#to begin with. He was more renowned as a painter during those times. So | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreams-and-beauty-universe · 3 years

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Madonna della Seggiola by Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino

“Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino, an Italian painter and architect of the High Renaissance movement, was so well-known and renowned as a painter during his lifetime he was known simply by his first name, Raphael. He is known so today by only his first name and a master painter during the Italian Renaissance. His contemporaries were Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci. Together these three form the triumvirate of master artists and genius' from this same period of art.

Throughout his short lifetime, Raphael, who died at the age of only thirty-seven, painted many portraits, frescos, and stanzes (room paintings) and left a legacy of prolific works to his adoring public. His paintings are known for their visual achievement of the classical antiquities and the ideal of human grandeur.

His name has become synonymous with 'classical' and his genius was in strengthening and refining painting techniques rather than technical innovation. His paintings show elements of grace and refinement because of the influence of his early teacher, Perugino. There is a subtle elegance to his figures and sweetness in his female faces.

While the paintings and frescos of Michelangelo are bold, wild and unconventional, Raphael maintains a strict attention to the artistic rules and techniques in his paintings. There is a grandeur that is not found in Michelangelo's or da Vinci's paintings as there is in Raphael's.

Raphael's paintings have a more serene and harmonious quality to them and they were regarded as the highest painting models to emulate during the Renaissance period. This was much to the consternation of Michelangelo and caused much friction and inner conflict for Michelangelo.

He is best known for his stanze, or room, paintings done in the Papal apartments at the Vatican in Rome, Italy, and these are the greatest masterpieces left behind by Raphael today. He is best known for his stanze, The School of Athens, his finest and most perfect fresco left behind.

His early series of Madonna paintings, painted while he lived in Florence, are also considered the best in the world even today.

"Wedding of the Virgin", one of Raphael's early completed altarpiece frescoes.

Early life

Raphael was born in Urbino in the central Marche region of Italy. His father was Giovanni Santi, a court painter and poet to the Duke of Urbino. Therefore, Raphael grew up in this Italian court, known to set the model throughout Italy for its grace and manners. Here, Raphael learned excellent, refined manners and social skills. He mixed easily with the highest circles throughout his life because of his father's position at court.

His father is said to have apprenticed him out to the Umbrian artistic workshop of Piero Perugino who was an early influence in Raphael's paintings and other artistic pursuits at the young age of eight. This was a rare occurrence at such a young age, but Raphael's mother, Magia died in 1491, when he was eight. It is believed his father, busy with his own workshop, wanted Raphael busy during his days without his mother.

Perugino's workshop was active in both Perugia and Florence and Raphael was a master of Perugino's workshop and fully trained when he left.

Three years later, Raphael's father died and at the young age of eleven, along with his step-mother, he successfully took over and ran his father's workshop. By now, Raphael was a master painter and so began painting frescoed altarpieces at churches around Umbria. Some of these only partially survive today.

Wedding of the Virgin, pictured above, is Raphael's most sophisticated altarpiece he painted from this period of his paintings.

"Madonna della Sedia" (The Virgin Enthroned) 1516-17. Part of Raphel's Madonna series.

Florence 1504 - 08

Raphael spend these years living and working in Florence, Italy and this is known as the 'Florentine period' of his art. Here Raphael was greatly influenced by Leonardo da Vinci and his paintings.

Raphael's painted figures began to take more dynamic and complex positions. His drawings of portraits of young women used da Vinci's three quarter length pyramidal composition as seen in da Vinci's Mona Lisa.

Raphael continued with his tranquil paintings but he also branched out into drawings of fighting nude men so popular at this time in Florence. He also perfected da Vinci's sfumato technique to give subtlely to his painting of flesh on canvas. He also developed the interplay of glances between his groups of figures but they are much less enigmatic than those of da Vinci.

This was Raphael's period of painting Madonnas and though he assimilated da Vinci's techniques in his paintings he kept the soft clear light in his paintings he had learned from Perugino as a youth. His Madonnas portray a tender humanity along with the divine that shines forth in these paintings. The subtle use of colors and the sfumato technique are evidence of da Vinci's influence in his paintings.

Raphel also adapted the lessons of tone, color and light from da Vinci and then added his grace and harmony to his faultless paintings.

In his painting, Depostion of Christ (1507), Raphael draws on a classical sarcophagi for his composition. He spread his figures across the front of the canvas space in a complex and not wholly, successful arrangement. So, although, he was influenced by da Vinci, not every painting included da Vinci's techniques.

The Madonna della Sedia, pictured above, although painted after his period in Florence, is still considered one of Raphael's great Madonnas. It has the perfect balance of curving forms in round frame and the harmonious colors are not rich and glowing but subtle yet full. This Madonna shows perfect balance, harmony, and untroubled radiance.

Within these four years in Florence, Raphael had achieved so much success that he was now a well known painter throughout Italy and all of Europe and became very popular with the public.

"Stanza della Segnatura", 1511, one of the "Raphael rooms" he painted in the Papal apartments and Sistine Chapel. To the right is his famed "School of Athens" the most famous and renowned fresco painted by Raphael.

Rome 1508 - 20

Raphael moved to Rome in 1508 at the request of Pope Julius II and he was commissioned to fresco paint the Papal apartments and the walls of the Sistine Chapel. Meanwhile, Michelangelo was painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

This is when Michelangelo began his great dislike in Raphael and his paintings, believing that Raphael and the Pope were conspiring against him. Michelangelo even went so far as to accuse Raphael of plagiarism, but his accusations were not taken seriously.

Raphael's stanze paintings, or room paintings, in the papal apartments and Sistine Chapel are considered the great masterpieces by Raphael. These paintings show all the gatherings of High Renaissance principles and techniques Raphael used in his paintings. They represent the intellectual reconciliation of Christianity and classical antiquity.

The School of Athens, 1509-11, is Raphael's first history painting and it is near perfect in composition and construction The perfect structure of reason built by the classic philosophers is symbolized by the architecture of the paintings. Raphael, who bore Michelangelo no ill will, even painted Michelangelo in this fresco as Heraclitus.

Raphael completed a sequence of three rooms in the papal apartments each with paintings on each wall.

With the death of Pope Julius II in 1513, the succeeding Pope Leo X kept Raphael on and commissioned him to not only paint but as architect and archaeologist. Raphael at one point was named the architect of St. Peter's for the papal court. But, it is his masterpiece paintings and frescos that are his greatest legacy.

His frescoes display harmony, movement within strict symmetry and the merging of the real and the ideal. In his later stanzes we see Michelangelo's influence. In The Expulsion of Heliodorus (1511-13) we see the beginnings of the Mannerist and Baroque movements, with the dramatic contrasts of light and dark and the stronger and richer colors of those movements.

In painting these rooms, Raphael achieved 'sprezzatura' which is a certain nonchalance that conceals all artistry and makes whatever he painted to look uncontrived and effortless. It was this 'effortlessness' of Raphael's paintings that drove Michelangelo mad with jealousy.

Raphael died suddenly at the age of thirty-seven after a brief illness. His last painting, The Transfiguration (1520), was left unfinished and eventually completed by his pupils of his workshop.

Raphel had never married, but in 1514 became engaged to a Maria Bibbiens. It is unknown why they never married, but it is believed Raphael had a mistress, Margherita Luti.

With the death of Raphael came the end of the High Renaissance movement in painting and the Mannerism movement began. Michelangelo was named architect of St. Peter's and he discarded Raphael's designs for the great basilica and created his own.

Raphael was buried in The Pantheon in Rome at his bequest and his funeral was large, grand and attended by large crowds of his public who adored him.

Giorgio Vasari, the 16th century art historian and artist in his own right, called Raphel 'the prince of painters' for the simple yet majestic dignity of his paintings.”

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juminly · 4 years

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In The Arms of An Angel

Matchup story written for the lovely @marie-quentin <3

A/N: I couldn’t help but think of this piece when I was picturing you with Vincent. The sound is lighthearted, peaceful yet melodious and colourful. The tempo is not stagnant and the change in the course of this symphonic piece portrays, in a way or another, how the strings that bind you to him got stronger and your love was able to finally shine. Feel free to listen to it while reading if you’d like: Symphonic Suite DEVIL Second Movement i-AM by Hiroyuki Sawano.

Context: No one would really expect you to be all smiles and giggles considering the situation you were in (finding yourself back in the past, in a mansion filled with vampires and they all happened to be renown historical figures!). It was definitely kinda scary but you didn’t let that affect you. You seemed a bit cold and distant from the start but you were just analyzing everything around you. And of course, the mansion shenanigans started. Arthur was already teasing you about how the beauty of a woman is in her smile and how he thinks you’ve proven whoever said that wrong (lots of flirt-flexing happening from the mystery writer). Leonardo was smoking his cigarillo and telling him to leave “La Bella” alone and Theodore was already mumbling about how everyone is so taken by a Knabbeltje.

Your expression was neutral and your gaze was analytical. Obviously, there was so much to take in, lots of different (new) people around you and personalities. There was a lot going through your head and taking mental notes of everything around you would take a while. But Vincent, he was not fazed by your overall demeanour. The moment Vincent saw you for the first time in the dining room, angel came up to you, held your hand up between both of his and smiled brightly, letting the light of the Gods shine down upon you. His attitude was enough to grant him a genuine smile of your own (you couldn’t help it). His smile was so serene and genuine: How could someone so pure exist?

[Vincent explicitly invited you to visit him anytime and any day to spend time with him and he would show you his art whenever you’d like.]

As a way to get you to familiarize yourself a bit more with the residents (with the aid of some social lubricants and strong spirits), Le Comte organized a small welcoming party for you and it was such a blast. Mozart was a bit tipsy and actually smiling, playing happy tunes on the piano while Leonardo joined him on the violin and you were able to grasp and get a better feel of the residents that lived with you in the mansion. It was all part of Le Comte’s plan and it was clear to you when he politely asked you for a dance and whispered in your ear. “I wanted you to see for yourself, even if these men are vampires, they are all remarkable in their own unique way. Wouldn’t you agree?” (translation: they aren’t so bad, right?)

[That night, Le Comte picked up on how light you are on your feet and offered to be your dance instructor.]

It was only natural for you to create/find your own natural habitat in that mansion. It was the perfect environment to bask in the things that you loved. A library with more books that you could read in an entire lifetime, beautiful gardens and fields of greenery where you could spend hours just reading or writing. You found yourself in a time with 3 famous figures of literature (Arthur, Dazai, Shakespeare) and you could pick their brains about anything that went through your mind (same goes for all the other geniuses in the mansion such as Leonardo, Isaac). [The mansion was a fountain of knowledge and you had it all for yourself, to drink whenever you wanted[

When it came to your dance lessons with Le Comte, he timed them almost perfectly. He would invite you to the gardens for some tea/brunch/breakfast and right when you would finish, you could hear Mozart’s music resounding and echoing through the air.

During your first lesson, your eyes danced around you while you waltzed with Le Comte. You happened to notice that Vincent had set up his canvas and painting tools near the greenhouse. After you were done with your lesson, Sebastian happened to come across you while you were on your way to the older Van Gogh, handing you a tray with Rouge and a sandwich.

Upon reaching him, Vincent was so engrossed in his painting, your presence didn’t even register and you took it as an opportunity to watch a Van Gogh masterpiece come to life. However, you would have to interrupt him since, according to Sebastian, he hadn’t eaten since the afternoon, the day before. You could barely grab his attention but finally managed to do so. [And then, it became a thing!]

When you went for your regular visits to check on Vincent and check if he’s actually having his meals or not (Sebastian is a busy man and Theodore isn’t always there to dote on his brother), Vincent would take a break from painting and chat with you. He would stuff his mouth like a cute squirrel and listen to whatever you would say. He wanted to hear about even the smallest and silliest things and his interest in you was one of pure curiosity. He had no ulterior motives whatsoever (and that fact alone was more than enough to help him gain your trust).

Vincent never asked you for anything, never asked you to trust him or tried to make you like him. He was simply genuinely happy to have a new “friend” around and someone who was different.

Both of you ended up spending quality time with one another. Each of you doing their own thing, no matter the place or time, and enjoying each other’s company. You would watch him paint and marvel at the intensity of his gaze on the canvas. His focus was enviable and his presence was oddly soothing, as if he radiated peaceful energy. You would sometimes just sit and write while he painted, being his personal alarm clock (asking him to take breaks, eat, drink or even stretch).

Vincent would usually gently scold Theodore for calling you Hondje and Knabbeltje and ask him to apologize and call you by your name. It would usually go along the lines of: “Broer, be nice. Her name is Marie and she is no one’s Knabbeltje or Hondje. She’s a beautiful lady… Oh, that gives me an idea. Marie, is it okay if you could model for me? I… I feel a tingle in the tip of my fingers and I have a painting I would love to do. Of you.”

And that’s how the angelic man asked you to be his model. From the moment he laid his eyes on you, the artist in his mind was gnawing at him and crying out to paint you. He promised that his next painting would be one of you.

Your birthday happened to be around the time you arrived at the mansion and of course, there would be a celebration and gifts. Vincent bought you a thin choker/collar of braided gold and almost every single person in the mansion lost their minds (and he had no idea why). “I think you have a beautiful neck and something like this will highlight the length of…” And Vincent was not even able to continue his sentence. Arthur burst out laughing (and Theodore hit the back of his head and was grumbling while Dazai, Leonardo and Napoleon chuckled softly and Jean/Mozart/Isaac sat there, all oblivious about what was happening.)

Sebastian simply smiled softly and Comte swooped in to give you his gift to you, to get everyone to compose themselves (he got you a basket with a beautiful cashmere throw and a tea set with 2 cups with the most detailed and intricate design you’ve ever seen). While everyone went back to their chatting, Le Comte whispered in your ear as he left the room: “I got it for you so you could have something special only you two could use during your picnics.”

Your local expert in crime picked up on your interest in the science of criminology. Let’s admit it. This man is the sweetest deep down but he loves to flaunt and he has the absolute right to do so. He’s very intelligent and witty and coupled with your curiosity and your INTJ ways… you often found yourself engrossed in long and deep discussion with the flirt. It was so much fun and it was really interesting so why not? (Also, when Arthur has his game face on, he eases off from all the flirting so it actually makes your conversation very enjoyable [and not intolerable])

In the beginning, he thought nothing of your sit-downs/discussions/debates with Arthur and the amount of time you spent with him. He was actually happy to know that you were able to share such profound interest in a topic with someone. However, after a while, you’d notice a slight frown on his angelic face and that was definitely not an expression the painter ever wore. When you asked him what was the matter, he answered you frankly. “I don’t like the fact that Arthur spends so much time near you. I… I don’t want you to stop or anything but I wish I could be more like him so you would talk to me the way you do with him. I know how much you enjoy it. My chest sometimes hurts a little when you talk about him but it’s not that bad. I just… don’t understand it.” (The problem in this situation is that you could either take it as an expression of Vincent’s insecurity or jealousy… and it was definitely jealousy)

This beautiful pure vampire boy is an open book and he doesn’t even know it or realize it. He will literally tell you everything on his mind and make it seem like it’s completely normal from him to do so. His obliviousness is what brings you two closer together eventually and you know for a fact that he would never shy away from telling you the truth.

One time, you were absentmindedly ruminating out loud on your thoughts on your thoughts on whether you should go back to your original time or not. You had a lot to consider and you had to weigh in the pros and cons of making such a decision. Being such close friends with Vincent, you didn’t mind speaking your mind but you didn’t expect to find the man looking at you with tears taunting his soft rosy cheeks. Damn all those who would dare say that this man was emotionless.

He didn’t even realize that he was crying until you were in front of him and wiping the tears of his rosy cheeks. His body was frozen as his mind wandered to the darkest place he could imagine. A world without you. When you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him to your body, he finally snapped out of his nightmarish daydream and he murmured softly. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to say. I might be selfish but I like having you by my side… *sniffles* You’ve become my dearest friend. And if you don’t stay, I’ll come with you.”

Two weeks after you had arrived at the mansion, the time finally came for Vincent to start working on his painting of you (and you had already become close friends by then). It was a bit exhilarating and daunting being scrutinized by his gaze so intensely but on another hand, Vincent looked like he was enraptured and blessed by the inspiration of all the muses that ever existed. The gentle smile never left his face as the painting he envisioned slowly became clearer, right before his eyes.

Vincent had been unusually bold and acted on impulse. He began sketching multiple poses of you in his notebook before actually starting on his painting. Your eyes would widen and your breath would quicken as he’d inch closer to you, examining you only a few inches away from you. He would ask you politely in a sweet, inquiring and almost hesitant voice: “Can I please touch you?” and the question alone was shocking enough. Before you could even ask why, he answered the question that went through your mind. “Whenever I have trouble drawing something, I imagine myself touching it, to understand the texture and the picture becomes even clearer in my head”.

Deep down, Vincent was a perfectionist and his actions were driven by his desire to create a masterpiece of you… and his desire for you. It didn’t all happen at once though. It was a gradual crescendo of his desire and how he expressed/displayed it to you. He would hold your hands, lace your fingers together and run his thumb over your knuckles and each one of your fingers. He would hum and smile as he ran his fingers through your chocolate hair, twirling a lock of your hair between his long and slender fingers.

You would think that Vincent was a shy man but he proved to you that he was absolutely not.

Vincent: *places his chair in front of you and inches closer to you* “Marie… I just… the details of your face are the only parts left… will you allow me to… please?”

He didn’t have to continue his sentence. You knew exactly what he was asking for and a simple nod was enough to give him the courage to cradle your face in his hands. He caressed you so lovingly, letting his fingers trace the contour of your beautiful visage and etch each trait of yours in his mind. His fingers brushed over your eyebrows and lashes lightly, traced your nose and rubbed your cheeks. His eyes finally settled on your lips, letting his thumb trace the contour of your lips.

Vincent: “Marie… I want to… ”

Marie: “Just kiss me, Vincent.”

Vincent grinned and kissed you so softly, taking you to heaven when you realized that heaven was with him, in the arms of this angel. The moment you tried to break your kiss, Vincent just pulled you in for another, kissing you even more deeply, both of your dreamy sighs echoing loudly as you finally rejoiced in the love you both shared for one another.

When you became lovers, this man absolutely loved kissing you whenever he got the chance, wherever the time or place and he adores it whenever you do the same with him. (He used to get all blushy in the beginning but later on, he didn’t mind it at all)

He doesn’t even realize that he’s actually kinda clingy. When you’re around one another, he always wants to be next to you (you touching him, him touching you or just being in close proximity to one another).

He is the ultimate cuddle bug (he can’t even sleep without having you in his arms, holding your hand and simply by laying his head on your lap.)

He understands that you like certain things to be organized in a certain way and he absolutely doesn’t mind it. He’ll either get out of your way, let you arrange things the way you like but most likely, help you and try to make sure things are the way you want them to be.

He is the most supportive boyfriend (aka. best husband material) and stands by you in every single decision you make. He respects your choices and will back you up all the way (and he knows you would do the exact same for him, just like Theodore and even more). [You want to become a singer? Do it. You want to become a dancer? Do it. You want to become an artist? Why not!?]

This. Man. Gets. Extremely. Jealous. The residents of the mansion actually are kinda scared of what he is capable of doing (Vincent actually broke you out of a hug with Theo, his own brother). [Theodore was actually trying to be nice to you for once and thanking you for being there for his brother (cause being an artist in the old days in Paris was extremely hard). He was so grateful to you and you couldn’t help but hug him for being open and accepting of you. (Theo is a tsundere so you had to give him some credit)]

Nobody would dare try to make a pass at you or say anything remotely flirtatious to you (especially if you were dancing or singing). [They will meet the unknown and feared wrath of the angelic Van Gogh]

Sing to him. Night or day. Hearing your voice gives him the inspiration he needs during the day when he’s painting and soothes him to sleep at night.

PS: Le Comte let you have a dedicated area in the mansion so you could practice ballet. It was off-limits to all residents of the mansion. When you invited Vincent to come watch you practice (he actually expressed his wonder and his desire to see you and you couldn’t resist his cute eyes), the vampire almost literally melted when he saw how graceful you were and even got teary as well. Your beauty is absolutely ethereal to him (and now he wants to paint you in a ballerina pose).

PS: Vincent was so close to shouting (he never ever even raises his voice) at Theodore for calling you one of those two names but his younger brother caught himself in time.

Places he kisses to show you affection: your nose, your lips and the corner of your eyes.

NSFW Ahead ~

During your first time together, this man was not flustered AT ALL. He knows what he wants and he wants you. His human and vampire instincts were on overdrive, he was functioning on his desires and instincts alone. Before getting started, he apologized to you, warning you that he wouldn’t be able to hold back and you were more than grateful that he didn’t. He ensured that you were thoroughly made love to and marked. He undressed you slowly and he made sure to taste every single inch of you that he exposed. Your body was his canvas that he wanted to explore and discover and his lips were his brush, painting you with the essence of his desire and yearning for you.

From the first time, you knew that Vincent was more into servicing/pleasuring you then receiving any pleasure. The selfless angel made sure that you came multiple times (by stimulating your breasts with his lips, teeth and tongue, cunnilingus, fingering you and caressing you everywhere) before letting himself sink into you.

When he gets needy, he will either take you or have you take care of him. He absolutely hates to jerk himself off on his own or when he’s by himself. He feels like sex is something sacred that you both should always share and without any intimacy, without you there, your presence, your voice, your touch, he is not interested. (I believe there is a possibility that Vincent might be demisexual)

His moans and his grunts are soft and so erotic, you wholeheartedly believe that it’s ASMR material that the world would simp over. But this man is all yours and you could do absolutely anything you want with/to him and he wouldn’t mind. He wants to see the world from your eyes so he asks you to do things to him just like he does to you. He always treats you as his equal in all things and sex is definitely included.

Seeing him pleasure himself is absolutely salacious and mesmerizing things you’ve ever seen. Your angel doing the most sinful of things, he moans your name endlessly like a prayer to the heavens, begging for the release that he only wants to share with you. With his knees spread apart, his buttoned-up shirt open (cause he was so hot under his collar, he couldn’t take it), you would watch him stroke himself before you with his lips glistening, swollen from being bitten (while he edges himself because you told him to), he would tell you all the things he would do to you.

He had an absolute fascination with your neck and there was nothing more beautiful to him than seeing you lying on the bed, wearing absolutely nothing but the choker he gave you for your birthday and the marks he bestowed on you through your love making. In the heat of the moment, he would occasionally wrap his hands around your neck, in admiration and presses on it during sex, without realizing that he was kinda obstructing your airway. (he never really thinks about it when he does it, his body kinda moves on its own when it happens)

After sex, Vincent always asks if you’re okay, cleans you up and praises you, showers you with words of love and asks you if there is something you wanted him to do differently. He always makes sure to check with you whether you enjoyed yourself or not. There would be no point to making love if you did not enjoy it.

Whenever the two of you made love (and after a certain point, fucked)[Vincent is more of the lover type but when his emotions are intense, he’ll fuck you hard until you can’t walk], your bodies would be roadmaps of where each of you had been. You often spend time caressing each other's bodies over the mark you’ve both left on each other, the most satisfied of smiles on your faces.

Kinks: body worship (the artist in him - he is very fond of your neck and breasts) and loves it when you blindfold him.

Favourite place to bite you and suck on your blood: your neck. There is no doubt about it. He bites into your neck, lets you ride the wave of pleasure as it hits, pulls back only slightly to let the blood trickle down your neck so he could lick it back up while leaving a trail of love bites in his wake.

Favourite position: cowgirl (he sees you more clearly and likes to watch you unravel)

In the beginning of your relationship, he thought that it might be a gesture akin to “tainting” you if he let his release spurt on you. But the more he understood about sex from you and from his own desires, he actually starts feeling the urge to come on your stomach and inside you.

He becomes absolutely weak when you sing or when you dance (and not just in an emotional way). He kinda hates himself for getting a hard-on whenever he listens to you or watches you dance and you often take it as an opportunity to tease him about it. Sometimes, you have absolutely no idea what would come over him but your man could not wait until you would make it back to your room. If you were in the gardens, if you were in the hallway (and did as much as tease him), he will take you there and then. If you did as much as protest, he would tell you that he’s tall enough to cover you if anyone caught you. He was not afraid of doing risky things with you because he was not ashamed of the love and desire he had for you.

It all started with a painting lesson. Just some quality time with your boyfriend and there were traces of painting on his cheeks, hands and arms. You slowly began to undress each other and he began teaching you how to paint with your body as his canvas, and his body as yours. He would tickle you with his brush and you would both giggle. You consider this as an intimate activity between lovers, where they enjoy each other’s presence in the nude but it would be too much to ask if Vincent had to reign his desires in. You would often wake up the next morning, covered by sheets splattered with paint. (Poor Sebastian)

He would suggest if you could use chocolate instead of paint after a few times and he was so incredibly blushy about it. He has absolutely no idea whether you would agree to it or not, but he learned that the best way to make your relationship work is to make sure to always communicate with one another, candidly and honestly. He had absolutely nothing to hide from you.

Vincent likes it when you sleep naked so he could gently remove the covers and draw you/paint your nude body basked in the moonlight/sunlight. [PS: Theodore didn’t look at you for days cause he accidentally came across the collection of nude sketches Vincent drew of you.]

Runner-up Suitors: I honestly ship you so hard with Vincent. But if I must, have to, absolutely must choose a runner-up, it would probably be Napoleon.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #matchup #ikevamp matchup #ikemen vampire vincent #ikevamp vincent #vincent van gogh #ikemen series #ikemen #fluff #smut #i really hope you like it <3 #i ship you together so much #ikevam

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laetro · 3 years

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David Edward Byrd: Inspiring “Wowie-Zowie” for Over 50 Years

With a career that spans over half a decade during the art, music and technological revolution, David Edward Byrd has developed iconic posters and illustrations associated with the best of the rock and theatre era.

David has been creating posters since his days at The Fillmore East in NYC where he created the famed 1968 Jimi Hendrix poster now in the collection of MOMA, NYC. As well, he created the poster for The Rolling Stones 1969 Tour, TOMMY by The Who, The Grateful Dead, & the legendary 1969 Woodstock Poster. He quickly moved on to Broadway, where he created images for Follies, Godspell, Jesus Christ Superstar, Hot L Baltimore, The Magic Show, & Little Shop of Horrors amongst many others. He was Sr. Illustrator at Warner Bros. Consumer Products for 12 years where he worked on everything from Bugs Bunny to Harry Potter. He has had Retrospective Shows in Los Angeles, New York & Seattle. He now lives in the Silver Lake area of Los Angeles with his husband of 39 years, Jolino Beserra, a renowned Mosaic Artist.

ORDER A CUSTOM ILLUSTRATION

Q. Any reason why you chose to illustrate for 60s rock bands in particular?

David Edward Byrd: I was the poster artist for the Fillmore East in NYC from its opening on 8 March 1968 to 27 June 1971 when it closed for good. At this same time, I was also creating posters for the Broadway Theatre (“Follies”, “Godspell”, etc.). As Rock Posters have a much higher profile than Theatre Cards, I chose that area to illustrate. Also, Theatre is about THIS play right NOW, while 60s Rock is about 60s Rock in general.

Q. What kind of changes do you see when you compare the posters that were created in the 60s to the ones that are created today?

David: The rock poster artist EMEK is a great example of the younger generation’s expertise in the art form (see “Coachella”). Whereas, David Singer is an example of the “Old Garde” moving on to create new imagery (see “Moon Alice”). I still create more East Coast imagery, I think . . .

Q. One of your Hendrix posters is ranked among Billboard’s Top 10 Rock Posters of all time. What was your thought process/ inspiration while you created the poster?

David: Before coming to Manhattan in 1967 I had worked as a freelance Architectural Draughtsman, so I was familiar with the tools of that trade, and thus I decided to apply this craft to the 1968 Jimi Hendrix Experience poster. I created Jimi’s & his band-mates hair using a hexagonal grid with small circles on the grid representing cosmogenic pixels that one might perceive after ingesting certain popular chemicals of the time (see “Acid”). Each small circle was drafted with a drop-bow compass on the center point of the hexagonal grid.

A laborious process, but worth the time . . .

Q. The poster you created for the Woodstock Festival was rejected because it was too risque in 1969. Do you think it would have received a different response if it was designed today?

David: Absolutely — an entire sexual revolution has occurred over the last 50+ years. Ironically, the nude female in the center of the poster was copied from the 1847 painting “La Source” by Jean Dominique Ingres, which seemed a perfect symbol for a poster representing “An Aquarian Exposition” (the “Water Bearer”). But the Wallkill City Council thought otherwise (exposed breasts & pudenda a no-no). I had a similar experience with the NY Times treatment of my “Tommy at the Metropolitan Opera” full-page ad in the Sunday Times, which featured a nude Tommy rising into Pinball Heaven — the Times editor chose to paint a crude Black Marker Jockstrap over his very modest genitalia, alas.

Q. What would you describe interacting with so many rock artists like? Any favorites whose company you enjoyed?

David: Manhattan & San Francisco are light-years apart both culturally & artistically. The West Coast artists created Psychedelia and Neo-Nouveau and are due to the many encomiums they have received for this. David Singer and I were friends and we traded posters. David created the most Fillmore West posters (60 total) of any artist on the planet. For me, his posters are the Apex of the West Coast work. Victor Moscoso influenced my design sense with his vibrant close-value posters (see “Sopwith Camel”) and continues to do so today.

Q. Can you describe your experience at Warner Bros. How were those 12 years different from working elsewhere?

In 1991, I took the position of Senior Illustrator at Warner Bros. Creative Services, which I held till 2002 • Besides creating illustrations, backgrounds and style guides for all the Looney Tunes & Hannah-Barbera characters, I got to create commemorative plates for The Franklin Mint, souvenir posters for the Batman series of films, style guides for feature films such as Space Jam, The Wizard of Oz, and television shows such as Friends, The Cartoon Network and Scooby-Doo • My department was responsible for the Bugs Bunny Postage Stamp, the first cartoon character on a U.S. Postage Stamp • I created special signed pieces for The WB Studio Stores Galleries based on The Masterpiece Series style guide art that I painted in 1999 • I also did a great deal of work on the style guides for two of the Harry Potter films: Harry Potter & The Chamber of Secrets and Harry Potter & the Prisoner of Azkaban.

One rarely sees the Graphic Collections of major museums on display, so being part of a museum collection as a poster artist does not put one on the creative map, so to speak. But it is a nice thing to tell one’s sweetheart.

Q. Your work is displayed in 23 museums at the moment, including the Louvre in Paris. Do you find it a rare accomplishment considering you are an illustrator and not a painter?

As I have often said if I had remained a painter I probably would not be in any Museum at all. But this is not for me to know. One rarely sees the Graphic Collections of major museums on display, so being part of a museum collection as a poster artist does not put one on the creative map, so to speak. But it is a nice thing to tell one’s sweetheart . . .

Q. From Fillmore East to Broadway to Warner Bros, how has your style evolved over the years?

My art-chops improved immensely in the last 20 years. I hope it is somewhat evident. My work was hit-or-miss in the beginning but things have gotten better of late.

Q. Can you name some of your favourite posters which you have worked on?

“FOLLIES” 1971

“HENDRIX EXPERIENCE” FE 1968

“BOWIE” Carnegie HALL 1972

“QUEEN” 1st Tour 1974

“PRINCE” DNA 2013

“TOM PETTY” 1980

“NY DECO EXPO” 1974

LED ZEPPELIN FE 1969

Q. What is your process like when coming up with an illustration or a poster?

1.) Collect Reference & inspiration in Folder. 2.) Create rough pencils for scanning. 3.) Collect possible Fonts. 4.) Build rough designs on Mac 5.) Choose 1 main color and build up from that 6.) Proof printing

Q. What software do you use to create your illustrations?

ADOBE SUITE (PhShop; Illustrator; InDesign) + Typestyler

Q. Lastly, what do you always aim to achieve through your illustrations?

Eye-Fun • Immediacy • Gotcha • Who-Is-This-Guy? • Wowie-Zowie

#David Edward Byrd #laetro #illustration #illustrator

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0blivion-laughs · 3 years

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Francis Bacon

https://www.artsy.net/article/artsy-editorial-francis-bacon

https://www.francis-bacon.com/artFrom a small London studio littered ankle-deep with source material, bottles of fine champagne, and a cacophony of paint splatters, Francis Bacon conjured some of the most innovative and, as art critic Robert Melville once put it, “satanically influential” paintings of the 20th century. His canvases writhe with fleshy, screaming, contorted figures, from popes and famed art-historical subjects to friends and ill-fated lovers. His searing work embodies a host of post-war cultural anxieties, as well as Bacon’s personal demons and obsessions.

But what was this mighty, enigmatic painter’s secret to creating such spellbinding imagery—and, all the while, upholding his status as king of the bon vivants? Below, we pull back the curtain on who Bacon was, what motivated his deeply affecting paintings, and why their sulfurous power won’t be fading anytime soon.

Who Was Francis Bacon?

Bacon was a complex man whose work was informed by a tangled web of intense relationships, art-historical fixations, and a fair number of vices. Born in Dublin in 1909 to a domineering father, Capt. Anthony Edward Mortimer, and his much younger wife, Christina Winifred Firth, Bacon was derided as a “weakling” and, as legend has it, horse-whipped by his father during his youth due to issues with chronic asthma. At 17, he was kicked out of the family home for good when he was discovered trying on his mother’s underwear.

Francis Bacon Three Studies for Self-Portrait, 1976 Richard Gray Gallery

But despite (or perhaps because of) his asthmatic bouts and the abuse he endured, Bacon was strong-willed and resilient, with the constitution of a bull. He drank, ate, gambled, loved, and painted with such voraciousness that he rarely had time for sleep; two to three hours a night was typical. Through this haze of debauchery and hard living, and bolstered by deep friendships and aesthetic obsessions, Bacon produced a cascade of paintings that were not only disturbingly beautiful, but also boldly original. His shocking work galvanized the group of painters surrounding him in mid-century London (the “School of London”) and eventually influenced several generations of artists to come, includingDamien Hirst, Jenny Saville, and Jake and Dinos Chapman, to name just a few. What Inspired Him? After Bacon was jettisoned from his family home, he embarked on a series of European escapades that opened his eyes to art and design, not to mention other earthly pleasures, like sex and wine. Several works he encountered during his travels made a lasting impact on his work and wouldn’t leave his mind until his death in 1992. While studying French near Chantilly in 1927, he happened upon Poussin ’sgreat Massacre of the Innocents (1628–29) and was struck by the emotional agony of the scene, embodied forcefully in the screaming maw of a mother whose child is about to be killed. Later that year, he picked up a book detailing diseases of the mouth, and not long after that, he watched Sergei Eisenstein’s 1925 film Battleship Potemkin, which features a scene of a howling, bloodied nurse—an image permanently tattooed on his mind. Around that time, on a trip to Paris, he was also introduced to Picasso ’searly figurative drawings. All these run-ins provided Bacon with his initial art education (he was never formally trained) and went on to influence his unique approach to rendering the human body as a malleable—and, at times, grotesque—vessel of raw human feeling.

THREE STUDIES FOR FIGURES AT THE BASE OF A CRUCIFIXION 1944 Oil and pastel on fibreboard approx. Triptych: Each panel: 37 x 29 in. (94 x 74 cm) irregular

The wide-open mouth would later materialize in some of the painter’s greatest canvases: his series of wailing popes, which he toiled over from 1949 until 1971. They show blurred, bethroned men caught in the act of an intense and seemingly eternal scream that, as Bacon biographer Michael Peppiatt has said, might have referred simultaneously to the militaristic orders of Bacon’s father, the raging rows between Bacon and his tortured lover Peter Lacy, or more simply, to a cry of fear or the climax of a body-quaking orgasm. This was the rare power of Bacon’s work: fusing a range of references into a Frankenstein’s monster of a whole, a beast shuddering with frustration, tension, and countless other, subtler emotions.

Bacon’s “Popes” also reveal another influence: Velázquez ’s Portrait of Pope Innocent X (1650), a painting Bacon became so infatuated with that he admitted to having a “crush” on it. Time and time again, Bacon would rework his own version of the masterpiece, although, interestingly, he refused to see the painting in person when he finally made a trip to Rome. He was embarrassed, he told Peppiatt, of his many “stupid” manipulations of the piece.

Alongside the many other great artists (Giacometti, Van Gogh, and Matisse among them) who influenced Bacon, the painter also looked for creative guidance in the work of writers and poets—namely Racine, Baudelaire, and Proust. He was attracted to their ability to pare down the complexities of human existence into succinct lines and phrases; he sought to do the same with the arresting figures rooted at the core of his canvases.

THREE STUDIES FOR A CRUCIFIXION 1962 Oil on canvas Triptych: Each panel: 78 x 57 in. (198.1 x 144.8 cm)

How Did He Work?

Reproductions of Bacon’s inspirations—like the Massacre of the Innocents, along with tattered photos of wild animals, Egyptian talismans, and more—ended up in a soupy jumble on the floors of the many studios he occupied over the course of his career. The exuberant mess was accented with paint and the occasional vestiges of parties he hosted after a long night of carousing through London’s drinking clubs and gambling houses. One of Bacon’s friends, the painter Graham Sutherland , once described Bacon’s early Cromwell Place studio as “a large chaotic place, where the salad bowl was likely to have paint on it and the painting to have salad dressing on it.” But for all his decadence, Bacon was also extremely dedicated, with his own brand of regimentation. “You have to be disciplined in everything, even in frivolity,” he was known to have said. “Above all in frivolity.” Indeed, his passion for enthusiastic and prolonged socialization seemed to fuel his work. Without fail, after a late night of partying, he would wake up at 6 a.m. to paint for several hours in the morning light. Then he’d begin dining and boozing about town, liaising with his many friends and acquaintances, from fellow painters Lucian Freud and Frank Auerbach to renowned London collectors, such as the Sainsbury’s, to one of his many lovers, like Lacy or Eric Hall. He even went so far as to say that he worked better after a night of drinking: “My mind simply crackles with electricity after one of those evenings,” he once boasted to his friends. “I think the drink actually makes me freer.”

THREE FIGURES AND PORTRAIT 1975 Oil, pastel, alkyd paint and sand on canvas 78 x 58 in. (198.1 x 147.3 cm)

There were some risks to this routine, however. On several occasions, he’d come home late at night, wildly drunk, and decide to “perfect” a painting he’d finished the day before, only to wake up the next morning and discover that he’d ruined it. After one of these episodes, his gallery began collecting his paintings from his studio the moment he finished them.

Bacon’s childhood nanny, Jessie Lightfoot, who lived with the painter until her death in 1951, and his two primary dealers—first Erica Brausen at Hanover Gallery, then Valerie Beston at Marlborough Gallery—also played major roles in helping organize his life and career. When Bacon was struggling financially during his youth, Lightfoot helped him find lovers who would also provide financial support. Brausen became a close friend and confidante; they bonded over their shared homosexuality and appetites for risk-taking (Bacon’s on the canvas; Brausen’s on the walls of her gallery). And starting in 1958, Miss Beston, as she was affectionately called, arranged almost all of Bacon’s day-to-day logistics during his most successful years. She paid his bills, arranged his calendar, made sure his apartment stayed clean, and kept him to his painting schedule. She also kept his canvases out of the trash bin, as he was known to destroy them.

Why Does His Work Matter?

Bacon brought new emotional intensity to the painted figure by representing his subjects—be they friends or mythological figures—as contorted, fleshy, emotionally open masses. He sought to reveal, in all its complexity, what was behind the human facade. “I would like my pictures to look as if a human being had passed between them, like a snail leaving its trail of the human presence…as a snail leaves its slime,” he once said. Indeed, Bacon’s paintings pulsate with the dual energy of human suffering and ecstasy. They seem to unearth, in their blurred limbs and wide-open mouths, our most primal urges. (Scholars have noted that in his canvases from the 1950s, monkeys and men often closely resemble one another.)

Francis Bacon

Triptych – August 1972, 1989 Marlborough Gallery

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newsflurrysworld · 3 years

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NewsFlurry

Last Halloween, two land engineers, a workmanship seller and a renowned craftsman arranged a distribution center gathering in New York. The setting: Mott Haven, a Bronx neighborhood where a large portion of the populace resides underneath the destitution line. The subject: "The Bronx Is Burning," a reference to the 1970s, the most obscure period in the ward's set of experiences, when whole city impedes in a real sense torched on account of government disregard and surrender.

The one percenters of New York design and craftsmanship took selfies with neediness themed style: vehicles loaded with slug openings and trash bin fires. Naomi Campbell was there. So were Kendall Jenner and Adrien Brody. The music was given by Brooklyn techno saint Frankie Bones, known for his Storm Rave parties during the '90s, and Kool Herc, the Jamaican-conceived, Bronx-reproduced DJ who pretty much imagined hip-bounce.

"We're creating around 2,000 condos along the waterfront in the South Bronx," said Keith Rubenstein, head of Somerset Partners, the land venture firm that supported the occasion. He addressed a columnist from Women's Wear Daily while models blended around him. "Around evening time is an astonishing chance to acquaint a totally different world with the South Bronx, and praise its legacy."

The media plunged on the occasion's coordinators for the musically challenged idea. "Downplaying authentic local area concerns isn't gladly received," tweeted City Council Speaker Melissa Mark-Viverito. "Nor are endeavors to eradicate the local's way of life and history." Others disagreed with the bulletin that had gone up the prior week, which rebranded Mott Haven as the "Piano District," a gesture to the piano production lines that once stood close by. There was even a hashtag, #WhatPianoDistrict, where local people went after engineers for attempting to control the local's picture.

In any case, there was something different disrupting about this scene. What resembled a normal distribution center gathering was really an instrument to drive improvement into overdrive. This may appear to be a peculiar erratic throughout the entire existence of New York land ploys, however nightlife and improvement have a muddled history in the Big Apple, and it isn't in every case simple to tell the casualty from the culprit. Clubs and settings frequently drive the primary influxes of improvement in New York City. They're likewise survivors of their own prosperity—setbacks of rising rents and segment moves that accompany an area's elevated profile. Like most New York transfers, they're up to speed in a cycle that regularly feels out of their control. As they're estimated out of focal areas, they can incidentally become complicit in pushing more unfortunate individuals farther into the edges of the city.

Mr Sunday is the open air disco run by much-adored nearby DJs Eamon Harkin and Justin Carter, who additionally run the name Mister Saturday Night. The week by week mid year arrangement started at a crude part in Gowanus, Brooklyn, a modern zone by a waterway that once conveyed load transports all through the New York harbor. Everybody from Caribou to Omar-S came to play under the disco ball they'd hung surrounded by trees covering the dance floor.

Harkin and Carter in the long run got kicked out by condominium engineers. By 2018, what was once Gowanus Grove will be a 700-unit complex contribution "24-hour attendant porters," "valet administration," an "outside pool" and "wellness focuses with yoga studios and turn rooms." Thankfully they had contacts at another open air setting—a greater and better one. The solitary issue was it was somewhat in the center of no place.

"I have a companion who had recently gotten recruited at Industry City," Carter advised me via telephone from Tokyo, where he and Harkin had gone through the week DJing. "She said, 'Hello, we have this yard.' And I resembled, 'I realize that patio!'" Industry City, previously known as Bush Terminal, is a rambling post-modern complex on the South Brooklyn waterfront, around a 30-minute drive away from Midtown Manhattan. It sits on the opposite side of the thruway from Sunset Park, a private neighborhood of generally common workers.

With no irate neighbors and space for many individuals, the patio was ideal for Carter and Harkin. It was ideal for the proprietors as well, who had spent the most recent decade attempting, and coming up short, to load these structures with occupants who might pay great cash for space in the complex. By at that point, business had begun to get and they'd pulled in various independent ventures: tech new companies, a little bunch pickle brand, an art refinery, plan workshops.

In contrast to different gatherings, Mister Sunday's group isn't simply youthful ravers. It incorporates hip experts and families searching for where they can carry their little children to the dance floor. They additionally end up being ideal expected occupants for Industry City, upwardly portable inventive sorts who may move their organizations there sometime in the not so distant future.

"Gatherings like Mister Sunday, alongside upscale swap meets, distinctive food occasions like Smorgasburg, and craftsmanship occasions have since quite a while ago flagged the coming flood of improvement to once-disintegrating mechanical backwaters," composed columnist Erica Berger in a 2014 Fast Company article called "Improvement, Inc." Berger theorized on the overflow impact that Industry City may have on the lease costs in close by Sunset Park, which positioned among the city's best 15 improving neighborhoods in a report from NYU in March.

Neighborhood people group coordinators say they're as of now feeling it. "Certainly we've seen a flood in badgering with respect to land owners attempting to get migrants out of their lease settled condos," said Marcela Mitaynes of the lodging backing bunch Neighbors Helping Neighbors, in a meeting with City Limits. "Outlandish claims, retaining fixes and upkeep."

This isn't the first run through engineers have utilized performers and specialists to build the estimation of their property. "A hip, youthful set willing to drive the limits into once-disliked areas" is a fundamental piece of the "condition of improvement," Berger called attention to. "In any case, so are the keen land engineers who follow everything they might do, prepared to pour quickening agent on the cycle."

However long the expression "improvement" has existed, property managers have utilized culture to upsell New York areas. A 2007 New York Times profile of one Lower East Side designer, Sion Misrahi, shows how successful that technique can be. He didn't skirt the real issue: "We chose to lease to bars and eateries who might acquire the trendy people and change the area." It's uncommon to hear engineers talk so authentically about these sorts of strategies on the record, however it's a recognizable story in most American urban communities.

At that point, Misrahi functioned as an advisor for building proprietors nearby. He urged them to lease retail facades to tense inhabitants who might build the region's social reserve—bars, dance clubs, an exhibition space work in vaudeville. He even convinced one landowner to offer a 10% markdown to a sex-toy shop and calfskin obsession store. "He in a real sense improved the neighborhood over numerous years," that property manager clarified in a similar article. "To do that, he painstakingly viewed as each inhabitant that he masterminded with the structure proprietors. Plantation Street had been a moderate shopping territory, however now it has gotten more hot."

During the 1980s, property managers utilized a similar strategy in the close by East Village, however with painters rather than clubs and sex shops. In her 2012 book The Gentrification Of Nightlife And The Right To The City, York University educator Laam Hae made those associations understood.

"The improvement of the East Village expressly relied on the feel and vibe that the local's nonconformist and bohemian specialists had made [during] the 1960s and 1970s," she composed. "The media's regard for this [movement] bit by bit changed the mainstream image of the neighborhood from low and minimal to focal and intriguing."

Clubs frequently play out a similar capacity, she said: "Flourishing nightlife has introduced and even established a fundamental piece of the renewal of neighborhoods." Her examination showed that nightlife can "revalorize discouraged property and trigger improvement, empowering landowners and land financial backers to procure 'syndication lease.'"

Engineers regularly advantage from the buzz that hip dance club produce for done for neighborhoods. In any case, Hae contends that when new, upmarket inhabitants move in and begin whining, they side against nightlife. This will in general be their attitude toward expressions of the human experience also. "Regions [sponsored] workshops and lodging sponsorships as an anchor for future land capital interest in bedraggled areas," she clarified. "Later [they] eliminated the appropriations to migrate craftsmen somewhere else once improvement kicks in."

It's hard to draw a causal connection between energetic nightlife and uprooted networks. Yet, a lot of land major parts over the most recent 40 years have attempted to saddle music scenes as a feature of their improvement plans. Furthermore, a lot of social makers are worried about the job they play in aiding improvement along.

"In case you're running a DIY space, you're regularly carrying individuals to a local that they wouldn't come to something else," Joe Salina said via telephone from his Babycastles central command in Chelsea. The aggregate, which puts on craftsmanship shows and electronic music occasions, outgrew the first Silent Barn area in Ridgewood, Queens. It later moved to the Williamsburg stockroom setting 285 Kent, which was supplanted by the Vice Media central command in 2014. "You wind up affecting their relationship with that place, and impacting the reality of them needing to be there," he said.

A DIY space is a completely or mostly unlicensed setting. They range from stockrooms to rural storm cellars to temples and public venues. In New York, the DIY development developed from troublemaker and outside the box rock. It crested during the 2000s with a tremendous proliferati

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smbeech · 4 years

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RR80 Aiji Interview ~ Nice Future

Message from the Translators: After a year of crazy schedules, and trying to coordinate between two countries and time zones we finally finished RR80 Aiji's Interview. Thank you for you patience. These long format interviews can take upwards of 48 hours of work, and we only can meet once a week for an hour. So, I thank everyone for sticking it out with us.

- Translated by me and Mari

Aiji LM .C ~ Nice Future ~

The last time we interviewed you was during your 10th anniversary year, it’s been a couple years.

A: Indeed, it’s been quite a while.

Yes. Even though it’s a bit early this time, aside from just talking about the topic of LM.C in 2018, we wanted you to talk about future projects. Recently, LM.C has not only been actively appearing in just one-man shows but two-man shows and other events, right?

A: I wonder...this year we’ve been offered a lot. Until now, we’ve had this image that LM.C doesn’t go out to events.

There certainly was such an image.

A: We’re not like that, we actually wanted to go to events, but we weren’t invited. After we performed one event, people started saying “Is LM.C going to perform at other events?” We’ve been wanting this.

Is that so, did you feel like that since LM.C’s formation?

A: I’ve wanted to go forever, but we hadn’t gotten invited yet.

I see. Not only performing with bands of the same generation but with younger generations like DEZERT and R指定 [*], is there anything you feel?

A: What I feel…Well, it’s obvious that fans of the younger generation bands will have their own Nori [1]. They’re moving to the right and left, aren’t they?

You mean side mosh?

A: Is that what it’s called? I know Circle Mosh and Wall of Death, but it makes me feel odd when I see that it’s knocking like "Right!" "Left!" It’s like a new style.

The way the Nori changes with the generation.

A: That's right. I think that this scene has various styles. For example, with PIERROT, fans imitate Kirito’s behavior. In that sense the Nori of the fans and atmosphere of the venue was unique. It is a different world from that era, or if you are watching the floor you feel a new sense of values being born and changing.

How do feel about the other bands you’ve performed with?

A: That being said, even though we did band battles we haven’t talked with many bands. I haven’t honestly been able to look into the personalities of the members, but I think many are earnest people. They’re serious people.

(Laughs). What does it mean to be serious?

A: Courteous. For example, with R指定 and DEZERT when they are hosting the live, they’ll come to our dressing room to greet us, so they’re respectful (have good manners). Actually, in this day and age, I think it’s difficult to live without manners. So, I think it’s rather good to be serious.

You’ve played with various other bands too, right?

A: We’ve done events with A9, D=Out, CHIYU, there’s the three-man hosted by BugLug, and then there’s also a collaboration with An Café and GOTCHAROCKA.

Based on the LM.C that existed before 2018, the changes you’ve made are unimaginable.

A: True. Maybe it’s a recent trend, but everyone wants to play live with 2 – 3 bands. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be invited. (Laughs)

Hahaha. I assume you get different reactions than those from One-man Shows and you receive more feelings and lessons?

A: When I look at the questionnaire or impressions of a person who became a fan at the event, there are many cases that "It’s different from what I had imagined." There are emotional and intense songs by LM.C, but that does not image people have of us, I guess.

Perhaps the image that “LM.C = Pop and Colorful” is too strong.

A: In particular, the songs “88” or “BOYS & GIRLS” give many people that image of us, I guess. However, when they actually watch there are many hard rock songs being done.

So, are more people coming to your One-man shows?

A: Yes. When I meet those people [2] I think to myself, “It was good to go that event.”

Lately, you’ve been having an increasing number of male fans at each tour.

A: Yes, but slowly. I’m happy if there’s more. When a boy’s energy is added, I feel like it becomes more emotive, but it may be the image I mentioned earlier. There are many female LM.C fans, but I always think ��If boys come and watch, I’m sure they’ll enjoy it too.”

Considering that, there’s a lot of significance in appearing with various other bands.

A: There’s a lot I don’t notice when performing in a one-man show, it’s also a chance to meet people who’ve never heard us or don’t know LM.C at all, so I feel that it’s a necessity and meaningful. Additionally, Band battles and events are easy to get fired up for, aren’t they? Since it is a place where you’re judged, I feel more enthusiastic, and because there’s a sense of competition, I straighten up. Then we decide a more LM.C style live.

On that note, what is an LM.C style live?

A: For example, since there are many people who always come to see our usual one-man show, so at those shows, I want to try different things and show new things, but at a collaboration even I want to do a more LM.C style event. I mean that it’s LM.C style in that way. So, we do the opposite of what’s usual (at the one-man shows).

So, at those events, you go the route of traditional LM.C?

A: Yes. In that sense, I think both one-man shows and collaboration events are necessary.

In the sense of a match, is there anything else you’re thinking of on stage?

A: Not particularly besides being LM.C. So even if the audience thinks “This isn’t for me,” I think that it’s fine because it’s music, I am happy either way as long as the audience feels something, it’s that simple. If it’s good they’ll come to see us again, and is it isn’t good, it’s their last time coming. It’s a gut feeling, maybe I like the sense of tension.

So, 2018 is when you’ve been able to do the activities you’ve wanted to do?

A: Yes. Therefore, now is the best time. Because we are able to do a “This is LM.C” live.

Even in the 12 years since you started?

A: Year by year I feel we’re getting better. Up until our fifth year, I felt there was still some ups and downs. I think it's also because we've done various things experimentally while exploring, but now we’re able to challenge ourselves after establishing the basics.

That’s because LM.C has unshakable confidence when doing anything?

A: Right. Now I can be like LM.C no matter where I am, I also have the sense that “If this doesn’t work then it's no good." For example, if we failed during our third year, I think we wouldn’t know the exact reason why. Now that we’ve repeated trials and errors, even if we fail, we can analyze the reasons and improve ourselves, and I feel that we’ve become grounded.

Tell us about your unforgettable encounter in 2018, it was with Tadanori Yokoo [3], who worked on the FUTURE SENSATION album jacket, I assume it was a major encounter?

A: It was more than a big event, something like a dream. Yokoo is a world-renowned graphic designer and painter, so if you search for "Japanese graphic design painter", you will definitely see Yokoo's work. I’ve been interested in art for a long time, and I like Yokoo's work, so it felt strange that he was involved in the LM.C album this time, I got a lot of stimulation.

Did you want to collaborate with Yokoo if you had a chance?

A: No, there was such awe. A doctor who I know has a connection with Yokoo. After I gave the album "VEDA" to the doctor, he decorated the jacket of the LP size board in the laboratory, and it seemed that it was Yokoo who saw it and liked it.

I assume, Yokoo likes the psychedelic world that Veda’s mandala also has.

A: That doctor said, “That album, Yokoo-san came to my home and took it.”

I said, “Really, is that what happened?” (Laughs) So, I asked the doctor, “I wonder if he would design a jacket for our album?” And the doctor said, "Ok, let me ask."

Wow, so the offer didn’t come from LM.C, but developed from such a coincidence?

A: Yeah. Later I got a message saying, "He’ll do it," and then the story went on. If it was the first album, the work from 12-years-ago I think it wouldn’t have had such a flow. I was glad he connected our latest work, “VEDA,” which was our best work yet, the event that would be the gateway to the next appeared.

Yokoo-san also tweeted, “The energy absorbed from visual-kei artists half my age is too much! I’m looking forward to the live in October.” What kind of person is he?

A: Anyhow, he’s full of energy.

Yokoo-san is his 80s, right?

A: He’s 82. His spine is not bent at all, he stands perfectly straight. I think he has a youthful air about him. It might be rude to say this, but he has a sense of otherworldliness... or perhaps, Yokoo-san is an artist in the realm of God himself. He’s completely on the Legend Tier.

That’s right, because he’s a master.

A: So, it's kind of a wonder and I still don’t feel like it’s happening. When I visited his atelier for the first time, I brought the completed album, we’d only met twice at that point. Since he’s been actively working, his senses are sharp, and at the same time I got the impression that he was on a higher plane. In front of Yokoo-san, I felt like I was being read, so I didn't think I would need to be cool. He’s a person who makes me able to be myself.

I’ve liked waterfalls for a long time. I told a friend, from when I was in school, about how I like waterfalls and he gave me a book with stories and pictures about the waterfalls in the various places that Yokoo visited. The painting of the Heavenly being on the waterfall is also impressive.

A: I like the designer I’ve been requesting lately; I also like photographer Miyawaki (Susumu) who’s been taking photos of LM.C for a long time, everyone respects Yokoo, don’t they? After I started music and started thinking about CD jackets, I delved into a lot of art, but I had never thought that I’d want to work with Yokoo.

So he was that that far above you.

A: Right, right. From the beginning, he was out of our choices.

You were saying that he’s full of energy. The jacket of "FUTURE SENSATION" is also full of energy.

A: Ri~ght. It’s overwhelming. It’s like it comes from an angle that we can’t imagine or predict (laughs). It’s beyond our ideas but when we see it, we’re like “That’s it!”

In regard to visual kei, Yokoo said, "Visual Kei destroys their music by picturizing the music. Instinctively they may be aware that beauty is born only from destruction,” in a tweet. It’s amazing.

A: Yeah. I think he’s in some kind of enlightened place, so he doesn’t have any prejudice towards visual kei or anything like that.

Did Maya also receive stimulation?

A: I think he absolutely received it. Yokoo-san's atelier had an autograph book and he asked, "Please, write something," and I wrote the LM.C signature. At the time, the title of the album had not been decided yet, but for some reason, Maya wrote “FUTURE SENSATION”.

Hey. Did he get inspired?

A: He wrote something because he wanted to leave something, in the end, it became the album title.

It’s a story that seems like destiny.

A: So, I feel that my encounter with Yokoo-san was the trigger. In the past, Yokoo-san wrote somewhere, "You cannot do what you really want to do if you care about people's opinions," I had been thinking the same thing before I saw that for a few years. I used care about other people’s opinions, but over time I’m caring less.

Is it a work rating or a live rating?

A: Work rating. I was wondering why is it that I’m not worried about the rating? But after reading Yokoo-san's words and being able to become more confident in myself. Of course, I thought I had confidence, but I cared about too much about their opinions. This year is the 20th anniversary of my debut, but by having met Yokoo-san, various answers in my music life can be verified. At same time he’s (Yokoo) always on top and leagues ahead. In my humble opinion, he’s like gold. While I’m checking the answers (of my music life) I feel like I’m not there yet.

By meeting Yokoo-san, you saw the future and included in that was the thought, “I not there yet”?

A: That's right. I was also inspired by his way of life as an artist. When I visited his atelier, he was already painting a new work, and it was really cool. Because I shouldn’t ask “Can I take a picture?” (laughs) It’s only my in head now. The Atelier also has Yokoo-san’s gentle vibes, it felt sacred. I can’t tell you the details but I asked about the wonderful experiences Yokoo-san had had and I wanted to ask, "It's been a long time since I’ve been asked," then he told me about the story. It was really amazing to listen to the story and see the old valuable artwork he kept.

I think he’s enlightened, and he also has the curiosity of a child.

A: He gave me a very pure impression. I didn’t want to be cool in front of Yokoo-san. When I talk to creators of the same generation or younger, I sometimes get defensive, but I didn’t with Yokoo-san, it might because our fields are different. If he was a legendary musician, I’d be tensed up, but I can be honest in front of Yokoo-san. It may be the first time I have felt this feeling.

It sounds like you had the biggest encounter in 2018?

A: It’s not just 2018, it’s the biggest in my life. Because he is a really great artist.

It’s your biggest encounter ever, let alone 2018. So, this may be a question that I ask every time: The bonus DVD of "FUTURE SENSATION" has a lot of talks between you and Maya, but I was surprised to hear how little Maya talks to you. Do you not talk to him?

A: I don’t (laughs).

Has it been like this for a long time?

A: I’m not sure, but we stopped talking at some point. I don’t know the exact timing because it changed gradually, by the time I realized it, he’d stopped talking to me completely. (laughs).

Has it become a relationship where you can communicate without words?

A: I think a relationship would get worse if there is a problem with creating work because of a lack of conversation, but in our case, we’re able make it work with a good sense of distance, so I think it may be good. It works for us (laughs). I enjoy Maya’s work now, more than ever.

Does that mean better for you if LM.C doesn’t close the distance too much?

A: Hm, I’m good with either one, so we’re fine whether we’re together or apart.

Do you not feel lonely as Aiji Senpai?

A: Not at all. I think a reasonable sense of distance is the best and is best for us.

Since you’re a duo, that relationship is interesting to me. When it comes to duos, I think it would a little difficult if you didn’t contact each other.

A: Oh, it's definitely interesting. We do fine even though we don’t talk at all.

So, don't you talk that much?

A: We really don’t talk. Of course, if I ask him a question we’ll talk, during a meeting we’ll communicate, but Maya mostly just listens. Like when I ask, “What do you think, Maya?” Then he answers. So, as we said in the video, on-stage is when we talk the most (laughs).

Hm. In a sense, it may be that Maya has stopped entertaining his senpai?

A: I’m really not sure. However, I’ve certain he understands our work. He will definitely contact me if he has something he wants to say regarding work. When Maya sends an e-mail or LINE message, I know, “Oh, he has a thought.”

Then he says, “The arrangement of that composition, I wonder if we could do a little more this?” (Laughs) So he’s easy to understand.

So, you don’t have any interactions other than that? (Laughs)

A: I definitely ask him questions. If I send a message saying only, "The final arrangement will be sent." I will never receive a reply (laughs). So, a few hours later or the next day, I follow-up with, "How was the arrangement? If there is no problem, we’ll proceed.”

Then I get back, “Everything is fine.” So, I’ll proceed to the next step.

It's also that time when you can record without having to meet face to face?

A: This is also the time. A good time for LM.C (laughs). I guess it’s also because we’re a duo. If we were a four- or five-member group, there would be differences in opinion. So, we end up saying, “We have to meet face to face.” But we can just email, and we’ll fix things (laughs).

Well then, it seems that the relationship between the two of you is also being updated in a good way.

A: True. We’re doing very good these days. I'm also looking forward to what kind of works we are marking next and so on.

“FUTURE SENSATION” is an album that came out after quite some time, but LM.C has always released works at your own pace. Do you ever rush to make an album?

A: No. It’s the current trend of the music industry. In the old days, everyone used to release an album per year and tour across the country. It would destroy you to keep working like that.

Does that mean you’d have gotten exhausted?

A: Yes, yes. I would’ve been worn out in many ways. After all, it’s not only about output but we also need input. So, I think this pace is normal.

I have this image that LM.C always in normal operation.

A: That may be right. That's because we’re allowed to work at our own pace.

So, because of that, the two of you have created an environment where you can keep making work, in your best condition. Would you say that’s true?

A: Yes, that’s correct. There are ways that suit the times, I've been wanting to find a way that suits LM. C’s pace, as early as possible. So, with that, I believe now is the best time.

In the previous interview, Maya said, “I feel that is LM.C will never end.”

A: I didn't read it though (laughs).

I guess you don’t reach each other’s interviews (laughs).

A: Hahaha. Actually, I don't feel like it will end either.

You think so too?

A: Yes. Because we have no conflicts. I have no particular complaints.

Even if there’s no email reply?

A: I was frustrated in the past (laughs). However, it would be a problem if the release was delayed due to the lack of a reply, so, I always calculate the schedule, so things are on time.

As expected, that’s just like you (laughs).

A: Maya now response faster than before. Besides, now that I understand he’s “that kind of guy,” I’ve been thinking, “I should change to suit him.”

Is it because of the days and months that have piled up as you’ve been together?

A: Yes, and besides, it’s working because we are in control of LM.C. If LM.C belonged to some big agency, we might have to release music for company reasons rather than our will, but there is no such binding. If Maya and I want to, we do it, if we don’t want to, we don’t. I believe that's why it works. In short, because we decide our own yearly schedule, we can make high-quality works without undue pressure.

I see. So, as a “Chaindreamer” is there something you’re thinking about for LM. C’s future?

A: Yes, but I don't have a specific dream.

When you say “a specific dream” do you mean like doing an arena performance?

A: It’s more like, if I create even one wonderful song from time to time, I can see the future as a result, or that a good life is waiting, so this is a fine dream for me. I don't wish for too much in a good way. If I keep doing the things in front of me, then there’s a wonderful future ahead. I've been doing that, and I think Yokoo-san does too. I just keep on. It’s vital. However, I don’t think it’s cool to continue for a long time if we don’t want to.

Is that your philosophy of keeping the band going for a long time?

A: Yes. There are certainly things that I can see now, since we’ve been going 12 years, and I believe we’re here now because we’ve been doing what we should do by being honest with ourselves. This is how LM.C will last a lifetime.

This is what you feel right now.

A: If I continue, I think that new dreams and goals will come from time to time. As for the venue, it's vague, but I really like Budoukan, so I want to perform there again. But if I’m asked, “Do you want to aim for the Tokyo Dome?” I may say no, but because I have a fondness for Budoukan, I’d want to perform there again. However, I haven’t decided yet. After making decision after decision, what kind of future is waiting for me? I’m looking forward to that future. That was the opposite of when I was in my twenties. It was my way to set goals and go.

Is that the PIERROT era?

A: LM.C was like that too until the fifth year. The Budoukan live was also our goal, and we were determined to achieve our goal.

It was an era when you were sprinting.

A: We were driven! My only way of living was, “The dream, is something I have to achieve!” Back then, my desire to write better arrangements than before and play good guitar. I was living so fast, that I didn’t have the time to think slowly, like I do now. I couldn't afford to see my way of life objectively, and I just had to live hard every day. But now that I've experienced a lot of things, I want to play the guitar, improve my skill of arranging songs, and keep making the works that are better than before. If I can keep doing that, I believe a wonderful future is waiting.

I think you think that way because you’ve done so much. You don't imagine negative things like a dark future is coming or that something will go wrong.

A: I agree. If it is the result of working hard every day and living honestly with myself, there will be no regret even if a dark future is waiting for me then. You should just live in such a way that you won’t say "Ah, I should have done that at the time," when you look back.

You mean to live a life with no regrets. So, last but not least, what is the concrete image of a wonderful future for you, Aiji?

A: It would be a wonderful future if I can be in an environment where I can make our work calmly. Because if the me from 12 years ago, knew that he would able to make music with this kind of environment in 12 years, the he would say "A great future is waiting!" So that is why I believe my future will also be great.

-------------------------------------------------------

[*] R指定 pronounced R Shitei which translates to “Rated R.”

[1] At Lives fans typically have a set of dance moves or pattern of jumping, etc. they do that lives, that is called Nori.

[2] People who see LM.C at collaboration events then go to LM.C lives.

[3] Tadanori Yokoo is one of Japan’s most famous and internationally recognized graphic design artists, largely regarded as Japan’s Andy Warhol.

#lm.c #aiji #Aiji LM.C #lm.c translation #Interviews #interview #lm.c interview #rr 80 #ROCK AND READ #rock and read 80

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6ftgirlfriend · 5 years

Text

Falling For Stars

Collaborators: @sweetdreamsjetaime 💝/ edited by @lovebird1517 💖

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lucas Lallemant/Eliott Demaury

Summary: Rising star, Lucas Lallemant, has no clue what’s going on. For all he knows, his costar, Eliott Demaury, doesn’t give a fuck about him. He had made that pretty clear when he got all cozy with his girlfriend, Lucille, right in front of him. So can someone explain to him why the hell everyone thinks they’re dating? or Co-Stars to lovers!AU with all the angst/fluff and French shenanigans to keep me up at night!

Episode 1 - Regret.

AO3 Link

He was falling into oblivion, willingly with no sense of control

Falling from the heavens, they would shine so bright

Falling into the ocean of his eyes,

they would pierce through the soul

Falling into the storms of his embrace, they would unravel the heart

The collision was inevitable, the comet’s end

No shooting star should feel this, to be a burning and dying wish

It was endlessly cold, infinitely dark amongst the others

He was the fallen star, forever trying to stay ablaze…

—The Little Lone Star

SAMEDI 9:12

Lucas jolts awake by a sudden noise. He’s brought back to reality when he hears the roaring echoes of the shower being turned on.

He squints up at a pale ceiling that was not his own. His was made out of glass that allowed him to gaze up at the stars whenever life got too rough. He’s always found comfort in them, but they are not here right now to calm his beating heart. Where the hell is he? The bed sheets curled around his torso are definitely not his. They are soft and comforting yet suffocating at the same time. The tidiness and luxury of the bed are a sharp contrast to how messy and average he remembers his to be. He feels out of place. Seriously? What the hell is happening? The grey curtains hanging loosely against the glass frames barely prevent any sunlight from seeping through. Lucas almost goes blind while trying to blink his heavy eyes open. He feels dizzy, disoriented and worst of all; like total absolute shit. Fuck! How much did he drink last night?

The hangover reduces Lucas to nothing but a living corpse. He tries his hardest to sober up, but every single one of his brain cells is screaming at him to stop overworking them. Not only is the sun trying to blind him, but the birds outside are chirping loudly to God knows what tune. The sounds of bustling cars and productivity outside rang through his ears and intensifies his headache. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs at the absolute mess it is. Suddenly, a cool breeze grazes his exposed skin sending a shiver through his whole body and leaving goosebumps in its wake. He curls up in the bedding once more but sits up in surprise when he notices that he was completely naked and space next to him is empty. He truly loathed his existence at the moment.

Lucas looks around the room with a big frown. The scattered clothes on the floor and the lone ripped condom packet by the trashcan don’t leave much to the imagination. Fuck, he had sex with someone yesterday in his drunken daze, didn’t he?

Lucas groans from the realization. He reaches for his clothes by the bed and tries to get dressed quickly. The sooner he gets the hell out of where ever the fuck he is, the quicker he would feel sane again.

He stops halfway through putting his shirt on when he hears the shower turn off. He turns to see an unfamiliar figure step out of the bathroom. Lucas chokes on air. The guy in front of him is half-naked, and Lucas’s brain short circuits. Droplets of water slowly drip down the man’s body, and Lucas uses his remaining self-control not to combust on the spot.

The nameless man seems unfazed by Lucas’s presence and proceeds to shake his damp chocolate curls into a small towel; his arm muscles flex with every movement. He looks unreal with a lean body that’s as tall as the door frame and broad, muscular shoulders. His skin is pale, and the yellow tint of sunlight makes him look as if he’s glowing.

Lucas snaps out of his daze and mentally scolds himself for thirsting over a stranger. The shame he was feeling a few moments ago comes back to hit him once again at full force.

Lucas doesn’t properly look at the guy’s face, but he knows.

It’s not him.

This man, as hot as he is, is not the one he wishes him to be. The one he dreams he could wake up to every morning. The one he wants is not his to take and keep. Lucas can’t even fantasize about what it would feel like to be with him. Yet, there’s an invisible pull that always leads straight to him.

Him, who, ever since the beginning, would send his heart running for the hills whenever he made eye contact with those steel blue eyes. God those eyes.

Lucas is too hungover to handle all this shit this early in the morning. He feels like an avalanche is submerging him. His whole body is frozen, and his heart is heavy. He fucked up. He really fucked up this time.

It hits him out of nowhere as the events of last night clear up in his head.

Regret.

***

YESTERDAY NIGHT, VENDREDI 21:41

The camera lights are flashing and lighting up the night. Lucas scoffs at all the people dressed in big fancy gowns and expensive suits. He wants to tell them that this is The César Awards and not a fashion show. Lucas lets it go because he won’t allow any negativity tonight.

He’s rejoicing because Je T’aime won Best Film. It’s the first movie Lucas played in that gained so much success. He even got nominated for the award of Best Actor because of it, but sadly he lost it to his costar, Eliott Demaury.

Lucas’s not even mad about it because anyone that has ever worked with Eliott knows that the man has a natural talent in acting.

Lucas remembers how shocked he was when he received the news that he would be staring along Eliott. Around that time, Lucas’s career in acting was starting to pick up after the public loved his performance in La Honte. His portrayal of a struggling teen with Tourette’s syndrome blew the masses away because it was the first time they saw mental illness depicted in a positive light. Two days after the news, he got to read over the script and instantly fell in love.

The film was based off a best-selling novel; about a Canadian teen, Hugo Babineaux, sent to study abroad in Paris, France. While there, he falls for his host family’s eldest son, Julien Favre. Julien is a devout Catholic, but couldn’t resist falling in love with the Hugo. Their forbidden love is passionate and bittersweet, as the film touches on the issues of homophobia and religion—the journey of coming to accept one’s sexuality and owning up to who you want to be.

Lucas practiced day and night to make sure he matched Eliott’s talent and did the role of Hugo justice.

But no amount of practice could have prepared him for the first time he met Eliott. Because fucking hell, the guy was beyond gorgeous in person.

Eliott’s icy gaze left Lucas breathless.

And I’m falling so hard for you.

He almost broke his neck from having to gaze up at him.

Would you be there to catch me, too?

He couldn’t be real. Those luminous caramel locks had to be made from strands of silk, entwisted, like a storm. He looked like an angel among men.

Maybe I should keep this to myself.

It was honestly intimidating to be working first time with such a renowned actor.

Waiting ‘til I know you better.

Lucas could only hope his weak, stupid heart could take it.

I don’t wanna be something you can throw away.

The film was a massive hit; the fans went crazy for the chemistry that Lucas and Eliott shared. They were the perfect duo. Lucas had come to understand everyone’s fondness towards Eliott, especially when he smiled so big that it reached his eyes. Or how his kind and bright demeanor would light up the room. But those little things shouldn’t matter. Why should he care that Eliott made his heart flip every time he enters a room?

It’s nothing but stage fright jitters. Lucas would reassure himself.

Eliott is an enigma. His happy-go-lucky attitude is a starch contrast to the vivid and dynamic characters he plays. His first role was that of a blind prodigal genius painter who had to adapt to life after a tragic accident flipped his whole world upside down. His performance in the movie landed him many awards, and he became one of the youngest actors to win the prestigious award in France.

Despite the unworldly harmony between Lucas and Eliott on the big screen and during interviews, it’s an entirely different story behind the scenes.

Anyone who knew these two could see the tension between them. Eliott loves to tease, calling him a hedgehog because of his wild spiky hair, and Lucas tries very hard not to blush every time he touched it. He also tends to sneak up on him and whisper random things in his ears, and that makes Lucas lose his mind. And Eliott’s answer to his flustered face is to outright laugh at him. Why did he let this guy get to him so much? Every time they would touch even by accident, Lucas would feel breathless.

Eliott must be doing it on purpose; he must enjoy seeing Lucas reduced to a complete mess.

But Lucas is done with these little games.

He plans to confront Eliott tonight and ask him exactly what the hell they are.

Lucas tried his best to avoid doing relationships, only settling for one night stands. He’s too scared of the paparazzi invading his privacy. Besides, Lucas isn’t out to the public yet. But he feels something for Eliott and is willing to risk it all for the chance of being in a relationship with him.

Lucas makes his way backstage to Eliott’s dressing room where the talk will take place. If everything goes well, they would be boyfriends by the end of the night. He abruptly stops when he sees Eliott in front of the room arms hooked around the small waist of a brunette. Lucas has seen her before. Her name’s Lucille Dubois; a supermodel, singer, and songwriter. She’s famous and loved by everyone. Lucas swallows the lump in his throat. They look good together. Perfect.

Of course, they would be dating. Lucas turns away, and his heart clenches at the reality that nothing could ever happen between Eliott and him. All the sneaky touches and stolen looks were for nothing. He can’t believe he let himself think that there was a chance Eliott would like him back.

He needs a drink. Now.

He heads straight out for the bar.

***

After only a few shots, the world around Lucas starts to spin, and he feels the adrenaline pumping through his whole body.

That’s when he sees it: a pair of long legs striding towards him in determination. Muscular and veiny hands pull him wrap around his waist and pull him in a tight hug. There’s barely any space between them, and Lucas shivers when a deep voice whispers in his eyes.

Lucas wishes the nameless hands buried in his hair belong to Eliott. But the reality hits when the man says in a low and raspy voice.

“I’m Étienne.”

Lucas looks away from his lips to his darkening eyes. Lucas is sure he won’t remember the name for very long, but he nods and presses his lips against his in a heated kiss.

He doesn’t know how they got to the apartment. Which wall he’s currently pressed against, but Lucas doesn’t complain. Their clothes are gone the moment they get to the bedroom.

Behind his closed lids, Lucas sees red flashes of visions. Is it another daydream? A memory? All he sees are familiar dark eyes piercing through him. Not now, please. Lucas runs his hand through Étienne’s hair in hopes of distracting himself from thinking of Eliott.

Why is he in my mind right now?

Étienne’s warm lips trace Lucas’s collarbone, and Lucas wonders what Eliott’s lips will feel like on his skin. He hates the fact that he’s so jealous of Lucille. All Lucas wanted to do when he saw Lucille wrapped in Eliott’s arms was to replace her. He wants to be the one that gets to kiss Eliott every time he wants and feel his beautiful hands on his body.

But that would never happen because Eliott doesn’t love me.

PRESENT, SAMEDI 9:31

A voice fades in,“…—cas, Lucas? Hello? Still with me?”

Lucas blinks at the waving hand in from his face. He cranes his neck up to look into a pair of concerned onyx eyes.

“Great, you’re back. You scared me.” Ethan? Elias? Says with a sigh.

His face immediately lights up when he locks eyes with Lucas.

“How was the view from up there? Did you catch any stars?”

His deep voice brings Lucas back to reality. Lucas must have been mentally gone for a long time because the man was now dressed in dark jeans and a black hoodie. He was also holding a coffee cup in each hand. The aroma of the drinks makes him crave the caffeine he needed to wake up.

Lucas quirks his lips because he’s suddenly feeling shy. He’s still half-naked and is in desperate need of a shower. He stares at the wall behind the boy trying to find his way out of this shitty situation.

‘I’m sorry, but it’s been fun.’ No, too passive. ‘Look, this can’t happen again.’ Too insensitive. ‘It’s not you; it’s me?’ What a fucking cliche.

“Uh, ahem—No stars, just really tired.” He settles avoiding eye contact at all cost.

“Yeah, I get that.” The pretty stranger chuckles softly with a coy smirk.

“I mean we didn’t get much sleep last night. Are you sure you are okay?”

Lucas nods shyly, cheeks heating up.

“Good. How about some coffee? Croissants?” The guy smiles brightly and gosh, why does he have to be so lovely? It only makes him feel ten times worst for what he’s about to do.

“Coffee should do, thank you…?” Lucas dragged it out, waiting for a name as he takes the cup of coffee. The handsome stranger seems to get the memo and answers quickly. “It’s Étienne, Étienne Calvet.” Étienne’s smile grows wider when Lucas almost spills coffee on himself.

Étienne Calvet. The name rings a bell; he’s a famous model in Paris. He has soulful eyes and perfect features that are often present on brand names such as Givenchy, Lanvin, Prada, and YSL. Lucas heard a lot about him because Étienne is also a writer and openly bisexual. Lucas mentally scolds himself for not realizing who he is sooner.

“No need to thank me. Listen, last night, we didn’t have time to introduce ourselves, but I know you. Lucas Lallemant, right?”

Lucas could only nod, still in shock. Étienne squeals.

“Wow! I can’t believe it. You almost won the César Awards. Congratulations on the nomination! The movie was beautiful. That scene where he dives into the ocean when he found out—” Étienne goes onto praising Je T'aime in great detail.

Lucas wants to dig a grave and bury himself in it. Étienne sounds genuinely interested and excited like a fanboy meeting their favorite celebrity for the first time. Lucas is not sure if he should be flattered or creeped out.

He doesn’t have much time to think about it. He needs to come clean to this guy. He swallows his guilt down and proceeds to grab the sheets around his waist, giving Étienne a stern look as he gets up from the bed.

“Look, thank you, Étienne.” Étienne’s smile only gets brighter.

“For everything but I’m sorry this…” Lucas gestures between them. “It can’t happen again…” Lucas feels like vanishing into thin air when he sees Étienne’s eyes dime slightly. He gazes downward for a few seconds before bringing his face back up with his signature smile.

“As I said before, no need to thank me. But could we at least be friends?” Étienne is now looking down at the ground again, resembling a kicked puppy. He has a way of making Lucas feel like a total dick.

Lucas knows it’s not a good idea. He should decline and spare Étienne the heartbreak, but he’s not thinking clearly right now. So he holds out his hand with a small smile.

“Okay. Just friends.”

***

SAMEDI 10:19

After almost an hour or so, Lucas finally steps out into the streets of Paris. After running through the shower and exchanging numbers with Étienne, they said their goodbyes. Étienne’s hopeful expression is going to haunt Lucas forever. But for now, Lucas pushes all that away and focuses on getting home.

Lucas has always loved mornings the most out of all the times of the day. Fresh air, dew on the pavement and the calming ambiance are precisely what he needs at the moment to relax.

Which is why he decides to take a short walk around the city. He still can’t believe he slept with a complete stranger. A part of him gets it; he was heartbroken and miserable. For fuck sakes, the guy he loves is dating another person. He had every right to act on his emotions. He fell for Eliott like those shooting stars he sees every night before falling asleep. Ugh.

He shakes his head to snap out of his negative thoughts. This needs to stop. Seriously. He needs to focus.

Lost in thought, Lucas doesn’t notice a group of suspicious men following him. The men were discreetly taking pictures of Lucas, trying to figure out where he was last night. According to the rumors, Lucas left with a special someone. They were vultures preying on the carcass of any previous night’s drama.

They wanted to be the first one to get the scoop, and so they hurriedly make their way to an unsuspecting Lucas.

“Lucas Lallemant! Monsieur Lallemant! Can we ask what your whereabouts were last night!?”

Fuck. My. Life.

Lucas mentally curses his luck. He knew this was going to happen eventually, but why now? Lucas knows he looks like complete crap right now, and that’s not an appropriate look for the cameras. Great fucking timing. The universe must be laughing at him.

“Monsieur Lallemant, are you aware of the rife speculations that you might be seeing someone? Can you tell us who!” One of them urges boldly. What kind of sick question is that? Lucas is shaking; not only from anger but also from fear.

His fears of being outed. He’s afraid the world would criticize him, and people would label him as just another “gay icon.” He didn’t want to be a label. He’s just a man named Lucas that happens to like other men. That should not be a reason for people to criticize him.

Did they see us? Who else saw him leave the party?

Lucas is usually really good at dealing with the mobs of paparazzi, but today, he is beyond exhausted. Not wanting to start a scene, he quickly covers his face and flees from the scene. He vaguely hears them say something about a hickey at the back of his neck followed with the sounds of cameras flashing.

His eyes widen in panic.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Lucas can’t breathe because his lungs are now filled with dread. His heart is drumming quickly in his chest.

Flashes of this father’s disappointed scowl washed over him. He feels sick to his stomach. His dad hated his existence already, so what would he think when he founds out Lucas is gay?

He would probably say with a disgusted face that he was disappointed in Lucas.

No!

Why should he even bother if he’s going to be a disappointment anyway?

Shut up!

Why can’t he be like the others? He just had to end up being the unwanted gay son, didn’t he?

Stop it!

Lucas starts running; becoming one with the wind. He is running away from not only the paparazzi but also all his problems. His heels are clicking on the stone pavement as he zooms past pedestrians and street performers.

Could this day get any worse?

And the universe gladly accepts the challenge. Within the next moment, his phone starts vibrating from a message. Lucas abruptly slows down and hesitantly pulls the device from his pocket, unlocking the screen.

It’s from him.

Eliott.

Eliott: “Mind telling me why people are saying we started dating?”

Eliott: “You could’ve asked me first, Lulu. ♥️”

The next text sent makes his heart drop. It’s a slightly blurry picture of himself leaving the bar. He looks extremely drunk and is holding hands with someone. Lucas is a hundred percent sure it’s Étienne dragging Lucas to his apartment. Thank fuck, the picture is so blurry no one could see anything but Lucas. However, the headline reads, “WHO WAS THIS MYSTERIOUS NEW FLAME?” And the article goes into details of webbing lies out of the photo.

It’s like time had stopped and the world froze. Lucas’ head is pounding from everything that’s happening at once.

This was it — the biggest mistake of his life.

He wishes for a falling star to crash upon him. He just wants it to end it all.

TO BE CONTINUED…

(A/N: Oh.My.God. This is my first time writing fanfiction, guys! I hope you guys enjoyed it!! Special thanks to @sweetdreamsjetaime and @lovebird1517 for helping me!

Additional info: I’m thinking of making this into a tv show format about these two soulmates having to work for their love (the angst, the drama!) but it’ll be worth it by the end. There’s going to be behind the scenes content too (meaning; covers, magazines, and social media content?), so watch out for those (SKAM style👀). I would also love to read your feedback and any thoughts you have on the story! ☺️ Thank you so much for reading! Best wishes!🌠)

#skam france #skamfr #elu fanfic #elu fic #myedits #elu aesthetics #ffs fic #falling for stars fic #i can't believe i did this #this was so fun!#I hope you enjoyed this #lucas x eliott #lucas lallemant #eliott demaury #elu au #elu au fic #skam elu #elu

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63824peace · 4 years

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Monday, 5th of december 2005

I saw the movie Always: San-cho-me-no-yuuhi again over the weekend, on Saturday. I watched it at the Navio Tohoplex in Umeda, Osaka.

I hadn't visited Navio since they renovated it. I felt so nostalgic when I saw traces of the older Navio Hankyu. I even saw the elevators that went straight into the theater. The Kitano Theater had already occupied Navio Hankyu's construction site, so they simply built Navio Hankyu around the theater.

Back then it had been Umeda's most popular theater. Popular films often filled the theater to capacity from morning until evening. No one who really wanted to see a movie ever let the crowd deter him. It compares with the Marion Theater in Ginza.

They built Navio Hankyu in the shape of a ship. Each floor looked like a triangular wedge of cheese. They offered an art gallery inside, as well as a number of restaurants. I would eat at one of the restaurants after watching a movie.

I entered the renovated Navio Tohoplex. It has a number of smaller theaters inside since it's a cinema complex. Unfortunately, they chose to show Always in one of the smaller theaters.

I descended to the seventh floor and entered theater number eight. They used to have restaurants there in the past.

The movie has run for several weeks already, so I was surprised to find the theater almost full. Always is a real blockbuster. I took a seat in the back of the theater, and I had a good view of the audience's crowns. I was astonished once more to see that half of the audience had gray heads... they were elderly. Saturday wasn't a workday, so people were more likely to attend the theater... but I remain stunned by the overwhelming nostalgic support that people over fifty have given the movie.

I heard that Always ranked number one in the box office for three weeks. The film's renown as a hit really woke up the older movie-going audience. We don't often see mature-aged people touched by a CG movie.

I felt freer to cry during my second viewing. I knew the story's development and I no longer scrutinized the special effects, so I could let myself go more easily. Tears fell endlessly.

In the theater, I heard the audience weep in Dolby Surround Sound. We rarely see people of all ages and both genders cry in a theater. The older generation especially wept tears in remembrance of that lost time. I felt as though they were the tears of the Showa Era itself.

I hadn't been to Osaka's Umeda in a long time. I had last been there for the MGS3 release event, so that meant that I hadn't been there in about a year.

Umeda is the city of my youth. I met so many people there when I grew from boyhood to adulthood. I experienced so many steps on my way to becoming an adult, like dating, taking a part-time job, shopping, and entertaining.

Umeda is really special to me. It's quite nostalgic... although I don't feel quite as much nostalgia now as I had when I walked there a year earlier. It's the city of my memories... have I been in Tokyo too long?

I hadn't realized that my gait had fallen out of sync with the rest of the Osaka pedestrians. Walking became difficult... I often bumped into others. Osaka's dialect aggravated my ears. I couldn't stand the poor manners that people displayed while crossing the street. The billboard colors and people's clothing seemed obnoxious and harsh, rather than vibrant like people usually regard Kansai color schemes.

I couldn't collect myself for some reason. I used to feel calm every time that I returned to Kansai, but I couldn't feel that way this time.

That was a real problem! Was I still a Kansai man?

I mounted the long escalator leading to the Hankyu Umeda station's central gate. I held the handrail and looked at my feet - something just didn't feel right.

I looked up and didn't see anyone in front of me. Everyone stood on the right side of the escalator en-masse, and I had reflexively stood on the left. The escalator passengers going down glanced dubiously at me. I - a supposed Kansai man - had become an alien in Osaka.

People in Kansai form a line on the right side of the escalator, and people in Tokyo line up on the left. We simply do these things-no one formalized them. I heard that the habits switch somewhere around Nagoya, a city situated between Osaka and Tokyo.

"Where do I belong?"

After I asked myself this, I moved slowly to the right side.

I enjoyed the live version of Green Day's album Bullet in a Bible so much that I purchased its studio recording, as well as the Japanese release of their album American Idiot. The Japanese version has two discs and includes a bonus track, Bakuhatsu Live!~Tokyo, which they had performed at Makuhari Messe on March 10, 2005.

My favorite tracks are Boulevard of Broken Dreams and Wake Me Up When September Ends. It came with a lyrics card, so I'll memorize them to sing at Karaoke. I doubt that karaoke versions exist, though.

In the afternoon, we shot the footage for Metal Gear Saga at the sound-mixing studio. Lui handled the actual shooting, and KojiPro's Takahashi-kun obtained another camera to make doubly sure that we got the footage. We had rehearsed it last week, so everything went smoothly. We actually finished shooting ahead of schedule.

I changed into another jacket, and we filmed a video-letter that will run at one of our programmers' wedding party.

We got a real surprise when our make-up artist arrived for the shooting. She had worked with us last year at TGS 2004. A year and a half later, we met back together.

Murashu suddenly started wearing glasses. Four-eyes Murashu!

He explained that he wore them because his eyes were bloodshot.

Sexy glasses!

Shinta wore glasses too... was it a coincidence? Four-eyes Shinta!

Shinta wore glasses for the same reason that Murashu wore his. Had they contracted an eye disease? Or had they been in cahoots last night?

Double sexy glasses!

The InterLASIK eyesight operation had become very popular at KojiPro around the beginning of this year. Ryosaku lost his glasses, and then the Colonel lost his... and then pairs of glasses diminished day by day.

KojiPro's glasses diminished heavily within six months. I seriously considered having the operation at one point.

And now the four-eyed boys have returned! The times have reversed, and we see glasses in December... oh those sexy glasses!

I went to Jinbo-cho to get some pictures taken of myself for publication purposes. I only learned today that I needed to do so when Ichiro Kutome the Braggart King told me about it. We had planned to eat Torinabe together, but Torinabe turned into photography without my even noticing.

"Torinabe has chicken in it, and since the Bird Flu is still pretty hot conversation, let's settle for our usual tempura."

We changed our plans, and he took me to Jinbo-cho. Yet he didn't leave our taxi in the direction of the tempura restaurant once we had arrived at Jinbo-cho.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"I want to show you a store. Come on, let's go." He walked into an alley.

He walked deeper into the alley as he spoke. I had no choice but to follow him through the maze of alleys. It was like a hedge-maze garden. I would have gotten lost if had we been separated. I lost my sense of direction after several turns right and left. Yet I felt as though I had been there before.

"Haven't we been here before?" he asked.

"I think we came to a second-hand bookstore around here together, didn't we?"

Suddenly, the King of Used Books stopped. My eyes settled on a nice-looking shop named Higurashi. They had set up photographic accoutrements (such as the camera and the lights) in front of the shop. Mr. Kato, the photographer, and his assistant Hasshy had prepared to shoot photos in the cold weather outside.

I'm always so grateful for Mr. Kato's work.

"I've walked into a trap again!" I thought, but I quickly resigned myself to the cold weather as soon as I noticed Mr. Kato and his assistant. I consented to the photo shoot even though I had only worn casual clothing.

We stood in the gallery of the painter Mr. Kuniyoshi Kaneko. People often use the place for movie or photo location shoots. It's a great place to go for a location shot.

At least the King of Location-Hunting showed good taste in that.

The King of Presents had gone out of his way to set up this photo shoot as a gift, once he had learned that Mr. Kaneko once interviewed L'Arc-en-Ciel's Hyde there. I also noticed memorabilia from my much-loved Jean Cocteau inside the gallery.

Ah, all that made me really happy!

The King of Consideration sure is thoughtful.

We took a photo of the gallery entrance.

We took a few more photos inside the gallery. Hasshy turned out to be a fan of L'Arc-en-Ciel. I learned that Hyde had sat in a particular chair. We shared an animated conversation about the band for a while.

We finished taking pictures safely at 9 P.M.

Thank you so much everyone!

I'm also grateful for the art club Higurashi's cooperation.

We wrapped up by taking a commemorative photo with Mr. Kato and Ichiro Kutome. Hasshy actually pressed the camera shutter. I pressured him in good humor, saying, "This will appear on a blog that's received over 600,000 visitors!"

He took the photo very well.

Mr. Kato is a marvelous man. Five years have passed since we first met, when he took my photograph for the limited edition of MGS2. The King of Introductions had introduced me to Mr. Kato. Since then I have requested Mr. Kato's services every time when I need photos taken of myself. He also took the photo for HIDEOBLOG.

His photographs are superb of course, but I just plain like him. I always find his conversation really interesting when we take a break. He really expands my knowledge.

He's a pretty cool old man.

Good photographers are attractive people. A photographer's sensibility and talent draw out the subject's charm, be it a person or scenery. I only have limited experience with photographers, but the good ones are always interesting people too. Their soulful sensibilities become the true subjects of their photographs, whatever the concrete subject might be.

Photography is a subjective art... it isn't objective. We didn't really get pictures of me today. Rather, we got pictures of Mr. Kato's perception of Hideo Kojima. If I think of them this way, then I don't feel as embarrassed to appear in them.

I ate tempura at Yama-no-ue-Hotel. I don't know why, but I always eat tempura here with the King of Tempura after we finish an MGS game. We first came here about seven years ago when we completed MGS1. Neither one of us had proposed the habit... we just fell into it naturally.

We ate today to celebrate the completions of Subsistence and MGA2.

Ichiro Kutome handles all of the art direction for KojiPro's MGS-related packaging. The King of Tempura had been reckless once and became a father. Now he seems to have grown up a little. He understands now that the tempura batter is just as much a part of tempura as the bulk. He has become more sensitive to subtleties.

Afterwards we went to the cafe Milonga Neova, where the Cafe King often goes.

We drank a Belgian beer named Guillotine. It had a good body and was really tasty. I'd like to drink it again.

The cafe's closing hour hit at 11 P.M., and they threw us out. The King of Evictions had only worn a T-shirt, even in that cold weather.

Strangely enough, I didn't feel too cold. Perhaps that's because the Showa Era's warm appearance remains there in Jinbo-cho.

The Showa Era lives on in people's minds and in Tokyo's charm.

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corruption-spreads · 4 years

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The Catalyst of Horror: H.P. Lovecraft

In February of 1928, the magazine Weird Tales was the first to publish “The Call of Cthulhu,” the now profoundly influential short story by Howard Phillips Lovecraft. The story is told in three parts through the eyes of Francis Wayland Thurston, an anthropologist from Boston, with much of the story being Thurston reading his grand-uncle’s notes. However, the story did not initially carry the legendary status it has now. When Lovecraft first submitted the story, it was rejected by editor Farnsworth Wright of Weird Tales. Likewise, Lovecraft wasn’t exactly a fan of the story either, describing it as “rather middling – not as bad as the worst, but full of cheap and cumbrous touches.” Lovecraft died in March of 1937, poor and nearly impoverished, with no idea of the weight his name and stories would eventually hold among writers of horror. H.P. Lovecraft has inspired countless stories across various mediums, going so far as to even have a genre named after him, dubbed “Lovecraftian horror.” His themes of cosmicism, misanthropy, and hopelessness act as groundworks for similar themes found in modern horror. More specifically, the themes found in tales told by Stephen King, John Carpenter, and many other works of popular film and literature.

John Carpenter is a critically renown filmmaker and composer in the horror movie milieu, who takes clear inspiration from H.P. Lovecraft’s works. Carpenter himself once said “A master craftsman, Lovecraft brings compelling visions of nightmarish fear, invisible worlds and the demons of the unconscious. If one author truly represents the very best in American literary horror, it is H. P. Lovecraft” (Lovecraft, Dream). Through the way he talks with reverence for Lovecraft, it’s shown that Carpenter’s admiration runs deep; furthermore, many of the philosophies and themes found in Lovecraft’s writing can be found reflected in Carpenter’s own work. Lovecraft is quoted saying that “the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown,” and Carpenter takes this to heart (Lovecraft, Supernatural). An obvious example of Lovecraftian influence in John Carpenter’s work is in his film The Thing. In The Thing, a group of Americans become entrapped in a research base in the Antarctic. On this base, they discover an otherworldly creature with the ability to almost perfectly mimic humans, including their personality and appearance. Throughout the movie, characters are killed, unable to comprehend and come up with a method of defeating this seemingly unstoppable monster. This causes them to turn on each other, suspecting the others to be the creature. This movie reflects on Lovecraft’s themes of misanthropy and hopelessness. With the characters unable to discern who the creature is mimicking before it’s too late, they begin to resent and doubt each other, isolating themselves mentally from their fellow survivors, making it nearly impossible to work together in order to defeat it. Throughout the movie, the characters are kept on edge, unable to feel safe and relaxed. This is very similar to another one of John Carpenter’s movies, Halloween. Halloween focuses on a babysitter by the name of Laurie Strode, and an escaped inmate from a nearby mental institution. As the movie goes on, the inmate, Michael Meyers, shows many odd characteristics that one wouldn’t expect a human to show. This includes the ability to teleport, as well as a seeming imperviousness to bullets or other harm. The latter ability is magnified at the end of the film, where Michael is shot six times in the chest and falls from a second story balcony. However, it’s revealed that Michael survives this ordeal. This touches on cosmicism, with Michael seeming to be an unstoppable force of nature, rather than an actual human being. When reviewing the original script of Halloween, Carpenter can be seen referring to Michael simply as “the Shape” a total of 95 times, further amplifying this idea that the killer is something larger than life. Through these two movies, it is understandable that H.P. Lovecraft and his themes heavily impacted John Carpenter and his works, which future horror writers may be further inspired by, lengthening the impact that Lovecraft has had on the genre.

Stephen King is another author who is heavily inspired by H.P. Lovecraft’s writing and themes. While Carpenter focused more on the misanthropic themes found in Lovecraft’s works, King was more interested in the theme of cosmicism. Cosmicism refers to the philosophy that humans are, in the grand scheme of the universe, rather insignificant, and that there is no divine presence watching over humanity. This theme shows up particularly often in Lovecraft’s Cthulhu mythos, with eldritch beings controlling the universe. King has been quoted saying, “Now that time has given us some perspective on his work, I think it is beyond doubt that H.P. Lovecraft has yet to be surpassed as the twentieth century's greatest practitioner of the classic horror tale” (qtd. in Wohleber). Many of Stephen King’s works focus heavily on motifs also found in Lovecraft’s work, such as insanity and god-like creatures that the human mind cannot fully comprehend. One of King’s most popular books, It, exemplifies these themes. While on the surface, It just appears to be a story about a child-eating clown, the story goes much deeper than that. It is an eldritch being who has existed before time itself, whose true form cannot be grasped by the main characters, neither as children nor as adults. This is very similar to a creature in the Lovecraft mythos by the name of Azathoth. Azathoth is also known as the blind idiot god and is said to be the reason that the universe exists. According to the mythos, Azathoth is dreaming the entire universe and, if he were ever awoken (as is attempted in various Lovecraft novels), it would cause the universe to end. Azathoth essentially has the power to warp reality, much like It does, which It uses to terrify children in order to make them tastier. It also uses this reality warping power in order to draw the main characters (collectively known as the Losers Club) back to their hometown as adults, eventually causing the demise of many of the characters. However, It was not the only story that King wrote that was directly inspired by Lovecraft. The Mist is a novella centered around a town in Maine. Similar to Lovecraft having a majority of his stories taking place in New England, King has many of his stories taking place in Maine, where he grew up. After a military test goes awry, a threatening mist covers the town of Bridgton, Maine, forcing residents to take shelter as waves of otherworldly creatures threaten their lives. Most of the novella is set in a supermarket where those who were there when the mist arrived soon find themselves trapped. The Mist touches on Lovecraft’s theme of misanthropy. After only a few days in the supermarket where the majority of the story takes place, the small society formed within it quickly turns to anarchy, with suicides occurring, unlikely people getting together to have end-of-the-world sex, and factions forming. It’s implied that humans are the “real monsters” of the story, with one of the characters, Mrs. Carmody, attempting to sacrifice the other town residents in an effort to please the mist. This also falls in line with Lovecraft’s theme of misanthropy and the cruel nature of humans, with authority figures and the government in his stories often turning their backs on the impending doom humanity is facing. Lovecraft may think that when humanity turns its back on itself, it may in fact deserve it.

H.P. Lovecraft’s effects on the genre don’t only reach to famous filmmakers and authors such as John Carpenter and Stephen King, however, with the eeriness of Lovecraft’s work being something that horror writers still discuss and attempt to emulate. In a journal written by Thomas Hull, an associate professor of mathematics, titled H.P. Lovecraft: a Horror in Higher Dimensions, he discusses the impact Lovecraft’s writing has had on the modern world of horror. “…Lovecraft was a master at capturing a certain eerie mood of unknown gulfs which very few horror writers have since come near,” Hull says. “Specifically, Lovecraft was primarily interested in creating an appropriate mood to inspire in the reader a sense of cosmic horror: that the hopes, dreams, and philosophies of humankind are inconsequential to the larger universe” (Hull 10). These philosophies are something that creators of horror attempt to emulate. For instance, take H.R. Giger. Giger was an illustrator and painter, who became very popular for his work in Alien, a science fiction movie from 1979, specifically through his designs of the xenomorph, the main villain in the film. Giger was heavily inspired by Lovecraft, evident by the fact that he would name two collections of his work after the Necronomicon, an item found in various stories. The first of these works, Necronomicon, was given to Ridley Scott, the director of Alien, during pre-production of the movie. After Ridley Scott saw the illustrations, H.R. Giger was hired to make concept art for Alien. Furthermore, Alien was also inspired heavily by Lovecraft, featuring aspects of the Lovecraftian philosophy cosmicism. There are numerous movies with slight Lovecraft influence, such as The Evil Dead series featuring a Necronomicon, Ghostbusters, Re-animator, and The Cabin in the Woods. These films act as proof of Lovecraft’s more subtle influence on the horror genre.

Through these plentiful examples of Lovecraft’s themes reflected in the works of horror innovators, it is shown that Lovecraft had a lasting effect on horror as a genre. To this day, numerous writers use the adjective “Lovecraftian” to describe their stories, from monsters within them to the insignificance of man evidenced through the themes. With influential works such as Call of Cthulhu and At the Mountains of Madness, readers of horror are terrified of otherworldly beings who don’t care for them, many of whom show up in stories by those Lovecraft inspired.

Works Cited

Carpenter, John, and Debra Hill. “HALLOWEEN.” Shooting draft, 10 Apr. 1978

Hull, Thomas. “H.P. Lovecraft: A Horror in Higher Dimensions.” Math Horizons, vol. 13, no. 3, Feb. 2006, pp. 10-12. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/25678597.

Lovecraft, Howard P. Supernatural Horror in Literature. Edited by E.F. Bleiler, New York: Dover Publications, 1973.

---. The Dream Cycle of H.P. Lovecraft: Dreams of Terror and Death. Ballantine Books, 2003.

Wohleber, Curt. “The Man Who Can Scare Stephen King.” American Heritage, vol. 46, no. 8, Dec. 1995, www.americanheritage.com/content/man-who-can-scare-stephen-king.

#writing #lovecraft #horror #essay

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vivekkumavatpaintings-blog · 5 years

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The 5 Most Famous Paintings in the World

Hailing from a community in India, Vivek centers his fine art around the symbol of the grand Indian Bull. Conceived in 1977, Vivek Kumavat Paintings did his graduation in Fine Arts from the renowned Sir JJ School of Art, Mumbai and is presently based out of Mumbai. The Bull holds a noteworthy spot in Indian folklore as the 'vahana' or the vehicle of Lord Shiva and is a favorable symbol as a watchman god and an image of truth and equity. The type of the bull in Vivek's works of art demonstrates control and tremendous quality, while the appearances have a delicate mien radiating a quiet and patient emanation. He clarifies, "'I have seen that a bull is warm, delicate, energetic and benevolent creature, until it is incited to be savage; calm like human mentality in the general public." Interestingly, even in Indian folklore the Nandi is a human figure, half man-half bull, a blend of solidarity and reasonableness.

The superb Indian Bull remains as a similitude for human perseverance, both physical and mental. Vivek accepts that it is the attractive structure of a bull which pulls in positive emanations and energies in the spaces it is kept.

Craftsmanship. Comes in numerous structures, however painting has guaranteed a ton of acclaim and acknowledgment throughout the years. When somebody says they're a craftsman, you normally imagine them as a painter first. This is on the grounds that work of art as a fine art has been around for over 30,000 years, going back to the primary artworks that presently dwell in Grotte Chauvet, France.

These first artistic creations were engraved and painted utilizing red ochre and dark shade; they displayed steeds, rhinoceros, lions, wild oxen, mammoths, many unique plans, and fractional human figures.

Nonetheless, the most punctual proof of painting existing as a fine art was really found in two shake shields in Arnhem Land, or Northern Australia. Archeologists discovered utilized bits of ochre evaluated to be 60,000 years of age!

What's more, from that point forward, painting has progressed significantly. Presently we have countless (painting) craftsmen on Earth. Also, numerous unfathomably wonderful, and surely understood pieces. Which carries us to this article: The 5 Most Famous Paintings in the World. These gems are asserted as works of art and are completely unapproachable (truly).

So right away, how about we get into these fiercely well known artistic creations, and the motivation behind them!

The 5 Most Famous Paintings in the World

'Mona Lisa'— Leonardo da Vinci

While the right request of these canvases could be contended, this one notwithstanding, can't. The Mona Lisa is a work of art. A work of art all know about. One that can sit serenely at the highest priority on this rundown, with no contention.

The Mona Lisa is an extraordinarily excellent painting of a ladies named Lisa Gerardini, who dwelled in Florence, Italy. There was a silk broker in Florence named Francesco del Giocondo who demanded an artistic creation of his significant other.

The word Mona is a constriction of the Italian word "madonna," which originates from "mia donna" (which actually signifies "my lady" or "my woman"). This is the reason the work of art is called Mona Lisa, signifying "My Lady Lisa" after the ladies he painted it for.

The Mona Lisa has said for a long time to be of Francesco's significant other, despite the fact that while investigating I found there might be some discussion over his genuine dream. Maybe a mystery darling?

'Starry Night'— Vincent Van Gogh

"Toward the beginning of today I saw the wide open from my window quite a while before dawn, with only the morning star, which looked exceptionally enormous,"— Van Gogh to his sibling Theo, in a letter he composed admitting his motivation for Starry Night.

The window that he was depicting to his sibling sits inside a haven in Saint-Rémy, of Southern France. Here, Van Gogh was looking for enthusiastic help while as yet seeking after his fine art.

While Starry Night depends on scene and perception, it is likewise founded vigorously individually feelings, recollections, and creative mind. How about we separate it. The steeple of the congregation, is said to look like those in Holland, where he is from. Instead of the ones in France, where he was at the season of the work of art. The spinning movements in the sky are perceptions of residue, and gas, known as nebulae. These cosmic perceptions coordinated distributed records of the sky during that time. The work of art is very much organized, yet the short and substantial brush strokes make a "moving" piece. The rich and differentiating hues speak to Van Gogh's affection for the evening, which to him was, "considerably more alive and lavishly shaded than the day."

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pitterpatterpot · 5 years

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Lion’s Pride: Chapter 8

10.

Aedion shifts away from where a man throws his guts up over the side of the deck, wincing as the smell hits his fae senses. It’s a side effect that comes with travelling on a common boat. They could have taken a ship from the Terrasen fleet, a private ship just for Aedion and Gavriel to travel on, but that would have caused to much suspicion as to where they were going. And using a private ship for such a personal matter seemed like a misuse of the countries resources. However, it doesn’t change the fact that travelling with a few strangers is unpleasant. Instead of sleeping in the hull Gavriel and Aedion have taken to sleeping up on deck under the stars, both under the pretence of ‘guarding’ the ship and needing their space. The humans don’t seem to mind, eyeing the two large fae males with apprehension whenever they draw near. But the seasickness is overwhelming. Trying to flee the smell, Aedion joins Gavriel where he stares over the side of the ship, admiring the rolling, blue mass of flesh that stretches out in front of them.

“How are you feeling?” Gavriel asks, using a smile to cover his grimace at the man retching behind them.

“Fine,” Aedion leans against the railing, trying to move away from the smell.

Placing a hand on his son’s chest, Gavriel gently pushes him off the creaking wood. “Careful, the last thing we need is for you to tip overboard.”

“I can swim,” Aedion throws a rakish grin.

“I have no doubt of that,” Gavriel rolls his eyes, turning away. “How have you been lately?”

“I’m fine.”

“Every time you say ‘I’m fine’ I get the urge to jump off this ship,” Gavriel raises a brow. “And throw you in as well.”

Aedion chokes on a laugh. “That’s dramatic.”

“You don’t just get it from your mother,” Gavriel smiles, yet it slowly melts off his lips.

Aedion’s mother. The reason they’re going to Wendlyn in the first place. It had been difficult, to make the decision to visit her grave. It was a moment of swallowing feelings as they planned the trip, as Aedion sent the letter to Galan, asking if they could stay the night in Varese before heading to the small, sea side town where she had raised Aedion for the first five years of his life. In a small house, set just a little aside from the town along the beach.

“We have plenty of money to find other accomodation if you don’t feel comfortable staying at the castle,” Gavriel offers, staring out at the horizon.

Aedion sucks in a deep breath, shaking his head. “No. We’ll arrive late and leave early, so it’s unlikely we’ll run into many people.”

~~~

In the end, they stride through the castle gates after the sun sets. Aedion strolls through the hallways with his signature grin. Rumours are nothing Aedion doesn’t know, hearing the whispers that trail after them as they walk through the halls. He’s had many words whispered in his presence, encompassing him in a whirlwind of secrets and insults. These are whispers of awe. And he relishes in them. Gavriel keeps a step behind his son, watching his aura swell to fill the space, overwhelming in its intensity. It’s the aura of a warrior, of the wolf of the north, that encompasses everyone that Aedion passes. His smirk, his strong stance, is one of a challenge and a victory.

The last time he was in this country, the last time he walked across these beautiful carpets and soaked in the warm, humid air, he was a bastard child that they were more then ready to expose of. Someone who they were fully prepared to send overseas, to rid themselves of. He was the bastard child of the woman who was like a sister to their king and his sister, Evalin. Their cousin who was so close to the two that they may as well have been three siblings instead of a brother, sister and cousin. But now he’s back.

A warrior in his own right, a self-made general, the youngest general in Erilea’s history to be appointed at nine-teen years old, a blood-sworn member of the court of one of the most renown queens in the world. A male that’s fought against demons besides kings, queens, princes and princesses. He is so much more then what they thought he was. He made himself something, and now he’s ready to let all those bastards know it. The smirk widens as Galan strides towards them, the crown heir of the country spreading his arms in welcome.  “Aedion, Gavriel,” Galan smiles at the two of them, clasping arms with Aedion. “It’s good to see you two again.”

“And you,” Aedion grins, gripping his arm and bumping shoulders in return.

They became close, thanks to the battle. Two young demi-fae princes, kin by blood, working side by side to amass their forces and push back the foe. Going through something such as war can bind two people, especially those as young and bound by past like Aedion and Galan. Not only that, but during his stay in Terrasen the young price, Galan, apologised for the treatment of Aedion’s mother. He’ so far the only member of the Ashryver family to do so.

“You missed dinner, but I’m sure we could scrounge up something from the kitchens for you,” Galan offers, casually smiling at the two of them, Aedion smirking back and Gavriel smiling easily.

“That would be appreciated,” Gavriel dips his head.

They head down the hallway, turning the corner. And right there is the king, his hands clasped behind his back as he admires a painting on the wall, tanned skin lined and black hair beginning to gray, an older image of Galan. King Glaston. Evalin’s brother, and cousin to Aedion’s mother. Or more like a brother, depending on who you ask. All three of them stop, looking at the king. King Glaston turns to them, freezing as his gaze settles on Aedion.

“Aedion,” he murmurs, much like his son once did, with wonder in his voice as if he is a creature that has been magically summoned.

Aedion sneaks a glance at the painting. Three young figures smile back. King Glaston in the centre, his sister Evalin to the left, and Aedion’s mother, their cousin, on the right.

The young king stares straight at the painter, a spitting image of his son with his raven black hair and Ashryver eyes, back straight and shoulders pushed back. Clad in black and blue attire he symbolises Wendlyn, yet a small smile tugs at his mouth. It’s obvious from the spark in his eyes and that small tug of the lips that his attention isn’t on the painter whom he looks at, but rather on the females at either side of him. Such a regal position, yet the youth and joy in his face shines through.

Evalin herself sits on a chair to her brother’s left. Her bland hair is a spark of colour, pulled back from her face by two little braids then falling in a neat waterfall. Her hands are folded over her lap, her shoulders and back also straight, yet a wider smile adorns her features as she leans towards Glaston and Aedion’s mother. It’s obvious that like her brother her attention is diverted, caught in the moment occurring with two of the people she is closest with. The stubbornness lining her muscles, her frame, are startlingly similar to the same ferocious features that create Aelin. It’s so easy to forget how similar the two are, in both spirit and physical appearances.

Aedion’s eyes drift to the right, and land on his mother. She leans back against a piano, looking to the painter yet her body is leaning forward slightly, a clear sign that she was speaking to Glaston and Evalin. Her blond hair, much like in the sketch that Gavriel gave to Aedion, is a short golden mane that brushes her shoulders. Her Ashryver eyes spark with interest her mouth tugged up into a smile. Her clothes are still formal, wearing a black and blue dress that laces at the front, yet the skirt is shorter and her arms are bare. It’s obvious a garment that allows for free movements, her tanned skin shining golden. But it’s the lines she drawn in that causes her to stand out. Yes, the artist has painted her the same way he painted the others, yet just as she was in the sketch her personality, her very self, seems to be defined in broad, strong strokes. The lines that define her and strong, stubborn, shown in the broad straightness of her broad shoulders, of the way she seems fully at peace and confident where she’s positioned. Not standing to attention or sitting formally, but rather in her own relaxed position that her family no doubt attempted to remove her from.

But they couldn’t. Because, just like her son, she is drawn and defined by steel lines that never break. It becomes clear who Aedion gained his unbreakable will from. This female, this strong, formidable female, who stood against her entire royal family and every bit of shame they threw at her. Who fought her battle to protect her son until her last breath. There’s so much of Aedion in her that it shocks him, to look at his mother and see the same message painted across her skin that he wears like a brand. You can’t break or own me. I belong to no one but myself.

“You look,” King Glaston clears his throat, snapping Aedion to attention, “very much like your mother.”

A near mirror, to what Gavriel had once said to him. It’s become so clear now, however, that they both mean it on multiple levels. Gavriel stays a step behind Aedion, yet monitors him. Glaston and Galan may not be able to hear, but it’s clear to his fae hearing that his son’s heart is beating just a little faster then normal.

“King Glaston,” Aedion lowers his head, bending at the waist slightly.

Galan and Gavriel both copy his movements, the king watching. It’s strange, to look at what Galan may age to be. He’s clearly the spitting image of his father, yet the king himself has lines beginning to groove his deeply-tanned skin, his hair greying at the edges.

He holds his hands out in front of him, taking a hesitant step towards Aedion. The wolf of the north swallows, throat bobbing, as he takes in the male that is the brother to the woman that raised him, the uncle to the female who is basically Aedion’s sister, the man that was like a brother to Aedion’s mother. Gavriel resists the urge to step forward at the way Aedion’s heartbeat picks up once again as the man who should have been like an uncle to him instead of a hated stranger takes another step forward.

King Glaston’s hands hover in the air, as if uncertain to land on Aedion’s shoulders or to cup his face, his expression pained with longing and grief. Aedion can’t help but wonder if it’s his mother who the king is seeing. Glaston still seems uncertain as to what to do, teetering between moving forward and back. Aedion makes the decision for him, stepping back, hands flexing at his sides.

Dropping his hands Glaston takes his own step back, blinking. “How long have you been in the city? Are you staying with us?”

It becomes clear to Aedion all of the sudden that the king had no idea of their arrival or visit. “We’re just staying the night.”

Is it rude to drop in for only a few hours? Galan had no qualms about it, but then again to come late in the night with plans to leave early…

“Right,” King Glaston nods, still in a daze. “Are you here with news from your cousin?”

Gavriel watches closely as Aedion’s hands curl into fists at his side.

“No,” Aedion keeps his voice bland. “We’re visiting my mothers grave seeing as how I wasn’t permitted to be there for her ceremony.”

Not when they rushed him out of the country, barely giving an explanation before shoving him onto a boat to take him to the only family members that cared about what happened to him.

“Right,” King Glaston looks away, similar to his son. “I assume rooms have been set aside for you?”

“They wished to just stay the night, so two simple rooms have been allocated,” Galan steps in.

As per Gavriel and Aedion’s request. There’s no point in having rooms set up for them when their plan was to only stay for a few hours to gain some sleep before setting off to the small town on the coast, not too far away, where Aedion’s mother raised him. Where, for the first five years of his life, he lived in a house he can’t remember with her, yet can recall that it was on the beach, a little ways seperate from the town. They’ll find it. They’ll look.

“Nonsense,” King Glaston waves a hand, his kingly presence returning. “Take them to the guest rooms; they should be comfortable for the night.”

Aedion appraises the king who was known for fighting besides his men, just as Galan now does. Surely the man knows what it is like to sleep in trenches, sometimes without a tent, curling under your clothes as your only means of protection against the harsh elements. Perhaps by giving them rooms, accommodation with comfortable suitings, it’s the kings way of trying to find some compensation towards Aedion. If only he could mention to the king that soft surfaces, after years on the hard ground and bed rolls, are too soft and cause him to feel as though he is being swallowed. Of course he puts up with the lavish bed back at home for Lysandra’s sake (though it is much easier to sleep and enjoy it with her next to him. Not that he will admit that).

“I would also,” the king clears is throat, drawing attention once again, “like for you to join me for breakfast in the morning. I’d like to know what you’ve been doing.”

Aedion blinks slowly. “Well,” he drawls, “there was the war.”

The king’s wince is almost visible, same as Gavriel’s, even if Galan simply turns away with a hand over his mouth and mirth in his eyes.

“Yes,” the king looks away, still holding back a wince. “I look forward to talking in the morning.”

With that the king turns, and walks away. After a moments pause the three of them continue walking, Gavriel lagging two steps behind Galan and Aedion. Silence stretches between them as they slowly walks up a staircase, everyone processing their meeting with the king.

“You didn’t tell your father we were coming?” Aedion finally breaks the silence.

Galan throws his hands up. “You were only staying for a few hours so I didn’t think you’d run into him!”

“Like hell we wouldn’t!”

Gavriel casually admires the paintings as they walk.

“You could have told me your reason for coming!” Galan hisses, leaning towards him. “I thought you were here for a different reason!”

“It was a private reason!” Aedion growls back. “I wasn’t exactly going to go screaming it from the rooftops! And what did you think we were here for?”

“I don’t know! Murder?”

Aedion jerks, turning his head to stare at his cousin, aghast. “Why would you let us come if you thought we were going to commit murder? And why murder!”

“It was a guess!” Galan throws his hands in the air, scowling. “Look at your personal histories! And it was only a slight hunch!”

Gavriel sighs, smiling and reminiscing as he stares out the windows to briefly catch the sunset. The view over the city is phenomenal, the buildings and ocean reflecting the golden hues.

“You shouldn’t have invited us even if it was just a hunch!” Aedion hisses.

“Would that have stopped you from coming?” Galan snaps, stopping between two doors opposite each other. “Well here are your rooms! See you at breakfast!”

“Like hell I’m going to that!” Aedion hollers after his retreating figure.

“You can’t say no to royalty!”

“I say no to Aelin all the damn time and I’ll say it to you as well!”

Gavriel knows that’s a lie. At best Aedion just adds fuel to the mischievous fire. And then laughs at the havoc that commences. Almost like a demon.

“Well,” Aedion growls, “goodnight.”

Gavriel realises as his son opens his door that Aedion’s heart is still beating faster than normal, his knuckles white as he grips the doorknob. He follows his son through the door. The room is lavish, most likely a room used for when fellow royalty visits. It’s of a more western design then the rooms at Terrasen, the walls a gentle golden colour that catch the sun thanks to the giant windows lining one wall. A bed sits to the side, other pieces of furniture peppering the large space. A door stands opposite the bed, across the room, most likely leading to the bathroom. A long, cushioned window seat spreads beneath the large windows. Aedion stops in the middle of the room, spends a second to take it in, then places his head in his hands. Staring at his son, head in hands and shoulders slumped in such a beautiful space fin for a royal, Gavriel is struck with the sudden comparison of staring at a wild, free creature trapped in a stunning cage.

Beautiful, but still imprisonment. Perhaps that’s what his son’s title as a royal, as a disowned member of the Ashryver bloodline, has always been. Gavriel crosses the room, placing a hand on Aedion’s shoulder to comfort him. His son turns, and at his bewildered expression Gavriel pulls his son into his arms, holding him firmly.

It will take time. Time, to quell the urge to hunt down every fucking Ashryver That dared look at his son in distain. For now Gavriel and only comfort his son when he tired of standing tall. And act that gives him great honour. It’s worth it every time.

~~~

Sunshine is what wakes Aedion, his eyes peeling open as he turns his head to stare out the window, the ocean shimmering past the city. The window seat. A much better option to sleep on besides the bed, where he could easily stare out at the night time city or simply look up at the stars. Better then feeling trapped under a roof while being swallowed whole by soft blankets that grate against his coarse skin, reminding him of a time where a bed was as much of an imprisonment as a cage. The look up at the sky gives a sense of freedom in this palace that itches at the corners of his memories, thank the gods. No, fuck the gods after the hell those monsters put them through.

Sighing, Aedion slowly rolls off the seat to stand, stretching his arms easily above his head. He strolls over to the bathroom, wiping sleep from his eyes as he opens the door. And is met by a large, extravagant bathroom. The shelves are carved into the walls instead of jutting our, a large mirror and bench against one wall. The bath sunken into the round resembles a small pool more then anything, the water already steaming. He shuts the door and turns around.

Only to step outside of the room to be met by Gavriel, who shakes the last few drops of water form his hair, cleaning dressed and presented. Aedion blinks at his father, and Gavriel blinks back, as immaculate as ever.

“Gods damn it,” Aedion growls, and storms back into his room.

~~~

“You didn’t need to bathe just because I did,” Gavriel grins, watching his son button up his colour, leaving two undone.

“Yes,” Aedion glowers, “I did. Let’s get this over with.”

“Aedion, it’s breakfast.”

“Don’t use food to try to make this better.”

~~~

The clock ticks. Loud and clear, the hands move with the passage of time. The large dining room is empty, besides the four males that sit at the table. King Glaston sits at the head, with Galan to his side. the chair opposite Galan is empty, his mother preoccupied. Aedion sits next to the empty chair, Gavriel next to him. A wonderful spread of food has been laid out. Hot, flat morning cakes presented, bowls of fruit, fresh water with ice in large pitchers. Assortments of honey and jams sit, sprawled between the dishes and males. Aedion, having almost no appetite, simply moves the food around on the plate, staring at the little arrangements he makes. Galan for the most part tries his best, picking at pieces of food, eating as he stares out the window. King Glaston himself shows discomfort, steadily eating the food, yet more robotically, as though going by muscle memory more then anything. Gavriel as always sits upright and proper, yet like his son focused on his plate as he uses a knife and fork to cut up his food, golden eyes absent from the present.

“So, Aedion.”

Galan inhales sharply, immediately bending over to hack up a grape. Aedion slips forward, his fork screeching on the plate as his head snaps up to stare wide-eyed at the king. Even Gavriel straightens, slapping a hand on the table while blinking, looking around the room before relaxing again. King Glaston winces at the visible shock his words caused in the midst of the silence.

“I- yes?” Aedion clears his throat, placing the fork down flat and sitting straighter.

“Well,” the king hesitated, clearly searching for words. “How is Aelin?”

“She’s well,” Aedion’s eyes dart away, and Gavriel winces at the rise in his sons heartbeat.

“Good,” King Glaston nods, eyes also sliding away. “We were worried about her state. The way must have been hard on her.”

Gavriel doesn’t miss the way Aedion’s hand curls by his side.

“The war was hard on all of us,” Aedion smoothly answers, voice in control.

The voice of the liar, trickster, deceiver. The voice used to hide all emotions, to conceal hidden plans. A voice that was once used for a different king.

“I’m sure it was,” the king softly amends, looking at the table.

No, not at the table. At the hand Aedion still has spread over his fork, his fingers appearing fine despite the fact that they are crooked in some places. From a distance, they look fine. Up close, they are obviously healed from breaks.

Noticing the stare, Aedion clenches and unclenches his fist, smirking down at the digits. “Each one was broken in two places.”

Almost everyone winces.

“That must have been painful,” the king clears his throat.

It’s too good of an opening to pass out on. “It was, but it isn’t the worst thing I’ve had done to me.”

Gavriel has to hold back from quickly sucking a breath deep down his throat, his heart jolting at the words. It will be a while before the remembrance of how his son suffered as a child will stop stuttering his heart. If it will ever stop.

“Right,” King Glaston swallows thickly. “I am sorry, Aedion, that you had to suffer through that.”

“So am I,” Aedion’s look turn unimpressed. “Especially since no aid was sent, and none of our lovely relatives thought to ask for me.”

Both Galan and the king tense, Galan’s eyes looking at Aedion with desperation, the king looking away. Gavriel’s spoken to Aedion of this. He doesn’t blame his cousin; not when Galan was as young as he was when the war broke out. Not when his cousin was also a child when Aedion was sent away. There was little he could have done, and when he was old enough to send aid he did. But the king, on the other hand. The king could have used his power to do something. Anything. Any of Aedion’s older relatives could have vouched for him to be removed from the war. It’s difficult for Gavriel to swallow down his own anger. Especially when he himself was absent, so far away on an opposite corner of the world that he had never even heard his son’s name.

“Thank you for the meal,” Aedion says after a few more minutes of silence, pushing his chair back.

“Aedion, wait,” the king also stands, Galan and Gavriel sharing concerned looks from where they are seated. “We should talk.”

Aedion rests his eyes upon the king, and waits.

“Alone,” King Glaston mutters.

Everyone can nearly see the bristles that rise on Aedion, yet he simply grins, that dangerous whirlwind aura of his swirling through the room. “Alright. That should be fun.”

King Glaston stands and leads the way, Aedion lazily following. The door clicks shut behind them.

“I really hope this doesn’t end in murder,” Galan mourns lowly, placing his head in his hands.

“If it helps, that wasn’t our original intention,” Gavriel shrugs helplessly. “Neither was this breakfast.”

“That doesn’t help. And you don’t need to try to use food to make this better.”

Gavriel sits back in his seat. Ashryver’s. The similarities can be startling.

~~~

“I really was surprised to see you here,” King Glaston leans against a desk, allowing Aedion to stand by the closed door of the office. “Especially with Gavriel. I see that the rumours are true.”

“Right,” Aedion crosses his arms, keeping his composure relaxed. “Did you have any idea that he was my father?”

King Glaston responds after a minute. “No. If I had, I would have…”

“What?” Aedion snorts. “Appraised my mother instead of kicking her out?”

“That’s not what I was going to say,” King Glaston very nearly growls, leaning forward. “I wasn’t happy with your mothers predicament, but it’s also something she had chosen for herself. She could have stayed.”

“And let me be sold to Meave?” Aedion levels a look, voice low. “And faced ridicule all throughout her pregnancy? Be shamed by her own family at every which turn?”

“It was never that simple!” King Glaston’s voice nearly takes on a begging tone. “What was everyone supposed to think when a princess of Wendlyn announces that she’s pregnant and won’t give a damn clue as to who the father was?”

“She told Evalin!”

“Only when she had to!” King Glaston snaps, standing straight. “She never told me!”

Aedion falls quiet, appraising the king. “Were you as close to her as Evalin was?”

“She was like a sister to me.”

“I see,” Aedion’s voice takes on a quiet, hushed tone. “But Evalin was your sister, and you never did a damn thing to help her country in a time of war. To help me.”

“Aedion, please,” Glaston’s voice weakens as he rubs at his eyes. “The politics were difficult. Terrasen had fallen, we believed Aelin to be dead, and by the time we were informed about you Adarlan had already started introducing you into their camps. What were supposed to do with a prince raised in a foreign county and captured by an enemy land?”

“Do you even understand,” a growl rises in Aedion’s voice, “how difficult it is to situate yourself in a country you are not native to? How many times I had to listen to the lords of both Terrasen and Adarlan sneer in my face that I was a foreigner unworthy of my titles because of it? And now you’re saying, what, that I will never have a cemented place in the country I am native to? That I am to be stuck, never belonging properly to a any country thanks to my childhood that was torn thanks to forces out of my control?”

“I’m sorry, Aedion,” King Glaston takes a remorseful approach, sagging against the desk. “It’s unfortunate, I know.”

“So many things in my life could have been avoided,” Aedion doesn’t bother keeping the tremble from his voice, unsure if it is from rage or sorrow, “if it wasn’t for the bastards that plagued me. That gripped my fate in their hands and chose my future without giving me a say. Maybe if you had all loved her, supported her and trusted her, had made her feel that you would have protected us from Meave, then none of it would have happened.”

Aedion stalks a few steps closer, staring the king in the eyes. “But it’s a damn good think it did, because Terrasen would have been fucked if it wasn’t for me, and I wouldn’t have had the chance to prove every single damn bastard wrong. To smash glass palaces form the inside, to rally armies and legions that had been slain in the snow, to stand while wrapped in chains. So you all just remember who’s son I am when they speak of me in legends. And I don’t just mean Gavriel’s.”

With that he turns, soundly closing the door behind him, leaving Glaston with his head in his hands.

~~~

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” Galan asks, blowing out a breath. “Even just in the city-“

“It was good to see you again,” Aedion smiles, clasping hands with his cousin, but we do need to go.”

“I understand,” Galan nods, the sun shining down from where they stand at the edge of the city.”

The farewells are sparse, Aedion and Gavriel setting off. The small town is just a little further down the coast. Gavriel keeps a close eye on Aedion for the most part. What kind of struggle must it have been to so bluntly speak with an unfamiliar family member? The very fact that Aedion has yet to utter a word of it is cause for concern. Where is the rage? The yelling? This silence doesn’t sit well. Not as they stroll down the road, Aedion throwing off his jacket to leave himself simply in his shirt, the first real thing he’s done since they’ve started. Would it be a good idea to push? Or should he simply wait for Aedion to release information on the ordeal himself? Most likely the later, considering past experiences. But things such as this can be difficult. So damn difficult. So Gavriel leaves it.

~~~

It takes another hour before Aedion freely talks once again, joy seeping into his tone as he takes in the humid air and admired the flora and fauna Gavriel points out. As he strolls along the sea side, glad for the costal trek they’ve chosen, even going as far as to take his shoes off to walk through the water. So much warmer compared to the waters of Terrasen, which can kill in an instant. Even if the Wendlyn locals keep insisting that it’s currently much more ‘cold’ then usual.

“How do you stand the humidity?” Audio nearly growls at one point, wiping sweat rom his brow.

“You get used to it,” Gavriel chuckles dryly. “At least you know now how different the temperature here is from Terrasen.”

“No wonder you old bastards get cold all the time,” Aedion seethes, popping free two more buttons of his shirt, resisting the urge to shield his eyes from the sun. “Gods, it’s late in the afternoon. How is the sun still this strong?”

“This is the most I’ve ever heard you complain about something,” Gavriel tries to fight back his smile, failing desperately.

“Because I hate this sun,” Aedion growls, eyes narrowed.

“Hate is such a strong word,” Gavriel shakes his head, feigning disappointment.

“It’s a giant flaming orb in the sky that burns my skin and eyes,” Aedion glares. “I’m allowed to say I hate it.”

“Fair enough,” Gavriel chuckles, then quietens. “We’ll reach the town in a few hours. Are you sure you would like to find the house right away? We could find a place to stay for the night and wait until the morning.”

Aedion looks down. “I want to see her as soon as possible.”

“I understand,” Gavriel nods.

“Did you ever visit her?” Aedion’s voice reaches a quiet point, turning husky as he looks away.

Gavriel tries to rein in the guilt rearing in his chest. “I never thought I had a right to. Not after she asked me to leave.”

“Right,” Aedion swallows, staring at the town that’s slowly coming into view. “I don’t...”

Gavriel stops, placing his hand on Aedion’s shoulder to urge him to do the same. “Aedion?”

“I don’t remember this place,” Aedion’s voice grated harshly, looking out at the water.

Something in Gavriel’s chest cleaves at the way guilt laces his son’s words, as if his forgetting is the gravest of crimes. cracks. As if he should be punished for not remembering a place he hasn’t visited in nineteen years, that he was ripped away from against his will. How much did his son cry, alone on that boat as a small child heading to Terrasen?

“Maybe you’ll remember some things once you return,” Gavriel resists wrapping his arm around Aedion’s shoulder, easily identifying the strain lining his body.

“Maybe,” Aedion stares along the shore. “It’s somewhere along here. It was so close to the city, to them, but they still never realised.”

“Sometimes it’s not the physical distance,” Gavriel’s voice drops, his baritone soft.

“Right,” Aedion keeps his gaze on the horizon. “Right.”

~~~

It’s a small square house, only one level, sitting right where the grass begins to grow in the sand. Its white walls are rimmed by the brown wood, a window next to the door looking out at the beach that’s only a few meters away, the waves serenading the area. Aedion and Gavriel stand just a meter away from the small house, looking at it with trepidation and awe as the sun begins to set. Gavriel looks over to his son, and is immediately startled by the clear terror written across Aedion’s face, his son’s complexion pale as he stares at the house.

“Aedion-“

“This is where she died. She’s buried in the garden at the back. I- I used to help pick the tomatoes we grew.”

Old memories, resurfacing like the tide washing over the sand. Gavriel watches as Aedion walks towards the house, steps robotic, and ducks inside. Sticking close to his son, Gavriel takes in the bare minimum of furniture in the room. Two dusty, deteriorating bed rolls pressed together, a paper divider separating it from the side of the room that contains a sink and toilet. A door leads out to the back garden.

Such a small space, but all that was needed for a mother and her small child hiding from a dark queen.

A quiet, peaceful place. Aedion stares at the bedroll, and ducks down, pushing the frayed pillow to the side. Underneath it a black cord sits, an obsidian stone with white dots attached to it. A snowflake obsidian, a necklace he suddenly vividly remembers sitting on his mother’s chest. Swallowing, Aedion fiddles with the small clasp, reaching behind his neck to adorn the simple piece of jewellery. The stone sits just below the hollow of his throat, able to be hidden by his shirt or jacket if needed.

Aedion leaves it viewable.

Gavriel doesn’t say a word, watching as his son aimlessly stands in the centre of the room, staring at everything with a glazed look. Gavriel notices that one of his hands is wrapped around the snowflake obsidian, dwarfing the small, smooth stone.

So much like the stones that were used to enslave thousands. Yet so different, with it’s white dots breaking apart the darkness. Gavriel can’t help but wonder if it’s the universes idea of a cruel joke, guiding his son towards the stone his mother owned. A stone that looks so much like a Valg stone, only to be broken by pin pricks of light. Much like his mother, who was chased by darkness yet made her own illumination.

“Aedion,” Gavriel says his son’s name, still standing in the doorway.

He doesn’t say it to catch his son’s attention. No, he says it to feel the name on his tongue, to clearly pronounce each letter. To exercise the beautiful gift that the woman who once lived in this house have him. He knows why she didn’t tell him. He knows that she may not have even known when she sent him away. He knows that everything she did in her short life was to keep their son alive, to give him a chance to bring new actions into this world. To affect it in the only way he can, to become a new variable created solely by them. And Aedion has done more and above. What would the Ashryver family had done if they knew that Gavriel’s son would be one to help defeat Valg kings and princes? To help end decade long wars?

“The garden,” Aedion jerks around to look at the back door, ambling through it.

Gavriel trails him without a second thought. There’s nothing else in the small space anyway.

It’s so heartbreakingly empty.

But there are signs the garden was once well cared for. Some spikes that were once driven into the ground still stand, crumbling under the weight of growing vines. Weeds spread along the ground, and it’s nearly impossible to tell where the patches of small crops once were if not for the filing apart pieces of wood. Nineteen years has let the garden overgrow in an explosion of green, engulfing the small garden patches into an overall sea of leaves.

“She,” Aedion laughs through his tears, choking for a moment, “I think she would have liked this. Would have liked the fact that it all kept growing.”

Gavriel nods, taking in the flourishing flora. “I think she would have to.”

“She’s up here,” Aedion’s voice is quiet in the dying sunlight.

Gavriel follows his son up the small sand dune, firm thanks to the grass and plants splitting through the groans of sand. It leads into the first behind the house, the trees thinned out and thickening the deeper they delve. Aedion stops, nearly causing Gavriel to walk into him, at the opening of a clearing.

They can so clearly hear the ocean behind them, and a stream off in the distance. With the sun finally setting the fireflies come out, dabbling across the sky in whizzing bursts. The headstone stands in the centre of the clearing, a few weeds and flowers growing around it thanks to being neglected.

Yet it is clean, no doubt checked on from the time to time. No doubt by Aedion’s other Ashryver relatives, who knew where she was.

Aedion doesn’t move, staring at the headstone, shoulders trembling with his tears as he jerks with every held back sob.

“It was all my fault,” Aedion whispers, staring at the grass. “If she never had me she could have gone to the healers. She wouldn’t have become so sick so fast.”

“Aedion,” Gavriel wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Aedion, it reads ‘loving mother.’ Even if she never had you she would have fallen ill, and the healers may have been able to do nothing. But she wouldn’t have that title if you never happened.”

He feels his son’s body shudder as he reads the words elegantly engraved in his mother’s stone, just below her name. They walk towards it, Aedion kneeling to speak.

He speaks of his life. Of the horrors and miracles, of the lovers and the haters, of all the times he has been marked a sinner and a saint. The words spill free from his lips as he buries his fingers into the grass, tugging gently as the words tumble forward as if to keep himself grounded. Gavriel kneels next to his son, listening to every word that Aedion unleashes.

They share their story together when they talk of their first meeting, both Aedion and Gavriel laughing slightly when the Lion admits to how utterly terrified he was. The last battle is hard to speak of, Aedion unable to say how Gavriel had nearly died, the words choking in his throat. So Gavriel does it for him.

They speak of their friends and allies, of Aelin, of Lysandra and Rowan and Evangeline and Kyllian and everyone else. So many years poured out towards the woman who have always been watching from the stars.

Gavriel takes Aedion back inside after their words have run out. He knows that they should find an inn, that they should walk into the town he can hear just a little further down the beach, but his son is utterly exhausted. Not physically, no, the journey was nothing to them. But speaking until the stars were spread above their head like a blanket, the sun far away from their side of the earth. Aedion doesn’t sleep near the bedrolls, looking near sick at the idea of resting in the place he once did as a child. Instead he curls up against the wall near the door to the gardens, his look making it clear he’d rather be sleeping under the sky, yet he relents.

“I think I used to have a toy lion,” Aedion mentions, voice thick with sleep, his head resting on his folded up jacket.

“Really?” Gavriel looks from where he leans against the wall, one leg propped up with his arm resting upon it.

“Yes,” Aedion’s eyes drift closed. “She gave it to me. Maybe as some kind of joke.”

“I don’t think it was a joke,” Gavriel says softly.

When receiving no reply he finally realises that his son is asleep. Standing, Gavriel silently exits to the garden, leaving the door open slightly to allow the fresh night air to seep in easier. The moon glows down as he walks back to the grave, kneeling in front of the woman he loved with his head bowed. Shame and love quarrel inside of him as he finally does what he has never been allowed to do before.

He thanks her. He thanks her for gifting him with something all fae struggle to have. The odds of Aedion being born of two people with fae blood, who spent so little time together in that sense, is miraculous. He thanks her for protecting him, for giving them time.

It will never be enough, not until he can sweep her into his arms and dance across the stars with her.

But for now it will have to do.

He’ll enjoy the gift he has been given, will enjoy every second of it, before moving on.

And he intends to make the most of it.

~~~~~~~~

People I finally understand how to tag: @ourbooksuniverse

#ourbooksuniverse #how do i tag this #aedion #Gavriel #tog #throneofglass

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talabib · 3 years

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How To Turn Failure Into A Valuable Experience

If you’ve ever had to do anything creative, you’ve experienced failure. It’s a necessary part of the creative process. But there’s more to it than that.

It turns out that when you look at how some of humanity’s greatest minds think of failure, they don’t think of it as an event to be overcome. They see it as a necessary part of the journey towards mastery.

This post explains why failure isn’t something to fear, but rather something to understand. How can it propel us forwards, to our successes?

Mastery has nothing to do with avoiding failure; rather, it’s about relentlessly striving for more.

When people speak about artists and athletes, they often use black-and-white terms, like “good” or “bad,” “success” or “failure.” Well, that kind of hierarchical language is deeply misguided, because failure can actually help you achieve mastery.

To understand why failure can be such an advantage, first we need to understand mastery. Mastery is about endurance, not perfectionism (which is bound up in how we want others to perceive us) or success (related to particular events). In other words, mastery is the unrelenting pursuit of a goal. Think of it like chasing something that can never be caught; it’s about striving for the impossible.

Digging a little deeper, consider the Archer’s Paradox as a metaphor for the process of mastery. The Archer’s Paradox refers to the idea that the archer will draw her bow and point her arrow in a way that's intended to account for elements that are outside of her control, like weather.

So, in a sense, the archer is constantly striving to control things that cannot be controlled. And like the archer, those of us who seek mastery also try to hit the target despite facing enormous trials over which we have no control

And since mastery is borne of this continual process of unrelenting striving, we shouldn’t even use the word “failure” to describe the difficulties we encounter on the path. Because as long as you keep working past the moment of “failure,” the event becomes a learning experience.

Not to mention, these difficulties (i.e. “failures”) can also be a form of motivation. As playwright Tennessee Williams said, “The apparent failure of a play sends me back to my typewriter that very night, before the reviews are out. I am more compelled to get back to work than if I had a success.”

For most of us, there’s a gap between what we have achieved and what we want to achieve.

Since failure is a misguided concept, how can we talk about unrealized achievement? Well, there’s The Gap, a term which refers to the fissure between what you have achieved and what you can achieve.

For instance, a young Hart Crane encountered The Gap when the esteemed poet Ezra Pound deemed Crane’s work “all egg” and no incubator. He meant that Crane’s poetry didn’t match his high potential. In other words: Crane was in The Gap.

Since anyone can fall into The Gap, what can be done to close it? Well first, start by creating a safe haven, a mental or physical space that protects you from criticism and allows you to take risks.

The playwright August Wilson created his safe haven in a restaurant. One time, while he was scribbling away, a waitress asked whether he was writing on napkins “because it doesn’t count.” In fact, that was precisely the case: Wilson wrote on napkins because it felt safe; it allowed him to keep striving without worrying about criticism.

As you can see, a safe haven can be immensely valuable for unleashing creativity, but this protected space also comes with risks. Because after all, when you shield yourself for too long, you often lose touch with reality.

That’s what happened to Pontormo, a sixteenth-century Florentine fresco painter who spent eleven years working on a portrait in isolation. After the work, neither he nor the painting survived.

The risks of isolation are one reason why, after creating a safe haven, you have to find a way to incorporate criticism and pressure. Composer Leonard Bernstein valued having the pressure of limited time: “To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan, and not quite enough time.”

For example, the author and neurologist Oliver Sacks was desperate because he hadn’t written anything for months. So, he gave himself an ultimatum: write a book in ten days or commit suicide. Nine days later, guess what happened? Sacks finished his book.

Near wins compel us to confront our limitations and push past them.

Have you experienced that sinking feeling that sets in when you miss the bus by just a few seconds? It can be extremely frustrating, especially if you have somewhere important to be. Although these near wins are excruciating, they’re also necessary, because they push us forward

This has actually been proven by psychologists Daniel Kahneman and Amos Tversky, who found that near wins have a profound effect on our thinking, leading us to obsess over “what might have been.” The psychologists even found that the more frustrating the failure, the more it affects our behavior, motivating us to work harder.

For instance, consider Jackie Joyner-Kersee, who was one-third of a second away from winning gold in the 1984 Olympic heptathlon. Her near win had such a motivating effect that when she returned to the Olympics in 1988, she set a record nobody’s beaten since.

But a near win not only motivates us to achieve great things; it also shifts our perspective, focusing our attention on the process of striving and not the end goal.

Triathlete Julie Moss may be one of the best examples of this phenomenon. During the 1982 Ironman race, Moss had a six minute lead, but then she collapsed during the last half-mile. Although she could barely control her limbs – much less stand up – she still crawled through the last yards of the race, willing herself to push past the pain.

In other words, Moss’ focus shifted from her original goal (winning the race), to the how of the race – that is, how was she going to push past her pain to cross the finish line?

These kinds of near misses define our lives, because the path to the finish line is rarely a straight one. So we learn to keep moving forward, even when it’s a struggle.

In order to reach your potential, you have to surrender yourself to pain.

Near misses motivate us to push past our frustration and accomplish great things. Pain is another difficulty you may have to overcome on the path to mastery: That is, you have to accept and surrender to pain to reach your potential.

Since everyone experiences tragedies, setbacks and disasters, pain is inevitable. A lady was forced to face this sad fact head-on when her seven dear friends all died within a year.

This was obviously a deeply painful experience for her, but eventually she accepted that death is unavoidable. And once she accepted the fragility of life, she was inspired to find more meaning in each moment she had.

That’s how surrendering works: Once you accept your pain fully, you can finally begin to understand it – and then move forward.

The martial art Aikido is a great metaphor for this process. Aikido is all about using your opponent’s force against them, by absorbing their energy and redirecting it back towards them. Wendy Palmer has mastered this technique, making her one of the most powerful and fearsome Aikido fighters, despite being only 5’5”.

Just as Aikido literally trains participants to absorb hostile energy and transform it, we have to learn how to accept setbacks, surrender to their pain and transform the energy or emotions they provoke.

To that end, it’s remarkable how many great leaders faced painful adversity on the path to mastery. For example, Martin Luther King Jr., now renowned as a great orator, had to overcome a speech impediment. In fact, his verbal tic was so noticeable, he was penalized for it when he studied oratory in Seminary.

How did he overcome his impediment? As MLK put it, “Once I’d made my peace with death, I could make my peace with all else.” In other words, once he accepted the fact that life is fragile and painful, his speech impediment simply disappeared.

To get creative, embody the amateur.

If you want to accomplish great things, you have to allow yourself to experiment and play! This idea gets right at the amateur’s advantage – that is, the benefit of having more experience than a novice, but less than an expert. So, why do amateurs have an advantage over experts? Well, amateurs act for pleasure, not money or career-related reasons – and pleasure goes hand and hand with experimentation, leading to truly original new ideas.

To understand the benefits of experimentation, consider scientists Andre Geim and Konstantin Novoselov, who created the world’s first two-dimensional object (a layer of carbon found in graphite) and consequently won a Nobel Prize. This groundbreaking invention was a product of their “Friday Night Experiments,” which consisted of ludicrous experiments with low probabilities of success.

By stepping into the role of amateurs, the scientists had the freedom to play with ideas – eventually leading to a major breakthrough.

And this playfulness is why amateurs have an advantage over experts. The latter are burdened by the Einstellung effect: once someone has developed rigid routines, they are less likely to rethink what works and come up with new ideas. But this is a faulty mindset, because what worked once might not work again

We’ve seen that experimentation results in innovation, and so can playing in a childlike way. That’s why companies like Mattel encourage employees to play in the office, whether on carpets that look like grass, or in chairs that stimulate space shuttles.

There’s even a scientific connection between creativity and play. One study gave two groups of four-year-olds a toy. The researcher showed the first group how to use the toy, but didn’t show the second group. In the end, the second group spent more time playing with the toy and even discovered hidden features.

Ultimately, the study showed that playing intensified the second group’s curiosity, leading them to find more innovative uses for the toy.

On the path to mastery, cultivate grit.

Grit is the final piece to understanding the way failure and setbacks can lead us to mastery.

So what is grit? It’s having a thick skin in the face of defeat. Grit ties together ideas we’ve already discussed, like surrendering to pain and striving for mastery.

Taking a step back, it’s important to note that grit is different from persistence or self-control. Persistence is rugged steadfastness towards an end goal – like studying hard to pass your medical school exams and become a doctor. Self-control is more temporary – like resisting temptations.

By contrast, grit is endurance displayed over years. It’s about continuing to strive for mastery despite apparent failure, over and over again.

For example, the director of Iowa University’s world-famous Writing Program noted that the most successful writers were those who most wanted to become great – not the ones with the most natural talent. So in the case of the most ambitious writers, grit is a matter of continuous, unrelenting effort over time.

But grit isn’t only about making a continuous effort, it’s also about applying it towards mastery. And that’s why art is one of the best ways to learn grit. After all, art teaches us to constantly reassess ourselves, our work and our ideas – even as we continue to strive.

Consider that artists have to deal with criticism all the time. Well, successful artists have figured out how to use valuable parts of the criticism to improve their work, and discard the rest.

Imagine standing next to a painting you poured your soul into, while dozens of critics figuratively tear it apart. How would you respond?

In the end, having the grit to face that kind of criticism is what you truly need to succeed. So find a way to absorb all the criticism, pain and difficulties you encounter, and incorporate them.

Failure, as we know it, doesn’t really exist. When we confront what looks like failure, instead of bowing to it, we need to see it as it really is: a valuable learning experience. Because after all, if you want to accomplish great things, you have to find a way to transform your setbacks into motivation. In other words, you have to continually strive for more in order to achieve more.

Action plan: Next time you think you’re at rock bottom, tell yourself: “Great, I can only go up from here.” After all, although being at rock bottom might feel like a failure, it isn’t! It’s part of the path towards achieving your goals.

#How Turn Failure Into A Valuable Experience

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koenashi-blog · 7 years

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= FE:Fates AU Support Conversations: Hiiro & Waki =

C SUPPORT

Hiiro: Waki.

Waki: Oh, Hiiro. What can I help you with?

Hiiro: I just wanted to make sure you were well. I never thought you would join the army, of all things.

Waki: I'm doing fine—honest. I've been in Hoshido's service for a few years already, so I've had plenty of time to get adjusted. I'm more concerned about you. Capable warrior as you are, the camp is rife with talk about your... well, origins.

Hiiro: About how I'm from Cheve.

Waki: ...Yes.

Hiiro: People will always talk and assume as they please. A Hoshidan in Nohrian territory, a Hoshidan coming from Nohrian territory—the rumors will all be the same regardless of where I am. It's no skin off my back. You shouldn't be worried on my behalf.

Waki: I'm your friend, aren't I? How can I not be worried?

Hiiro: I appreciate your feelings, Waki. But please, lay your troubles to rest. Should anything happen that truly bothers me, I will come to you.

Waki: I expect you to keep those words.

Hiiro: I will. I promise.

B SUPPORT

Waki: Just need to twist this a little more and... that should do it. Now I need to let this cool down before I put it back into place.

Hiiro: Waki? Do my eyes deceive me? Are you actually in front of a hearth—with smithing tools?

Waki: I'm a mechanist, you know! It's my responsibility to maintain and repair my puppet as any rider would for their mounts. After all, I'd be in a bind should it not function properly on the battlefield.

Hiiro: I understand and yet... I've always remembered you as wanting to be a painter. Smithing was going to be my trade, when I succeeded my father.

Waki: Painting has very little use in a war. I wouldn't last with a weapon, either. At least, with this, I could retain my craftsmanship while fulfilling my duties here. It all worked out. I mean, look at what I've managed to create! The outside is beautifully carved from cherry wood with an internal system of iron springs and cogs and levers that are coated to perfectly channel magic to achieve movement. I'm very proud of this puppet.

Hiiro: It is rather impressive.

Waki: ...And to be honest with you, all I thought of while I was building this puppet were the times we used to help your father in his workshop.

Hiiro: Some help we were. Back then, we couldn't even lift the hammer to shape the metal, so he just had us quench the blades.

Waki: But Tanizaka was using the quenching trough, so we had to use the standing one. And since neither of us were tall enough to reach the top, I had to sit on your shoulders to even dip the damn thing in the water.

Waki: I'm pretty sure that Tanizaka occupied the trough on purpose. He was always sly like that.

Hiiro: Everything worked out in the end, though.

Waki: With us two, it always did.

Hiiro: At least... until we left.

Waki: ...Yeah.

Hiiro: …

Waki: …

Waki: You couldn't help your circumstances. You moved out of necessity. I could hardly blame you for that.

Hiiro: …

Waki: Come on, Hiiro. What was it you said before? 'Please, lay your troubles to rest. Should anything happen that truly bothers me, I will come to you.'

Hiiro: That was a poor imitation.

Waki: But the sentiments behind it are true. It even made you smile a little.

Hiiro: … 'I expect you to keep those words.'

Waki: That was an even poorer imitation!

A SUPPORT

Hiiro: ...Waki.

Waki: We seem to be bumping into a lot lately. Rather, you seem to be seeking me out.

Hiiro: …

Waki: Hiiro. What’s wrong? You can tell me.

Hiiro: …I heard some rumors around the camp. They… They said that you had been seduced by a court poet. That he had forced you into unsavory acts and debauched you.

Waki: …Ah.

Waki: Well, they’re not completely wrong.

Waki: It was after you and your family had left. He had yet to become a court poet, then—he’d just been a man named Hibiki with a gift for words and a strong aspiration to show his talents to anyone who would listen. When we first met, he told me that he saw me before in my father’s boat when we were pulling up our nets. He told me that I was beautiful, that the sunrise behind me couldn’t even compare—all in verse.

Waki: Now that I think about it, you probably wouldn’t have liked him. You would’ve said he was too glib and that he was trying to lead me astray. You were always the reasonable one out of the both of us—with you gone, I was swept away by the force of his praises. I drowned in the way he said he loved me. By the time he had asked me to leave the village to make a better life for the both of us—him with his poems and me with my paintings—I was too drunk on all of it to say anything but yes.

Waki: We went to the capital. Hard times befell us, despite the city’s affluence. Hibiki was getting increasingly frustrated with the situation and, after a while, he resigned himself to taking the examination in order to become a government official. His examination soared above all the rest. They say that even the late king had been impressed, though I can’t say for sure if he was just exaggerating. Nevertheless, it seemed like our luck was changing. Hibiki told me I would worry for nothing anymore: he has the court’s favor. I could stay at our home, tend to the domestic tasks, wear all the kimonos and jewelry I had always been too ashamed to don, paint to my heart’s content. And when he would come home, we would love each other.

Waki: That’s how it was supposed to have been, at least. The temptations of the court are like the waters that make up the sea. Hibiki was swept up in that grandeur much like I had been with his words. He changed. He would stay at the castle for days at a time, would flirt and lie with other noble concubines, would guilt me into silence and into… into what the rumors say.

Hiiro: …

Waki: He made me question myself. Wouldn’t I be betraying his love for me? His good faith? What home would want to accept me back, willful child that I am? What family would take back the person who’s supposed to be their son, but finds them to be lured by pretty kimonos and hair ornaments and other things meant for a daughter? He was the only one who would love and accept the me that I discovered to be true.

Waki: But I had enough of it, after a while. And in the many years we’ve known each other, slept in the same bed, indulged in one another’s bodies and hearts—in all that time, I learned the potency of words and the power of credibility. I needed to use mine to free myself from it. But who would listen? Hibiki certainly wouldn’t. Neither would the court, I assumed. He was a prized official who had rose to a high-ranking position. I nearly lost all hope until, on the one afternoon I was going to throw my life away, I crossed paths with a woman.

Waki: ‘What ails you so?’ she had asked me. I crumpled and sobbed and laid all my burdens onto this stranger—and as I wept of all my misfortunes, she merely put her hand against my back and comforted me. When I emptied myself of all my tears, she said something I’ll never forget.

Waki: ‘You have endured much. Your strength will be rewarded and the world will vindicate you.’ Her words rang true. Soon after, our relationship came to light. All the things he had done to cement his place in the court were exposed. He still retained his position, but his reputation suffered as a result. I could go home.

Waki: …The one who made it happen—the one who vindicated me and rewarded me with my freedom—was none other than the late Queen Mikoto.

Hiiro: And that’s why you enlisted afterwards.

Waki: Mm…

Hiiro: Waki—

Waki: Don’t feel bad for me. Don’t feel guilty for not being there. Like I said, I can’t blame you for what you had no control over. You’re here now anyway. We’re both standing here because of how our lives played out, so… don’t regret any of it. It all worked out in the end.

Hiiro: …His name was Hibiki, correct?

Hiiro: If I ever come across him… I’ll cut him down myself.

Waki: Now, now, no need for any reckless bloodshed. You’re already suspected of being a Nohrian spy, anyway.

Waki: Besides…

Waki: I’ve already called to be first in line to hit him.

Hiiro: …Together, then?

Waki: Heh. Gladly.

S SUPPORT

Waki: Hiiro!

Hiiro: Hm. For once, it’s you taking the initiative to talk to me.

Waki: Only because you called me out here. It’s the middle of the night, for goodness’ sake! We’re not even on guard duty or anything.

Hiiro: Forgive me. I tried to keep it until morning, but curiosity got the better of me. Besides, I thought it would be better for us to have this talk without fear of interruption.

Waki: Did something happen?

Hiiro: No, nothing happened. I was just bothered by something during our last conversation.

Hiiro: You didn’t confirm nor deny that Queen Mikoto was the reason you joined the army. Ever since the beginning, I found it strange that you would suddenly take up arms. You were never the type to exert yourself physically and from what you told me about your time with Hibiki, there had never been a need for you to strengthen your body. Yet here you are, training and repairing and fighting with the rest of them.

Hiiro: Waki, what’s the real reason you enlisted as a soldier?

Waki: …

Hiiro: Please, tell me the truth.

Waki: …

Waki: After the incident with Hibiki, I was going to go back to the village. I didn’t really have a clear plan in mind for what I would do when I got there—I just wanted to go home.

Waki: As I was passing through the city gates, I overheard talk about a swordsman. His strength was slowly gaining renown and infamy. He had sharp, blue eyes and hair as black as a murder of crows. They say he could cut through anything, even shadow itself. He had all the features of a Hoshidan, yet this swordsman hailed from the Nohrian territory of Cheve.

Hiiro: Ah...!

Waki: I had to find out if it was you. That’s why I joined this army. I didn’t care whether it was all for naught in the end. It gave my life a purpose again. If there was even a grain’s worth of a chance that it was you, then…

Hiiro: Waki…

Waki: …

Waki: …I missed you terribly. I always had. And while I never blamed you for your circumstances, I spared myself none of the same mercy. I always felt like if I had been stronger or braver or even a little more reliable, like a normal boy should have been… I could have persuaded you to bring me along. All I ever wanted was to be by your side.

Waki: Even when I convinced myself that I loved Hibiki, the only one my heart yearned for was you.

Hiiro: …

Waki: …Sorry. I suppose now’s not the time for such sentiments.

Waki: I answered your question. Let’s go back to camp and rest.

Hiiro: No.

Waki: No?

Hiiro: …You had said before not to regret where our lives lead us because this is what it culminated to. I can’t accept that.

Hiiro: Because the one thing I regret, more than anything else… was leaving you behind.

Hiiro: You said you didn’t blame me for moving away. But your words ring true—I could have taken you along. I could have convinced our families. I could have even taken you and we could have run away together.

Hiiro: But instead, I played the obedient son and accepted my fate without any protest. Because of that, I nearly lost you without ever realizing it. I regret my inaction now more than ever. However, it’s also because of that regret… that I plan on not letting you disappear from me again.

Waki: Huh?

Hiiro: …Do you remember when you worried for me before? When those suspicions of me being a Nohrian spy were going around? I told you that I didn’t care for their words because it will be the same wherever I go.

Hiiro: But if I’m completely honest with myself, just having you believe in me and my integrity was enough to assuage my fears. Your opinion was all that ever mattered to me.

Hiiro: I don’t care about your past. I don’t care about you being a willful son or wanting to wear pretty kimonos despite being a boy or wanting to paint nothing but goldfish until the world ends.

Hiiro: I only care having you with me.

Waki: H-Hiiro…

Hiiro: I love you, Waki. I realize that words may be a cheap currency to you now, but that is the truth I had promised you from before.

Waki: … *sniff*

Hiiro: Come here. It’s alright.

Waki: *sniff* H-Hiiro, I— *sob*

Hiiro: Shh. You don’t have to say any more. I already understand what you want to tell me.

Waki: I-I’m sorry, H... Hiiro... *sniff*

Hiiro: Shh… It’ll all be okay. I’m right here. I promise.

#a meeting of heaven and abyss ‹ waki & hiiro ›#gilded strings wrapped around his fingers ‹ hoshido ; fe au ›#ink on a fresh page ‹ mun writing ›#long post #that took an entire afternoon #lol i might make more in the future with the yamadas and grayson #but for now *flops*#supports tbt

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chanoyu-to-wa · 5 years

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Appendix 2: Rikyū’s Utensils (1) -- Kakemono [掛物].

Kakemono [掛物] (18 scrolls).

The utensils here (and in the following appendices) are arranged by order of frequency. Following the number of incidences is a list (in parentheses) of all of the posts in which the utensil is featured. The numbers refer to the list of URLs published in the preceding appendix.

In general, utensils that Rikyū used frequently he probably owned outright, while those that he only used one or two times were probably borrowed from Hideyoshi’s collection (or, occasionally, lent to him by other chajin -- in the hope that their being featured in one of Rikyū‘s high-profile chakai might help the owner find a buyer).

1. Yoku-ryō-an bokuseki [欲了庵墨跡].

Yoku-ryō-an [欲了庵] is the name by which Rikyū referred to this scroll -- which was perhaps one of Rikyū’s most prized possessions. It was written by the Yuan period Chán monk Liǎo-ān Qīng-yù [了庵清欲; 1288 ~ 1363].

This scroll appears in the kaiki sixteen times (featured in the gatherings covered in the posts 13, 14, 20, 23, 25, 30, 32, 36, 37, 38, 45, 49, 50, 53, 54, 55).

2. Tōyo bokuseki [東與墨跡].

This refers to a bokuseki written by the Yuan period monk Dōnglíng Yǒng-yú [東陵永璵; 1285 ~ 1365]* (whose name is pronounced Tōryō Eiyo in Japanese).

He is said to have been related to the great Chán master Wúxué Zǔyuán [無學祖元; 1226年 ~ 1286] (Mugaku Sogen in Japanese). Both Wúxué and Dōnglíng emigrated to Japan in order to spread the orthodox Chán teachings.

Dōnglíng Yǒng-yú was a follower of the Sōtō sect [曹洞宗] of Chán; and, as mentioned above, he came to Japan in Shōhei 6 [正平六年] (1351). Although he was a monk of the Sōtō Shū, he served as the abbot (jūji [住持]) of a number of important Japanese temples that had no affiliation with that sect, among which were the Tenryū-ji [天龍寺] and Nanzen-ji [南禪寺] in Kyōto, and the Kenchō-ji [建長寺] and Enkaku-ji [圓覺寺] in Kamakura.

This scroll was used on seven occasions during the year covered by this kaiki (3, 11, 22, 27, 29, 39, 44).

3. Kokei Ichi-gyo-mono [古溪一行物].

Kokei [古溪] refers to Kokei Sōchin [古渓宗陳; 1532 ~ 1597], who was also known as Ho-an Kokei [蒲庵古溪]. . He was Rikyū's Zen master*.

This refers to an ichi-gyō-mono [一行物] (a vertical scroll containing a single line of characters) of the phrase “shun-fū ichi-jin” [春風一陣] (which means “a gust of Spring wind”). This scroll was one of Rikyū's personal treasures.

This scroll disappears from contemporary records in 1591 -- and was probably was destroyed (on Hideyoshi's orders) around the time of Rikyū's seppuku.

This scroll was displayed during five chakai in the cycle covered by Book Two of the Nampō Roku (5, 16, 18, 19, 35).

4. Engo bokuseki [圓悟墨跡].

This is the bokuseki known as the Nagare Engo [流れ圜悟], formerly owned by Shukō (this is the scroll that tradition holds was presented to him by Ikkyū Sōjun), which he hung in his room when serving tea. It is further said to have been the first bokuseki ever used for chanoyu.

The scroll was written by the Chinese Chán monk Yuán-wù Kèqín [圜悟克勤; 1063 ~ 1135], the editor of the Bìyán Lù [碧巖錄] (Heki-gan Roku; the Blue-cliff Records).

This document was not intended (by its author) to be mounted as a scroll: it is actually a fragment of the text of one Yuán-wù’s lectures (who traveled around China delivering lectures on the cases in the Bìyán Lù at various major temples, and this was part of the text of one of these lectures).

Rikyū used it at four gatherings (1, 21, 24, 48).

5. Kurin Setchū-jōdō bokuseki [古林・雪中上堂墨跡].

The name Kurin [古林] refers to the Yuan dynasty Chán monk Gǔlín Qīngmào [古林清茂; 1262～1329]. A number of his bokuseki have been preserved in Japan*.

Setchū jōdō [雪中上堂] seems to be the first part of a seven-character kōan [公案] that formed part of a Chán poem (the whole line apparently being setchū jōdō setchū bai [雪中上堂雪中梅]; which would mean “the Upper Hall [of the temple] is obscured by snow; the plum [blossoms] are obscured by snow”: the Upper Hall would seem to refer to the monk's Buddhist scholarship (or training); the plum blossoms would refer to his enlightenment (or samadhi), both of which are to be obscured by the whiteness of the snow): and, indeed, Gǔlín Qīngmào's surviving works largely consist of a poem, followed by a dedicatory or explanatory passage.

The words in question, however, are not found in any of his surviving kakemono, however, suggesting that the scroll displayed by Rikyū on these four occasions (8, 9, 11, 40) has been lost -- indeed, the lack of clarity suggests that this occurred before the beginning of the Edo period.

6. Moku-an Ji-ga ji-san Kanzan Jittoku e [黙庵自畫自讃寒山拾得繪].

This refers to the Japanese monk-artist Moku-an Rei-en [黙庵霊淵; ? ~ c 1345]. He is said to have been tonsured as a monk in Kamakura (though his biographies do not identify the temple) sometime before 1323, and subsequently traveled to China in 1327. He became a renowned Zen painter, working with ink sketches, and a number of his paintings bear colophons by some of the eminent (Chinese) Chán monks of the day. A number of these were later brought back to Japan by other travelers, where they were especially treasured. Moku-an died in China around 1345.

Ji-ga ji-san [自畫自讃] means that both the painting (ga [畫]) and the colophon (san [讃]) were done by Moku-an himself. Meanwhile, this painting is usually known as Shì-shuì-tú [四睡圖] (in Japanese, Shi-sui zu: “Picture of the Four Sleepers”).

Hánshān [寒山], Shí-dé [拾得], and Fēng-gān [豐干] -- the subjects of this sketch -- were all renowned Tang period monk-poets, who were often referred to as the Tiāntái sān-shèng [天臺三聖] -- the three [poetic] sages of Tiāntái (Mountain).

As the three monks and their tiger (who represents their Chán energy) are sleeping out of doors, the picture suggests both intimacy, confident repose, and the warming season. The three chakai (31, 33, 34) at which this painting was displayed were held at the beginning of summer.

7. Kokei oshō Saiji [古溪和尚・細字].

Saiji [細字] means a document written in small writing. This is the second scroll by Kokei Sōchin [古渓宗陳; 1532 ~ 1597] that Rikyū owned.

It is rather surprising that this kakemono has survived into the present -- and that was only because it had been hidden from Hideyoshi in the archives of the Daitoku-ji around the time of Rikyū’s death. Rikyū used it on three occasions that are described in Book Two of the Nampō Roku (7, 46, 47).

8. Mokkei Jurō-jin e [牧溪壽老人繪].

The name Mokkei [牧溪]* refers to Mùxī Fǎcháng (牧溪法常; 1210? ~ 1269?), a Chán monk who lived during the Southern Song Dynasty -- and who was arguably one of the greatest Chán painters in all of Chinese history. His works, indeed, are frequently used to illustrate the essence of the medium. He left behind not only a collection of outstanding masterpieces, but also served as a model for generations of monk-painters to come, both on the continent and in Japan.

Among Mùxī’s surviving portraits is one that is said to be of the ancient Chinese sage Lao-tzu [老子] (shown above). Perhaps the actual subject of this painting was not clear to Rikyū, and he took it to be a more generic portrait of an old man (or of a sort of god of long-life, which is what jurō-jin means).

Rikyū displayed this scroll on two occasions (15, 17) -- one of which was completely private (he invited no guests for his first tea of the New Year).

9. Rinzai zenji zō [臨濟禪師像].

Though Rikyū mentions nothing but the subject matter, this appears to be a painting by the fourteenth century Japanese artist Soga Jasoku [曾我蛇足; his dates of birth and death are not known].

While most of the details of Jasoku's career have been lost to history, it is said that he studied Zen under Ikkyū Sōjun [一休宗純; 1394 ~ 1481] -- and, in turn, seems to have taught Ikkyū painting.

This kakemono was hung in the toko on two occasions (51, 56).

10. Waka-tanzaku [和歌短尺/短冊].

This tanzaku, probably written by Lord Hino Terusuke [日野輝資; 1555 ~ 1623] during the court banquet that was held earlier that day (the text of the poem is unknown), was presented to Rikyū tied to a chrysanthemum (the flowers, with poems tied to each, were displayed in the Imperial presence during the banquet).

This tanzaku has not been identified. The flower with the tanzaku tied to it was hung in the tokonoma during the chakai that Rikyū hosted on the evening of the day of the banquet (4).

11. Jōō Daikoku-an no uta [紹鷗大黒庵ノ哥].

According to Rikyū (as he wrote in the Fukuro-dana no densho [袋棚の傳書] that he addressed to Nomura Sōkaku), before his death Jōō presented him with a single book (or, possibly, scroll*) of his teachings, within which he found several loose sheets of paper on which Jōō had written verses in his own hand. This poem was one of them:

waga na wo ba daikoku-an to iu nareba, fukuro-dana ni zo hiji to komekeru

[わか名をば大黒庵といふなれば、ふくろ棚にぞ祕しとこめける].

(“If it may be said that my name is Daikoku-an, then it is in the fukuro-dana that I conceal my secrets.”)

This scroll was hung in the toko on a single occasion -- during the chakai that Rikyū hosted on the anniversary of Jōō’s death (6);

12. Teika-kyō Furi-yuki ni [定家卿降雪に].

Fujiwara no Sadaie [藤原定家; 1162 ~ 1241], who is also known (perhaps more commonly) as Fujiwara Teika [藤原定家]*, was a renowned poet, poetic critic, calligrapher, novelist, anthologist, scribe, and literary scholar of the late Heian to early Kamakura periods.

This poem, which is found in Sadaie's personal poetry anthology (the Shūigusō [拾遺愚草]), reads:

furi-yuki ni sate mo tomaranu mikari-no wo, hana no koromo no mazu kaeriran

[降る雪に偖もとまらぬ御狩野を、花の衣の先かへりらむ].

-- “the snow is falling, so truly I must not delay: even though Mikari-no is dressed in flowery robes; anyway, I must return [home].”

While a number of Fujiwara Sadaie’s shikishi and other writings have been preserved, this one is unknown.

It was displayed during a single chakai (9).

13. Mokkei Taiki kaisan [牧溪戴逵繪讚].

“Mokkei” is the Japanese pronunciation of the name of the Southern Song Chán monk and artist Mùxī Fǎcháng [牧溪法常; 1210? - 1269?].

This refers to a painting by Mùxī Fǎcháng known as Setsu-ya hou Tai [雪夜訪戴] (“a snowy-night's visit to Tai [= Dài Kuí]”).

This kakemono , which was probably part of Hideyoshi’s collection, was displayed at one chakai (10).

14. Ni-fuku ittsui Ba En san-sui [二幅一對馬遠山水].

Ni-fuku ittsui [二幅一對] means a diptych, a pair of pictorial scrolls intended (though not necessarily by the artist) to be hung in the toko at the same time (they usually feature identical mountings).

“Ba En” is the Japanese pronunciation of Mǎ Yuǎn [馬遠; c. 1160 or 1165 ~ 1225]. Mǎ Yuǎn was an important painter, from a family of professional painters, of the Southern Song dynasty. His works are mentioned six times in the Kun-dai Kan Sa-u Chō-ki [君臺觀左右帳記], by Nōami [能阿彌], and four times in Sōami's [相阿彌; ~ 1525] O-kazari Sho [御飾書].

This pair of scrolls were hung in the shoin during the second part of a chakai that Rikyū hosted for Hideyoshi (13).

15. Shunkyo Momo-no-e [舜擧桃繪].

Shùn-jǔ [舜擧] is one of the names used by the Chinese painter Qián Xuǎn [錢選; 1235 ~ 1305], who is also known as Yù-tán [玉潭]. He was active from the late Song into the early Yuan dynasty.

Among Qián Xuǎn's surviving paintings is one that is known as “a broken-off branch of peach blossoms” (Zhézhī táo-huā [折枝桃花]), which may have been the painting displayed by Rikyū on this occasion.

This scroll was used on the third day of the Third Lunar Month (26), which is known as the momo-no-seku [桃の節句], or peach-blossom festival.

16. Mokkei Kashi-e [牧谿菓子繪].

This was a painting by the Chinese monk-artist Mùxī Fǎcháng [牧溪法常; 1210? - 1269?] -- known in Japan as “Mokkei” [牧谿]*.

It is generally believed that the painting in question was the famous one of six persimmons, which is preserved in the Ryōkō-in [龍光院] subtemple of the Daitoku-ji in Kyōto.

Rikyū used this scroll once (28).

17. Ue-sama o-ji-hitsu o-ji-ei kakemono [上樣御自筆御自詠カケ物].

This refers to a waka-kaishi [和歌懐紙], written by Toyotomi Hideyoshi on the occasion of his previous visit to the Same-ga-i [醒ヶ井], a famous well in Kyōto. It was displayed during the chakai that Rikyū hosted for Hideyoshi’s second visit to the compound housing the well (41).

18. Mokkei Kuri-kaki e [牧溪栗柿繪].

This refers to a painting of chestnuts (kuri [栗]) and persimmons (kaki [柿]), by the Southern Song Chán monk and artist Mùxī Fǎcháng [牧溪法常; 1210? - 1269?].

References sometimes confuse this work with Mùxī’s other painting of fruit, the Kashi-e [菓子繪] -- though Rikyū’s notes make it clear that they were different paintings.

He displayed on one occasion (52).

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thefortyeightlawsofpower-blog · 7 years

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LAW # 6 : COURT ATTENTION AT ALL COST

JUDGEMENT

Everything is judged by its appearance; what is unseen counts for nothing. Never let yourself get lost in the crowd, then, or buried in oblivion. Stand out. Be conspicuous, at all cost. Make yourself a magnet of attention by appearing larger, more colorful, more mysterious than the bland and timid masses.

PART I: SURROUND YOUR NAME WITH THE SENSATIONAL AND SCANDALOUS

Draw attention to yourself by creating an unforgettable, even controversial image. Court scandal. Do anything to make yourself seem larger than life and shine more brightly than those around you. Make no distinction between kinds of attention—notoriety of any sort will bring you power. Better to be slandered and attacked than ignored.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

P. T. Barnum, America’s premier nineteenth-century showman, started his career as an assistant to the owner of a circus, Aaron Turner. In 1836 the circus stopped in Annapolis, Maryland, for a series of performances. On the morning of opening day, Barnum took a stroll through town, wearing a new black suit. People started to follow him. Someone in the gathering crowd shouted out that he was the Reverend Ephraim K. Avery, infamous as a man acquitted of the charge of murder but still believed guilty by most Americans. The angry mob tore off Barnum’s suit and was ready to lynch him. After desperate appeals, Barnum finally convinced them to follow him to the circus, where he could verify his identity.

THE WASP AND THE PRINCE

A wasp named Pin Tail was long in quest of some deed that would make him forever famous. So one day he entered the king’s palace and stung the little prince, who was in bed. The prince awoke with loud cries. The king and his courtiers rushed in to see what had happened. The prince was yelling as the wasp stung him again and again. The courtiers tried to catch the wasp, and each in turn was stung. The whole royal household rushed in, the news soon spread, and people flocked to the palace. The city was in an uproar, all business suspended. Said the wasp to itself, before it expired from its efforts, “A name without fame is like fire without flame. There is nothing like attracting notice at any cost.”

INDIAN FABLE

Once there, old Turner confirmed that this was all a practical joke—he himself had spread the rumor that Barnum was Avery. The crowd dispersed, but Barnum, who had nearly been killed, was not amused. He wanted to know what could have induced his boss to play such a trick. “My dear Mr. Barnum,” Turner replied, “it was all for our good. Remember, all we need to ensure success is notoriety.” And indeed everyone in town was talking about the joke, and the circus was packed that night and every night it stayed in Annapolis. Barnum had learned a lesson he would never forget.

Barnum’s first big venture of his own was the American Museum—a collection of curiosities, located in New York. One day a beggar approached Barnum in the street. Instead of giving him money, Barnum decided to employ him. Taking him back to the museum, he gave the man five bricks and told him to make a slow circuit of several blocks. At certain points he was to lay down a brick on the sidewalk, always keeping one brick in hand. On the return journey he was to replace each brick on the street with the one he held. Meanwhile he was to remain serious of countenance and to answer no questions. Once back at the museum, he was to enter, walk around inside, then leave through the back door and make the same bricklaying circuit again.

On the man’s first walk through the streets, several hundred people watched his mysterious movements. By his fourth circuit, onlookers swarmed around him, debating what he was doing. Every time he entered the museum he was followed by people who bought tickets to keep watching him. Many of them were distracted by the museum’s collections, and stayed inside. By the end of the first day, the brick man had drawn over a thousand people into the museum. A few days later the police ordered him to cease and desist from his walks—the crowds were blocking traffic. The bricklaying stopped but thousands of New Yorkers had entered the museum, and many of those had become P. T. Barnum converts.

Even when I’m railed at, I get my quota of renown.

PIETRO ARETINO, 1492-1556

Barnum would put a band of musicians on a balcony overlooking the street, beneath a huge banner proclaiming FREE MUSIC FOR THE MILLIONS. What generosity, New Yorkers thought, and they flocked to hear the free concerts. But Barnum took pains to hire the worst musicians he could find, and soon after the band struck up, people would hurry to buy tickets to the museum, where they would be out of earshot of the band’s noise, and of the booing of the crowd.

THE COURT ARTIST

A work that was voluntarily presented to a prince was bound to seem in some way special. The artist himself might also try to attract the attention of the court through his behaviour. In Vasari’s judgement Sodoma was “well known both for his personal eccentricities and for his reputation as a good painter.” Because Pope Leo X “found pleasure in such strange, hare-brained individuals,” he made Sodoma a knight, causing the artist to go completely out of his mind. Van Mander found it odd that the products of Cornelis Ketel’s experiments in mouth and foot painting were bought by notable persons “because of their oddity,” yet Ketel was only adding a variation to similar experiments by Titian, Ugo da Carpi and Palma Giovane, who, according to Boschini painted with their fingers “because they wished to imitate the method used by the Supreme Creator. ” Van Mander reports that Gossaert attracted the attention of Emperor Charles V by wearing a fantastic paper costume. In doing so he was adopting the tactics used by Dinocrates, who, in order to gain access to Alexander the Great, is said to have appeared disguised as the naked Hercules when the monarch was sitting in judgement.

THE COURT ARTIST, MARTIN WARNKE, 1993

One of the first oddities Barnum toured around the country was Joice Heth, a woman he claimed was 161 years old, and whom he advertised as a slave who had once been George Washington’s nurse. After several months the crowds began to dwindle, so Barnum sent an anonymous letter to the papers, claiming that Heth was a clever fraud. “Joice Heth,” he wrote, “is not a human being but an automaton, made up of whalebone, india-rubber, and numberless springs.” Those who had not bothered to see her before were immediately curious, and those who had already seen her paid to see her again, to find out whether the rumor that she was a robot was true.

In 1842, Barnum purchased the carcass of what was purported to be a mermaid. This creature resembled a monkey with the body of a fish, but the head and body were perfectly joined—it was truly a wonder. After some research Barnum discovered that the creature had been expertly put together in Japan, where the hoax had caused quite a stir.

He nevertheless planted articles in newspapers around the country claiming the capture of a mermaid in the Fiji Islands. He also sent the papers woodcut prints of paintings showing mermaids. By the time he showed the specimen in his museum, a national debate had been sparked over the existence of these mythical creatures. A few months before Barnum’s campaign, no one had cared or even known about mermaids; now everyone was talking about them as if they were real. Crowds flocked in record numbers to see the Fiji Mermaid, and to hear debates on the subject.

A few years later, Barnum toured Europe with General Tom Thumb, a five-year-old dwarf from Connecticut whom Barnum claimed was an eleven-year-old English boy, and whom he had trained to do many remarkable acts. During this tour Barnum’s name attracted such attention that Queen Victoria, that paragon of sobriety, requested a private audience with him and his talented dwarf at Buckingham Palace. The English press may have ridiculed Barnum, but Victoria was royally entertained by him, and respected him ever after.

Interpretation

Barnum understood the fundamental truth about attracting attention: Once people’s eyes are on you, you have a special legitimacy. For Barnum, creating interest meant creating a crowd; as he later wrote, “Every crowd has a silver lining.” And crowds tend to act in conjunction. If one person stops to see your beggar-man laying bricks in the street, more will do the same. They will gather like dust bunnies. Then, given a gentle push, they will enter your museum or watch your show. To create a crowd you have to do something different and odd. Any kind of curiosity will serve the purpose, for crowds are magnetically attracted by the unusual and inexplicable. And once you have their attention, never let it go. If it veers toward other people, it does so at your expense. Barnum would ruthlessly suck attention from his competitors, knowing what a valuable commodity it is.

At the beginning of your rise to the top, then, spend all your energy on attracting attention. Most important: The quality of the attention is irrelevant. No matter how badly his shows were reviewed, or how slanderously personal were the attacks on his hoaxes, Barnum would never complain. If a newspaper critic reviled him particularly badly, in fact, he made sure to invite the man to an opening and to give him the best seat in the house. He would even write anonymous attacks on his own work, just to keep his name in the papers. From Barnum’s vantage, attention—whether negative or positive—was the main ingredient of his success. The worst fate in the world for a man who yearns fame, glory, and, of course, power is to be ignored.

If the courtier happens to engage in arms in some public spectacle such as jousting ... he will ensure that the horse he has is beautifully caparisoned, that he himself is suitably attired, with appropriate mottoes and ingenious devices to attract the eyes of the onlookers in his direction as surely as the lodestone attracts iron.

Baldassare Castiglione, 1478-1529

KEYS TO POWER

Burning more brightly than those around you is a skill that no one is born with. You have to learn to attract attention, “as surely as the lodestone attracts iron.” At the start of your career, you must attach your name and reputation to a quality, an image, that sets you apart from other people. This image can be something like a characteristic style of dress, or a personality quirk that amuses people and gets talked about. Once the image is established, you have an appearance, a place in the sky for your star.

It is a common mistake to imagine that this peculiar appearance of yours should not be controversial, that to be attacked is somehow bad. Nothing could be further from the truth. To avoid being a flash in the pan, and having your notoriety eclipsed by another, you must not discriminate between different types of attention; in the end, every kind will work in your favor. Barnum, we have seen, welcomed personal attacks and felt no need to defend himself. He deliberately courted the image of being a humbug.

The court of Louis XIV contained many talented writers, artists, great beauties, and men and women of impeccable virtue, but no one was more talked about than the singular Duc de Lauzun. The duke was short, almost dwarfish, and he was prone to the most insolent kinds of behavior—he slept with the king’s mistress, and openly insulted not only other courtiers but the king himself. Louis, however, was so beguiled by the duke’s eccentricities that he could not bear his absences from the court. It was simple: The strangeness of the duke’s character attracted attention. Once people were enthralled by him, they wanted him around at any cost.

Society craves larger-than-life figures, people who stand above the general mediocrity. Never be afraid, then, of the qualities that set you apart and draw attention to you. Court controversy, even scandal. It is better to be attacked, even slandered, than ignored. All professions are ruled by this law, and all professionals must have a bit of the showman about them.

The great scientist Thomas Edison knew that to raise money he had to remain in the public eye at any cost. Almost as important as the inventions themselves was how he presented them to the public and courted attention.

Edison would design visually dazzling experiments to display his discoveries with electricity. He would talk of future inventions that seemed fantastic at the time—robots, and machines that could photograph thought—and that he had no intention of wasting his energy on, but that made the public talk about him. He did everything he could to make sure that he received more attention than his great rival Nikola Tesla, who may actually have been more brilliant than he was but whose name was far less known. In 1915, it was rumored that Edison and Tesla would be joint recipients of that year’s Nobel Prize in physics. The prize was eventually given to a pair of English physicists; only later was it discovered that the prize committee had actually approached Edison, but he had turned them down, refusing to share the prize with Tesla. By that time his fame was more secure than Tesla’s, and he thought it better to refuse the honor than to allow his rival the attention that would have come even from sharing the prize.

If you find yourself in a lowly position that offers little opportunity for you to draw attention, an effective trick is to attack the most visible, most famous, most powerful person you can find. When Pietro Aretino, a young Roman servant boy of the early sixteenth century, wanted to get attention as a writer of verses, he decided to publish a series of satirical poems ridiculing the pope and his affection for a pet elephant. The attack put Aretino in the public eye immediately. A slanderous attack on a person in a position of power would have a similar effect. Remember, however, to use such tactics sparingly after you have the public’s attention, when the act can wear thin.

Once in the limelight you must constantly renew it by adapting and varying your method of courting attention. If you don’t, the public will grow tired, will take you for granted, and will move on to a newer star. The game requires constant vigilance and creativity. Pablo Picasso never allowed himself to fade into the background; if his name became too attached to a particular style, he would deliberately upset the public with a new series of paintings that went against all expectations. Better to create something ugly and disturbing, he believed, than to let viewers grow too familiar with his work. Understand: People feel superior to the person whose actions they can predict. If you show them who is in control by playing against their expectations, you both gain their respect and tighten your hold on their fleeting attention.

Image: The Limelight. The actor who steps into this bril liant light attains a heightened presence. All eyes are on him. There is room for only one actor at a time in the limelight’s narrow beam; do what ever it takes to make yourself its focus. Make your gestures so large, amus ing, and scandalous that the light stays on you while the other actors are left in the shadows.

Authority: Be ostentatious and be seen.... What is not seen is as though it did not exist.... It was light that first caused all creation to shine forth. Display fills up many blanks, covers up deficiencies, and gives everything a second life, especially when it is backed by genuine merit. (Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

PART II: CREATE AN AIR OF MYSTERY

In a world growing increasingly banal and familiar, what seems enigmatic instantly draws attention. Never make it too clear what you are doing or about to do. Do not show all your cards. An air of mystery heightens your presence; it also creates anticipation—everyone will be watching you to see what happens next. Use mystery to beguile, seduce, even frighten.

OBSERVANCE OF THE LAW

Beginning in 1905, rumors started to spread throughout Paris of a young Oriental girl who danced in a private home, wrapped in veils that she gradually discarded. A local journalist who had seen her dancing reported that “a woman from the Far East had come to Europe laden with perfume and jewels, to introduce some of the richness of the Oriental colour and life into the satiated society of European cities.” Soon everyone knew the dancer’s name: Mata Hari.

Early that year, in the winter, small and select audiences would gather in a salon filled with Indian statues and other relics while an orchestra played music inspired by Hindu and Javanese melodies. After keeping the audience waiting and wondering, Mata Hari would suddenly appear, in a startling costume: a white cotton brassiere covered with Indian-type jewels; jewelled bands at the waist supporting a sarong that revealed as much as it concealed; bracelets up the arms. Then Mata Hari would dance, in a style no one in France had seen before, her whole body swaying as if she were in a trance. She told her excited and curious audience that her dances told stories from Indian mythology and Javanese folktales. Soon the cream of Paris, and ambassadors from far-off lands, were competing for invitations to the salon, where it was rumored that Mata Hari was actually performing sacred dances in the nude.

The public wanted to know more about her. She told journalists that she was actually Dutch in origin, but had grown up on the island of Java. She would also talk about time spent in India, how she had learned sacred Hindu dances there, and how Indian women “can shoot straight, ride horseback, and are capable of doing logarithms and talk philosophy.” By the summer of 1905, although few Parisians had actually seen Mata Hari dance, her name was on everyone’s lips.

As Mata Hari gave more interviews, the story of her origins kept changing: She had grown up in India, her grandmother was the daughter of a Javanese princess, she had lived on the island of Sumatra where she had spent her time “horseback riding, gun in hand, and risking her life.” No one knew anything certain about her, but journalists did not mind these changes in her biography. They compared her to an Indian goddess, a creature from the pages of Baudelaire—whatever their imagination wanted to see in this mysterious woman from the East.

In August of 1905, Mata Hari performed for the first time in public. Crowds thronging to see her on opening night caused a riot. She had now become a cult figure, spawning many imitations. One reviewer wrote, “Mata Hari personifies all the poetry of India, its mysticism, its voluptuousness, its hypnotizing charm.” Another noted, “If India possesses such unexpected treasures, then all Frenchmen will emigrate to the shores of the Ganges.”

Soon the fame of Mata Hari and her sacred Indian dances spread beyond Paris. She was invited to Berlin, Vienna, Milan. Over the next few years she performed throughout Europe, mixed with the highest social circles, and earned an income that gave her an independence rarely enjoyed by a woman of the period. Then, near the end of World War I, she was arrested in France, tried, convicted, and finally executed as a German spy. Only during the trial did the truth come out: Mata Hari was not from Java or India, had not grown up in the Orient, did not have a drop of Eastern blood in her body. Her real name was Margaretha Zelle, and she came from the stolid northern province of Friesland, Holland.

Interpretation

When Margaretha Zelle arrived in Paris, in 1904, she had half a franc in her pocket. She was one of the thousands of beautiful young girls who flocked to Paris every year, taking work as artists’ models, nightclub dancers, or vaudeville performers at the Folies Bergère. After a few years they would inevitably be replaced by younger girls, and would often end up on the streets, turning to prostitution, or else returning to the town they came from, older and chastened.

Zelle had higher ambitions. She had no dance experience and had never performed in the theater, but as a young girl she had traveled with her family and had witnessed local dances in Java and Sumatra. Zelle clearly understood that what was important in her act was not the dance itself, or even her face or figure, but her ability to create an air of mystery about herself. The mystery she created lay not just in her dancing, or her costumes, or the stories she would tell, or her endless lies about her origins; it lay in an atmosphere enveloping everything she did. There was nothing you could say for sure about her—she was always changing, always surprising her audience with new costumes, new dances, new stories. This air of mystery left the public always wanting to know more, always wondering about her next move. Mata Hari was no more beautiful than many of the other young girls who came to Paris, and she was not a particularly good dancer. What separated her from the mass, what attracted and held the public’s attention and made her famous and wealthy, was her mystery. People are enthralled by mystery; because it invites constant interpretation, they never tire of it. The mysterious cannot be grasped. And what cannot be seized and consumed creates power.

KEYS TO POWER

In the past, the world was filled with the terrifying and unknowable—diseases, disasters, capricious despots, the mystery of death itself. What we could not understand we re-imagined as myths and spirits. Over the centuries, though, we have managed, through science and reason, to illuminate the darkness; what was mysterious and forbidding has grown familiar and comfortable. Yet this light has a price: in a world that is ever more banal, that has had its mystery and myth squeezed out of it, we secretly crave enigmas, people or things that cannot be instantly interpreted, seized, and consumed.

That is the power of the mysterious: It invites layers of interpretation, excites our imagination, seduces us into believing that it conceals something marvellous. The world has become so familiar and its inhabitants so predictable that what wraps itself in mystery will almost always draw the limelight to it and make us watch it.

Do not imagine that to create an air of mystery you have to be grand and awe-inspiring. Mystery that is woven into your day-to-day demeanor, and is subtle, has that much more power to fascinate and attract attention. Remember: Most people are upfront, can be read like an open book, take little care to control their words or image, and are hopelessly predictable. By simply holding back, keeping silent, occasionally uttering ambiguous phrases, deliberately appearing inconsistent, and acting odd in the subtlest of ways, you will emanate an aura of mystery. The people around you will then magnify that aura by constantly trying to interpret you.

Both artists and con artists understand the vital link between being mysterious and attracting interest. Count Victor Lustig, the aristocrat of swindlers, played the game to perfection. He was always doing things that were different, or seemed to make no sense. He would show up at the best hotels in a limo driven by a Japanese chauffeur; no one had ever seen a Japanese chauffeur before, so this seemed exotic and strange. Lustig would dress in the most expensive clothing, but always with something—a medal, a flower, an armband—out of place, at least in conventional terms. This was seen not as tasteless but as odd and intriguing. In hotels he would be seen receiving telegrams at all hours, one after the other, brought to him by his Japanese chauffeur—telegrams he would tear up with utter nonchalance. (In fact they were fakes, completely blank.) He would sit alone in the dining room, reading a large and impressive-looking book, smiling at people yet remaining aloof. Within a few days, of course, the entire hotel would be abuzz with interest in this strange man.

All this attention allowed Lustig to lure suckers in with ease. They would beg for his confidence and his company. Everyone wanted to be seen with this mysterious aristocrat. And in the presence of this distracting enigma, they wouldn’t even notice that they were being robbed blind.

An air of mystery can make the mediocre appear intelligent and profound. It made Mata Hari, a woman of average appearance and intelligence, seem like a goddess, and her dancing divinely inspired. An air of mystery about an artist makes his or her artwork immediately more intriguing, a trick Marcel Duchamp played to great effect. It is all very easy to do—say little about your work, tease and titillate with alluring, even contradictory comments, then stand back and let others try to make sense of it all.

Mysterious people put others in a kind of inferior position—that of trying to figure them out. To degrees that they can control, they also elicit the fear surrounding anything uncertain or unknown. All great leaders know that an aura of mystery draws attention to them and creates an intimidating presence. Mao Tse-tung, for example, cleverly cultivated an enigmatic image; he had no worries about seeming inconsistent or contradicting himself—the very contradictoriness of his actions and words meant that he always had the upper hand. No one, not even his own wife, ever felt they understood him, and he therefore seemed larger than life. This also meant that the public paid constant attention to him, ever anxious to witness his next move.

If your social position prevents you from completely wrapping your actions in mystery, you must at least learn to make yourself less obvious. Every now and then, act in a way that does not mesh with other people’s perception of you. This way you keep those around you on the defensive, eliciting the kind of attention that makes you powerful. Done right, the creation of enigma can also draw the kind of attention that strikes terror into your enemy.

During the Second Punic War (219-202 B.C.), the great Carthaginian general Hannibal was wreaking havoc in his march on Rome. Hannibal was known for his cleverness and duplicity.

Under his leadership Carthage’s army, though smaller than those of the Romans, had constantly outmanoeuvred them. On one occasion, though, Hannibal’s scouts made a horrible blunder, leading his troops into a marshy terrain with the sea at their back. The Roman army blocked the mountain passes that led inland, and its general, Fabius, was ecstatic—at last he had Hannibal trapped. Posting his best sentries on the passes, he worked on a plan to destroy Hannibal’s forces. But in the middle of the night, the sentries looked down to see a mysterious sight: A huge procession of lights was heading up the mountain. Thousands and thousands of lights. If this was Hannibal’s army, it had suddenly grown a hundredfold.

The sentries argued heatedly about what this could mean: Reinforcements from the sea? Troops that had been hidden in the area? Ghosts? No explanation made sense.

As they watched, fires broke out all over the mountain, and a horrible noise drifted up to them from below, like the blowing of a million horns. Demons, they thought. The sentries, the bravest and most sensible in the Roman army, fled their posts in a panic.

By the next day, Hannibal had escaped from the marshland. What was his trick? Had he really conjured up demons? Actually what he had done was order bundles of twigs to be fastened to the horns of the thousands of oxen that traveled with his troops as beasts of burden. The twigs were then lit, giving the impression of the torches of a vast army heading up the mountain. When the flames burned down to the oxen’s skin, they stampeded in all directions, bellowing like mad and setting fires all over the mountainside. The key to this device’s success was not the torches, the fires, or the noises in themselves, however, but the fact that Hannibal had created a puzzle that captivated the sentries’ attention and gradually terrified them. From the mountaintop there was no way to explain this bizarre sight. If the sentries could have explained it they would have stayed at their posts.

If you find yourself trapped, cornered, and on the defensive in some situation, try a simple experiment: Do something that cannot be easily explained or interpreted. Choose a simple action, but carry it out in a way that unsettles your opponent, a way with many possible interpretations, making your intentions obscure. Don’t just be unpredictable (although this tactic too can be successful—see Law 17); like Hannibal, create a scene that cannot be read. There will seem to be no method to your madness, no rhyme or reason, no single explanation. If you do this right, you will inspire fear and trembling and the sentries will abandon their posts. Call it the “feigned madness of Hamlet” tactic, for Hamlet uses it to great effect in Shakespeare’s play, frightening his stepfather Claudius through the mystery of his behavior. The mysterious makes your forces seem larger, your power more terrifying.

Image: The Dance of the Veils—the veils envelop the dancer. What they reveal causes excitement. What they conceal heightens interest. The essence of mystery.

Authority: If you do not declare yourself immediately, you arouse expectation.... Mix a little mystery with everything, and the very mystery stirs up veneration. And when you explain, be not too explicit.... In this manner you imitate the Divine way when you cause men to wonder and watch. (Baltasar Gracián, 1601-1658)

REVERSAL

In the beginning of your rise to the top, you must attract attention at all cost, but as you rise higher you must constantly adapt. Never wear the public out with the same tactic. An air of mystery works wonders for those who need to develop an aura of power and get themselves noticed, but it must seem measured and under control. Mata Hari went too far with her fabrications; although the accusation that she was a spy was false, at the time it was a reasonable presumption because all her lies made her seem suspicious and nefarious. Do not let your air of mystery be slowly transformed into a reputation for deceit. The mystery you create must seem a game, playful and nonthreatening. Recognize when it goes too far, and pull back.

There are times when the need for attention must be deferred, and when scandal and notoriety are the last things you want to create. The attention you attract must never offend or challenge the reputation of those above you—not, at any rate, if they are secure. You will seem not only paltry but desperate by comparison. There is an art to knowing when to draw notice and when to withdraw.

Lola Montez was one of the great practitioners of the art of attracting attention. She managed to rise from a middle-class Irish background to being the lover of Franz Liszt and then the mistress and political adviser of King Ludwig of Bavaria. In her later years, though, she lost her sense of proportion.

In London in 1850 there was to be a performance of Shakespeare’s Macbeth featuring the greatest actor of the time, Charles John Kean. Everyone of consequence in English society was to be there; it was rumored that even Queen Victoria and Prince Albert were to make a public appearance. The custom of the period demanded that everyone be seated before the queen arrived. So the audience got there a little early, and when the queen entered her royal box, they observed the convention of standing up and applauding her. The royal couple waited, then bowed. Everyone sat down and the lights were dimmed. Then, suddenly, all eyes turned to a box opposite Queen Victoria’s: A woman appeared from the shadows, taking her seat later than the queen. It was Lola Montez. She wore a diamond tiara on her dark hair and a long fur coat over her shoulders. People whispered in amazement as the ermine cloak was dropped to reveal a low-necked gown of crimson velvet. By turning their heads, the audience could see that the royal couple deliberately avoided looking at Lola’s box. They followed Victoria’s example, and for the rest of the evening Lola Montez was ignored. After that evening no one in fashionable society dared to be seen with her. All her magnetic powers were reversed. People would flee her sight. Her future in England was finished.

Never appear overly greedy for attention, then, for it signals insecurity, and insecurity drives power away. Understand that there are times when it is not in your interest to be the center of attention. When in the presence of a king or queen, for instance, or the equivalent thereof, bow and retreat to the shadows; never compete.

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