” she said and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, almost looking bashful for once. “You should try it too, all the pressure is easier to deal with if you allow yourself to just be free sometimes.”

Her words resonated deeply with Hans. It seemed like such a simple truth, but also one that is easy to overlook.

“I will,” he replied and took her hand into his. “If you show me how, I’ll gladly follow.”

[diverse-writing]

Book Review: “Queer City” by Peter Ackroyd

Thanks to @kyliebean-editing​ for the review request! I have a list of books I’ve read recently here that I’m considering reviewing, so let me know if you’re looking for my thoughts on a specific book and I’ll be sure to give it a go!

2.5 ⭐/5

Hey all! I’m back with another book review and this time we’re taking a dip into nonfiction with Peter Ackroyd’s Queer City: Gay London from the Romans to the Present Day. Let’s dive right in.

The good: Peter Ackroyd is a hugely prolific writer and a historian clearly trained for digging through huge archives of history and his expertise shows. This particular volume--his 37th nonfiction book and 55th overall published work--provides a startlingly comprehensive timeline of London’s gay history, just as promised. Arguably, the book’s subtitle short sells the book’s content; Queer City actually rewinds the clock all the way back to the city’s origins as a Celtic town before it became Roman Londinium. From there, Ackroyd’s utilizes his extensive historical experience to trace proof of gay activity through the ages. From the high courts of medieval times to the monks of the Tudor era, the gaslit back alleys of Victorian London to the raging club scene of the 1980s--gay people have lived and even thrived in London for literal millennia, and Ackroyd has the receipts to back it up. If you need proof that homosexuality has been a staple of civilization since the Romans--and the homophobia has often recycled the same arguments for the same period of time--then look no further.

The mediocre: All that being said, Ackroyd’s “receipts” often tend towards the salacious, the scandalous, and often the explicit. It seems that legal edicts and court cases made up the foundation of his research, so us readers get to hear in full detail the punishments levied against historical queer individuals, from exile to the pillory to the gallows. Occasionally, Ackroyd dips into the written pornagraphic accounts of the time to describe salacious sexual encounters, which add little to the overarching narrative except proof that gay people do, in fact, have sex. Later down the historical record, once newspapers became more common, we also receive extensive account of the gossip pages of the day, complete with rants about the indecency of “buggery” and the moral decay of “the homosexual.” Throughout the book, ass puns and phallic wordplay run rampant, so much so that it occasionally feels like it’s only added for shock value.

While I’m not a professional historian, as a queer person I can’t help but feel that there must be more to the historical record than these beatings, back alley hookups, etc. In focus on the concrete evidence of gay activity--that is, gay sex and all the official documents surrounding the subject--it feels like Ackroyd neglects the emotional side of queerness in favor of the physical side. Even the queer poetry excerpts or diary entries of the time (which I’m nearly positive exist throughout the historical record, though once again I’m not a professional) sampled in this book are all focused on the physical act of sex. No queer person wants a pastel tinted, desexed version of our history--but we also don’t need to hear a dozen explicit accounts of gay park sex. Queer love and queer sex go hand in hand and to focus on one without the other is disingenuous, not to mention dangerous in promoting the idea that queer people are hypersexual and predatory. Admittedly, I do think the omission of queer love is an unintentional byproduct of Ackroyd’s fact-checking and editorial process. He may not have intended to leave out tenderness, but his intentional choice to focus on impersonal records--court cases, royal decrees, newspapers, etc.--rather than personal ones--diaries, poetry, art, etc.--meant that emotion was largely excluded anyway. 

The bad: Though Queer City does a good job of following queer history through the ages, Ackroyd fails to connect his cited historical examples with larger sociocultural movements of the time. He discusses queer coding in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales but not the larger (oft homoromantic/homoerotic) courtly love traditions that Chaucer drew on. He describes the cult followings around boy actors playing female parts in Elizabethan and Jacobian London but neglects to put those theaters and the public reaction to them within the context of the ongoing Renaissance. Similarly, Ackroyd omits explicit connections to the Enlightenment, Romanticism, Neoclassicism, free love, and countless other cultural movements that undoubtedly shaped both the social and legal responses to the queer community. This exclusion, unlike the exclusion of queer love, had to be intentional on Ackroyd’s part; it’s hugely unlikely that a historian with his bibliography accidentally forgot to mention the last millennium’s worth of Western civilization cultural movements. It’s a massive oversight that utterly fails to place London’s queer history within the context of wider history.

And finally, last but definitely not least, oh boy does Ackroyd have some learning to do when it comes to gender, gender presentation, and gender identity. From the very first chapter, it’s apparent that Ackroyd’s research and writing focused largely on MLM cisgender men, with WLW cisgender women as a far secondary priority. While there are chapters on chapters dedicated to detangling homosexual men’s dealings, homosexual women are often pushed to the fringes of London’s queer history. They receive paragraphs, here and there, and occasionally the closing sentence of a chapter, but overall they’re clearly downgraded to a secondary priority within Ackroyd’s historical narrative. Some of this can once again be blamed on the type of records Ackroyd uses; sex between women was never criminalized or discussed in the public sphere in the same way that sex between men was, so it was a less common topic in London’s courts and newspapers. (And, once again, I have the sneaking suspicion that turning to less traditional sources would’ve helped resolve this issue, though in part the omission can likely be pinned on Ackroyd’s demonstrable preference towards male history.)

Additionally, Ackroyd tends to treat crossdressing as undeniable proof of homosexuality. While it’s true that historically queer individuals found freedom or relief in dressing as the opposite sex, the latter didn’t necessarily equal the former. Additionally, if the crossdressing individual in question was female, dressing as a man was often a way for a woman to secure more freedoms than she would receive while wearing traditional feminine outfits. (Also, he tended to use “transvestite” over “crossdressing,” and while I tend to think of the latter as more preferred, the former may be more in use among queer studies circles or British slang). Though Ackroyd briefly acknowledges that women could and may have crossdressed to more easily navigate a misogynistic world, he nevertheless continually dredges out records of crossdressing women as concrete proof of historical sapphics.

Which brings us to the elephant in the room; in clearly identifying crossdressers as homosexuals, Ackroyd entirely overlooks the existence of transgender and nonbinary people in London’s historical record. This omission, arguably unlike the others, seems definitively intentional and malicious. In the entire book, I could probably count on one hand the number of times Ackroyd mentions the concept of gender identity, and I could use even fewer fingers for the number of times he does so respectfully and thoughtfully. Though he largely neglects to discuss transgender history as a subset of queer history, when he does bring up historical non-cisgender identities it’s often as a component of his salacious narratives rather than a vibrant and storied history all on its own. In the final chapter on modern gay London, Ackroyd’s casual dismissal of the concept of myriad gender identities felt dangerously close to modern day British “gender criticism,” which is likely more familiar to queer readers as TERFism masquerading under the guise of concern for women and gay rights (JK Rowling is a very public example of a textbook gender critical Brit, if you’re wondering). By the end of the book, Ackroyd’s skepticism of so-called “nontraditional gender identities” is so glaringly evident that he might as well proclaim it outright. 

The verdict:  For a book supposedly focused on queerness, the focus on male cisgender homosexuality is both disappointing and honestly not surprising. This book is a portrait of gay London, yes--but it’s also a portrait of Peter Ackroyd as a historian and a professional. It’s clear from early on that he’s writing from the perspective of an older white gay man (I think queer WOC know what I’m talking about when I say that that POV is very distinct, and his clear idolation of 1960s-1980s gay culture makes his age quite evident as well). As you progress through the book, his blindspot in regards to gender and gender politics become increasingly clear, as does his simultaneous obsession and criticism with transgender identities. Overall, Queer City is a clear example of how “nonfiction” doesn’t necessarily mean unvarnished truth--or at least not all of it--and how individual historian’s methods and biases bleed into their research. 

A dear London friend suggested Matt Houlbrook’s Queer London: Perils and Pleasures of the Sexual Metropolis as a more gender inclusive review of the famous city’s queer history. While I take a break from London for a bit, I would welcome any and all thoughts on either Queer City or Queer London, the latter which I fully intend to get to eventually so I can properly compare the two.

[upontheshelfreviews]

If there’s a reason why we’re able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney. Their take on the Grimms’ fairy tale is the prime example of pop cultural osmosis. Even if you’ve never watched Disney’s Snow White, it’s easy to recognize when a piece of work is borrowing from it or spoofing it. And I can definitely see why – not only is it going eighty-plus years strong, but its influence on nearly every Disney feature to come after it is a profound one.

The real story of Disney’s Snow White begins in the early 1910’s when a young Walt Disney saw a silent film version of the Grimms’ fairytale starring Marguerite Clark. The movie stuck with him well into adulthood. One night, well after he had established himself as an animation giant the world over, Walt gathered his entire staff of animators and storymen and re-enacted the tale for them in a mesmerizing one-man show. They were enraptured, but what he told them next struck them dumb – they were going to take what he performed and turn it into a full-length film.

In Tony Goldmark’s epic(ally hilarious) retrospective of Epcot, he performs a quick sketch he summed up as “Walt Disney’s entire career in 55 seconds” where Walt presents his career-defining ideas to a myopic businessman capable of only saying “You fool, that’ll never work!”. Considering how animation is everywhere today, it’s easy to forget that an animated film was once seen as an impossible dream. The press hawked Snow White as “Disney’s Folly”, and Hollywood speculated that it would bankrupt the Mouse House. It very nearly did. Miraculously, a private showing of the half-finished feature to a banking firm impressed the investors enough to ensure its completion.

Snow White is touted as the very first animated movie – admittedly something of a lie on Disney’s behalf. Europe and Russia were experimenting with feature-length animation decades before Walt gave it a try. But consider this: most animated films predating Snow White’s conception are either sadly lost to us or barely count as such by just crossing the hour mark. With all the hard work poured into it showing in every scene, with each moment displaying a new breakthrough in the medium, Snow White might as well be the first completely animated movie after all. Hell, it’s the very first movie in the entire history of cinema that was created using STORYBOARDS. A tool used by virtually every single movie put out today. If that’s not groundbreaking enough, I don’t know what is.

But is Snow White really…but why does it…can it…

“You know what? No. I’m not doing this teasing question thing before the review starts proper. OF COURSE Snow White is a masterpiece. OF COURSE most of it holds up. Let’s skip the middleman so I can explain why.”

After the opening credits we get the first of what will be many Disney leather bound books opening themselves to invite us into the world of the story. We’re informed that once upon a time there was a particularly Wicked Queen (nicknamed Grimhilde in promo features and the comics) who had a serious narcissistic personality disorder. Every day she consults her Magic Mirror™ to see who’s the fairest one of all and takes pride in being repeatedly told she holds said title. In the meantime she bullies her younger, prettier stepdaughter, the princess Snow White, and gives her the standard Cinderella treatment in the hopes that endless drudgery will wipe out the competition.

One fateful morning, however, the Mirror informs the Queen that she’s been bumped down to runner-up. She susses out that it’s Snow White who’s taken her place after the Mirror describes the newcomer as having “lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, [and] skin white as snow”, but maybe the Queen is projecting here due to her extreme jealousy. Going by those three traits the Mirror could be describing almost anyone on the planet.

Care to narrow it down a bit, buddy?

Now if you consider yourself a feminist or at the very least have progressive views regarding women, I know what you’re thinking – just another example of the patriarchy pitting shallow female stereotypes against each other, right? Well in a manner of speaking, yes. There’s plenty of evidence that the Brothers Grimm held some odious misogynistic beliefs that stemmed from a bad combination of the era they lived in, outdated religious teachings, and their own experiences with the opposite sex. It shows in their second fairy tale revisions –  the heroines are naïve bimbos in need of a man’s rescue, and the villains are evil stepmothers and witches who happen to be hideous 99% of the time – and those views have been reinforced in our society thanks to those particular iterations being passed down to today.

Here’s my way of viewing the central conflict: The Mirror’s news is a wake-up call that Snow White is coming into her own as a woman and princess. That means marriage to a prince and the end of the Wicked Queen’s rule. Snow White will have all the power and adulation while the Queen is forced to step down and become another footnote in ancient royal history. Up until now the Queen has gone out of her way put down her pretty young opponent with petty cruelty because there’s nothing stopping her; but when faced with the inevitable, she unflinchingly opts to take more drastic measures so she can keep the throne.

If it weren’t for the fact the Queen’s unofficial moniker is Grimhilde and her transformation scene reveals a head of black hair, I’d suspect her real name was Cersei Lannister.

You also have to remember that the Queen takes the term “fairest” at face value. The Queen is beautiful, sure, but it’s a glacial beauty – cold, unfeeling, and nothing beneath the surface. All she cares about is looks and power. You’d have to be a pure loving soul or Woody Allen find something worthwhile in her. Snow White is beautiful too, though it’s her kindness and fair treatment of everyone that garners her the title of “fairest one of all”, not her appearance.

Speaking of, we follow that scene with Snow White (Adriana Casselotti) dressed in rags cleaning the castle courtyard. She shows her bird friends her wishing well and sings “I’m Wishing”, where she reveals her wish for her one true love to show up.

Confession time: In childhood the title of my favorite Disney princess was neck and neck between Belle from Beauty and the Beast and Snow White. I’ve already discussed at length why I adore Belle, so I suppose I should do the same for Snow.

…turns out it’s more difficult than I thought.

For as long as I could remember, I was surrounded by Snow White paraphernalia – tapes, toys, dolls, music, games, artwork, bed sheets, I can even recall the ice show. Snow White is ingrained into my early years. It more than likely has to do with the timing of its brief return to theaters and first VHS release between 1993 and 1994, right at the peak of the Disney Renaissance, so I experienced Snow White-mania right alongside Lion King-mania, Beauty and the Beast-mania and various other Disneymanias that were rampant at that time.

Even this one, embarrassingly.

As a result, I idolized Snow White as much the other princesses of the time, right down to making her the character I dressed up as the most for Halloween. I suppose what drew me to her was inherent kindness, ability to make friends with everyone, and her voice. Yes, I admit it. I don’t find Snow White’s warbling to be as irritating as everyone says it is. Maybe I’ve listened to it so much that I’ve grown immune. Then again I am that one Disney fan who doesn’t loathe It’s A Small World with every fiber of their being so maybe I should question my own tastes more.

Now as an adult with a critical eye who can put nostalgia behind me when necessary, is there something more to the character of Snow White that’s worth appreciating as much as the more-fleshed out princesses of the Renaissance and current Revival period?

I accept that I’m in the minority on this one, but I firmly say yes.

I know what you’re thinking – all Snow White does is smile and sing while she slaves under the Queen and the dwarfs and dreams of a handsome man to come carry her away, so I should turn in my feminist card for daring to suggest she’s a good character and role model for girls, right? Consider this: like Cinderella after her, Snow White’s happy nature and songs are her ways of coping with her unpleasant situation. It keeps her spirits up and in turn she tries to spread that positivity to others who need it as well. She refuses to let the Queen’s negativity turn her as sour as she is. All the little things Snow White reveals in what she does – her patience, pride in her work, healthy emotional balance, drive to help others, and warmth towards those smaller than her (in both a figurative and literal sense) – are all signs that she is capable of being a far better and beloved ruler and all around person than the Queen is. Plus, her reason for wanting to find love is two-fold: not only is she looking for someone with whom she can share a unique emotional understanding bond – which is something most every human craves – but it’s the also best possible means for her to escape from her stepmother’s abuse. Like I said earlier, once Snow White gets the ring, she gets to rule.

And what’s wrong with having a princess who can run a practical household? One could argue that it’s an example of traditional female roles desired by an oppressive patriarchal society on full display, but you want to know why millennials are called out for being lazy? Because baby boomers have cut out classes that teach things young adults actually need outside of school like how to properly cook and do laundry and pay your taxes since those weren’t seen as “essential enough to education”. So I have to admire a princess who, while not the most “progressive” of the bunch by today’s standards, is willing and able take care of herself and others when it comes to basic everyday needs. I think TheBrutallyHonestMom summed it up best in her post defending Snow White:

When we denigrate what Snow White accomplishes at the dwarfs’ cottage, when we rename her accomplishments to make them sound more impressive, more official, more valuable—management, administration, domestic CEO, sous chef, hospitality specialist—what we are really doing is saying that we don’t value the truly valuable work that she and so many other stay-at-home individuals do. Those words are a microaggression against what have traditionally been feminine roles, an attempt to align them with a patriarchal worldview where only those with the biggest titles and fattest paychecks matter. Snow White is domestic. She is a maid. She is a mother figure. She does take on the womanliest of the womanly roles. To claim that adopting these roles (and being good at them) somehow makes her a poor role model for my daughters is not a failure of Snow White’s imagination. It is a failure of ours.

Then there’s the matter of her actress too, which I can’t stay silent about. A few years ago it was revealed that in order to preserve the illusion of Snow White as a real character (a good many years before the company applied that same logic to their character performers at the theme parks I might add), Disney forced Adriana Casselotti to forego her screen credit and never take on another acting role again, essentially robbing her of a career. She only managed to appear in It’s A Wonderful Life and The Wizard of Oz because hers were uncredited minute parts. Casselotti had no regrets about choosing Snow White over a promising show business vocation, but I still call bull on the matter. If this kind of thing happened today, people would not stand for it, character illusions or not. There’s also crazy double standards since all the actors who played the dwarfs got to keep on acting; Sneezy’s voice actor was in Fun and Fancy Free for crying out loud! I love ya Walt, but that is one dick move. So if you’re a detractor cheering that you never have to hear Casselotti’s voice beyond this movie, keep in mind that’s all because of one man silencing her for the sake of his business.

So, Snow White. She cooks, cleans, delegates, teaches, loves, domestically kicks ass, and her behind the scenes story makes a strong case for the Time’s Up movement. Any questions?

“Yes. You’re over 2000 words in and we haven’t even gotten to the dwarfs yet. Plan on getting off that soapbox sometime this decade?”

Snow’s singing attracts the attention of a handsome Prince (Harry Stockwell) passing by on his horse. But his forwardness startles the shy girl and sends her sprinting up to her room. He charms her out to her balcony by singing his one song in the feature…”One Song”. You gotta love it when the title matches the tune perfectly.

“Wherefore art thou Prince? Deny thy father and refuse thy name!”

“Sure I’ll gladly refuse my name – if I had one, that is.”

All joking aside, I have a soft spot for this scene. Stockwell’s voice has this old-time Broadway/operetta quality I’ve always liked, the lyrics are unironic purple prose that still feel genuine, Snow’s little excited gestures are adorable, and it’s framed beautifully. This is what got it into my heard early on that the most romantic gesture anyone can make is serenading someone from beneath their balcony.

“Too bad you’re technically in a long distance relationship.”

“I know. Propping up a phone beneath your window just doesn’t have the same effect.”

Snow returns his affections with a kiss delivered via a dove and departs the scene with one hell of a pair of bedroom eyes, especially for a Disney character.

Daaaaaamn, girl! You already got him hooked, no need to gild the lily!

Unbeknownst to either of them, the Queen is watching overhead; Snow catching the eye of Prince Charming is what finally pushes her to take further action. She summons her Huntsman –

– to bring Snow White out into the forest and do away with her. Brief as this scene may be, there are two things I really like about it. First, the gravity. The Huntsman reacts with horror on being told what he must do, foreshadowing his eventual turnaround, yet with an icy hiss of “Silence!” and a short reminder of the price of failure, the Queen goads him back into line. We don’t know what the penalty for insubordination is, but it’s implied to be pretty nasty if she’s able to convince him otherwise with just a few words. Second, the Queen’s other demand. In the original fairytale, the Queen requested Snow White’s liver, lungs and heart so she could eat them and inherit her stepdaughter’s comely attributes.

But here in the film, she only wants the heart, and not for lunch. The Queen wants to keep it as a trophy. She even has a disturbingly appropriate box for it at the ready.

Proof that she really puts the ‘grim’ in ‘Grimhilde’.

Snow White, now dressed in her iconic yellow and blue dress, goes out flower picking with the Huntsman waiting not far behind. She spies a lost baby bird, and the moment she turns her back to help it, the Huntsman moves in for the kill. It’s framed like the murderer creeping up to their next victim in a scary movie, slowly building up to the moment he confronts her, with tension you could cut with a – well, you know.

Ultimately the Huntsman is moved by the princess’ humanity and can’t go through with the deed. Instead he reveals the Queen’s plot and pleads her to run, run away, Snow, and never return. Terrified, Snow White flees into the forest where her fears magnify her surroundings. Brambles become gnarled outstretched hands, logs are hungry snapping crocodiles, and there are eyes everywhere, always watching, boring into her every place she turns.

I should note that while developing Snow White, the Disney studio became something of an art college with fine arts and film study classes offered to the staff in order to hone their craft. Some of the movies they studied were horror flicks from the pre-Hays Code era, classics directed by the likes of James Whale and F.W. Murnau. The results speak for themselves. Scenes like this and the Queen’s transformation are why I consider Snow White my very first horror movie. The frightening imagery and darker themes all hide beneath a veneer of Disney childhood innocence. Like a proto-Pan’s Labyrinth, the terror as much psychological as it is fantastical.

A young Sam Raimi watched this and vowed one day he’d make those trees even more terrifying and bad-touchy.

This scene is also the source of one of the most famous stories to come out of the film’s creation. During the planning of the part where Snow falls backwards through an open-mouthed cavern into a lake, one of the animators cried out in terror “Won’t that kill her??” And the whole room fell silent. They reached the point where they no longer thought of Snow White as a cartoon but as an actual person, something that had never happened before. That was the moment where they were officially, as Ben Vereen once put it, on the right track.

Overwhelmed, Snow White collapses in tears. She’s brought back to her senses by the usual cuddly forest inhabitants inexplicably drawn to female royalty in need of assistance. Of course, being the ever-thoughtful soul that she is, Snow apologizes for startling them and making a fuss over how afraid she was, once more putting others before herself. She bonds with the animals through the uplifting “With a Smile and a Song”. Then she spends several minutes talking to them and making plans for the future all in rhyme. I confess it’s one of the weaker moments of the movie, showing that the studio’s transition from the Silly Symphonies to full-fledged filmmaking hasn’t completely been made yet.

The critters lead Snow to a quaint cottage in need of a good cleaning service. Assuming the miniature-sized furniture means the inhabitants are orphaned children, she decides to surprise them by sprucing up the joint, hoping her act of kindness will make them forget her breaking and entering and they’ll let her stay. Said cleanup time is underscored by one of the more upbeat tunes in Disney’s songbook, “Whistle While You Work”. Like Mary Poppin’s “A Spoonful of Sugar” it’s all about finding joy in the little things that make the work go by quicker.

“Here’s the last of the underwear, Bambi. And try not leave any ticks in the laundry this time!”

But as we all know, the cottage belongs not to seven children, but seven little people who work as jewel miners, all the while singing that famous mining song –

“No, the one sung by dwarves.”

“Seriously?!”

All joking aside, Heigh-Ho is the best song in the movie, no contest. Easily the catchiest tune here if not the entire Disney canon. If it can keep a theater full of gremlins occupied, it’s doing something right.

Sure, they whistle while they work for now. But once they find the Arkenstone it’s all downhill from here.

And let’s not kid ourselves, the dwarfs are the real reason why we keep returning to Snow White. Their quirk-matching names and designs make each one memorable, they’re endlessly entertaining, and they’re the characters that come the closest to having some form of arc. The group is a prime example of the illusion of life that is animation, exaggerated to a degree that they’re still believable in their movements and mannerisms. Dopey especially works well in this regard, a wonder considering much of his character was developed by happy accident. When an actor suitable enough couldn’t be found, they made the decision to simply mute him. Like much of Disney’s favorite animal sidekicks, they based his personality around that of a lovable dog, though I’d be lying if I didn’t see some Harpo Marx in there as well. As a result, his childlike playfulness and comic timing is up there with Chaplin’s Little Tramp. His hitch step was also an unexpected boon; after animator Frank Thomas put it in one of his scenes, Walt liked it so much that he insisted all previously animated footage of Dopey be redone to include that step. Incidentally, Frank’s popularity among the animation staff reached all-time lows after that announcement.

Snow White flops down for a quick nap on the beds upstairs just as the dwarfs return home. What follows is them sneaking about their now suspiciously squeaky-clean cottage and further establishing their personas through a series of finely-tuned gags (Walt paid five dollars for every good joke his guys could come up with, and this was when five dollars could take you out to dinner and a show). Dopey is elected to check the bedroom and he comes to the conclusion that Snow’s sleeping form is a monster. The dwarfs work up their courage to go kill the beast themselves only to realize in the nick of time that it’s just a harmless girl. But Grumpy, the clear-cut misogynist in the group, isn’t keen on having a “wicked-wiled” female refugee in their abode and shamelessly yells “Let ‘er wake up, she don’t belong here no-how!”

Snow wakes up and instantly charms over everyone except Grumpy as they introduce each other. The dwarfs are shocked and terrified to learn the Queen has put a hit out on her. Grumpy in particular declares the Queen is a powerful witch skilled in the black arts, which is true, and it raises a potent question. Is her magic common knowledge throughout the kingdom, or is it mere speculation? If it’s the former, how did that come to be? What happened to Snow White’s father the king anyhow? All this could make for a very interesting –

“You know what, never mind, forget I said it -“

“Too late! Jenkins, write that down! Bob’s gonna love it!”

“Very good, sir. Shall I pre-heat your crack pipe in preparation for the first draft writing session?”

“Does the Academy loathe streaming services? Hop to it, my man!”

“Hey, I thought you left that jerk to go work for Don Bluth.”

“Shh! I jumped ship after A Troll in Central Park and came back under a new identity. I couldn’t pass up the bankroll Disney’s been on since 2009.”

“Mum’s the word.”

Grumpy’s certain that they’ll be in the Queen’s crosshairs once she learns they’ve been harboring Snow White and demands they kick her out at once. But Snow White stands up for herself and says she can take care of the house for them if they let her stay. Just like Belle offering herself in her father’s place, no one corners Snow into the position of housekeeper. She’s the one who puts herself out there, listing all her best qualities like she’s on an interview. It’s only when she does so (and also mentions she can bake a mean gooseberry pie) that the dwarfs overrule Grumpy and declare she’s welcome in their home.

Yet even when all is said and done, Snow makes it clear that if she’s the one doing the work, then the dwarfs must play by her rules. Immediately following their acceptance, she goes into full Team Mom mode, insisting they improve their manners and wash themselves before dinner’s ready. Doc attempts to get around it by saying they cleaned up “recently”, but despite her sweet nature, Snow won’t let them walk all over her. She does a cleanliness inspection that makes the dwarfs almost as bashful as Bashful himself, and even gets a good bit of sarcasm in (“Why Doc, I’m surprised.”) The dwarfs washing themselves is another one of those Silly Symphony-esque filler scenes, but at least it gives us more time for their fun shenanigans; though I have to wonder if dog piling Grumpy and half-drowning him takes it too far.

“Where’s the money, Legrumpski? Where’s the fucking money??” “It’s down there somewhere, lemme take another look.”

Back at the castle, the Queen is showing off her newly acquired bodily organ to the Magic Mirror while demanding he validate her preconceptions of who’s fair and who’s not. Alas, the Mirror tattles on Snow White’s location and reveals that heart belonged to a pig, which I’ve got to say I’m glad they didn’t show how the Huntsman got ahold of.

Infuriated, the Queen storms down to her secret lab (and no, there’s no wrong lever scene. I’m disappointed too). She brews up a potion made up of ingredients like scream of fright, a thunderbolt and partially hydrogenated dimethylpolysiloxane which will completely transform her into a disguise nobody could suspect her in, an aged peddler woman.

Was I afraid of this scene way back when? Of course, but it was one of those rare moments where I didn’t want to look away either. Here we have a woman dangerously obsessed with beauty becoming the very thing she loathes in order to sate her implacable desires. Not only that but in this disguise she’s able to set loose the insanity buried deep beneath her frigid calculating exterior, grinning and cackling like the witch that she is. The Queen never smiles once when she’s in her true form. But once she’s the old Hag and it’s all cackling and gap-toothed smiles, it’s extremely unnerving.

Case in point.

“Anyone else miss the creepy fade to black where the villain’s eyes remain for a few seconds? Disney needs to bring that back.”

Major props to Lucille LaVerne, who gives a bone chilling and utterly unrecognizable performance as BOTH the Queen and the Hag. She made the switch from one role to the next by removing her false teeth between recording sessions. In doing so she gave us one of the great Disney villain performances.

The part where she preps the infamous poisoned apple does undercut some of her menace, however. The Hag is supposed to be sharing her scheming with a cowardly raven, but due to how much she stares directly into the camera while monologuing, it comes off as directly addressing the audience, like we’re watching her in a play. It’s not just the Silly Symphony style of storytelling creeping in, it’s melodramatic semi-vaudevillian theatrics that early Hollywood was moving well away from at this point. And again, what’s with the sudden speaking in rhyme?

At the last moment the Hag looks up a possible antidote to the poison and learns that it’s Love’s First Kiss. However she scoffs at the notion that Snow White can be saved because she’s counting on the dwarfs believing the princess is dead and burying her alive.

“For those of you who claim Disney waters down fairy tales into saccharine pap, I point you to Snow White.”

And it doesn’t end there. As the Hag leaves the dungeons, she passes a cell where a skeleton is sprawled out between the bars, reaching for a water pitcher. It’s bad enough to imagine this poor soul dying of thirst, spending their last moments with salvation just out of their grasp, but the Hag openly mocks the skeleton and kicks the pitcher aside. If that’s not a deciding irredeemably evil factor moment, it comes pretty darn close.

This would have also tied into an important but ultimately scrapped sequence where the Queen kidnaps the Prince, locks him in the dungeon to keep him from saving Snow White and torments him by detailing her elaborate scheme.

This sounds vaguely familiar…

Depending on which pitch you’re reading, the Prince refuses the Queen’s offer of marriage, and she enchants the chained-up skeletons of other scorned suitors to dance in an extremely misguided attempt keep him entertained while she’s out, or floods the dungeon to drown him. He makes a daring escape and rides to the rescue on horseback.

Again, vaguely familiar…

Unfortunately we had to wait twenty-plus years for this to happen because the animators weren’t confident in their abilities to create a believable male character. This is why the Prince appears only in the beginning and the end of the movie (and by extension why the Cinderella’s Prince is barely in that feature as well). When it came to making Snow White look realistic, they subtly incorporated some rotoscoping in a few places (I’d call it cheating but it’s difficult to tell where it begins or ends because she looks that good eighty years later). But I guess it just wasn’t worth the effort to do the same for her love interest, who doesn’t even get the dignity of an official name (fans go back and forth between Florian and Ferdinand). He’s reduced to a deus ex machina – which to be fair is exactly how he was treated in the fairytale. The movie has the slight advantage over that, however, by setting him up before he arrives for that wake-up kiss.

“And now it’s time for Silly Songs With Happy, the part of the review where Happy comes out and sings a silly song. Today’s interlude, appropriately titled “The Silly Song”, features choreography which has gone on to inspire many other Disney musical sequences dating as far ahead as the 70’s.”

“Hold it!! It’s just the exact same movements with the Robin Hood cast grafted over them!”

“Is there a problem with that?”

“Well…no…it’s just a bit distracting when you finally notice it. I mean I love Disney’s Robin Hood, but boy did they take the main character’s attitude towards stealing to heart when it came to the animation.”

And yes, “The Silly Song” itself is fun too. It’s one of the less remembered Disney tunes, though I have fond memories of it due to its inclusion in the Sing-Along video lineup. The decision to have it follow the Hag’s unsettling introduction makes perfect sense; I could imagine audiences experiencing it for the first time needed a bit of a breather after that.

I guess I should mention the musical number we could have had instead of this one, though. “Music in Your Soup” was a similarly lighthearted song that was fully recorded and animated before it was ultimately cut. It was expertly animated, featured more dwarf-Snow White interactions, and it also closed up a plot hole involving a bar of soap Dopey swallowed earlier. Still, it didn’t add much to the story overall and it disrupted the flow, and keeping both that and “The Silly Song” would have been superfluous; so as much as I like “Music In Your Soup” I think they made the right call in sticking with “The Silly Song”.

After the dancing, Snow regales the dwarfs with a love story, though they quickly figure out she’s talking about herself and her prince. She dispenses with the self-insert fanfiction and sings the movie’s eleven o’clock number “Someday My Prince Will Come”. Bawl all you want about setting women’s rights back a decade, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a lovely song, even without Casselotti’s vocals. In fact, much of the movie’s soundtrack has been a go-to for jazz artists through the decades ranging from Miles Davis to Dave Brubeck. The pure simplicity of Larry Morey’s lyrics and Frank Churchill’s melodies are ripe for riffing on. Virtually every cover I’ve found succeeds in the impossible task of measuring up to the original in some capacity. The action in the song itself is subtle and restrained, mainly focusing on the dwarfs’ reactions. It’s not only good storytelling, but a clever way to get around showing more of Snow White than the animators could handle; she was already tough enough to animate even with rotoscoping.

Snow realizes how late it’s getting and ushers the dwarfs to bed; however Doc and the others try to behave like gentlemen and allow her to sleep upstairs while they take up whatever space they can fill on the lower floor. It goes to show how much her kindness and politeness has had an influence on them, at least while she’s around. Them taking up whatever sleeping space they can find on the ground floor is an excuse to squeeze more gags in, but I’m fond of how it lets us wind down and take in this cozy atmosphere.

The next morning before they head out the dwarfs warn Snow White to beware of strangers. Even Grumpy can’t help but show concern in his own gruff tsundere way. It’s little touches like this that reveal Snow White’s unwavering compassion is chipping away at his chauvinist attitude and he really does care about her after all –

Hang on, they couldn’t spare ONE dwarf to stick around and keep an eye out in case the Queen does drop by? They’re really think the Queen isn’t going to make another murder attempt as soon as possible? They sadly must, because no sooner do the dwarfs heigh-ho off to work than the Hag creeps up like a meth user turned Jehovah’s Witness.

“Hello, my name is Elder Grim. Would you care to learn more about our lord and savior Chernabog?”

After the animals fail to communicate the obvious danger, they fetch the dwarfs for help. Meanwhile the Hag has convinced Snow White to let her into the cottage and show off her “magic wishing apple”.

Already I can hear the slapping of a thousand facepalms through my screen. I get why, but there’s something about the situation that feels strangely relatable. The Queen is fully aware of Snow White’s gentle, trusting nature and knows how to take full advantage of the girl. Snow isn’t all smiles and open arms though. There’s a split second of regret the moment she divulges she’s by herself, and as the Hag literally corners her into tasting the poison apple her body language gives away how uncomfortable she is. Even the cottage itself grows darker and claustrophobic, mirroring her trapped state. Snow White knows there’s definitely something off about this stranger, but there’s the downside of her kind personality. She can’t bring herself to kick the old lady out no matter how wrong this scenario inherently feels.

“Just keep smiling and slowly reach for the mace.”

Ultimately the Hag coaxes her into tasting the apple. Every breath leading up to it is dramatically intercut with the dwarfs led by Grumpy (further proof Snow White really has gotten through to the old softie) racing back to the cottage.

Do you want to know why the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre is considered one of the scariest movies of all time? Because for all its promise of a gory spectacular, the violence is deliberately kept offscreen. Our imaginations fill in the blanks and come up with even worse terrors than they could possibly show. Snow White’s poisoning works on that logic. All we hear is her gasping and groaning as the Hag gleefully looks on, ending with the most cinematic shot of the film.

If you’re still convinced Snow’s a dunce for biting the big apple, trust me, it’s a vast improvement over the original. The Queen showed up in disguise three times to kill Snow White with varying methods: strangulation by laces, a poisoned comb, and of course the apple. This was cut down to the last one for obvious reasons – not only would the story be repetitive and extremely padded if they remained, but it makes Snow White look like an idiot for falling for the same trap thrice in a row. The only time I’ve ever seen the inclusion of all three murder attempts work is in the anime The Legend of Snow White (which despite the laughably bad English dub is worth checking out). By the time the Queen comes around with the apple in that instance, Snow White is well aware of who she’s dealing with. But she plays along because the Queen has turned the kingdom to stone, and the only way to break the curse is by taking the bait and destroying her staff while she thinks she’s down, thus turning what was once an act of naivete into a heroic sacrifice.

The Hag exits the cottage feeling confident in who’s the fairest now just in time for the dwarfs to show up. They chase her through a thunderstorm up a cliff side. Literally trapped between a rock and a hard place, she attempts to dislodge a boulder and crush her pursuers. But Zeus is having none of that and a lightning bolt strikes the cliff, plummeting the Hag to her doom.

To quote Linkara, “Thus the origin for ‘Rocks fall, everybody dies’.”

And in case you’re still thinking she could have survived that drop, even with that boulder tilting over after her, the vultures that have been tailing her since she left the castle begin circling lower and lower over the place where she now lies. A chilling, subtle way to show they’re getting a meal after all.

We fade to a wake the dwarfs are holding for Snow White, complete with organ music and weeping – LOTS of sad, silent, motionless weeping. Poor Grumpy gets the worst of it. One can only imagine the tsunami of emotion he must have felt coming home to see that she was making a pie just for him. Like “Someday My Prince Will Come” it shows how restraint can be an asset in acting for animation. Considering how it’s very much like a real-life wake and just how much everyone believes Snow White is truly dead, this was a tough scene to get through.

The seasons pass and we’re told through title cards that the dwarfs couldn’t find it in themselves to bury Snow White, so they built a glass coffin and kept constant vigil along with the depressed forest animals.

“Clearly the idea of watching her slowly decompose over time never crossed their little minds.”

The funeral on top of the wake keeps piling on the sadness. We’re used to animated features moving us to tears, but you have to remember for audiences back then this was an entirely new experience because no animation dared to get this heavy. Think about it: Shirley Temple, Charlie Chaplin, the best and the brightest of Hollywood who poo-pooed Walt for his ridiculous idea – all moved to tears over Snow White. I can only imagine the satisfaction Walt must have felt hearing their sobbing at the premiere. Again, going back to that animator who felt genuine fear for her safety, the audience developed an emotional bond with the character just as they would for a real human on screen.

The Prince FINALLY shows up again still singing his One Song. Believing the love he has long searched for to be lost to him forever, he says his final farewell by bestowing her with Love’s First Kiss.

“Ah – “

“If you make ONE necrophilia joke, I swear I’ll take all the Adam Sandler movies off the Shelf.”

“Please, no!! I’ll have nothing to fully snark at!!”

The kiss does its work and Snow White awakens none the worse for wear. And since what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, she’s immune to all poison ingested via deciduous fruit now. That’ll make ruling the kingdom she’s inherited from her stepmother and disappeared father much easier. And for those of you complaining how a magical kiss is a cop out, trust me, it’s better than how the original fairytale resolved it.

“Somewhere my love lies sleeping, and here she is! I’ll pay you dwarfs anything to let me take her back to my castle and keep her there as a memento of our tragic love.”

“This had better be worth it, she weighs a freaking ton!” “OHH, there goes my hernia!” *BANG*

*HACKHACKCOUGHHACK* “Thanks for the Heimlich, guys, damn apple’s been stuck in my throat for a year!”

“Seriously, I’m not making that up. Plus, they invite the Queen to the wedding and force her to dance to death in red-hot iron shoes.”

Everyone rejoices, Snow White says goodbye to the dwarfs, and the Prince leads her on his horse to his shining palace in the clouds. They all live happily ever after, the end.

And that’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, the very first animated Disney movie. Do I believe the American Film Institute’s claims that it’s the best animated film of all time? Well, to be honest, no. The main characters aren’t as developed compared to future Disney protagonists, the animation goes noticeably off model at times, and it’s got one foot stuck in the style of the Silly Symphonies shorts that came before.

Is it the most influential animated film, however? Of course! Without it animation wouldn’t be as mainstream as it is today. While the formula has been updated and subverted through the decades, most animated features follow a similar blueprint – a dastardly villain, fun side characters, memorable music, distinct visual flair, fighting, torture, true love, miracles, you get the picture. We wouldn’t have any of that without Snow White. Once upon a time, this movie was the Star Wars of its era; a groundbreaking, audience-thrilling blockbuster that changed the way people looked at movies. Part of that is because Snow White taps into an emotional simplicity in a manner few films are able to. It relies more on providing an emotional catharsis than logic, inviting us to experience the story as we once did through the eyes of a child, and in doing so captures the essence of a classic fairy tale.

In fact, looking at the ripple effect of how movies can influence one another across the years, Snow White ranks among one of the most influential movies made in general. Apart from Disney you can see its echoes in The Wizard of Oz, Gulliver’s Travels, Citizen Kane, and yes, the original Star Wars. Even Sergei Eisenstein, the man who revolutionized filmmaking with freaking Battleship Potemkin, declared Snow White to be the greatest film ever made.

…So why did Walt Disney come to hate it later on in life?

Every movie that’s met with acclaim and accolades is bound to hit some backlash for one reason or another. Maybe it’s been overhyped, or time hasn’t been that kind to it. For Walt, Snow White leaned into the latter as his artistic prowess grew. No creator likes looking at their past work because it’s easier to notice the flaws when viewing it through a more experienced eye (believe me, I know). That, and no matter what he did, it seemed impossible to escape from Snow White’s shadow. For decades everything he created was inevitably compared to it.

Hmm, the animation and music are an improvement, but what it’s really missing are some dwarfs.

Hmm, the creativity leaps off the charts, but if only the score had lyrics that rhyme with the words “shmeigh shmo”.

Hmm, it’s breathtaking and magical, but it’d be perfect if you could just sit and watch it for eighty minutes without interacting with any of it at all.

Hmm, it’s practically perfect in every way, but…um…uh…more dwarfs, dammit!!

Thankfully Walt’s displeasure mellowed after some time. As for Snow White, she’s still rightfully hailed as the one that started it all. The art is iconic, the characters are unforgettable, and virtually all the songs are Disney gold standards for a reason. Well before Rodgers and Hammerstein changed the face of musical theater by having the score and the book go hand in hand, Snow White did it first in the cinemas. In fact this was the first movie to ever have a commercially released soundtrack, another confounded idea Hollywood wouldn’t understand for quite a while. Though time may temper with modern expectations, Snow White is as much a classic now as it was destined to be eighty years ago, and nothing can touch it. It still is the fairest one of all.

“HA! Try to remake/sequelize THAT, Disney!”

“Excuse me, is it too late to join this review?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Oh, where are my manners? I’m Snow White’s sister, Rose Red.”

“…You sure you’re not just a color-swapped OC clone from Deviantart?”

“Of course I’m not, silly! I’m in the fairytale and everything! Well, not THE fairytale per se, but there is one titled ‘Snow White and Rose Red’ where we’re siblings.”

“Checks out. They’re technically related.”

“Okay, but what are you doing here?”

“I was just wondering when you were going to discuss my upcoming movie!”

“Your…movie?”

“Oh yes! It’s going to be Disney’s Snow White all over again but from MY point of view! Isn’t that exciting?”

“But…but you weren’t even in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.”

“I know! I was off to the side doing…well, you’ll have to wait and see! The lady who wrote that Gone Girl knockoff that takes place on a train and the Indecent Proposal remake is doing the screenplay and she is just delightful!”

“…Excuse me for one moment.”

“Oh dear. Have I said something wrong?”

“It’s ok. This is just the part of the review where Shelf goes berserk.”

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this review, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Special thanks to Amelia Jones and Gordhan Ranaj for their contributions.

You can vote for what movie you want me to look at next by leaving it in the comments or emailing me at upontheshelfshow@gmail.com. Remember, you can only vote once a month. The list of movies available to vote for are under “What’s On the Shelf”.

Also, Patreon supporters get extra votes among other perks. If I reach the goal of $100, I can get back to reviewing animated series! I’m at the halfway mark right now, so please consider supporting me if you’re able.

Artwork by Charles Moss.

Most screencaps courtesy of animationscreencaps.com.

February Review: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937) If there's a reason why we're able to recall the story of Snow White from memory, and why said princess is usually depicted with short hair, a cute bow and surrounded by woodland fauna, look no further than Disney.

[nofomoartworld]

Hyperallergic: The Eclectic Objects that Inspired Matisse’s Art

Henri Cartier-Bresson, “Matisse with his collection of Kuba cloths and a Samoan tapa on the wall behind him, Villa La Rêve, Vence” (1944) (© Henri Cartier-Bresson/Magnum Photos, image courtesy Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

BOSTON — In 1944, Henri Cartier-Bresson photographed Henri Matisse in his studio surrounded by curious objects: a pewter jug with a swirling design, a Samoan tapa, Chinese porcelain, Kuba cloths, seashells, a bird cage, and a 14th-century head carved from stone. Obviously Matisse loved beautiful, well-designed objects and had collected more than 200 by his death in 1954. In his mind, they were neither decorative baubles nor travel trophies. Rather, they served him as visual references that opened his mind to new possibilities in seeing and creating.

Matisse in the Studio, at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, is the first exhibit to focus specifically on Matisse’s objects and how they influenced his art making. Thirty-nine are paired with the paintings, drawings, bronzes, and cut-outs they either influenced or appeared in.

Vase, artist unknown, Andalusia, Spain (early 20th century), blown glass (Ancienne collection Henri Matisse, former collection of Henri Matisse, Musée Matisse, Nice. Bequest of Madame Henri Matisse, 1960. Photo by François Fernandez, image courtesy Musée Matisse / Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

“Our exhibition is exciting because it allows you to almost step inside the space of the studio and see some of the actual materials that Matisse was looking at and he was inspired by,” said Ellen McBreen, associate professor of art history at Wheaton College and Matisse scholar. She co-curated this exhibit with Helen Burnham, the Pamela and Peter Voss curator of prints and drawings at the MFA, and Ann Dumas, curator of the Royal Academy of Arts in London, where the show will travel to next.

Early in his career, Matisse sought new ways to represent one of his lifelong passions, the human nude form. He said, it “permits me to express my almost religious awe towards life.” Thus, it’s fitting this exhibit opens with Bresson’s photo and an anthropomorphic turquoise vase Matisse found on his 1910 trip to Andalusia. No doubt the artist took pleasure in the vase’s sinuous curves, half-moon handles, and bulbous hips that bring to mind a stoutly woman. It is the central figure in his painting “Vase of Flowers” (1924).

Perhaps the vase liberated Matisse from his academic art training, which required him to draw models exactly as he saw them. He knew the era of straight-on figure representation was over. He had seen the 1901 Vincent van Gogh retrospective at Galerie Bernheim-Jeune and followed Picasso and Braque as they explored Cubism. While he wanted to abstract the human form, he wanted to do it in a simpler, more natural way.

Henri Matisse, “Vase of Flowers” (1924), oil on canvas (bequest of John T. Spaulding, © 2011 Succession H. Matisse, Paris / Artists Rights Society (ARS), 
New York) * Photograph © Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

On his way to Gertrude Stein’s house in 1906, he stopped in a little Parisian junk shop and purchased a hand-carved wooden Vili figure, a tourist reproduction of those used in Congolese healing and fertility rites. He and Picasso were both drawn to its expressive language. That carving appears in Matisse’s 1907 painting “Still Life with African Statuette,” and, for the first time, the painting and object are displayed together.

In 1912, painter Clara T. MacChesney interviewed Matisse for an article in New York Times Magazine, and asked him, “What is your theory on art?” He replied by pointing to a table with a jar of nasturtiums. He said, “I do not paint that table, but the emotion it produces upon me.”

Over the next couple of years, Matisse would purchase 20 masks and figurines made in Northern and Central Africa. He took a cruder and more direct approach in depicting nudes, as seen in “Young Women,” a bronze from 1907-08. Critics reacted harshly to it and similar works, saying that Matisse strained in his abstraction and these works were “ugly” and the colors “cruel.”

Matisse in the Studio installation view at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, Ann and Graham Gund Gallery (photograph © Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

Matisse noted that some African works depicted the human form as genderless or possessing both female and male characteristics. Thus, he decided to apply this idea in the bronze “Young Women.” From one angle, the two figures appear to be women embracing. From another angle, one figure rises a bit taller and has a more wide-legged stance and mannish appearance.

“Why?” MacChesney asked Matisse during their interview, when she spotted a lumpy and crudely formed female figure, from this same generation of sculptures. Matisse reached for a Javanese statue with a disproportionately large head and asked, “Is not that beautiful?” She thought not. Likely he was being coy with her, knowing she didn’t see the human body could be beautiful and expressive without being classically rendered.

Henri Matisse, “Marguerite” (1906–1907), oil on canvas (on loan from the National Musée Picasso, Paris RF 1973‑33, donation Picasso, © Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York, photo © RMN-Grand Palais / Art Resource, New York, image courtesy, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

The tribal sculptures also inspired Matisse to reinterpret portraits. In painting his 13-year-old daughter, “Marguerite” (1906-07), he wanted to evoke the emotions of innocence and childhood. So he created her portrait with the simplicity of a child’s painting with flattened features, minimal details, and even what seems like a mistake — a profile nose on a frontal face. Even the letters of Marguerite’s name across the top are scrawled as though an inexperienced hand drew them.

Yet the face looks more like a woman’s, and Matisse knew very well his daughter was growing up. In the portrait, the girl wears a black velvet choker, which seems to separate her body from her head, as if she’s wearing a mask. Coincidentally, when Matisse and Picasso decided to trade paintings, Picasso chose this one. He hung it in his studio next to a Punu mask. Perhaps he saw the mask too.

Some accuse the modernists of having culturally pillaged tribal art, while others point out that the African artists and cultures went mostly unattributed. This exhibition, which alludes to but doesn’t explicitly discuss these tensions, aims to put Matisse’s influences front and center.

Window screen (Haiti), artist unknown, North Africa (late 19th‑early 20th century), cotton plain weave cut and appliquéd to bast fiber cloth (former collection of Henri Matisse en dépot, Musée Matisse, Nice. Photo by François Fernandez, image courtesy, Musée Matisse / Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

Matisse had a lifelong appreciation of fine tapestries, which began during his student days at École Quentin De La Tour, a textile designing school near Belgium. After he’d traveled to Morocco and Spain and saw an exhibit of Islamic art in Munich, he became enamored with Islamic architecture, design, and fabrics. He acquired at least a half-dozen haitis, which are sumptuous, pierced, and appliquéd textiles that often bear a mihrab motif — the arch shapes and latticework found in the niches of mosques.

In “The Moorish Screen” (1921), Matisse places a blue-green haiti in the room’s corner, hiding the juncture where two walls meet. Doing this envelopes the two women, dressed in pale, simple frocks, in a rich collage of patterns and jeweled colors. The eye normally tracks towards human figures, but here it’s drawn to the room’s lively décor where it spins before going towards the women.

Henri Matisse, “The Moorish Screen” (1921), oil on canvas (Philadelphia Museum of Art, bequest of Lisa Norris Elkins, 1950. Image courtesy the Philadelphia Museum of Art, © 2017 Succession H. Matisse / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York, courtesy, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston)

One of most fascinating connections made in this exhibit comes from a 19th-century wood panel on which four Chinese calligraphy characters are made with quick, lyrical gestures. A 1951 photograph by Philippe Halsman shows Matisse making cut-outs in bed. Above him hangs this calligraphy panel, and below each character hangs one of Matisse’s gestural nude drawings, much like those in his “Acrobat” series. By this point in his life, he worked spontaneously, reducing the human form to a few lines, and showing complete total control over his application of ink.

Searching for source materials, Matisse traveled extensively and gathered works from China, Egypt, Morocco, Java, Tangiers, the Congo, Europe, and elsewhere. He had eclectic tastes and could find beauty and inspiration just as easily in a silver chocolate pot as a disproportionate statuette. Matisse was interested in how other cultures viewed life, thought about gender, and expressed beauty. His abstraction of the figure and borrowing from other cultures may have baffled viewers at the onset, but over time such experiments would become the hallmarks of modernism.

Matisse in the Studio continues at the Museum of Fine Arts (MFA), Boston (465 Huntington Ave, Boston) through July 9. 

The post The Eclectic Objects that Inspired Matisse’s Art appeared first on Hyperallergic.

from Hyperallergic http://ift.tt/2r00JXe via IFTTT

[wp-yahoo-style-1042-yahoopa-blog]

Jessica Simpson Criticized for Sharing Bikini Photo of 5-Year-Old Daughter

Jessica Simpson has been criticized for posting photos of her daughter in a bikini online. (Photo: Instagram/Jessica Simpson)

Jessica Simpson has kicked off a debate surrounding whether or not parents should share images of their children wearing bathing suits on social media.

The singer posted photos of her daughter, 5-year-old Maxwell Drew, wearing a bikini to Instagram and was quickly criticized by followers who felt they were “inappropriate.”

“Too much too soon. Not cool in a world filled with perves!” one commenter wrote. “Protect your children. This is not for social media,” another added.

Safety first ???? #MAXIDREW

A post shared by Jessica Simpson (@jessicasimpson) on Jun 5, 2017 at 1:39pm PDT

One Instagram user, who identified herself as a fellow mother, explained why she would never post a photo of her own young daughter in swimwear. “I just read an article about predators using innocent photos like this and photoshopping them for their disturbing use and circulating them to their ‘friends,'” she wrote. “Those are the ones best left in our photo albums.”

My baby Maxwell is 5 years old today. She makes everyone's life mermaid magical. Happy Birthday to our fairytale princess. Mommy, Daddy, and Ace love you with our "holy hearts" (as Max would say) #MerMax #MAXIDREW #canyoube5forever

A post shared by Jessica Simpson (@jessicasimpson) on May 1, 2017 at 1:57pm PDT

But hundreds more of Simpson’s followers have also come to her defense. “If she’s comfortable with her daughter wearing that particular bathing suit then it’s no one’s right to judge her,” one Instagram user wrote.

“To everyone warning Jessica Simpson that people will sexualize her daughter because of this picture, that’s exactly what you’re doing,” another commented. “She’s a child. See this for what it is: a picture of a child having fun. If you’re worried for her safety then teach your kids about consent and discuss how outfits and presentation don’t imply consent to engage in sexual behavior with anyone.”

Welcome to the family!! @cashiethefrenchbulldog ???? Click link in my bio!! ????????

A post shared by Christina El Moussa (@christinaelmoussa) on Mar 23, 2017 at 12:01pm PDT

Flip or Flop star Christina El Moussa was similarly shamed for posting a picture of herself in a bikini with her daughter. “Welcome to the family!! @cashiethefrenchbulldog,” the HGTV star wrote to accompany the photo. A few days later, she shared a picture from the same day and in response to the backlash she wrote, “it’s cali people it’s what we do*.”

Read more from Yahoo Style + Beauty:

Mom Shares Daughter’s Prom Dress Fail On Facebook: ‘Are You Serious?’

Dressing Meg Ryan, 55, Was a ‘Nice Change’ for Christian Siriano

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Follow us on Instagram, Facebook, and Pinterest for nonstop inspiration delivered fresh to your feed, every day. For Twitter updates, follow @YahooStyle and @YahooBeauty.

[vinayv224]

How a rarely discussed religious group became part of the viral Covington story.

A video of an interaction between white high school students and an indigenous activist that went viral over the weekend has sparked a wild internet debate, and thrust a little known religious group into the spotlight.

On Saturday, a viral video emerged of a teenage boy wearing a “Make America Great Again” hat standing in front of Nathan Phillips, a Native American activist and Omaha elder, as he beat a drum and sang on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. The video was taken on Friday, the same day as the Indigenous Peoples March, and showed other boys, many of them also in Trump-branded apparel, dancing and laughing nearby.

Philips told several media outlets that he believed the students, who were from Covington Catholic high school in Kentucky, and were in DC to participate in the annual March for Life, were mocking him, and the video was shared repeatedly as a powerful example of racism in the Trump era.

But the conversation began to shift on Sunday when some observers claimed that a small group of Black Hebrew Israelite protesters standing nearby were to blame for the incident.

Another, longer video soon emerged, showing a verbal exchange between the Covington students and a small group of Black Hebrew Israelite protesters in the moments before Phillips appeared.

In a statement on Sunday, Nick Sandmann, the boy in the initial video, argued that the Hebrew Israelites instigated the incident and that his classmates “wanted to drown out the hateful comments that were being shouted at us.”

President Donald Trump, conservative commentators, and a number of prominent journalists responded to the second video and Sandmann’s statement by saying that the early criticism of students was overblown, and the result of a rush to judgement. Phillips, for his part, explained in interviews that he wanted to separate the students and the Hebrew Israelites, noting that the men were vastly outnumbered by students. “These young men were beastly and these old black individuals was their prey,” Phillips said.

The Black Hebrew Israelites, meanwhile, have said that they are being used as a scapegoat for the students’ behavior. Now, more than three days after the video first went viral, the small group finds itself in the middle of a controversy over very different framings of the rally incident.

The Black Hebrew Israelites, briefly explained

The Black Hebrew Israelites are an offshoot of a broader religious movement scholars often call Black Israelism, which dates back to slavery and Reconstruction, if not earlier.

Writing for the Washington Post, journalist Sam Kestenbaum explains that Black Israelism is “a complex American religious movement” whose various sects are loosely bound by a belief that “African Americans are the literal descendants of the Israelites of the Bible and have been severed from their true heritage.”

Several figures played a role in the creation of this movement, including William Saunders Crowdy, a former slave who embraced parts of Judaism while arguing that there were deep connections between African Americans and biblical Israelites, the descendants of the prophet Jacob. Crowdy travelled across the country with his message in the late 1800s, setting up congregations in states like Kansas, Illinois, New York, and Virginia before his death in New Jersey in 1908.

Crowdy’s ministry also drew on aspects of Christianity. His practice “developed from particular history of African American suffering and the historical, spatial, ideological, cultural, and religious contexts of the Western frontier after reconstruction,” historian Jacob Dorman explains in Chosen People: The Rise of American Black Israelite Religions.

Crowdy’s followers, and the followers of other leaders in this movement, refer to themselves in varying ways, and practice their religion differently, although they are all often lumped under the same umbrella.

According to Andre E. Key, a history professor at South Carolina’s Claflin University, the differences between groups often referred to as Black Jews, Black Hebrews, and Hebrew Israelites are not always recognized, “at times creating confusing connections between disparate movements.”

Some groups, for example, focus on adapting a combination of Jewish and Christian teachings to predominantly black congregations, while other groups use terms and traditions of Judaism as part of an entirely distinct belief system that does not desire the support or approval of any existing religion.

The Black Hebrew Israelites who were at the Lincoln Memorial on January 18 were not immediately connected to a specific sect, but appear to fit into this latter group. Their version of religious practice developed in the years after the civil rights and Black Power movements, as some members wanted to distance themselves from “white” Jews and Judaism. Kestenbaum traces the development of these more radical groups back to the 1970s and 1980s, noting that several offshoots developed around the Israeli Tanack School in Harlem, also called One West.

Kestenbaum explains:

The One Westers saw themselves as radical reformers of earlier generations of Hebrew Israelites who had gone astray. They would troop out to street corners dressed in colorful and ornate capes and leather — vivid imaginings of what ancient Israelites might look like transported into the urban culture of New York City. They were also early and eager adopters of new media, hosting local television slots and filming their often-confrontational street ministry.

The One Westers believed that other nonwhite groups, including Native Americans and Hispanics, were also descendants of Israel’s 12 tribes, adding that these communities must acknowledge their history as Israelites before issues like poverty and police violence “could be overcome.”

The differing offshoots or “camps” affiliated with One West have some common beliefs, including a strong sense of black nationalism and an ardent belief in the end of the world being imminent. When compared to other facets of Black Jewish groups and Black Israelites, this group is largely seen as a fringe sect, and has fractured further since 2000, spawning groups like the House of Israel.

But the internet has helped these groups spread their message. If you live in a city like Washington, DC, Philadelphia, or New York, there’s a good chance you’ve seen members of the House of Israel or other offshoots of One West engaged in a highly confrontational form of street ministry.

As these groups have become more well known, organizations like the Southern Poverty Law Center have argued that some Black Hebrew Israelite groups are “hate groups” and fit into a rise of black nationalism in the face of resurgent white supremacist movements. The SPLC refers to them as an “extremist sector within the Hebrew Israelite movement whose adherents believe that Jews are devilish impostors and who openly condemn whites as evil personified, deserving only death or slavery,” and also have a history of sexist and anti-LGBTQ remarks. Groups like the Israelite School of Universal Practical Knowledge contest this description.

The Black Hebrew Israelites say they aren’t to blame for the high school students’ behavior

As the backlash to the initial media coverage of the Covington students (and backlash to that backlash) continues, some critics have argued that the students’ behavior was “wildly mischaracterized.”

In Reason, a libertarian news outlet, Robby Soave argued that “far from engaging in racially motivated harassment, the group of mostly white, MAGA-hat-wearing male teenagers remained relatively calm and restrained despite being subjected to incessant racist, homophobic, and bigoted verbal abuse by members of the bizarre religious sect Black Hebrew Israelites, who were lurking nearby.”

But others, like Deadspin’s Laura Wagner, argue that additional information about the event should not end outrage over what happened to Phillips. “Nothing about the video showing the offensive language of Black Israelites changes how upsetting it was to see the Covington students, and Sandmann in particular, stare at Phillips with such contempt,” Wagner wrote on Monday.

The Black Hebrew Israelites involved argue that they are being unfairly singled out in attempts to excuse the students’ treatment of Phillips.

Ephraim Israel, a Hebrew Israelite present on Friday, told the Washington Post that the students were “mocking me as I was trying to teach my brothers, so, yes, the attention turned to them.”

“I explained to them, you want to build the wall for Mexicans and other indigenous people, but you’ve never seen a black or a Mexican shoot up a school,” he said.

While the longer video does show the men taunting other march attendees before turning to the students, who begin to chant and yell in response, Phillips has also told media outlets that he had problems with the students even before their confrontation with the Black Hebrew Israelites. And other videos posted by people on the National Mall that day seem to show Covington students harassing other people in the area near the Indigenous Peoples March.

On Saturday, Shar Yaqataz Banyamyan, another member of the Black Hebrew Israelites present on Friday, discussed the situation on Facebook Live. He argued that his groups’ comments toward the students — which included claims that the students were “Donald Trump incest babies” and “dogs” — were “just rhetoric.”

“Nobody started your children to mount up on us and surround us and start chanting and doing so-called indigenous dances mocking the march,” Banyamyan said.

from Vox - All http://bit.ly/2sPj09v

[caveartfair]

Elia Alba Is Turning Artists of Color into Fantasy Icons

Elia Alba, The Dreamweaver (Chitra Ganesh), 2013. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Magazines have an uncanny habit of repeating certain formulas. Print glossies, for instance, are fond of the multi-page portrait spread that assigns a character, or archetype, to each photographic subject. Picture a glamour shot of a man striding purposefully across the page—dubbed “The Innovator”—or a woman in overalls lost in a moment of focused attention to her materials in an art-strewn studio: “The Creator.”

It’s this aggrandizing tendency, rampant in magazines like Glamour and Vanity Fair, as well as the relative lack of people of color that appear within such pages, that first inspired an ongoing project by the artist Elia Alba called The Supper Club. Beginning in 2012, she set about reimagining fellow artists of color in fantastical images, often with an Afrofuturist aesthetic, or that present them as A-list celebrities. She took Vanity Fair’s “Hollywood Edition” as a model of sorts. For each of her subjects, she dreamed up a tableau and accompanying moniker that characterized their artistic practices.

Hank Willis Thomas, known for his critically incisive, politically charged artwork addressing race in America, becomes “The Professor,” standing amid what appears to be a high school history classroom. Abigail DeVille, whose transporting sculptures and installations suggest temporary structures or otherworldly spaceships assembled from detritus, is “The Pulsar.” Dressed like a psychedelic warrior from the future, she emits rays of green light from her body.

Five years and some 60 portraits since she began shooting artists of color, Alba will present the images at New York’s 8th Floor gallery in September, alongside transcripts from the accompanying supper series that she hosts for her photo subjects and peers. (To date, over 20 have taken place.) The photographs and conversations will be published together in a book slated for 2018.

Elia Alba, The Orisha (Juana Valdes), 2015. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Elia Alba, The Pulsar, (Abigail DeVille), 2014. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Alba’s portraits are rich in cultural references. Aside from many of them being informed by Afrofuturism—a philosophy and aesthetic blending Afrocentrism with science fiction that is most readily associated with jazz composer Sun Ra’s film and album, Space Is the Place (1972–74)—they also draw from a range of film, music, and art history. Her sources include 1920s images of Buster Keaton (for her portrait of Michael Paul Britto); the album covers of 1970s funk bank Aquarian Dreams (Saya Woolfalk); and a painting by Frida Kahlo (the Garcia sisters).

For her portrait of Chitra Ganesh, an artist who creates large-scale narrative compositions that examine gender and colonialism and are infused with the iconographies and mythologies of Eastern religions, Alba looked to David Bowie. Finding resonance between Bowie’s gender-fluidity and Ganesh’s work, she drew from a series of photos that photographer Mick Rock took of Bowie wearing a giant bindi dot. In Alba’s portrait of Ganesh, “The Dreamweaver,” she wears an oversized bindi dot and a mullet crop, and is bathed in fluorescent pink light.

Not satisfied with the images alone, however, Alba wanted to capture another dimension of her portrait subjects. “I wanted to give [my subjects] a voice, too,” she says. But rather than conduct one-on-one interviews with Thomas, DeVille, Ganesh, and the 57 other artists she photographed, Alba decided to initiate a more dynamic exchange of words around a dinner table. (She’s since begun to view the transcripts of these dialogues as a work of art in their own right, an evolving oral history.)

The first iteration of the supper series, supported by the non-profit art space Recess, took place in 2012 at a restaurant in Brooklyn. The format for these gatherings was quite simple: invite a group of POC artists to share a meal; serve up some comfort food (Alba favors chicken and rice dishes, family style); and lead with a discussion topic centered on race, or other issues that intersect with it.

What emerged from those early talks, however, came as a surprise to Alba, so much so that she felt compelled to continue organizing more iterations in different venues. The group would visit a restaurant, order takeout at an artist’s apartment, or stage a home-cooked meal at which Alba would serve her signature mini-empanadas. “It was quite eye-opening for me,” she says. “There was a lot of division among folks of color. There was also division among African-Americans and Latinos.”

Elia Alba, The Spiritualist (Maren Hassinger), 2013. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Alba, who is 55 and has a multimedia art practice, identifies as both Black and Latino. She has roots in the Dominican Republic but culturally feels more aligned with African-American communities (“I prefer to listen to hip-hop than merengue,” she quips). And from the genesis of her supper club, she felt strongly that the dinners should welcome all people of color.

This inclusive emphasis is grounded in Alba’s commitment to finding commonalities between distinct communities, to “equalize those differences,” as she says. “Granted, the history of slavery is terrible here, but if we look at the history of, say, South Asians, they were oppressed by the British for a long, long time. People forget there were slaves in Latin America. And indigenous people [in the Americas] were oppressed. Land was taken away; they were killed by diseases.”

One supper discussion revolved around the idea that blackness tends to be seen through the lens of the United States. “The U.S. has a very imperialist mindset, and Britain does too,” says Alba. “Everything that we do feels bigger than everything else. That applies to race discussions sometimes.”

Alba notes that this was one of several suppers at which tension arose, with some feeling that the conversation represented an attack on African-Americans. “One artist felt that it was the Civil Rights movement in this country that had empowered people [everywhere] to push against the existing norms,” she says.

Alba admits that she was a little worried that some participants at that particular dinner would never speak to her again. But she is not one to avoid difficult subjects, or potential conflict. “My friends will tell you, sometimes I’m a little too idealistic,” she says with a smile.

Elia Alba, The Body Electric (Jacolby Satterwhite), 2014. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Elia Alba, The Earthseed (Simone Leigh), 2016. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

And while there have been some uncomfortable moments around the dinner table, Alba wells up a bit talking about the more poignant or emotional gatherings that she’s shared with her guests. Dinners that followed the deaths of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, and Tamir Rice, and the mass shooting in Orlando, took on particular urgency as the conversations grew more political.

“I think we all cried at that dinner,” she says of the supper that took place shortly after the murders of 49 people in a gay nightclub in Florida in 2016. “People understood that safety wasn’t available to anyone at that table.”

A dinner at the end of 2014, following the police killings of Garner, Brown, and Rice, found participants especially fired up. The group ate together in December, shortly after Art Basel Miami Beach. “People just couldn’t understand how you could celebrate the art fair, and then protest,” says Alba. “I felt the same with Trayvon Martin; that happened in Florida, and people still went to Art Basel.”

More recently, the highly charged conversations surrounding Dana Schutz’s painting of Emmett Till lying in his casket, a flashpoint of the Whitney Biennial, surfaced at one of Alba’s suppers and revealed a generational divide. “Younger folks felt that it should have been taken down, which I found very interesting,” says Alba. “A lot of people felt it should be discussed and critiqued heavily, but it should not be taken down—which is my position. I don’t like [the painting], but that history is not just a history for black people, that’s a history for everyone in this country.”

Elia Alba, The Professor (Hank Willis Thomas), 2014. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

The past five years of suppers have made Alba more sensitive to and aware of different viewpoints, she says. “As artists, we do need to be more sensitive, because we’re putting stuff out into the world. I feel like I was very naïve for a while. Now, to use the contemporary language, I’m woke,” she says.  

She hopes that when her book is eventually published, the dinner transcripts will have a similar impact on others. And the images—or “beauty shots,” as she thinks of them—will hopefully empower viewers, particularly women. She points to her portrait of Juana Valdes, whom she captured looking “so powerful” in a dress with a 10-foot train, and to her nude portrait of Mickalene Thomas, as “The Female Gaze,” portrayed as a Sandro Botticelli-Venus-like statue on a beach in Fire Island.

“With Mickalene Thomas, she portrays these women that are so strong and über-feminine and beautiful, with glitter and sparkle,” Alba says. “Mickalene let me photograph her without any clothes, it was a beautiful day.”

“It’s about reimagining icons and perceptions of what is beautiful—and who is beautiful.”

—Tess Thackara

from Artsy News

[yahoo-puck-daddy-blog]

P.K. Subban, happily trolling Penguins' stars on and off ice

NASHVILLE – P.K. Subban knows the game. The one that isn’t played on ice, but in front of the microphones and cameras in the playoffs.

And the game goes like this: P.K. Subban and Sidney Crosby trash-talk each other leaving the ice after Game 3, the two biggest stars in the Stanley Cup Final going at it. Pierre McGuire of NBCSN asks Subban what was said and Subban, who obviously isn’t going to relay the dialogue verbatim, tells McGuire that Crosby was mocking his bad breath, which was a comical reference to McGuire’s “how’s your breath?” moment with Phil Kessel of the Penguins last season.

The game continues outside the Predators’ dressing room, as a gaggle of reporters surround Subban and a venerable columnist for a large Canadian paper asks him about Crosby. “Usually when guys chirp after the game or during the game, it’s usually about your game or something personal. He went on to tell me that my breath smelled bad, and I really don’t understand why, because I use Listerine before the game,” said Subban.

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Now the game is on. The “breath” thing goes viral, and boomerangs around to practice the following day, when Subban is asked about it again. “Hey, you can’t be perfect. There are some things I have to work on, I guess,” he said of his allegedly dank breath.

But to win the game, your nonsense needs to seep through the opposing locker room door. Which means that Sidney Crosby, the day after losing a Stanley Cup Final game and the day before another one, would have to be asked about P.K. Subban’s breath.

“Are you guys gonna ask him that?” asked Subban, feigning surprise. “Well, it’ll be interesting to see if he says what he said last night.”

And so the media carries this story over and we infect the Penguins’ room like mosquitos, asking Crosby about the incident.

“Yeah, he made that up. I didn’t say that,” Crosby said, wishing to answer literally anything else at this moment. “He likes the attention.”

***

This is the second time Subban’s played “The Game” in the Stanley Cup Final. The first was his guarantee to win Game 3 after the Predators lost the first two games. It was a vow he reinforced in the following two days as well, and a vow that, again, made its way into the Q&As with Penguins players.

As Crosby said, he likes the attention, and in that case he liked focusing that attention on what Subban believed should be the story coming out of Game 2: We’re better than them when we play a full 60 minutes, and we’ll beat them in Game 3.

After Game 3, Subban punted when asked for his Game 4 prediction, because that’s not the story he wants to tell anymore. Now, it’s about how the Penguins were frustrated to the point where Crosby was jawing with Subban, and so we get the Listerine fabrication.

The breath thing was a lie, but here’s the truth: P.K. Subban is really good at the troll thing.

“The gamesmanship’s awesome. That’s what you love, and that’s what you probably miss the most when you’re finished playing. For those battles. For that game within a game,” he said.

His gamesmanship has been elevated and amplified with Crosby and Evgeni Malkin across the ice.

“I love it. Love it. You want to play against the world’s best players, and he’s the world’s best player. It’s always fun to play against those guys,” said Subban of Crosby.

Subban has been feistier and more pest-like in this series than in the previous three rounds. His only fight of the playoffs, such as it was, came near the end of Game 2 against the other target of his aggression, Malkin.

“It’s hockey. You gotta play the game. In a 60-minute game, everybody has their one-on-one battles, and you have to win the battle against the guy across from you. When you do that consistently, you’re going to win the big battle, which is the game,” said Subban.

Subban and Mattias Ekholm have consistently been the Predators’ top shutdown duo in these playoffs, and in the process Subban’s status as a shutdown defenseman himself has been considered.

As far back as 2012, Subban was being praised for adapting to that role with the Montreal Canadiens, and it’s no coincidence this was around the time of his first and only Norris Trophy victory.

But an odd thing happened in the ensuring seasons. Perhaps it’s the inherent bias the hockey world has against most “flashy” defenseman who put up points. Perhaps it was a the amplified voices of his critics in the Montreal media. Mike Babcock’s assessment of Subban in discussing the “trustworthiness” of defensemen didn’t help in 2014, even though Subban eventually made the Canadian Olympic team.

But then the Predators began this Stanley Cup ride, and results were deniable. Here was a 200-foot defenseman, helping to stifle some of the best offensive players in the postseason while countering with his own offense.

“Whether it’s Crosby or Malkin or Getzlaf or Toews, you’re talking about some of the better players in the game. You have to play good defense. As much as, you know, we sit here and talk about attack all the time, look to create,” said Nashville coach Peter Laviolette. “I just think that P.K. and Eky, all of our defensemen, if I’m being honest, even from a team concept defensively, it’s been pretty good in the playoffs to this point.”

Subban and Ekholm have been great, but based on possession numbers Subban’s been exceptional, with a 67.03-percent Corsi at 5-on-5 to lead all skaters in the series.

When you add that effectiveness to his agitation on the ice to his calculated reindeer games in the media, you realize that Subban is actually doing his best Chris Pronger impression, circa 2010.

***

You remember that, right? The Stanley Cup Final against the Chicago Blackhawks, when Pronger’s humorously contentious press conferences were must-see and his puck-stealing antics drew attention from the Flyers’ performances before losing the series?

Subban’s got the same game going in 2017.

Interestingly enough, the two had a run-in during Subban’s rookie season. From Sports Illustrated:

In his first NHL game, a 3–2 loss in Philadelphia in February ’10, Subban challenged towering Flyers defenseman Chris Pronger, perhaps the nastiest player of his generation, during a scrum at the end of the third period. “He’s got one guy in one hand and one guy in another,” Subban says. “I come right in the middle, grab him and say, ‘Let him go, let him go.’ And he didn’t say anything. I say, ‘I’m not scared of you.’ He says, ‘God, your breath stinks. Can you get out of here?'”

Maybe it’s time for Subban to get that halitosis checked out, seeing as how it’s apparently chronic …

Subban, like Pronger, is on a mission to disrupt his opponents by any means necessary. Has he frustrated the Penguins?

“You have to ask them that question,” said Subban.

Has he frustrated the Penguins?

“It doesn’t even matter who I go against. To be honest, I’m not looking at who’s on ‘D’ or who’s up front,” said Crosby.

“I haven’t seen him that much. Maybe he hasn’t been in the zone enough. But it doesn’t feel like every time I’m out there, he’s out there. I’m sure they’re not locked in on a certain pairing locked in against each line. I think they’re pretty comfortable with either pairing. I’m ready to compete against whoever,” he said.

Crosby and Subban have been opponents and they’ve been Team Canada teammates. Subban calls him the best player in the world.

“You have to respect your opponent, and I always do,” he said. “But in the same token, their job is to be better than us and our job is to be better than them. On the ice, it’s all bets are off. That’s the reality of professional sports: There’s no friends out there and you play hard to win.”

By any means necessary.

—

Greg Wyshynski is a writer for Yahoo Sports. Contact him at puckdaddyblog@yahoo.com or find him on Twitter. His book, TAKE YOUR EYE OFF THE PUCK, is available on Amazon and wherever books are sold.

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[caveartfair]

Elia Alba Is Turning Artists of Color into Afrofuturist Icons

Elia Alba, The Dreamweaver (Chitra Ganesh), 2013. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Magazines have an uncanny habit of repeating certain formulas. Print glossies, for instance, are fond of the multi-page portrait spread that assigns a character, or archetype, to each photographic subject. Picture a glamour shot of a man striding purposefully across the page—dubbed “The Innovator”—or a woman in overalls lost in a moment of focused attention to her materials in an art-strewn studio: “The Creator.”

It’s this aggrandizing tendency, rampant in magazines like Glamour and Vanity Fair, as well as the relative lack of people of color that appear within such pages, that first inspired an ongoing project by the artist Elia Alba called The Supper Club. Beginning in 2012, she set about reimagining fellow artists of color in fantastical images, often with an Afrofuturist aesthetic, or that present them as A-list celebrities. She took Vanity Fair’s “Hollywood Edition” as a model of sorts. For each of her subjects, she dreamed up a tableau and accompanying moniker that characterized their artistic practices.

Hank Willis Thomas, known for his critically incisive, politically charged artwork addressing race in America, becomes “The Professor,” standing amid what appears to be a high school history classroom. Abigail DeVille, whose transporting sculptures and installations suggest temporary structures or otherworldly spaceships assembled from detritus, is “The Pulsar.” Dressed like a psychedelic warrior from the future, she emits rays of green light from her body.

Five years and some 60 portraits since she began shooting artists of color, Alba will present the images at New York’s 8th Floor gallery in September, alongside transcripts from the accompanying supper series that she hosts for her photo subjects and peers. (To date, over 20 have taken place.) The photographs and conversations will be published together in a book slated for 2018.

Elia Alba, The Orisha (Juana Valdes), 2015. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Elia Alba, The Pulsar, (Abigail DeVille), 2014. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Alba’s portraits are rich in cultural references. Aside from many of them being informed by Afrofuturism—a philosophy and aesthetic blending Afrocentrism with science fiction that is most readily associated with jazz composer Sun Ra’s film and album, Space Is the Place (1972–74)—they also draw from a range of film, music, and art history. Her sources include 1920s images of Buster Keaton (for her portrait of Michael Paul Britto); the album covers of 1970s funk bank Aquarian Dreams (Saya Woolfalk); and paintings by Frida Kahlo and Salvador Dalí (the Garcia and Iglesias sisters, respectively).

For her portrait of Chitra Ganesh, an artist who creates large-scale narrative compositions that examine gender and colonialism and are infused with the iconographies and mythologies of Eastern religions, Alba looked to David Bowie. Finding resonance between Bowie’s gender-fluidity and Ganesh’s work, she drew from the iconic singer’s series of photos where he shot himself wearing a giant bindi dot. In Alba’s portrait of Ganesh, “The Dreamweaver,” she wears an oversized bindi dot and a mullet crop, and is bathed in fluorescent pink light.

Not satisfied with the images alone, however, Alba wanted to capture another dimension of her portrait subjects. “I wanted to give [my subjects] a voice, too,” she says. But rather than conduct one-on-one interviews with Thomas, DeVille, Ganesh, and the 57 other artists she photographed, Alba decided to initiate a more dynamic exchange of words around a dinner table. (She’s since begun to view the transcripts of these dialogues as a work of art in their own right, an evolving oral history.)

The first iteration of the supper series took place in 2012, at the non-profit art space Recess, in Brooklyn. The format for these gatherings was quite simple: invite a group of POC artists to share a meal; serve up some comfort food (Alba favors chicken and rice dishes, family style); and lead with a discussion topic centered on race, or other issues that intersect with it.

What emerged from those early talks, however, came as a surprise to Alba, so much so that she felt compelled to continue organizing more iterations in different venues. The group would visit a restaurant, order takeout at an artist’s apartment, or stage a home-cooked meal at which Alba would serve her signature mini-empanadas. “It was quite eye-opening for me,” she says. “There was a lot of division among folks of color. There was also division among African-Americans and Latinos.”

Elia Alba, The Spiritualist (Maren Hassinger), 2013. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Alba, who is 55 and has a multimedia art practice, identifies as both Black and Latino. She has roots in the Dominican Republic but culturally feels more aligned with African-American communities (“I prefer to listen to hip-hop than merengue,” she quips). And from the genesis of her supper club, she felt strongly that the dinners should welcome all people of color.

This inclusive emphasis is grounded in Alba’s commitment to finding commonalities between distinct communities, to “equalize those differences,” as she says. “Granted, the history of slavery is terrible here, but if we look at the history of, say, South Asians, they were oppressed by the British for a long, long time. People forget there were slaves in Latin America. And indigenous people [in the Americas] were oppressed. Land was taken away; they were killed by diseases.”

One supper discussion revolved around the idea that blackness tends to be seen through the lens of the United States. “The U.S. has a very imperialist mindset, and Britain does too,” says Alba. “Everything that we do feels bigger than everything else. That applies to race discussions sometimes.”

Alba notes that this was one of several suppers at which tension arose, with some feeling that the conversation represented an attack on African-Americans. “One artist felt that it was the Civil Rights movement in this country that had empowered people [everywhere] to push against the existing norms,” she says.

Alba admits that she was a little worried that some participants at that particular dinner would never speak to her again. But she is not one to avoid difficult subjects, or potential conflict. “My friends will tell you, sometimes I’m a little too idealistic,” she says with a smile.

Elia Alba, The Body Electric (Jacolby Satterwhite), 2014. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

Elia Alba, The Earthseed (Simone Leigh), 2016. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

And while there have been some uncomfortable moments around the dinner table, Alba wells up a bit talking about the more poignant or emotional gatherings that she’s shared with her guests. Dinners that followed the deaths of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, and Tamir Rice, and the mass shooting in Orlando, took on particular urgency as the conversations grew more political.

“I think we all cried at that dinner,” she says of the supper that took place shortly after the murders of 49 people in a gay nightclub in Florida in 2016. “People understood that safety wasn’t available to anyone at that table.”

A dinner at the end of 2014, following the police killings of Garner, Brown, and Rice, found participants especially fired up. The group ate together in December, shortly after Art Basel Miami Beach. “People just couldn’t understand how you could celebrate the art fair, and then protest,” says Alba. “I felt the same with Trayvon Martin; that happened in Florida, and people still went to Art Basel.”

More recently, the highly charged conversations surrounding Dana Schutz’s painting of Emmett Till lying in his casket, a flashpoint of the Whitney Biennial, surfaced at one of Alba’s suppers and revealed a generational divide. “Younger folks felt that it should have been taken down, which I found very interesting,” says Alba. “A lot of people felt it should be discussed and critiqued heavily, but it should not be taken down—which is my position. I don’t like [the painting], but that history is not just a history for black people, that’s a history for everyone in this country.”

Elia Alba, The Professor (Hank Willis Thomas), 2014. Courtesy of the Shelley & Donald Rubin Foundation.

The past five years of suppers have made Alba more sensitive to and aware of different viewpoints, she says. “As artists, we do need to be more sensitive, because we’re putting stuff out into the world. I feel like I was very naïve for a while. Now, to use the contemporary language, I’m woke,” she says.  

She hopes that when her book is eventually published, the portraits and dinner transcripts will have a similar impact on others. And the images—or “beauty shots,” as she thinks of them—will hopefully empower viewers, particularly women. She points to her portrait of Juana Valdes, whom she captured looking “so powerful” in a dress with a 10-foot train, and to her nude portrait of Mickalene Thomas, as “The Female Gaze,” portrayed as a Sandro Botticelli-Venus-like statue on a beach in Fire Island.

“With Mickalene Thomas, she portrays these women that are so strong and über-feminine and beautiful, with glitter and sparkle,” Alba says. “Mickalene let me photograph her without any clothes, it was a beautiful day.”

“It’s about reimagining icons and perceptions of what is beautiful—and who is beautiful.”

—Tess Thackara

from Artsy News