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moniwxshington · 2 years

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SELF PARA : : HOLLOWED AND ALONE Pt. 1

Who : : Monique Washington and Bernice Washington

Mentions : : All Essex Escapees, Emmeline Essex, Nathaniel Essex, Jackson Lanchester, and Maxine Lanchester

Location : : Bernice’s Washington

Timeline : : February 10th, 1998

Word Count : : More than Three

“ Hollowed and Alone “ Premise : : Monique Washington goes to their grandmother’s house, Bernice Washington, just to be soothed and calmed after an incident that happened in their apartment. As Monique reveals what happened, they unload their true feelings of loneliness to their grandmother. However, this moment of vulnerability is ruined as the older woman reveals that she has contacted Monique’s parents about them, the couple now aware that Monique is no longer in Essex. Angered by this, Monique yells at their grandmother and runs out of the house.

They took refuge within Bernice Washington's home, Monique not taking the time to properly call the older woman in order to prepare her for their arrival. They were just there, buzzing inside and saying hello to the butler who welcomed them. Monique tried to smile, key word tired. Obviously it wasn’t good enough as the butler quickly left, leaving them alone in the foyer. Mouth sealed shut, Monique slipped their Yankees cap off and went further into Bernice’s home. It was full of life, of the sunlight that streamed in, the whisper and gossip from the two maids, and the clicking of heeled shoes on polished flooring. It was like their parents home but better, way better. Ears perked up, the familiar sound of a piano pulling them in. Like a mouse to cheese, they followed the tune that was accompanied by a woman singing, though it wasn't just any woman. It was--

"Big momma?"

Monique had opened the practice room door, sitting inside was Bernice and a grand piano. The playing had stopped as soon as Bernice met their eye. "Mo, my baby!" She stood up, arms raised as she quickly went over to her only grandchild, bringing them in for a tight hug. "I didn't know you were coming over."

They smiled weakly. "I wanted to surprise you."

"What a happy surprise. Come on," she said, taking Monique’s hand in hers. "Let's go somewhere else. You eat yet?” They shook their head. “Alright, I’ll fix something up for you.”

Neither of them said a word as they walked to the kitchen and even when inside, Bernice didn’t say anything. All she did was gesture for Monique to sit at the island as she went through the fridge. It was stuffed with various foods: apples, yogurt, a gallon of milk, some orange juice, lemonade, and whatever leftovers Bernice put inside. Closing their eyes, Monique tried to tell by the smell alone. There was a lot of smells in the kitchen so they had to work hard to pick out the dish the older woman was going to pull out. It took them several seconds before they figured it out, the corner of their lips twitching up into a smile. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes, Monique’s favorite.

The fridge was shut and then a cabinet was opened, Bernice pulling out a plate. “How you been? I haven’t seen you since the party.”

They opened their eyes, looking over their shoulder at the older woman who didn’t look at them, too focus on getting a plate of food ready for Monique. “Oh, I’ve been writing. And hanging out with my friends, that’s it.”

For a split second, Bernice’s body went rigid. “Which friends?”

They shrank into themself, Monique twisting around in their chair, no longer able to see her. “J-just my friends, my only friends.”

“That boy included?”

Elliott. They bit hard on their bottom lip, memories of him barging into their apartment still fresh on their mind. “His name is Elliott--”

“Oh, I’m aware of his name!” Bernice huffed, now walking over to the microwave, putting the plate of food inside and pressing some buttons to turn it on. Now she was looking directly at Monique who was trying so hard to avoid her eye. “I know his name and what he looks like. What proper person shows up to a classy party like he’s a gang member? It’s ridiculous!”

Bernice saw Elliott’s attire as ridiculous while Monique found it cool and as a statement. “Not every one is like us and can easily buy nice clothes.” Jess said that she thrifted her dress while Monique’s grandmother bought a dress that was four months of rent, probably more. “At least he tried--”

“No the hell he did not try,” Bernice said, scoffing and rolling her eyes. “And I can’t believe that you’re really trying to stick up for him right now. He showed up wearing a bandana, Monique, a bandana! Who does that?”

Elliott did and honestly, the other escapees probably would’ve done the same. Who would want to stand all night in something so fitting and restricting? A pair of jeans and shirt would’ve been ideal for all of them. “Can we just... not talk about it anymore? I don’t want to talk about the party or Elliott right now.”

Bernice gave them a look, mouth open, and question ready to spring free until the microwave beeped. She walked over to it, pulling out the plate to check if it was hot enough. Though, Monique didn’t care if it was or not. “I’ll take it now,” they said. “I’m actually really hungry and I don’t care if it’s a little cold.”

The older woman eyed them, probably ready to tell them no and put it back into the microwave. But their grandmother just closed the microwave, gave Monique the plate, and then a fork. “Want something to drink?”

“Yes please,” they answered. “Do you have lemonade?”

“Always.”

As Bernice moved to get Monique a glass, they turned their full attention to their plate of food. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, a roll, and corn was waiting for them. They wasted no time in shoveling it into their mouth, first the meatloaf, then the mashed potatoes, some corn, and then a piece of the roll. Then they would repeat that process over and over again. As they did that, a tall glass of lemonade was placed in front of them and the sound of another chair being pulled out. “Slow down, Mo, that food ain’t going nowhere.”

Cheeks reddened in embarrassment, Monique stopping to swallow what was in their mouth. Then they washed it down with lemonade. Few seconds later, they went back to eat, this time much slower than before.

Neither of the two said a word, not like Monique could if they wanted to. Bernice just sat there, watching them closely and that was uncomfortable alone. As if the older woman was waiting for something, for her grandchild to open and talk to her about why they were really there. And it was true, Monique did have a real reason for coming to her home, though, they weren’t sure if they wanted to tell her just yet.

Seconds turned into minutes, now only a corner of the roll and mashed potatoes mixed with corn left on their plate, when Bernice finally spoke up. “What’s on your mind, Mo?”

“What makes you think something is on my mind?”

She tilted her head to the side, smiling gently. “I don’t think, I know, the same way I know you,” Bernice said. “I know you better than anyone else in this city.” Beat. “What’s wrong?”

They shuffled uncomfortable in place, fingers twisting and picking at the fresh micro braid. “I just.. had a fight with someone--”

“You what?” Bernice shouted.

Monique flinched, ears twitching at the sound. “Big momma, please--”

“Who did it? Are you alright? Do we need to file a police report--”

“No, everything--”

“Monique, you were in a fight! Don’t you dare try to say that everything is okay!”

“I-I know!” They said, taking her hand into theirs, hoping that it would calm her. It did, though it did look like she aged ten years just within seconds. Did the idea of them fighting someone frighten her that much? “I know that it’s not okay, the whole situation wasn’t okay. But I’m... I’m--” Fine? Okay? Miserable? “-- Not hurt.” Physically. Emotionally? Ripped to pieces. “Just... listen, okay? Please?”

“... Okay.” They both released the breath they were holding. “What happened?”

They sat back in their chair, though they never let go of their grandmother’s hand. Both to calm Bernice and themself. “It wasn’t with a random person, it was... with my friends. Milo and Elliott.” Instantly, the rage came back to Bernice’s eyes, the woman ready to say something about the other but Monique beat her to it. “Big momma.” She stopped but the rage was still there. Good, she can be the angry one in this situation because Monique couldn’t bring themself to get angry again. “It was over something silly-- no, it’s not silly. It’s actually really big and important.

I told you about Nathaniel, right? Well, he has this daughter, Emmeline, and we hate her.” Just as much as they hated Nathaniel, though that man was in a category all on his own. “Apparently she’s staying at Xavier Institute and Milo knew, he just never told us. He kept that information from us, big momma, he held back something so important from the group.” Elliott’s anger was reasonable, Monique could understand it because they felt the same way. But that anger from a few days ago had turned into hurt and deep sadness. “Well, we saw her at the party that Charles was hosting. And it was--” Frightening. Seeing Emmeline reminded them of their past, of Essex house, of many nights spent alone, writing and crying ‘till they fell asleep. “I talked to her, which was a mistake. All of it was a mistake.”

Bernice squeezed their hand, the warmth that she always radiated giving them strength. Though, they weren’t sure if that strength would be enough to heal them completely. But it was enough to push Monique to continue their story. “Some weeks after that, Elliott burst through my apartment door when Milo was there and tried to attack him. I was able to stop him but that only made Elliott to shove me to the ground.” Bernice squeezed their hand even tighter, the fire in her eyes flaring hotter than Elliott’s flames. “B-but I did throw him as well, well, the wolf... threw him. Somewhat. I don’t know. I zoned out.” No they didn’t, it was a lie, another excuse to deny their connection to their inner wolf. Monique remembered all of it too clearly to pass it off as them losing to their inner wolf. “It was.. bad. Terrible. All of it. Everything is just terrible.”

They hadn’t noticed that they were crying until Bernice stood up to wipe away a tear and to hug Monique. Her hand rubbed up and down their back, as if she was calming a small child who had hurt themself. It was fitting because Monique was very much like a child who did hurt themself, they felt more like an eight year old than a twenty-eight year old. Arms wrapped around Bernice, Monique’s face burring into the woman’s shoulder. “I-I haven’t spoken to him since that day and I don’t think I ever will.” Elliott had a new group, hell, it felt like everyone had someone new. Even Seven had a job and a person of romantic interest-- then there was Monique. Just there. Alone. Expecting for everyone to stay together, a close knit group who would always rely on each other. Forever and always.

“I feel like I’m going to lose all of them one day,” Monique said, revealing their true feelings for the first time. “It starts with Elliott and then it moves to the others? Milo, Jack, Jess, Lachlan, Seven--” More tears fell, hot and fat. “-- I have nightmares of it happening, of everyone leaving me behind.” Sometimes, it was everyone leaving them behind the night of the escape. Recently, it was of everyone during their current situation, pushing Monique away the same way Elliott did to them. “They all have friends, people here that they can trust, new people who are more interesting--” And powerful like the Brotherhood and Xavier. “-- I-I don’t have anyone like that!”

They were to blame for that. Monique has spoken to other people but rarely did they try to make an effort to let people into their inner circle. And that had to do with their perfect world that they created in their mind and heart. The only people who fit into their perfect world, who Monique molded to fit, were the escapees. Nine slots had been cut out for them and no one else. But there was a possibility for the plots to become empty soon enough, leaving Monique completely hollowed and alone. “I can’t lose them, big momma! They’re all that I have.”

“Hush!” Bernice pulled Monique awake, eyes red as if she was crying too. “That’s a lie. You have more people in your corner.”

“Who?”

“Your family.”

Monique frowned. “That’s just one person.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” Bernice swiped another tear before holding Monique’s face in the palm of her hands. “You have more than just me.”

“Do I?” It didn’t feel like it.

Bernice sighed deeply, taking her time before she spoke up again. “You have your parents.”

Them. Monique rolled their eyes in frustration. “Oh. Right. Them.” The same two who kept their only child hidden from the public because of their ability. The same two who sent them away in the first place. “You don’t have to lie, I know that they don’t care about me.”

“It’s not a lie, you do have your parents because they love you. Even now, they still love you.” She inhaled and then exhaled. “They love you so much that they were talking about going to Essex to see you. But I stopped them... And I told them that you’re out and that you’re here in the city.”

Monique went rigid. “You did what?” They pulled away from her touch, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. “Big momma, you didn’t--”

“I did what needed to be done!”

“So you went behind my back and told my parents about me being out? Are you crazy?”

Bernice blinked, now glaring at her grandchild. “First of all, you better watch your tone when speaking with me. I am not--”

“One of my little friends, yeah, I know, you make it very clear that you’re way better than them.” They were standing now, no longer able to stay sitting. This was a mistake, a terrible mistake. Picking up the plate, they took it to the sink, not even caring to dump the last bit of food out into the trash, as they put it inside. “I can’t believe you just told them that without talking to me first. don’t I get a say in any of this?”

“If I had talked to you before, you would’ve said no--”

“For good reasons--”

“What reasons, Monique? What reasons do you have to push away your parents, your family? Because of a single mistake that they made years ago?”

Mistake? Sending them to Essex was just a single mistake? “Right, a mistake, sending me to Essex is a little mistake for all of you,” they said, gripping tightly to the sink. The tears had stopped, though they wished that they hadn’t. Because now it was anger that bubbled within them. Not as hot as the last time but it was there and just a simple silver of it frightened them. “Did you at least tell them the truth of Essex or do I get the honors to do that? You left the heavy shit for me?”

“Watch your mouth when you--”

“Why should I?” Head whipped around, eyes light and nails long, scratching the inside of the sink. “Why should I treat you with respect when you have yet to do the same for me?” From the phone call, to how she spoke about their friend, to how Monique should dress and act. “Why, big momma, why should I?” They shouted.

They were met with silence which was frightening on its own. Even with their inner wolf taking over just a bit, the older woman’s silence seemed to make them cower, snapping Monique back to their senses. Eyes the usual dark brown and nails bitten down to the nub. They were back but they didn’t back nor did they take back what was said. Even as Bernice looked up at them, hurt and sadness filling her eyes, Monique didn’t apologize. All they did was lowered their head and sprinted past her, out of the kitchen, out of the her home, away to somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t there. Away from their feelings, away from their insecurities, and away from the last person who was in their corner.

#self para #ft. bernice washington #hi #part two will get posted later #also i made a graphic for this but my wifi sucks rn #uh ignore any and all typos

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monilanchest · 3 years

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Once a seventeen year old jazz singer from Harlem who always dreamed big but knew that nothing would come of it. They were called dreams for a reason, they would never come true. Until a woman found her and saw potential in her, giving this girl from nothing become one of the top spies in the world. She was given a chance to change her life and she accepted it. ( death tw ) @martinaw && @trinibarra

Bernice Washington was born on August 4th, 1950 in Harlem. Her family owned a jazz club, it was fairly small and not popular, you only knew of it if a regular told you about it. It was in this very club that she found her passion for singing, the young woman was given the opportunity to perform in front of everyone every Friday night. And while she dreamed of performing before an even bigger crowd, she knew that it would be impossible. With no connections, barely any money, and a lack of confidence, there was no way that she could. Her future had already been set, for her to stay here and work at her family’s jazz club for the rest of her life. Until she met a woman who changed everything.

Her name was Caroline Fisher, beauty and grace as she walked into the jazz club. An outsider she was, how all of the black patrons watched her, cautious and wary. But despite the stares, she walked in with such determination and confidence that it left many speechless. The only person to speak with her was Bernice just after she finished singing. Caroline was impressed with her voice, taking the time to get to know the other. Nervous in the beginning before growing

Do you know what you're doing after high school? Probably stay here and help out. It's not like I can do much with myself. Caroline looked at her with such disappointment and sadness, though, the topic was soon dropped. Every Friday night for the rest of her vacation, Caroline came to watch Bernice sing, and the two would grow close with each other.

Nearing the last Friday of her stay in Harlem, Caroline talks to her. A school for women that would suit Bernice, a school that would best suit a young woman like her. At first she was wary, the concern of cost and how her family would fare without her. Caroline assured her that she wouldn't have to worry about any of that, that the cost would be taken care of. And that she has already brought the idea up to her parents, telling them the same thing that cost would be an issue. Take your time to consider it, she said, but I've already recommended you to the school. They'll be in contact with you sooner or later.

The school in question was Gallagher, located in Virginia, far from her family and from the future that believed she was going to have. What Bernice was expecting was just a good university that would open many doors for her, what she got was totally different from what she was expecting. A university that trained future spies, women who were taught how to obtain information, protect themselves and others, and tricks on how to use their femininity to get what they needed. The other women there came from well off families, generations of spies ( and assassins but she only learned of that years later ). They were students who had been trained from birth to be here, Bernice had not. She felt like an outsider in more ways than just one, self doubt filling her body and regret taking over her. But it was only the encouraging words of Caroline Fisher and her family that got her through school, Bernice Washington could do anything.

She graduated as a Seduction and Flirtation + Threat Elimination major, the top of her cohort, and as someone respected by many. Bernice found herself while attending Gallagher, gaining the confidence that she always strived to have, friends who believed in her, and a future that wouldn’t keep her in Harlem. And it was all thanks to Caroline Fisher.

The years that followed were also filled with hardships. While getting a job within the CIA, she had to work from the bottom and up again but it was even more difficult. Not only that, Bernice had to deal with her ex husband ( a man from her neighborhood whom she married ) who left her behind with her three daughters. Those days were her hardest days. She felt like crying to herself, breaking down and giving up, admitting that her time at Gallagher was a simple fairy tale, that it was all a lie. Because it was too much for her. It was only during one moment of weakness that she displayed before her girls did she remember, that she couldn’t give up. There were people who were believing in her, people whom she couldn’t let down. And three of them were right before her.

And it was there that Bernice Washington became a legend.

She was a single mother of three who worked for the CIA. She proved that she could care for her daughters while climbing up the ranks before she was given a special job. To use her experience as a jazz singer to infiltrate various nightclubs around the world and collect information on specific organizations for the government ( very much like Josephine Baker, I recommend everyone looking her up! ).

With a beautiful voice, gorgeous, and a fighter, she was not someone to double cross. And the same could be said for her daughters. Just like their mother, all three girls went down the espionage road, creating a name for themselves as The Triple Threat. Just like their mother, they were hard workers and did not accept any shit from anyone. The Washingtons became a legacy family whom everyone has come to respect.

However, on April 1st, 2020, Bernice Washington passed away, but she accepted her fate. Because during her time on Earth she has seen her daughters grow up and become amazing and powerful women. Not only that, she was able to watch her daughters have children of their own. Monique, Trinity, and Martina, the next generation triple threat. From their time as a family to solo moments, Bernice was grateful to be given a chance like this. A life filled with such warmth, love, and happiness. Each day spent with her family completely wiped away those hard times that she faced on her own. As long as they’re okay and happy, she would be happy.

#about #ft. fambam #ft. bernice washington #death tw #so i cried writing the ending of this #because i thought about my great gma and it was... not a good time OIAJGAOIG #also me posting this on the second #to be fair i didnt wake up fully until almost 2 pm today

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stephillustrations · 6 years

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Photography and the Presentation of the Self

Portraits

By Stephany Victorine

Portraits have always been a fascination and a pleasure to look at. Even as an amateur artist I’ve always loved painting, sketching and even photographing the human face. At first my fascination was with the shape and eyes of the subject, but now it’s the fact that a face is a form of unique identity. The Aberdeen Portraits No.1 (below) are composed of individual portraits that had been cut out of photographs and stuck together in an oval frame. Each of these individual portraits all hold similarities: lack of expression, uniformed, authority, and shadowed eyes (either due to poor lighting or to symbolize a sinister secret being kept among themselves). Interpretation, manipulation, fads and recording is what I believe make portrait photographs amazing. Depending on the way portrait is taken –posing stiff or relaxed –one can interpret the image in many ways, even if their ‘about’ is provided there is always a hidden story somewhere deep within the photograph, just like a painting.

Aberdeen Portraits No.1 (Artist: George Washington Wilson (British, Grampian (Baffshire), Scotland 1823-1893 Aberdeen, Scotland); Date: 1857; Medium: Albumen silver print from glass negative; Dimensions: Image: 2.3 x 17.2 (8 3/8 x 6 ¾ in.) Mount: 37.7 x 30cm (14 13/16 x 11 13/16 in.) Frame: 43.2 x 35.6cm (17 x 14 in.); Classification: Photographs; Credit Line: The Horace W. Goldsmith Foundation Fund, through Joyce and Robert Menschel, 2011; Accession Number: 2011.424; Location: Not on View)[3]

Graham Clarke in “The Portrait in Photograph” describes the daguerreotype, one of the first forms of photography created by Louis Daguerre in 1939, as one of the earliest photograph portraits that presented the individual “who endlessly eludes the single, static and fixed frame of a public portrait.” [1]. An example of something opposite of Graham Clarke’s definition would be the daguerreotype portrait of sculptor Henri-Charles Maniglier (1826-1901) (below). Unlike other daguerreotype, Henri-Charles Maniglier’s portrait “projects an immediate physicality and strong three-dimensionality” [4] Rather than following the socially acceptable stiff, neat and mostly inanimate poses that many other subjects use, Maniglier’s pose is more unique and presents him as an individual with a story. He’s a rebel, he doesn’t follow his society’s rigid ideals of how one should present themselves to be remembered. He looks like a grumpy man who was forced to have his mention and, excuse my language, gave no fucks.

Henri-Charles Maniglier (Artist: Unknown; Date: ca. 1850; Medium: Daguerreotype; Dimensions: 7x10cm (2 ¾ x 3 15/16 in.); Classification: Photographs; Credit line: Purchase; Harriette and Noel Levine Gift, 1994; Accession Number: 1994.83; Location: Not on View) [4]

Shortly after photography was developed, and portrait photographs were a huge fad (and still is. But more digitally) in early nineteenth-century Europe private citizens began hiring photographers to make and deaths (the funerary portrait was a popular convention)” [2]. Below is a family portrait of Harry Stephens and his family who were former slaves and survived the war. The portrait photography recorded the family’s freedom from slavery and equality (almost) with the Whites. I say equality, but it has been noted that only Whites had been mainly having the opportunity to have portrait photographs of them as strong dignified beings, and people off colour were portrayed is savages or lowly members of society that were servants to the Whites. In the Summer Scene (by G. Gable) the subjects are presented as prim and proper, and look like they are on similar standing as the Whites that they once served as slaves and probably serve as pad employees since the war that gave them their freedom. This portrait recorded an event that lead to our time of equality between races and much more.

Summer Scene (Artist: G. Gable; Date: 1866; Medium: Albumen silver print from glass negative; Dimensions: Images: 5.7 x 9.2 cm (2 ¼ x 3 5/8 in.); Classification: Photographs; Credit Line: Gilman Collection, Purchase, The Horace W. Goldsmith Foundation Gift, through Joyce and Robert Menschel, 2005; Accession Number: 2005.100.277; Location: Not on View) [5]

“The portrait photograph surreptitiously declares itself as the trace of the person (or personality) before the eye. In an official context, the photograph validates identity: be it on a passport, driving licence, or form. It has the status of a signature and declares itself as an authentic presence of the individual. (pg. 11 The Portrait in Photography) Most of the photographs that contributed as forms of identification, such as passport, were called “cartes-de-visite” such as the photograph below.

Tintype Photograph of Gustave Young (1827-1895) (date: ca. 1860; Geography: Springfield Massachusetts; Culture: American, Springfield, Massachusetts; Medium: Tintype (in cartes-de-visite format); Dimensions: tintype oval: 1 ¾ x1 1/4 in. (4.4 x 3.1 cm); as mounted: 3 7/8 x 2 3/8 in. (9.8 x 6 cm); Classifications: Photographs; Credit Line: Purchase, Bernice and Jerome Zwanger Gift, 2003; Accession Number: 2003.521; Location: On view at The Met Fifth Avenue)[6]

Now, portrait photographs still follow what they are meant for and hold more personal and market value. We see portrait photographs (digitized and printed) all over the world via the internet on social media platforms such as Instagram and and through magazines such as Vogue or The Cosmopolitan.

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Citations

[1] Clarke, Graham. The Portrait in Photography. London: Reaktion Books, 1992. Accessed October 12, 2018. Https://monoskop.org/images/0/02/Clarke_Graham_editor_The_Portrait_in_Photography_1992.pdf.

[2] Sturken, Marita, and Lisa Cartwright. "Images, Power, and Politics." In Practices of Looking: An Introduction to Visual Culture, 13-49. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2018.),

[3] Wilson, George Washington. Aberdeen Portraits No. 1. 1857. Metropolitan Museum of Art [US], Aberdeen, Scotland. In The MET Museum.org. 2012. Accessed October 12, 2018. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/298968?searchField=Description&sortBy=relevance&deptids=19&when=A.D. 1800-1900&ft=portrait&offset=0&rpp=40&pos=22.

[4] Unknown. Henri-Charles Maniglier. 1850. The Metropolitan Museum of Art [US]. In The MET Museum.org. Accessed October 12, 2018. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/267124?searchField=Description&sortBy=relevance&ft=daguerreotype&offset=0&rpp=20&pos=5.

[5] Gable, G. [Summer Scene]. 1866. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. In The MET Museum.org. Accessed October 12, 2018. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/286636?searchField=Description&sortBy=relevance&deptids=19&when=A.D. 1800-1900&ft=family&offset=0&rpp=40&pos=32.

[6] Unknown. Tintype Photograph of Gustave Young (1827–1895). 1860. The Metropolitan Museum of Art. In The MET Museum.org. Accessed October 12, 2018. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/26898?searchField=All&sortBy=relevance&ft=carte de visit&offset=0&rpp=20&pos=1.

#class project #online exhibition #coms 367

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