#theatric symbolisation of life

[onlyhurtforaminute]

AGATHOCLES-THEATRIC SYMBOLISATION OF LIFE

[animeyanderelover]

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, manipulation, delusional mindset, threats, overprotective behavior, isolation, abduction

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @flaming-vulpix

S/o likes to tell stories of their childhood

Shaiapouf

🎻Shaiapouf lives to cater to the needs of yours as long as they align with his own beliefs of what is right for you. He enjoys listening to your childhood stories as it symbolises to him that you trust him, something he craves to be given from you. It keeps him from using his Nen abilities to influence and manipulate your emotions to make you more docile and submissive, more susceptile to let him serve you and protect you the way he believes that you have to be protected. As someone who never has had a childhood as he has been the same emotionally and physically ever since he hatched he also shows an increased interest to find out what a normal human's childhood from your memories would look like. Whatever you may have hoped his reaction to be though, I guarantee you that Shaiapouf will only be feeling petty jealousy and theatrical horror. Every person who made you happy before his arrival is a victim of his poisoned envy and every accident of yours nearly gives him a heart attack as he feels the need to still see if you have suffered any injuries even if years should have passed. You will have to relive those experiences only in your memories though as Pouf would never allow you to do it again.

Kaneki Ken

🔲​Kaneki's childhood has been marked with hardships all over and despite the selfishness of his obsession he still genuinely hopes that at least someone as wonderful as his darling never had to suffer even half as much as he did. Initially he latches on very eagerly when you start telling stories of your childhood as the act of telling him despite having abducted you something about your past soothes his already smothering insecurities. He's an individual that loves listening to you as it is. You do set him up cruelly though, only telling him the nice and funny stories that warm his heart only to pour icy cold water over him as soon as you start bringing up stories that aren't so happy. His heart races, his breath stops and panics floods through him as stories of your near-death-encounters bring him more horror than actual horror films. His paranoia definitely has him spiraling down to be more pushy as his presence starts to be more pushy. He's afraid that you may suffer from nightmares in your sleep or that you carry with you a mental burden that he will gladly take if he can. If some of your stories should involve nearly being eaten by a ghoul though it is going to be a shot right through his fragile mentality.

Aizen Sosuke

🌫️​Aizen is a man who knows everything, a man who never enters a room without a plan and who never starts a conversation without a purpose. You're constantly torn apart between gnawing frustration and obvious terror as this man who you have never met seems to know more about your own mind than you do yourself. It's those previous experiences with the true depths of his knowledge that make you very reluctant initially to share your past with him as you suspect that he probably already knows. In fact he does but still he values the aspect of you engaging with him in conversations and other interactions as he would have no interest in you if you were nothing more than a quiet and motionless doll. Even if he outsmarts you all the time, Aizen does enjoy listening to you and he finds that though he knows most of those stories anyways it is much more entertaining to hear them from your lips. The ones that amuse him by far the most are the ones where you almost ended up risking your own life as it only solidifies you even more as someone fascinating as he wonders how fate could have possibly gotten you into many of the events you went through in your past.

Sesshomaru

🐺​Sesshomaru ususally shows very little emotion on his face and when he does reveal them they are normally always either ones of annoyance or anger. That's why you are intially very hesitant as you share stories of your past, your eyes constantly on the yokai as you are worried that he may give you a disapproving glare or coldly demand you to stop. None of that happens though and despite his lack of any reaction that makes it look like he simply doesn't care you take it. Every night when he stops his journey to give Rin and you rest as he understands that humans need sleep to replenish their energy you like to tell stories at the bonfire with Rin often your only listener who appears to actively listen and be interested. It is only once you start bringing up stories of your past that at that time could have easily cost you your life that finally elicit a reaction out of him, sharp eyes suddenly looking up. He usually asks you once Jaken and Rin are asleep if those stories were really true as if not wanting to believe that the one human he fell in love with happens to be the one who appears to be unbelievably stupid and unlucky. Hopefully you're less of an idiot now. Otherwise he may have to keep a closer eye on you.

[flushwithdarlings]

"My uh...whiff...is very faint thank you. Nothing a little bergamont, rosemary, and a hint of fine aged brandy can't hide. It's the perfect olfactory disguise for a corpse. Honestly, I think I missed my calling as a perfumer!" - Astarion to Shadowheart I don't know if anybody has analysed Astarion's perfume or if the ingredients were even thought of this hard by Stephen Rooney (I am kicking myself for not asking when I met him at MCM 2 weeks ago). I, however, have read about them and thought about them quite hard.

So, my findings and ramblings about Astarion's perfume:

Bergamot - From the bergamot orange. Ironically, it's phototoxic - it makes skin more sensitive to sunlight/UV damage so I guess you could say it's associated with the sun? I dunno if Astarion should be wearing it tbh...

I also saw the fruit called 'Aphrodite's apple' and 'the most beautiful fruit' but the source was kind of flimsy.

Rosemary - Used in funeral rites throughout history, it symbolises death and remembrance but also fidelity in love.

The Ancient Egyptians used it in their embalming process to mask the scent of death (makes sense that Astarion uses it to mask his faint whiff of undeath), and it used to be (and still is?) placed on or in graves.

It's also mentioned a bunch in Shakespeare's works, specifically in scenes to do with death, which is quite appropriate and ironic for this silver-tongued, theatrical vampire who hates poets.

FRIAR LAWRENCE:

Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary

On this fair corse

- Romeo and Juliet

OPHELIA:

There's rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love,

remember.

- Hamlet

Aphrodite pops up again here because in some versions of her creation myth, she arises from the sea adorned with rosemary.

Brandy - A biiit of a stretch maybe but there is a category of brandy known as eau-de-vie - water of life - so-called because medieval alchemists would ascribe miraculous properties to alcohol such as immortality.

In the late 19th and early 20th century, brandy was also used as a cardiac stimulant (so an association with life?) because it seemingly increased cardiac output and blood pressure. Which doesn't really help Astarion in any way but hey he is wearing it, not drinking it or getting it injected up his butt (that was one way it was used to resuscitate patients apparently yeah idk).

SO basically, his perfume ingredients are associated with life, death, the sun, immortality, devotion in love, and maybe the Greek goddess of passion, pleasure, beauty, and sex.

It also smells amazing.

[lacunasbalustrade]

It has been a while since these hands

fell upon the pores of paper,

tattooing a puppet so that it astounds

as it prances down the street.

I strip her naked,

give her the staff that symbolises my vices,

and bid her walk through the crowds.

I fold her clothes into drawers and rip

their seams methodically until

I can make them into faux wigs for other puppets.

I give her feathered wings made of amputated,

hollowed voices,

can you hear their silent fury permeating the world?

This is my craft, darlings,

this is your precious art;

I cannot let a thing exist without dissecting it

and this is a stain upon my hands that the touch of a loved one does not erase.

I don't want to examine things, you know.

I want to let them exist without having to apologise, and whisper sweet nothings to them

as we squat in a white and accepting horizon of nothingness appreciating blank space.

I do not want to hammer props together,

and bring my friends into a darkened theatre,

to gather my puppets and have them perform for others' short laughter,

a lovely resolution indeed to learn

from a story that is not theirs

and that they cannot truly walk into.

I do not want to be a theatrical deception,

I refuse to tell a story that will make you think life is worth living.

I hate how words wrap around my skin like

a lower layer of clothes,

of armour,

I hate that my words have the ability to

move people forward or

backward like pawns on a board.

These words come from the wiseness

and experience of a me who

has not enough stomach

to let a promise stay untold;

constantly afraid of forgetting it.

I wish I could recall my heart so fearlessly

that none of it would be mysterious to me,

and thus avoid having to set tombstones of verbs

and nouns into the ground every time I

want to memorialise someone or

something once important to me.

Couldn't I just let them go,

instead of fossilizing them alone,

mummifying them into a dark and disturbed dusk

that they must now wander without a map?

I have killed people from my side

by sticking their incense into the fire

before they were even gone.

I don't want to write.

I don't want to make.

Yes, I

would rather be a consumer,

what is so odd about it?

I hate my own words which exist in

the darkness of a girl younger than the year

I was born.

I would throw a tantrum like a child if that would drive the words away from me,

scatter them like petals to a breeze

or fish to a pebble dropped in the pond.

Can't I exist without judging

and determining the value of things?

Effortless,

I want an effortless ability to

separate the sheep from the lambs.

Can you replace my words with a healing touch? Because all I can offer you is tomes of sadness

and grimoires of what once happened,

living sacrifices bound in hair and blood.

Ghastly,

alive,

undead;

I can't keep putting my name on the altar as

a gift to you, do you understand?

The smoke dries my eyes out into desiccated coconut that I drop into soup and reuse,

nutrients never leaving the cycle of

seeing and

hearing and

painful speculation with speech.

Find me my heart,

someone I do not have to tell stories to.

Let the warmth of our hands gesturing be enough to sustain us.

I want to listen to you talk for the rest of your life and

say nothing at all,

it is a cruel thing that I must speak

in order for someone to take a look over at me,

on the opposite side of the metro.

Can I not take a vow of silence,

of deep breaths and unwavering faith?

But I am so very weak to the sight of you

sitting there and waiting for me to reach out a hand, so much that even

when there is nothing waiting for my return,

I offer up a slashed wrist without a second thought.

In a room with no lights on,

the cool wall drains all defiance from my slumped back. Where will I be when I can

finally throw this pen off the highest skyscraper and not dive down to follow my

most heavy curse?

I am hungry for my words to follow a

standard that I can smooth out to

be acceptably vague,

not deceptively simple and terribly full of grief.

I have collected standard samples of writing

that I wish to portray,

but I can't force myself into a mould because

the grief wants more than anything to speak.

I try to prune it and weed it yet

it grows back again,

and again,

And again.

I can quell it,

gild it,

but a lily is a lily,

and I cannot pull it from the riverbed,

my love.

I cannot.

I don't want to call him by another name.

It suits him,

yes,

but I do not want to sacrifice him to the page.

Our story is the only one

I'm capable of telling,

but I do not want to give it over

into the arms of someone who

will kill the author and strip

the meat of his story

from its bones.

Yes, I know

my writing only has one purpose;

to lend a medium of canvas to someone else's easel

But let me be selfish,

just

this

once,

and say that I cannot tell this story to a page.

I cannot bear to place him in the arms

of someone else,

who will take him

and love him

In a way that is entirely wrong.

I will not and cannot abandon

these words that harbour his gentle tenacity,

his careful intimacy,

to the circus

for some coin and a little recognition.

I will find some other act,

and make a mediocre living,

and I will not strip him of the acknowledgement

I owe him and he owes me,

us to one another;

that we are the closest any person could be

in perfect clarity.

I do not want to call him by another name,

and reduce him to a legend I

am willing to tell around the fire.

For everyone knows that

the more precious the story,

the closer you hold it to your chest,

and the more tenderly you play your cards.

The story is like your hand,

reserved for a few,

only a select few,

who get to look into your eyes and

hear your account of the whole affair.

Here is the best declaration of love that I can manage; I will not immortalise you in my pages.

I will not sketch your visage onto paper.

I will never write a song about you.

Here is the best way I can think of loving you;

I will never let you roam alone,

cut-and-pasted and become a

fragment of someone else's memory.

Here is my answer and my fault,

I refuse to let you weather the ages without me,

and I think we shall go into the world beyond

this world together so neither of us have

to remain as ghosts.

If we leave this world earlier,

and more separated than I would like,

I want nothing to tie you down there.

I want to meet you on the road to heaven,

and damn

if we had things we never got to do on Earth,

because you are enough,

regardless if we get to be

the couple of teenage dreams and

restful wishes or not

I would make my home a battlefield,

and a war too,

if it was one you were fighting with me.

I cannot let you become a secret that I tell.

It is hard to keep these lips shut.

I want to fly our story on

banners from planes and walk

over the sky in fireworks.

But I will not taint you with that wish.

Here and now,

I snap my puppets in two,

breaking their backbones mercilessly.

Here and now,

I delete the only copy of our painstakingly written draft.

Here and now,

the fabric of our universe returns to you,

a ripped and threadbare fabric teeming with holes

and loose strands healing before your eyes

(I cannot make you a poem)

and I will not,

cannot drag you away from it again.

It cost me all my strength,

the first time round.

I hate writing,

and although it stems from my ghosts,

they do not have to speak for me to be content.

If I do not let you remain vibrant with colours,

if I do not hesitate to shut them up and

let us dance,

what sort of lover would I be?

I make the choice here now to lock my past in a room.

To me, love is

something that changes what's precious.

No, I don't think I am a better person

for ignoring the depth of grief within me,

but I will not let my ghosts out to shriek.

I will love you and with

each day they will grow fainter in their bars,

this is the sacrifice I choose to make

rather than satisfy their hunger.

I would starve myself

to have you,

do you understand?

In keeping you,

I have kept the harbour of my life.

Any oath or path I take up has a price to pay,

but yours is the only one in which I am refunded

in full at the end

(yes, I do not know how things will turn out,

but I could never regret this.

I have regretted nothing since I stepped into you.)

Paper will not wrap itself around my heart again.

I will not protect myself with layers of

words like magic seals,

nor communicate my intentions through

gifts of intrigue you cannot speak the language of. Real and true,

I must tear apart the doors that lead nowhere, storming through hallways in

search of the best route to lead you in so

you don't get lost,

and confuse the direction,

and reach me with the fastest time.

For you,

for you,

I shred my armour.

For you,

for you, I,

I will be speechless.

For you, for you,

I let you fill in your questions in your neat handwriting into my heart

and I let time answer for me with

the hug that only space can give as

it makes way for the two of us to embrace.

For you I gave up the treachery

that I took up to elucidate my own home.

I will build one with my hand in yours instead.

Let us walk unsteadily down our path,

the laundry dripping wet in the basket.

We'll hang it up from a branch,

chortling heard through the trees,

and we will have no explanation required from us.

I will make tea and the steam will fog up

your vision, yet you will see

my silhouette through it.

There needs to be no words when we stretch

out like cats leisurely on pillows next to

our glass windows,

basking in the heat of the sun,

the rays of the mundane afternoon we

fought so hard and long for.

The wounds will not be deep,

they will be shallow gouges,

and I will trace my finger down your

cheek and call them healed.

I will cry,

and you will stand there,

waiting for me as I scream,

never once turning your face away.

I will lick the salt clean from my face,

and you will wipe it from my mouth.

I will still fold my blankets thickly over myself,

but I will not need them anymore.

I will have your warmth.

No one said it will stop hurting,

only that I would stop wanting to forget.

And as days after days fall from memory,

I will compare my remembrance with yours.

Together, we will make a game of it,

and it will matter not if we take shortcuts

or cheat because the fadeaway cannot thin

our bond from our sightline,

cannot mist over the horizon we float

through together at our own pace.

And my tears will slowly fossilize into gems

that I wear around my neck,

glistening as proof that we once lived

through such and such times,

yet taken as nonsense by the

new generation who cares shallowly for us.

For you, I will tell no stories.

We can face each other and speak these words,

so there is no need for us to

burden others with them.

This is my proposal to you,

let me be the only story you live through.

This is my proposal to you, let yours

be the only story I keep silent,

the only one I hold to my heart.

I refuse to tell this story.

It is too magnificent to be given freely,

a jealous treasure I will guard.

It is the only thing I will not write about,

the only thing I will shield from my grief

I will not associate my heart with my clinging depression.

They are separate,

and distinctly gifted with different rationale

(my grief to tell me how much

to treasure my joy,

my joy to remind me that there is more

to love than grief.)

My hands will not end up knitting these colours together -

they can stay in their separate compartments so

they do not muddy the colours.

That's why I will not tell your stories.

But I delight in sharing my life within glances to you. I will write about you no more,

and you will live on only within your own existence. You will not become a part of my resume,

and I will not carve you up to please those

who want to see what I crave and create.

I will not cremate you before your arrival and

I will not leave your name up on a mountain.

I will not take you and throw you towards those whom

doubt me as a warning.

I will not share you nor hide you

You will remain your own and I will listen to you

Reaching out across the distance

Without desiring to place a territorial mark on you

I will give you the freedom of striking

the match.

there has been enough grief,

and you will not be soaked or consumed

by what has already taken so much

from me.

I have had enough lost to fill a hundred boxes,

I will not lose you preemptively this time around to

prevent you from breaking my heart.

you will have this choice if I must tear myself apart for it,

I will let you have the upper hand.

I love you enough to keep your secrets safe for you.

I love you enough to kill my reason for you.

This time, you have the steering wheel, and I accept

it if you crash the car.

you have every right, so please,

do not be angry at me for not writing you

into

a story.

I cannot bear it if you do not see why,

why I must not tell the world about you.

You must be the one to tell it.

All I touch is filled with the taste of me, and in

order to have your story be true,

It cannot be easily given.

That is why I must say nothing.

My pen is yours for the taking.

I will tell no one about you,

Only breathe and your hollow absence will be on

my mind always

Anyone can see whom I belong to, but the magic

Is in the refusal to give the game away.

Every inch of my skin is marked with 'sold',

I am entirely yours and

I will not assert myself over you unless it is

Of your doing.

How have you wanted to be loved all these years?

I still am not presumptuous enough to

Believe that I know everything about it, but

I do know this: you needed a broken and

contrite love.

Someone as fiercely burning as you, someone who could

Understand what it was like to set yourself aflame

For the sake of the light to attract

Those whom you wanted.

someone who could tell how you felt,

who would not make you walk down the road of

the person who you had made

yourself pretend to be.

you did not deserve to have to be strong,

and I will not tell of those days you got up

when the floorboards creaked and your

feet dropped out from beneath you.

I will not make you remember how dark your vision

was whilst you were stumbling.

I was not always the right kind of love, and this

Is how I make amends.

A lily is a lily,

And a lotus is a lotus.

Our story is beautiful, but it cannot remain pure

Within the mud.

That's why I will gently wash off all the debris

On you, without pausing to

Let any bystanders see you when you were hurting.

I do not want to expose you at

your most vulnerable.

For you, I set down my relentless pursuit of truth

and learn to love whilst

closing my eyes so their gaze

could not hurt you.

some battles need to be lost for the war to be won,

and your trust is one war I cannot afford to fail.

do not be angry at me for not telling of

your exploits, my love,

I watched each one and how the cost wreaked havoc

On your steady will and trembling hands.

I cannot see you break a stone in half one more time,

Remembering how your bone broke along with it.

do not be upset that I do not glorify your triumphs,

my darling,

you were magnificent but so dangerous.

I was constantly hoping you would get to place your

spear on the ground and your shield in someone else's

hands,

for your calluses should have softened in a way

that would let you place your guard down

and tentatively open your heart on a

scheduled and mundane basis.

you can forget everything else,

but do not forget this of me,

you made a pact with the devil and they became your familiar.

you cannot leave.

Ignore me, avoid me,

reject me, contradict me,

but

do not pretend I never made this agreement with you.

so even though when I go out into the world,

I tell no stories of you,

Exist whenever and wherever I am, and

Accompany me as my voice.

you know me well enough for that.

[thelanternsglow]

Working with the Holly and Oak king transition at winter solstice.

Scroll down for more

Incorporating the holy and oak king story in your practices

Incorporating the story of the Holly King and Oak King into your Yule and Winter Solstice practices is a powerful way to honour the turning of the Wheel of the Year and the balance between light and dark. Here’s a guide on weaving this myth into your rituals, celebrations, and reflections.

1. Create a Holly and Oak Themed Altar

Set up an altar that symbolises the transition between the two kings. This provides a focal point for your Solstice celebrations and honours the balance between shadow and light.

• Symbols for the Holly King:

• Holly branches or leaves with their deep green and red berries

• Dark candles (green, black, or deep red) to symbolise the waning year

• Antlers, evergreen boughs, or imagery of a wise, shadowy king

• Symbols for the Oak King:

• Acorns, oak leaves, or small oak branches

• Light candles (gold, white, or green) to welcome the growing sun

• Symbols of growth and vitality like seeds, sun wheels, or golden decorations

Place items for both kings side by side, showing their cyclical relationship. You can gradually shift the altar’s focus from the Holly King to the Oak King as part of your ritual.

2. Perform a Symbolic Candle Ritual

The story of the Holly and Oak Kings is perfect for candle magic, symbolising the return of the light.

• Light two candles:

• A dark candle to represent the Holly King (the waning year and the darkness).

• A light candle for the Oak King (the return of the sun and growing light).

The Ritual:

1. Sit in quiet reflection as the dark candle burns. Acknowledge what you’re releasing as the year draws to its close—old habits, pain, or stagnant energy. Give thanks for the lessons of the darkness.

2. Light the Oak King’s candle, focusing on the return of the sun, new beginnings, and the energy you want to welcome into your life. Feel the warmth of the flame as hope and renewal awaken within you.

3. As the light candle grows brighter, snuff out or let the dark candle burn down, symbolising the Holly King stepping aside for the Oak King.

Closing the ritual: Speak a blessing for balance:

“Holly King, I honour your wisdom and strength;

Oak King, I welcome your light and promise.

The Wheel turns, and life is renewed.

So it is, and so it shall be.”

3. Reenact the Battle Between the Kings

The battle between the Holly and Oak Kings is a symbolic drama of light overcoming darkness and can be reenacted alone, with family, or in a group ritual.

• How to perform it:

• Use two figures, such as wooden carvings, dolls, or even candles, to represent the kings.

• Write or speak a short story of their struggle, where the Holly King acknowledges his role in the year’s darkness and steps aside for the Oak King, who rises in victory.

• For group settings, two people can dress as the kings, with the Oak King gently “defeating” the Holly King as part of a theatrical ritual.

Symbolic Closing: Honour both kings with gratitude:

• Leave an offering of holly and oak on your altar or in nature.

• Reflect on how both kings are needed to keep the cycles of life in balance.

4. Nature Offerings to the Kings

Since both the Oak and Holly Kings are deeply connected to the land, making offerings to nature is a meaningful way to include them in your Solstice practice.

• Take a mindful walk in a woodland or local park.

• Leave offerings of natural items, such as acorns, holly sprigs, seeds, or dried fruits. Avoid anything harmful to wildlife.

• Speak a blessing as you make your offering:

“Holly King, I thank you for the wisdom of the dark;

Oak King, I honour the light you bring.

May the earth be balanced, and life renewed.”

5. Decorate with Symbolic Greenery

Decorating your home with natural elements rooted in the myth of the two kings helps honour their story.

• Holly: Symbolises the protection, endurance, and strength of the Holly King. Hang holly around your home to honour the lessons of the waning year and ward off negative energy.

• Oak: Acorns and oak branches invite the energy of growth, light, and potential ruled by the Oak King. Place them near doors, windows, or your altar to welcome renewal.

Weave these into wreaths or garlands to display prominently, showing the transition between the two kings.

6. Journaling and Reflection

The Solstice is a powerful time for introspection. Use the story of the Oak and Holly Kings to reflect on your personal cycles.

• Reflect on the Holly King’s role:

• What challenges or darkness have you experienced this year?

• What have you learned during this period of introspection and rest?

• What are you ready to release as the Wheel turns?

• Welcome the Oak King’s energy:

• What new seeds of growth do you want to plant in your life?

• How can you embrace the light, action, and renewal that the Oak King brings?

• What goals, dreams, or intentions will you nurture as the days lengthen?

7. Feast in Their Honour

Celebrate Yule with a feast that symbolises the kings and their gifts. Include foods that reflect the season and their energies:

• Holly King foods: Dark fruits like cranberries, pomegranates, and rich winter stews honour his connection to the waning year.

• Oak King foods: Nuts, seeds, grains, and sun-coloured foods like oranges, honey cakes, and golden bread welcome the growing light.

Toast to the turning of the Wheel and the kings with cider, mulled wine, or spiced teas. Share gratitude for the darkness that teaches and the light that inspires.

8. A Blessing for Balance

Close your Yule celebrations by acknowledging the eternal dance of the Holly and Oak Kings. Light a candle, stand at your altar or in nature, and recite:

“Holly King, your darkness gives us rest and reflection;

Oak King, your light guides us toward growth and renewal.

May I honour both within myself—

The quiet wisdom of the night,

And the bold promise of the dawn.

Blessed be this balance,

And blessed be the turning of the Wheel.”

Final Thoughts

Incorporating the story of the Holly King and Oak King into your Yule and Solstice practices allows you to connect deeply with the cyclical rhythms of the earth, honouring both the stillness of the dark and the promise of returning light. Whether through rituals, offerings, feasting, or quiet reflection, this myth reminds us of the harmony between light and shadow—a balance we all carry within ourselves.

Follow the Lantern’s

Glow

[ardn632mikhilarutherford]

Photographer Research - Kasia Derwinska

Kasia Derwinska is a Spanish-based, self taught photographer and digital artist. Her photography often depicts the way she thinks and feels, showcasing childhood dreams, fantasies and fairytales.

https://canvas.saatchiart.com/art/art-news/masters-of-manipulation

This image focuses on central composition, using a manipulated sign to show different moral directions. The image is void of colour, possibly symbolising uncertainty in the choices one can make. There is a single person standing in frame, pondering the choice they should make. I like this photograph as it has been manipulated in a way to tell a story, rather than show absolute truth within the photograph.

This photograph showcases a woman with her head shielded by clouds. It uses central composition and uses muted colours. The clouds covering her head mean two things to me; her head in the clouds, or, her being blinded by something, likely thoughts or feelings. I like the hazy feeling throughout this photograph as I feel it fits the meaning I find behind this photograph.

I love this photo as it feels like something that could exist in real life, while remaining very whimsical and theatrical. The colours are very cool toned, with lots of shades of green, giving it a water-like appearance. All elements of this photograph tell a story of an underwater scene, and a person presumably drowning, or trying to save themself from drowning. This photo looks like a cross between a painting and photography, potentially using elements of both mediums, which is an interesting approach to a manipulated image.

I like these photographs because I feel as though they cross into a very artistic approach of digital manipulation throughout photography. I like how these could pass off as something that could exist, while remaining obvious in its manipulation.

[lyrics365]

Theatric Symbolisation of Life

Considering life is just a play Where we all are the actors Where there’s no individual equality Just the abused and the abusers A division of these actors They always seem to win While the others in this theater Are doomed to commit sins Take up the role of your position Face up to your situation Is it right or is it wrong? Or just a result of euphorism? Wearing a mask – for deception Mixed…

[shubhambaba]

The Art of Expression: Unveiling the Colourful World of Face Paint

In a world where self-expression takes on various forms, few artistic mediums capture the essence of creativity quite like face paint. It's not just about transforming one's appearance; it's a canvas for imagination, a tool for storytelling, and a means of connecting with our innermost feelings. Let's delve into the captivating world of face paint and explore how it transcends mere makeup to become a powerful mode of communication.

Beyond the Surface

Face paint is more than just a cosmetic product; it's a form of art that transcends traditional boundaries. Whether applied for festive celebrations, theatrical performances, or personal enjoyment, face paint allows individuals to step into a realm of creativity where they can embody different characters, emotions, and even cultures. It's a transformative experience that goes beyond the surface of the skin.

A Palette of Emotions

From joyful smiles to haunting expressions, face paint serves as a palette to depict a wide range of emotions. Artists can convey happiness, sadness, fear, and excitement through their intricate designs. The face becomes a canvas where emotions are vividly portrayed, providing a unique visual language that speaks volumes without uttering a word.

Cultural Traditions and Symbolism

Face paint has deep roots in various cultures and traditions around the world. From indigenous tribes using paint to tell stories of their heritage to ancient rituals involving intricate designs, face paint has been used for centuries to symbolise identity, spirituality, and belonging. The patterns and colours chosen often carry significant meaning, creating a bridge between the past and the present.

Unleashing Creativity

For both artists and enthusiasts, face paint offers a limitless realm for creativity. It's a space where imagination knows no bounds, and individuals can experiment with colours, patterns, and designs that reflect their individuality. Whether it's recreating mythical creatures, celebrating favourite characters, or inventing entirely new personas, face paint empowers us to explore the depths of our creative potential.

Connection and Community

Face paint fosters a sense of community and connection, particularly during events and festivals. The act of applying or witnessing face paint creates a shared experience, uniting people in a common visual language. Whether it's at a music festival, a sports event, or a cultural celebration, face paint becomes a symbol of togetherness and shared moments.

A Sense of Liberation

Wearing face paint can be a liberating experience, allowing individuals to shed their inhibitions and step into a different skin, so to speak. It's an opportunity to break free from the constraints of everyday life and embrace a persona that feels exciting, empowering, or even whimsical. This liberation has a way of boosting confidence and inspiring a sense of playfulness.

Temporary and Transformative

One of the enchanting aspects of face paint is its temporary nature. Unlike permanent tattoos or cosmetic procedures, face paint is a fleeting transformation that allows individuals to experiment with new looks and identities without long-term commitment. This impermanence adds an element of excitement and novelty to the art, making each application a unique experience.

Conclusion: Painting Beyond Boundaries

Face paint transcends its role as mere cosmetic enhancement and becomes a form of self-expression that resonates with people of all ages and backgrounds. It's a celebration of culture, creativity, and individuality, inviting us to explore the vibrant world of visual storytelling. Whether it's a child with a painted butterfly on their cheek or an artist crafting intricate designs, face paint is a reminder that beauty lies not just in aesthetics, but in the rich tapestry of human imagination.

[ridleymocki]

Collated reasons to love the merman scene (are people honestly calling this cringe? In the queer pirate show? It's not cringe mf's it's CAMP)

1. Stede holds a trident like the figure in Ed's flag. But this time he's saving his heart instead of stabbing it.

2. The above 'sweet little goldfish' stuff - Ed wants warmth and safety and comfort. Stede-ray-of-sunshine Bonnet is that for him. That's why he's literally gold as a merman, swimming out of a light beam. And safety: a merperson is a native inhabitant of the sea, Ed would be safer with them than anyone.

3. There is SO much lore about mermaids saving sailors. Here Ed gets to be prince Eric for a sec.

4. Ed saying in S1 he thought he'd have a cooler death like being massaged to death by mermaids. But here it's the opposite of death.

5. When they get in real close underwater the shot parallels the underwater kiss in Splash.

6. Merman-Stede as Ed's fantasy had to invert Stede's own fantasy of himself but also be a riff on the fantastical smoke-head version of Blackbeard from S1 when Stede was likewise at death's door. For the symmetry.

7. Something something "Ever feel like you're just treading water, waiting to drown"

8. In s2e1 Ed says he's never going back to land. Symbolically his way out of purgatory couldn't be represented by land, that's where everything went wrong before, and that's where he got stuck with Hornigold. Stede calling him back had to come from the sea. But him coming from above in a dinghy or something isn't quite right. He had to meet Ed where he is, on the same spatial plane to symbolise their equal footing. I think, anyway.

9. They're BOTH SUCH THEATRE KIDS. Ed-art-of-fuckery Teach looooooves that theatrical shit, and you want him to have a totally normal, reasonable fantasy version of the love of his life??

10. This is a romantic COMEDY. Is merStede ridiculous? Yes. That's the point. It's all ridiculous out here. Embrace it. Jump in. The water's warm. But it is 1000% per cent sincere.

This right here.

To all the people yelling how cringe that scene was (um excuse me it was gorgeous). You really missed the overall meaning behind it other than- 'why suddenly a shiny merman wtf'

In Stede’s dream, someone who wanted a life fraught with adventure. Someone who was bullied and ridiculed for being a soft, prim, weak man who never belonged his whole life, Stede visions himself as a bearded, very-masculine squashbuckler who cuts down his foes without fear and claims the love of his life without fail. This persona is something he feels he needs to be to achieve this because being himself he feels he's always been a failure. No one wanted 'Baby Bonnet who picked flowers'.

In Ed's dream, someone who wants to be himself and leave the mask of the Blackbeard persona behind, someone who enjoys the idea of touching delicate things and dressing in 'fine linens', Ed sees Stede in his dream like this for this reason. As the soft, pretty, quirky and kind person decorated in shiny silks is who he feel in love with. Someone so loving he's as rare as the sight of a mermaid. No one else is like Stede to Ed. He is especially RARE for someone on the sea. He's the only person who saw Blackbeard for 'Ed' and even encouraged him to be himself, not the legendary icon people saw him.

[zel-shadedreviews]

So, this isn’t a theatrical release but I decided to include it on its own as a spin-off of The Prince of Egypt, as it was conceived as a sister project. However, this was released as primarily as a direct-to-DVD movie, failing to meet the cinematic release.

Joseph is the last born of a large family by patriarch Jacob, called a miracle child by his parents due to the mother believed that she couldn’t conceive any children. Incredibly jealous over his different treatment, Jacob’s brothers all devise a plan to send him off to slavery. Joseph is then forced to works for the Pharaoh’s captain until he’s falsely placed in jail for accusing of harassing his wife, right after she tried to advance on him. Joseph then finds his true purpose within prison where his dreams begin to lead him to his own destiny.

I must admit that I was ready to dislike this movie as a poor man’s imitation, but that’s when I actually watched the movie as a whole and felt that it’s a fine enough little flick on its own. If people would stop comparing this so negatively to The Prince of Egypt, it could have worked as its own feature, but that’s sadly how it was described by the makers. I think the main reason why people mainly dislike is because it’s always compared to the film they all love, and I can see that but not to the point where it deserves hatred.

The story had an interesting layout of an innocent man showered in frowned-upon praise receive punishments that he never intended to receive. Upon his admittance as a servant, there’s a part where Joseph is accused of harassment when the captain’s wife tries to make a move on him, before he’s sentenced to death. Even when his innocence is revealed, Joseph still lands in hot water from the captain with imprisonment instead, which was a way of saving face. However, this does touch on themes of forgivenesses and how revenge can affect someone and turn them into the villain. As preachy and pretentious as the message of forgiving those who hurt you, where I’m a strong disbeliever on the subject, the ending focuses Joseph turning into the villain near the end but reversing his actions once he sees how far he went to witness pure guilt from the people he once loved.

I’ll be honest that I prefer its animation over the entirety; even if it’s direct-to-DVD, its animation is nice to look at with the tones and shading on these characters and landscapes. I also liked the dream sequences baring the art style of Vincent Van Gogh, shown within the swirling style of the visions Jacob is given. You can also see genuine emotion on the character’s faces which shows suffer and guilt. When the brothers stand still and allow the merchants to lead their youngest away, you do see some die-hard regret on their faces.

The characters are pretty much one-dimensional but I saw that they did try to give them enough development and screen-time. Joseph is your basic nice guy at first who wants to make peace with his jealous brothers but isn’t particularly well-respected due to his father’s treatment and favouritism. That’s when it starts a staple in their relationship where the brothers force themselves to get rid of him. Joseph eventually learns to adjust to his new life, almost like Ben-Hur in a way, but then comes to a verbal war with God before accepting his fate.

The songs were okay, but are plainly generic where they enter one way and exit the other way; that’s when I came to You Know Better Than I, presented as a deepened conversation between the prisoner and his God, while tending to a growing tree in order to symbolise hope. Surprisingly, I managed to actually enjoy Ben Affleck’s singing in this song only.

So, this movie actually surprised me on how much this really did exist, but I wasn’t really that impressed from the entire feature. It’s a by-the-book movie where I felt that they were presenting the story by telling it rather than showing it.

Final Rating: E

5/10

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Agathocles - Trust? Not Me

[982014936]

AGATHOCLES - Kill Your Fucking Idols

[thelostgirl21]

First I want to say a huge, HUGE thank you for having taken the time to read my post, and especially answer and share your own story with me.

I must admit that "overthinking" is probably my middle name...

I often need to organise things in my head through relatively clear systems and concepts that make sense for me to feel fully comfortable understanding them.

And I don't believe that I'd ever realised that some people might feel a need to transition for more aesthetic reasons and preferences, rather than because they experience some deeper internal connection with what gender socially means or represents to them.

But... it sort of makes sense?

I mean, when I really take the time to think about it, on a much smaller scale, I got a tattoo when I was 21 (a permanent - yet also potentially reversible - body modification), enjoy wearing contacts to change the color of my eyes depending on my moods, sometimes even going for theatrical ones (a temporary body modification)...

Plenty of people enjoy adopting or changing hair cuts, dyeing their hair, wearing piercings, and/or using plastic surgery to modify and enhance their own physical features...

Some body modifications are permanent (or permanent unless undergoing more complex procedure to have them be reversed), others temporary...

They can be a way to reflect our culture, symbolise something personal, a desire for self-expression, a form of art...

So, it does make an awful lot of sense that some transgender individuals might perceive gender more in terms of physical appearance and something that feels more external than internal for them, too.

That they'd enjoy physically looking like / being externally perceived as a certain gender, and feel beautiful and happy with themselves (hopefully) embracing those looks that don't necessarily fit with the gender they were assigned at birth.

If anything, perhaps the idea that gender must always be this big internalized sense of identity might be more harmful to the trans community than helpful, at times; because it suggests that only those that experience this overwhelming dysphoria related to the gender they were assigned at birth should be "allowed" to transition, or have a "justifiable reason" for doing so.

When that dysphoria can affect different aspects of one's life, to different degrees, and is not necessarily tied to the social roles and expectations that come with being perceived as a man and/or a woman in society...

I think we are so conditioned to see physical appearance as something "superficial" that "doesn't matter", that we tend to forget that it's still connected to us.

We use our bodies to communicate and build relationships with people that share our physical space, and it's still a tool we use in many aspects of our lives. The way we look remains very personal and intimate, in many ways.

Your story may not be the trans story I've usually heard, but I think it's a trans story I most definitely needed to hear to avoid accidentally developing a stereotyped understanding of what being transgender means to people that are transgender.

If we were to collect all of your individual stories, we'd probably be left with a very beautiful, complex mosaic of diversified personal experiences and ways of relating to gender, and it's a very good thing to occasionally be reminded of that.

So once again, thank you.

I wish there was a way to clearly say:

I'm personally comfortable being called a "woman", only because I have the sexual dimorphism typically associated with a female of the human species, and that's how other people see me as when they look at my physical appearance; nothing more.

While making 100% sure not to accidentally bring any harm to the trans community, or making it sound like one's gender identity should always match their physical appearance, when that's far from being the case.

Because, until very recently, I'd always been calling myself "a girl", or "a woman" exclusively based on how I physically look.

To me, defining myself as "a woman", has always been the equivalent of describing an external characteristic of my body that others are able to see.

- I'm a woman.

- I'm 5'7''.

- I have brown eyes.

- etc.

It's always been exactly the same to me. It's what you can physically see, not who I am.

Somehow, it's like I completely forgot to develop a sense of personal identity tied to "being a woman" while I was growing up.

I could wake up tomorrow with a body that has the sexual dimorphism of a male of my species instead, have everyone call me a man and suddenly have to live my life as one, and I'd have only ONE problem with it.

Just the one.

My partner is a heterosexual man, so that would be a challenge.

But otherwise, I think I'd just be really curious to explore the physiological differences between my prior body and my new body, and then move on with my life without changing a single thing to the things I like, my behavior in general, personal interests, probably the way I like to dress, too, etc.

I'd just be "looking more masculine" while doing it.

It would be like having blonde short hair instead of my current brown long hair.

The rest of the world would treat me differently as a man, sure! But that wouldn't reflect how I identify or feel inside about who I am.

Just how others now see me as and choose to socially treat me.

My gender, to me, is something that's always existed outside of myself.

I have no personal use for it, nor is it a part of my personality.

I guess I've often been gender-non-conforming, too, not because I was attempting to rebel against my own gender, felt a need to distance myself from the binary, or anything... But just because I've never seen the point of it.

I've had boyfriends telling me that it was like I wanted to be the "man in the relationship", and being upset that I wasn't letting them play their role at times (that hasn't really been an issue with women, oddly enough); and I broke up with them without looking back, because what the fuck was that even supposed to mean?

I wasn't trying to behave like a man or a woman, I was just being myself, and adopting the social roles and behaviors I'm comfortable with. If you can't love me as I am, then what am I supposed to do?

Younger, I've had little boys back at school telling me that "it was weird for a girl to like certain things or express herself a certain way", and my response has always pretty much been to shrug, go "guess I'm a weird girl then", and then continue doing things my way.

(Yes, I'm aware that I've been very privileged to live in a world where I've merely been occasionally bullied or suffered verbal micro-agressions for ignoring the social standards set for "little girls"... Then again, I've probably embraced some of them!

I loved playing with my "He-Man and the Masters of the Universe set", or walking around with a lightsaber pretending to be Luke Skywalker... But I was cool with "My Little Poney" (the originals) and "Rainbow Bright", too!

Like I said, I wasn't trying to be "non-conforming", I just liked whatever I liked!

I was also lucky enough that my parents fully allowed me to go for what I enjoyed in terms of toys, games, activities, playmates, etc., regardless of gender.

And my physical appearance as a child occasionally had people mistaking me for a boy. So, perhaps, the other adults that saw me behave as one in public assumed I was one, and thus put less pressure on me to behave in a way that would have been deemed more "feminine" than "masculine".

By the point I really started looking more "feminine" (like I do now), I guess I'd moved past caring about it, and/or had reached a point where it made no sense to me that it would suddenly have been upsetting that I occasionally behaved "as a boy" or enjoyed "boy things" now when, until then, it had always been perfectly fine and well accepted that I did!

I guess there's something to be said about the influence of early socialisation, and how adults in the social environment of a child respond to a young child's gender, in the level of importance they might instinctively give to it later on.)

Like, I'm pretty sure that, if I were to ask you to determine my gender based on my looks alone (while fully giving you permission to do it), especially when I'm performing on stage wearing makeup, you'd go "you're a woman!" with a fair level of confidence!

But that's just it! To me that's just the way I look. A stylistic choice based on the way my body chose to develop, if you will.

What drives me nuts, though, is that I have zero problem empathizing with the trans community and their need to express their own gender identity, because I know what it feels like to need to be seen and respected as one's authentic self!

You tell me you identify as a woman, a man, agender, genderfae, etc., and/or feel a need to express it? Be yourself, and rock that gender! It is who you are, and it is your right to own it!

The fact that I feel like I don't have any particular use or need for gender doesn't mean that it can't be important for others, and that they don't have a use or need for it themselves.

Just because I don't intimately understand it, doesn't mean it doesn't exist or doesn't matter. It doesn't mean that I can't support, and actively advocate for proper gender recognition and respect in schools and other public places.

I "get it" without "getting it", if you will.

The problem, however, is that I am extremely uncomfortable with the idea that, if I identify as a "woman", people will assume that it means more to me than "I physically look female".

That it will be assumed that I emotionally and psychologically connect with my gender, and feel a need to express it, or a sense of attachment and belonging to the woman gender.

After having called the way my physical body "looks" to others on the outside "being a woman" for decades, it's hard for me to suddenly go "being a woman is not the same as passing for a woman, it's about the gender you identify with inside..." and stop calling myself a woman, because I feel like I've no gender identity inside of myself.

But "agender" doesn't quite feel right to me, either, because I'd never had any problem with the idea of being a woman, until I learned that I was supposed to give a damn about being a woman, and personally connect with my gender, that is.

And "gender non-conforming" doesn't sound quite right, either, because I'm not trying to avoid conforming to the woman gender, or expressing a different gender than the one that was assigned to me at birth.

They basically gave me a gender based on my genitalia when I was born, and I went "Yeah, sure! I guess I can look the part... Why not?"; while ignoring the whole social instructions booklet and guidelines that went with it.

So lately, every time someone has asked me what my gender is, or what gender I identify with, I've had a tendency to freeze, panic, and mentally go:

Like the idea of my having a gender makes no internal sense to me. It's not something I can relate to, "vibe with", or identify with.

Is there a way to respectfully say "I'm calling myself a woman for convenience's sake, because that's the gender traditionally associated with the way I look, and I'm okay with having grown into a feminine appearance by default? But please, don't assume it means anything to me beyond that, or expect me to behave, dress, or do anything according to the woman gender."

I've been using "gender apathetic" in an attempt to convey it, but is that really what it means, and how most people understand it?

Basically, I feel like my answers to these questions would be:

- What physical look do you most resemble? Woman / feminine / female.

- What gender do you identify with? None.

- Do you feel comfortable being called a woman, and her / she pronouns, based on the way you look? Yes.

How do you freaking call or define that?

Non-internalized cisgenderism?

[blackswaneuroparedux]

It must exhibit the event in a way to excite awe and veneration and that which may be required to give superior interest to the representation must be introduced, all that can show the importance of the Hero. Wolfe must not die like a common soldier under a Bush…To move the mind there should be a spectacle presented to raise and warm the mind and all should be proportioned to the highest idea conceived of the Hero….A mere matter of fact will never produce this effect.

- Benjamin West, artist of The Death of General Wolfe (1770)

The Death of General Wolfe (1770) by Anglo-American artist Benjamin West (1738 – 1820) is certainly the most celebrated and iconic paintings depicting a military historical event.

The Death of General Wolfe depicts an event from the Seven Years’ War (known as the French and Indian War in North America), the moment when Major-General James Wolfe was mortally wounded on the Plains of Abraham outside Quebec on 13 Sept 1759. This painting then captures a pivotal event in the Seven Years’ War that decided the fate of France’s colonies in North America.

General Wolfe commanded the British Army and successfully held the British line against the French and won the battle. Unfortunately, General Wolfe was killed by musket wounds.

In death, General Wolfe gained fame as a national hero and became an icon of the Seven Years’ War and British dominance in North America.

It was Benjamin West who really imprinted Wolfe’s heroics on the British imagination. West was a British North American artist, who painted famous historical scenes. West was born in Springfield, Pennsylvania, as the tenth child of an innkeeper and his wife.He was entirely self-taught and went on to gain valuable patronage in the American Colonies. Later he toured Europe, eventually settling in London.

The image West created was so popular that West made an identical painting of the same scene for George III of the United Kingdom, one year after this painting. In total, four other additional versions of the Death of General Wolfe were also produced by West.

Wolfe’s death at the time was seen as heroic and art just immortalised him, mainly thanks to Benjamin West. And like all immortalisations it’s not meant to be historically accurate but is representative of a greater ideal.

Indeed West’s crowding of the foreground in The Death of General Wolfe, though inaccurate, is completely in keeping with his expressed desire to arrive at a ‘perfect’ philosophical truth by melding literal and ideal truth. Though only a few actually witnessed Wolfe’s death, such a depiction would have lessened the monumentality of the scene and, therefore, would not have conveyed to the viewer the perfect truth implicit in this particular death. West chose for his subject the entire Battle of Quebec, and focused on Wolfe’s death as its crucial and most heroic moment.

In this painting, West departed from conventions in two important regards. Generally, history paintings were reserved for narratives from the Bible or stories from the classical past. Instead, however, West depicted a near-contemporary event, one that occurred only seven years before.

Secondly, many - including the great Sir Joshua Reynolds and West’s patron, Archbishop Drummond - strongly urged West to avoid painting Wolfe and others in modern costume, which was thought to detract from the timeless heroism of the event. They urged him to instead paint the figures wearing togas. West refused, writing, “the same truth that guides the pen of the historian should govern the pencil [paintbrush] of the artist.” King George III refused to purchase the painting because the clothing compromised the dignity of the event.

Yet despite West’s interest in “truth,” there is little to be found in The Death of General Wolfe. Without doubt, the dying General Wolfe is the focus of the composition. West paints Wolfe lying down at the moment of his death wearing the red uniform of a British officer. A circle of identifiable men attend to their dying commander. Historians know that only one - Lieutenant Henry Browne, who holds the British flag above Wolfe - was present at the General’s death.

Clearly, West took artistic license in creating a dramatic composition, from the theatrical clouds to the messenger approaching on the left side of the painting to announce the British victory over the Marquis de Montcalm and his French army in this decisive battle. Previous artists, such as James Barry, painted this same event in a more documentary, true-to-life style. In contrast, West deliberately painted this composition as a dramatic blockbuster.

This sense of spectacle is also enhanced by other elements, and West was keenly interested in giving his viewers a unique view of this North American scene. This was partly achieved through landscape and architecture. The St. Lawrence River appears on the right side of the composition and the steeple represents the cathedral in the city of Quebec.

In addition to the landscape, West also depicts a tattooed Native American on the left side of the painting. Shown in what is now the universal pose of contemplation, the Native American firmly situates this as an event from the New World, making the composition all the more exciting to a largely English audience.

Eighteenth-century notions of masculinity promoted honour and courage in the face of war and death, tragedies that bound men together in pain, suffering, and anguish. The Native American symbolises the masculinity of an alien culture, that of the natural, uncivilised man. His naked body is displayed in opposition to the clothed Europeans, whose military uniforms signify masculinity, courage, and strength.

Although the Indian, as a warrior, is part of the scene, his nakedness and accoutrements – trade blanket, hunting pouch, and body paint – simultaneously single him out. His partial nakedness likewise affects how we see him: both exposed and covered, he is available to our gaze yet hidden from full view.

At the same time, the Native American’s gaze directs the viewer’s gaze to the fallen hero, who reclines in a supine, feminized position. In contrast to the activity and purpose demonstrated by the British soldiers, the Iroquois and Wolfe are inactive and passive, qualities coded as feminine. Wolfe’s pale skin, wounded state, and expressive face with upward-looking eyes reinforce this impression.

Nakedness is in fact implicit in the fallen hero, whose gaping wound – covered by a white cloth – opens his body to expose his vulnerability. His nakedness is displaced onto the Native American, who, although passive, displays a heroic, muscular body. The Indian thus combines masculine power with feminine weakness, underscoring both his strength and his subservience to British power. By rendering the Indian as naked and vulnerable in his seated pose, West diminished his threat and placed him in a secondary position, as a tributary to the British forces during the French and Indian War.

Perhaps most important is the way West portrayed the painting’s protagonist as Christ-like. West was clearly influenced by the innumerable images of the dead Christ in Lamentation and Depositions paintings that he would have seen during his time in Italy. This deliberate visual association between the dying General Wolfe and the dead Christ underscores the British officer’s admirable qualities. If Christ was innocent, pure, and died for a worthwhile cause - that is, the salvation of mankind - then Wolfe too was innocent, pure, and died for a worthwhile cause; the advancement of the British position in North America. Indeed, West transforms Wolfe from a simple war hero to a deified martyr for the British cause. This message was further enhanced by the thousands of engravings that soon flooded the art market, both in England and abroad.

Benjamin West’s The Death of General Wolfe justifiably retains a position as a landmark painting in the history of military art. In it, West reinterprets the rules of what a history painting could be - both in regard to period depicted and the attire the figures wore - and at the same time followed a visual language that would have been familiar to its eighteenth-century audience.

Indeed almost immediately as The Death of General Wolfe was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1771 it became one of the most frequently reproduced images of the period. For West himself, he impressed King George III enough (despite his misgivings on how he clothed Wolfe) and with his patronage  he was mostly responsible for the launch of the Royal Academy, of which he became the second president after Sir Joshua Reynolds.

West is quoted as saying that “Art is the representation of human beauty, ideally perfect in design, graceful and noble in attitude.” But here in this painting beauty and truth seem to be at odds. This is where one can get lost in the weeds of art and aesthetics. Roger Scruton suggests that great art has always shown the real (truth) in the light of the ideal and that in doing so it is transfigured. A great painting does not necessarily have a beautiful subject matter, but it is made beautiful through the artist’s interpretation of it. To be transported by beauty, from the ordinary world to, as Scruton calls it, “the illuminated sphere of contemplation.” It is on that plane one can contemplate truth in art and life.

**Wolfe's death and the portrayal of that event by Benjamin West make up half of Simon Schama's historical work Dead Certainties: Unwarranted Speculations (1991). This is well worth a read if you want to discover more about this remarkable subject and painting.

[deliciouslydebauched]

BIO

{This in particular can help to give an overview of this character for those unfamiliar with the Fable franchise, it's a very simplified list of facts about a fairly (in my opinion) complex character, both a mixture of direct facts and my own character headcanons.

Immortal ex-pirate and theif, as well as the Hero of Skill, Reaver is the leader of all industry in the Kingdom of Albion having founded Reaver Industries. Through using twisted business tactics in his factories such as child labour, severely low wages, and shooting workers who disobey, he has accumulated unfathomable wealth and became an invaluable asset to the Royal Family, even if they do not always agree with his principles. He is one of their closest advisers as although his suggestions may lack sentiment for the people, they always result in a growth in the Royal Treasury funds.  

Narcissistic, egotistical, and displaying a near psychopathic disregard for life, this debauched elite should not be crossed. Although elegance drips from his youthful appearance, finely tailored suits and theatrical persona, Reaver will double cross and use anyone necessary if it benefits his power, financial status or generally entertains him. This can be seen through his 'selective member' parties thrown weekly in which guests observe an unwilling victim battle to their death against brutal creatures, all while dining on whiskey and submitting themselves to whatever lustful pleasures they or their host are in the mood for. Reaver is not immoral, but amoral, seeming to bear no concept of morality. And as the most skilled marksman in the land- the Hero of Skill shan't miss your pretty head if he deems you one fitting of aiming the trigger towards.

Time, loss and greed are a lethal combination. The mortal man that used to exist is long gone, long decayed beyond recognition. All that is left is a soul without a glimmer of light.

"What a weak, despicable man he is. But I am not he. I am Reaver. And I will sleep much better after this chalice of wine.’

-------------------------------- Full Name: Unknown (Goes by Reaver in present time)

Titles: Pirate King, Hero of Skill

Nicknames: Suppressor of the people’, ‘thief’, 'nobhead' and an array of other unpleasant nicknames amongst the peasantry

Age: Roughly 300 years old

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Pansexual  aromantic

Birthplace: Oakvale

Residence: It changes regularly. For many years he travelled the seas on his ship ‘the reaver’, only to then settle into a mansion in Bloodstone which he abandons by the end of Fable 2 to travel to Samarkand. In Fable 3 he has returned to Albion to reside in a mansion in Millfields, which he then again abandons. 

Financial Status: Upper Class (perhaps only beaten in wealth by royalty)

BODY & BASICS

Height: 6’2 

Build: Slim yet toned, although hidden beneath extravagant clothing.

Hair Color: Black

Eye Colour: Brown Scent: Gunpower, expensive colognesTattoos: A small black heart on his left cheekboneScars: None 

Alignment: Chaotic neutral/ lawful evil (depends on the circumstance) 

FACTS AND HEADCANONS (1) Reaver gained his immortality through striking a deal with the Shadow court, but in doing so did not realise the price he would pay was the destruction of his family, fiance, and all other inhabitants of his home town Oakvale. (2) He must provide a yearly sacrifice to the court to maintain this youth. This is something he has quoted to be becoming an increasing 'burden' as time passes. However once he stops fulfilling this action the court's judges will come for him instead. (3) Reaver is not his real name, but a name taken to symbolise his separation from the weak mortal man he perceives himself to have been many years ago. To reave is, "to take away by or as by force; plunder; rob," common practices of a pirate; hence, his name, Reaver. Reave also means to rend, break, or tear; a reflection of Reaver's violent nature. (4) He was known as the 'King of Pirates' for a period in his life long ago due to killing the previous pirate leader in Albion Captain Dread; however this is a part of his past he now hides away. It wouldn't seem appropriate for a 'respectable' business man to be associated with such a thing now would it? The only calling of his past seems to be that most mansions owned by Reaver tend to be situated by the sea, or some form of lake. (5) Being born as the Hero of Skill gives Reaver inhuman powers of accuracy and speed in combat. His preferred weapon is a gun, this was how he captured ships in the past, it is said that he would capture them by shooting the captain from across the water no matter the distance or conditions. The more impossible the shot was, the faster the crew would surrender.' He never goes anywhere without a gun, and his seemingly graceful walking cane in fact sheaths a sharp blade to be pulled out when necessary. (6) Reaver was indeed once a normal man, but his with every passing century the humane aspect of this individual seems to lessen, as if his very emotions are becoming muted. This may account for his lack of remorse, or capability to stay calm in the face of enemies, instead seeming to find those who loathe him most humorous. He also seems genuinely unphased and unconcerned about turns of events, merely making sarcastic remarks or moving on when his plans do not succeed. (7) It is virtually impossible to get Reaver care for you. He only looks out for his own best interests and survival. This can be put down to years of a blackening heart, as well as the eternal burden he carries over destroying his village all those centuries ago. (8) Clothing Styles: Changes throughout the decades. Currently finely tailored suits of blacks, whites or deep purples, usually with real fur lapels. Leather gloves and boots and a holster beneath his jacket to keep his ‘dragonstonper 48’ pistol in. He brings a cane with him most places and he wear tops hats with a steampunk themed pair of goggles wrapped around the top, an accessory to emphasise his position as head of industry in the kingdom along with his style of bow ties/ cravats. Reaver takes great pride in his clothes, dare to dirty them and he’ll likely have you shot. (9) Reaver has severe struggle sleeping due to plaguing flashbacks to the night his home was destroyed. He has never told any other, but this is one large reason he has a deep craving for the 'night time' company of others, ranging from single people to large groups accompanying him in his bed chambers most nights. If this isn't possible, he tends to sit up and write or drink, or go for walks alone. (10) Reaver is known as the 'Hero of Will', but what does that mean you ask? In Fable, Heroes are extraordinary humans with knowledge and the power over the three heroic disciplines of strength (physically), skill (speed and accuracy with ranged weapons), and will (magic). Heroes are not all the same in talents, each one is usually only able to master one of the disciplines, although there are a rare few who can master all as they are descendants of an ancient bloodline of heroes known as the 'Archon's Bloodline'. Reaver is a hero born capable of mastering 'skill', and was needed along with the hero of will, strength and an Archon bloodline member to defeat Lord Lucien, a man who was threatening to destroy the world. Reaver, being Reaver, only agreed to help after several failed attempts to betray the other heroes for his own gain. Not to mention if the world came under the control of Lucien he'd have had difficulty finding sacrifices to keep his immortal youth. So begrudgingly he helped save the world. How nice. (11) Reaver holds no guilt over the killing of the citizens in Oakvale (except for his fiance, that he regrets deeply), he would do it again in a heartbeat. However, he is still only human, and therefore although experiencing no guilt, he is haunted by their deaths in his consciousness, making him experience a vulnerability that is very out of character for him. He can feel the weight of the sin. Unlike people he kills in the present who have wronged him or offended him, the people of Oakvale had done nothing to him personally. They were just people. And although Reaver kills without hesitation, he never kills without reason. Therefore although feeling no regrets over the event, it is something he would prefer to simply forget.