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pennanbrae · 1 year

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Railroad bridge 🚂

#bridge #tressel #west Van #sunshine #river #bridges #railroad #railway #west Vancouver #604 #Spotify

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country-n-sassy · 10 months

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#30

What reminds me of home?

Short answer, Kansas

*If you're not interested in learning more about me than you probably care about, this is where you should continue scrolling. Fair warning.

Long answer, I was raised by my grandparents, very old school. They've both passed away, and my gradmpa (dad) passed away when I was 22, I was such a daddy's girl. Growing up, he worked for the state and inspected grain elevators during the summer (he did a lot of other things, I'm sure, but this is what I remember). My sister and I would get to go with him since we didn't have school, and all the ladies at the grain elevators would spoil us with pop and candy. My dad would tell us about the different crops (mostly wheat and barley) and answer our million questions. He would take us on detours to see different train tressels and bridges, and we would joke and laugh as we snacked on fritos, pimento cheese dip, string cheese and apples. We listened to Country Radio (back in the 90s), it was our compromise, my sister and I wanted to listen to Rock, and he wanted to listen to Jazz. It's been a long time and most of our grain elevators have been torn down, few remain and we barely see trains anymore, BUT I instantly felt at home in Kansas, it reminded me of driving with my dad and so many happy memories. I haven't felt home in a long, long time.... There are a couple things I have from my mom, an old wooden rolling pin and a yellow Tupperware bowl. My mom loved baking, and I can't even imagine how many apple pies and cinnamon rolls she made with those two things. *side note, don't even try to make apple pie or cinnamon rolls for me. They won't be like hers, and I will be disappointed, plus I'm not really an apple pie fan 😬 Also, don't expect me to make them either, baking is not my talent.

I'm sure by now you regret asking, but thanks for the ask @ibelongtobatman79 🥰 Hope you're enjoying your birthday weekend with @batman-2079 🎂

#ask #home #memories

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nonobadcat · 3 years

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BNHA Fantasy AU: Troll Muscular X F!Reader

Four Chapter Short Story - Updates about once a week

Summary:

From the moment you fled him, you knew there would be precious few places that you could escape The Duke of Tredal. Sure, legends said that in the dense fog of the Natt Valley, trolls lay in wait for weary travelers who lost their way in the dark. Nevertheless, with your pursuers hot on your heels, you had little choice but to head for the Old Bridge if you wanted to escape the fife. After two days on the run, you finally collapsed from exhaustion. Desperate to survive, you cried out to the stars for the strength to go on.

However, it was a monster from the deep that would answer your call.

Rating: Explicit

TW: Non-con monster fucking (or at best dub-con under implied threat of death), graphic depictions of violence/gore, troll on troll and troll on human cannibalism, mentions of previous sexual slavery/rape, menstural cunnilingus, fellatio, drugging, kidnapping, graphic depictions of lung disease.

NOT a vore story. Reader will live and be unmaimed.

Chapter 1 Excerpt Below:

As the heavy mist swirled past your pounding feet, terror-ridden eyes hazarded a glance back.

Did you lose them?

All humans in the Kingdom of Trefal knew, at the end of Fjell Forest, there was only a carpet of shadows awaiting you. Midday or not, the area at the edge of the Natt Valley lay under a coat of fog that was, even at its thinnest, thick enough to hide the trees only six wagon lengths away. As you witnessed this fact first hand, the hairs on the back of your neck rose. That also meant you couldn't tell if the men pursuing you still lay out there, hidden in the dark.

Those that traversed the Old Bridge between the Capital City Ottsk and the Duke's fiefdom knew that they may yield their lives to make the treacherous passage over the hazy valley. In addition, the tales told stories of man-eating trolls who prowled the fog, waiting for road-weary travelers to lose their way. Everyone knew that the Duke's land grant was generously large for a reason. The king always hated his brother. There was no doubt he hoped the infamous divide and the rumored creatures would mean they never met again.

As your heart pounded against your ribs, you prayed to the stars that you would also escape the old man so totally.

When last you saw his crippled husk, he had patted your cheek and told you he was so desperately disappointed at how things had turned out. He thought with you as First Concubine, you would be the one who could bear him the heir he'd always wanted. You had always been his favorite after all. You were so pliant and responsive that his training took easy. That's why he'd let you live longer than the others despite your failure over and over again. However, his wife really wouldn't tolerate it anymore. If you couldn't give them the child they wanted, it was time to move on.

When he told you your fate, his wrinkled brow had contorted in an approximation of pain. He couldn't really feel pain. The king's little brother lived too pampered a life to know pain. However, he could mimic it from the look on your face. After all, the way you cried was plenty painful for two. Not to worry though! Since you were his favorite he'd always treasure your heart. After he carved it from your chest, he'd put in on the nicest shelf in his bed-chamber. When he died, you could even be buried with him in the tomb! It was the highest honor he could give a simple concubine. After all, you were much closer to him than his wife in life. It was only fair to you that the same be true in death. He cherished you so much after all.

Needless to say, you'd felt differently about that honor.

That's why, two nights ago, you'd slapped the tainted wine from his hands, plunged the golden dagger into his arm, and jumped out the window into the pond below. As you swam to the far shore and raced across the castle grounds to the Old Road, you promised yourself you'd do whatever it took to survive. After two days with no food, no sleep, and no hope, you wondered if "whatever it took" would be enough to escape the fife.

When the long woven ropes of the suspension bridge came into view, a burst of adrenaline spurred your burning legs forward. You surged out of the treeline, coming to a stop as you reached the precipice below. The bottom of the rock-lined valley was rumored to be so deep that it was said your vocal cords would wear out before you hit the ground. No one actually knew how far it went since it was covered in heavy mist year-round. The slick, moss-covered stones made it a near impossible climb. Many foolish men had died trying. Perhaps those disappearances explained the tales of the monsters who lived in the valley below.

You stared at the dark, moldy boards of the bridge. They were slick as oil in a lamp and the ropes looked frayed. You gulped, trying to find the will to move your aching legs towards your only escape. They were heavy as lead. Your anemia wasn't helping. The cramps this month were worse than ever before and the fear barely dulled them. As you hit the mildewed tressel, your knees buckled below you. Your hands barely caught you as your skin hit the splintering wood. Frustrated tears started to pour down your cheeks. Blistered hands wiped at your face. You gritted your teeth and tried to swallow the hopelessness building in your throat.

"Move!" you urged yourself, flexing your shaking arms. Quivering fingers reached out, trying to drag your weary body forward board by board. They clawed at the bridge as your head looked to the heavens. Your thin voice pierced the damp, musty dark as you begged: "Please just let me move!"

Covered in a blanket of thick, grey clouds, the heavens were blind to your suffering. Just as you realized the stars would not answer you, a voice from the deep did.

"Oh? I come up for the smell of blood and here I find someone trapping across my bridge? Been a while."

Read the rest at: Archive of Our Own

@shigashigashig - I got you fam

@mel-hoedee @yuiji-yuiji @themidnight-slasher-thot @lovelydeepcherryblossom @thats-just-not-okay @gojoisthemilktomycereals @famouscreatorwolfcalzone @shadyfarmcookiefish @hinatabokeboke @fallen-baron @smallfry-crybabyblog @kingrandomness @professionalreblogs @insanebot109 @thesmokingcat @darkshadowguardian @dwight-y0u-sunflower-slut @daughter-of-the-gods0011 @bandaged-despair @oikawascakee @smallangrynerd @failinginlife @psychicglitterdetective @nimbus-lab @shinywombatbatland @little-bit-odd @yoyoyoonie @lisethelizard @averagepersonontheinternet @the-lady-writes-what @fluffabutt @isarahlouwho @bludspp @mythology-studios @kooljojoz @dr3lls @spitfyrefae @sayanetsuzune @qualityauthorsludgeland @kaitlyntalks @jackhowlswife @hi-what-is-anything @ravenrebel24 @assorted-beany @requedup @xanny-emo @anonymous-stuff @emo-smurf-owo @bai-pai

#troll muscular bnha #reader insert #reader x muscular #yandere muscular #muscular x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader #muscular bnha #darkfic #troll muscular #bnha fantasy au #bnha x you #you fic #second person pov

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weshallc · 3 years

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Thank you so much for putting up with me, I feel back in a Bernie state of mind now (I was far too chilled). Let’s see where we go from here.

BERNS NIGHT (revisited)

This has been a Poplar-on-Tweaven production brought to you by the Crown Inn and sponsored by Mount Busby Farm based on original characters from Call the Midwife.

CHAPTER FIVE: Ae Fond Kiss.

“Who Shall Say That Fortune Grieves Him. While The Star of Hope She Leaves Him?” Ae Fond Kiss, Robert Burns 1791

“I Pictured A Rainbow, You Held It In Your Hands.” The Whole of the Moon, The Waterboys 1985

Bernie grabbed Val’s arm to steady herself. Paddy stood in front of her fidgeting with the cobalt blue fabric with a wide green check overlayed with a thinner gold and black one. His fiddling pulled at the kilt pin weighing the piece of cloth down at the knee. The tiny silver dagger bearing his clan crest caught the light from the hall where Bernie remained stood stock still in the doorway.

Paddy then reached for the frilly white lace jabot fastened around his neck, pulling at the lace with one hand, as if it was choking him. The other hand straightened the black waistcoat with the three silver buttons, matching the three on the sleeves of the Montrose jacket. They in turn matched those perfectly polished down the front of both sides of the centre of that waist length black jacket.

Bernie’s dropped jaw started to quiver as a chuckle threatened to emerge. Paddy shot a look of accusation at Val who intern nipped Bernie’s arm. Her friend regained her composure.

“I told you she would think I look ridiculous,” Paddy spat at Val as if Bernie wasn’t in the room. It was however Bernie who responded as Val’s confidence appeared to waver.

“No, you don’t. It’s just a bit of a shock. I am not quite sure what’s going on.”

“We..well some people thought it might be nice to put on a Burns Supper. Like we used to...before-” Paddy started to falter as he noticed Bernie’s eyes mist over.

“For your birthday.” Piped in Val, trying to help Paddy out and regaining her confidence. “I will leave you to it, I’ve left Jack behind the bar and well he is still pretty green, if anyone asks for a cocktail we may be in danger of losing our licence.”

On Val’s departure, Bernie moved towards Paddy. The forgotten scarf Trixie had placed around her friend’s shoulders fell to the floor. Paddy bent down to pick it up.

“Oops, be careful, good job there is no-one stood behind you.”

Paddy straightened up swiftly and stroked down the back of his kilt. Bernie allowed a relief filled giggle as she saw Paddy’s frown soften. Taking the scarf from Paddy, she sighed. The pattern matched the tablecloths downstairs. “My mother’s tartan, they haven’t missed a trick, have they?”

“Trixie was most put out when her attempts to discover the Mannion tartan drew a blank.”

“Mannion is an Irish name, sorry.” Bernie wasn’t quite sure why she was apologising for her name, but it felt appropriate.

“We all know that now,” laughed Paddy.

“How did you find the Home clan tartan?”

“Violet and Evie poured over hundreds of samples and narrowed it down to a few which they matched to old photos of Wilf’s kilt. They figured that was how the wily old bugger had got round it, using your mam’s tartan.”

“Everyone has gone to so much trouble, I feel like such a fraud. I just wanted an evening alone with you in Appleby Thornton.” Bernie blushed, feeling even more guilty.

Sensing her confusion, Paddy cupped her cheeks in his hands. “We can go out any night.”

Bernie raised an eyebrow at Paddy’s optimism. Even though Jack had turned eighteen and could now serve behind the bar, Paddy still found it difficult to let go. Most of their evenings were spent working or propping up the bar.

Any further discussion of their work-play balance would have to wait. The sound of familiar footsteps running up the stairs alerted them their presence was required in the bar. Paddy and Bernie followed Tim into a cacophony of noise, the sound of fiddle, banjo and accordion mixed with laughter and the pounding of feet on the wooden floor.

Tim grinned and nodded as Bernie asked, “Isn’t that the Bridges that come in on a Thursday night?”

“Apparently, before they were married, they used to go to Scottish dancing on Thursday nights.”

Kevin and the Tweaven Folk band sounded like a group of musicians who were enjoying a successful long awaited reunion, rather than strangers that had only met a few days ago. Apparently Kevin didn’t just play the Bagpipes but was going to town on the harmonica. Mac had found refuge in Reggie and had settled on a bench seat with the dog's head resting on the lad’s lap.

Alan Bridges and his wife Yvonne broke from each other and flew off in different directions to persuade, grab and drag the people sitting at the tables onto the makeshift dance floor. Fred was up first, taking hold of Vi who had pushed her nose out of the kitchen to sneak a peek at the fun. She protested, explaining she couldn’t leave her post, but Evie chased her onto the dance floor with a tea towel.

Bernie smiled at Patsy and Delia. She had never seen anyone quick step to the Gay Gordons before. Phyllis’ face was flushed as she tried to stay in time, partnered by a very light on her feet Lucille. Bernie grinned as Paddy dug his son in the ribs and Tim scowled, shaking his head in protest. Her smugness was short-lived when Alan Bridges took hold of her hand and dragged her onto the floor. She groaned to herself, realising she should have seen it coming. But she knew she wasn’t the only one who had been distracted and let their guard down. As Alan swung her around, she glimpsed a determined Yvonne pulling a very reluctant Paddy to the centre of the room. A massive cheer went up, and it wasn’t for his dancing prowess, but the first view of the crowd of Paddy in his Highland Dress.

Bernie couldn’t deny she felt a tingle as the lights dimmed and Paddy stood behind the tressel table. She could see how nervous he was, his thumb working against the forefinger of his left hand, the right hand turning over his phone on the table. Voices were hushed, sensing a level of anticipation in the air. She hoped he could see her reassuring smile. When he returned her wink she knew he understood.

Everyone instinctively got to their feet as the sound of the pipes flooded the room. Kevin slowly marched into the bar from the kitchen playing, Mac following at his feet, ears pricked. A few steps behind walked Violet, beaming proudly, carrying a silver tray with her pride and joy in prime position. She placed the dish in front of a very pale but focused landlord. Bernie noticed Vi gently touch Paddy’s hand after she had laid down her burden.

Paddy cleared his throat, and everyone sat. Bernie held her breath, she was relieved when he started reading from his phone in his own soft Northern English twang and didn't attempt a Scottish accent. He did struggle a little with more than the odd word and she noticed it was in parts an English translation of Burns’s Address to a Haggis. She did think her dad would be shaking his head and laughing if he was watching these antics held in his memory. As a shiver left her, she wondered if Marianne was also looking down with pride and amusement.

Bernie bit her lip. This was the difficult bit, if trying to read a 18th century Scottish poem out loud wasn’t hard enough. She knew from years of experience Paddy had to keep reciting while removing the Sgian-dubh from his woolly knee-length socks. He then had to pull the small dagger out of its black leather holder and plunge the blade into the Haggis at just the right moment in the text. She went to hold on to her chair but was surprised when a long thin hand grabbed hers. Tim’s hand was cold, but sweaty at the same time, and she squeezed it back.

The verbal response of the audience to Paddy whipping the blade out of its sheath made Bernie giggle, and she heard a snort from her neighbour. The following stab and slash into the unsuspecting pudding received equal responses of gasps and murmurs. She felt the boy’s hand slacken in her own and his breath released from his chest at the same time she let her lungs relax. Bernie felt Paddy was doing the same, pausing as the crowd regained its collective composure. He dared to give her a quick glance, and she beamed in approval. She wished she could go over to him and push back the wayward kink of hair that had fallen over his face during the dramatics.

Paddy finished the poem with ease following the tricky bit. He didn’t seem to mind stumbling over some of the unfamiliar words. It wasn’t like anyone was going to correct him. There was much relief all around when he finally toasted the Haggis, and everyone could raise the complimentary whisky they had been nursing since the beginning of the festivities. Not everyone had been patient and some found they were toasting with an empty glass, supping air. A nervous Bernie would have been included in this number, but Trixie had passed on her dram so she could at least properly take part in the toast. Paddy received a standing ovation. He wasn’t deceived it was for his faultless performance, but more for effort or maybe they were just hungry and glad it was finally over.

The assembled guests ate their fill of Scottish Fayre. The whisky sauce may have proved more popular than the spicy offal and oatmeal pudding. Although Violet did remark that Poplar’s vegan population had seemed to increase dramatically overnight. Buckle’s Breweries Burns Bernie Beers proved very popular. Ale Fond Kiss, Red Red Rose Ruby Ale and Auld Lang Stout all sold out.

The dancing recommenced to the Tweaven Folk band and its newest member. The Bridges and the lead singer tried to engineer a ceilidh of sorts. This resulted in a room full of mostly English people flinging themselves and each other about in an attempt at the longest communal twizzy world record. The highlight being every time Paddy spun around in his kilt, a large cheer went up as it splayed out.

Eventually he refused to dance and Bernie gave up too. She found him outside smoking one of her roll-ups. She just grinned, knowing he deserved one. Bernie hugged Trixie’s scarf around her.

“Aren’t you cold in...erm that?”

Paddy smoothed the kilt under him, between his bare legs and the cool wood of Peggy and Frank’s memorial bench. Bernie grinned and went back indoors.

She returned with two Abhainn Dearg malt whiskies and one of the tartan tablecloths. She wrapped it around Paddy’s shoulders before perching herself on his chilly knees, flipping his sporran up out of the way. Paddy took over the blanket duties and wrapped the cover round her.

Cold fingers fumbled over sharing the dying cigarette and they sipped from the same whisky tumbler. From where she had placed them, Bernie could only reach one glass without leaving the warmth of the tablecloth and Paddy’s arms. Paddy had long since dispensed with the faffy lace ruff and wore a cream open neck Jacobite shirt, again courtesy of connections of Patsy. As Bernie playfully twisted the string ties around the fingers of one hand. She slowly ran the fingers of her other hand along the hem of the kilt.

“Is this Turner tartan, then?”

“No, the Turners are from Liverpool, probably some Irish in there somewhere too, but my mother’s family hailed from Fife.” Paddy softly answered.

Bernie wriggled on his knee, trying to gain a bunch of the fabric of the kilt in her hand, as the band broke into Deacon Blue’s, Dignity.

“So which clan...ayyyyyeah!” She quickly jumped up vigorously rubbing the flesh between her boot and the hem of her dress on her right thigh. Paddy stared at her in confusion and concern.

“Something bit me.”

“It’s January.”

“Am I bleeding, is there a bump?” Bernie turned her back to Paddy and lifted up her skirt. Paddy started to wonder whose birthday it was. He used his phone as a torch and took his time giving a thorough examination of her right thigh. The eventual diagnosis was no injury to her person, but there was a nasty snag in her new-on tights.

Paddy also identified the culprit pointing to the clan dagger attached to the front of his kilt. “I think you sat on this?”

“You stabbed me.”

“You stabbed you.”

She leant down and carefully unfastened the pin from the front apron of the kilt. She recovered her position now free from hazards. Scrutinising the tiny weapon in her hands under the light of Paddy’s phone,

“Aww, the crest is the world below a rainbow between two clouds. What does the motto say?”

“At Spes Infracta.”

“Oooh, you're getting the hang of these ancient tongues, aren’t you?” Bernie giggled, “what does it mean in boring old English?”

Paddy, who had been laughing with her, fell serious.

“It means Yet My Hope is Unbroken.” He gently tipped her chin forward with his thumb and forefinger and kissed her.

“That’s beautiful.” Bernie caught her breath. “What was your mam’s maiden name?”

“Hope.”

“Home and Hope,” smiled Bernie, partly to herself.

Paddy reached inside his sporran and handed Bernie a small tartan box with a gold bow on top.

“But this was my present.” She smiled, pulling on his shirt strings.

Paddy shone his phone torch on the box as Bernie opened it and carefully took out a silver brooch. She got hold of Paddy’s hand and shone it on a silver V bending inwards to make the shape of a heart with an emerald at the base just below the Home clan crest.

“That is a very fierce looking lion, why am I not surprised.” Bernie didn’t need the torch to see the glint in Paddy’s eye as he spoke. “I nearly got you the Hope rainbow one instead....but I wasn’t sure.”

Bernie smiled, “Maybe next year?”

“You are still very presumptuous after all these years. This was a one night only kinda thing,” Paddy choked, then swiftly changing the subject, “I liked the motto on the Hume crest, anyway.”

Bernie was impressed with his correct Scottish pronunciation of Home. She read aloud the words around the lion's head A Home, A Home, A Home, that is the slogan, but the motto is actually True To The End .”

“Well, I think the matriarchy has it tonight.”

“Do you know Robbie Burns was a great supporter of women's rights as well as being a romantic? He wrote a poem about it.”

“From what I’ve heard, he was very fond of women indeed. Counting the number of children he fathered.”

“Yes, that as well,” muttered Bernie, “but just for tonight I am going to be Shelagh Bernadette Mannion-Home and you can be Patrick Turner-Hope.

The traditional music of the Corries was now interspersed with more recent Scottish poetry, as the band played tunes by the likes of Travis and Franz Ferdinand. The Proclaimers, I’m Gonna Be 500 miles, filtered through the door leading to the beer garden. The accompanying laughter, the sound of leather and man-made sole stomping on polished oak convinced the two in the beer garden they weren’t being missed.

“One thing I can’t get my head around is how Val convinced you to do this?”

“She just reminded me of every time you have stepped out of your comfort zone for me. How many times you have had to embrace a part of yourself that you didn’t know existed or had thought you had left behind.”

Bernie rubbed her thumb over the slogan on her new brooch as Paddy continued.

“Basically how many times you have put me, us, our hope of a life, a home together before the person who you thought you were and believed yourself to be.”

“Val said that?”

“Sort of, maybe a bit more colourful and there was some violence involved, but I did agree with the sentiment.”

“I think our mams would have approved of Val.”

“Are you true to the end, Shelagh Bernadette?”

“Well, you just better hope this isn’t the end, Patrick.”

The sounds of Auld Lang Syne filled the night and Paddy leaned forward for another kiss, suddenly aware Bernie had very cold hands and had chosen not to replace the kilt pin.

#call the midwife #berns night revisited #to be continued #soon hopefully #home and hope #bless them

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houseofvans · 6 years

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ART SCHOOL | Q&A with DETH P. SUN

Influenced by the works of Richard Scarry, Charles Schultz, and the likes of Tove Jannson, artist Deth P. Sun’s interest in art and zines started early on–from drawing everything in an encyclopedia to creating his first zine in high school. From that point on, Deth has been a prolific painter, zine maker, and doodler, focused on making his art on his own terms. With his central hero– a genderless cat – Deth explores various natural and strange worlds through a subtle narrative, created by his brushwork, ambiguity, and color palettes.

Find out more about Deth’s art, his wordless storytelling, and what inspires him by taking the leap below.

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself? My name is Deth P. Sun, I’m an artist living in a tiny coastal town in Northern California, but most of my adult life was spent in the Bay Area, primarily in Oakland and Berkeley. I tell people I’m Cambodian, which is mostly true.

When did you begin having an interest in art and painting? How or why do you think you gravitated towards this profession? I’ve always enjoyed drawing, I think I kind of like getting better at it and learning about new things that are centered around that. It’s one of the cheaper hobbies to get started in as a kid. It’s not really a thing I think about too much these days. Mostly I wonder how my life was set by my 17 year old self.

How do you describe your work to people who maybe unfamiliar with it? Until I moved to this town I live in now, I kind of never had to. Mostly because I don’t meet new people outside of my circle. I just tell people I’m a graphic artist. If they want more info I just stare at them blankly because I think it’s kind of rude to ask strangers what they do for a living.

There are various aspects to your paintings from being narrative and storytelling to those that feature various painted objects and natural things. Can you tell us a little bit about the narrative elements of your works and how that came about? Yeah, I just like suggesting that there’s a narrative with my work, which isn’t that hard as long as you don’t stray too much from your pallette or reuse images to find in each painting. I kind of like seeing a whole set of paintings, that’s when you sense that there is a story.

When did you protagonist character start to take shape? How did that evolve and come-about? I’ve just always drew a character like that. Probably in high school. It’s been so long I don’t really remember. It probably came from my sketchbook. Most of my sketchbooks are kind of boring because it was just me repeatedly drawing the same stuff until I got better at it. I think I was trying to draw a cat and I drew something else that I liked.

In some of your other works, you paint collections of items from food, mushrooms, crystals to swords and old style cell phones. How did these paintings originate for you? Were you finding yourself sketching certain things that you read about or were you just obsessed with a certain object that week? My parents taught themselves English using Richard Scarry books so they were the first books I had my hands on. It’s just pages and pages of him drawing things with words describing what they were underneath. When I was younger I had this project where I’d take an encyclopedia and try drawing everything in it. I think I only got to M. Also when I was kid while drawing in my sketchbook I would just run out of stuff to draw so I’d go room to room drawing everything in each room.

It was just a thing to kill time.

How has where you live and its landscape influenced the work you create? What’s your favorite thing about residing there? I guess it does a little, but I think I drew the stuff and then when I got here, I liked it a lot, so I ended up on this tiny coastal town on the bluffs. I started drawing weird epic landscapes after watching a bunch of Swedish films a few years ago.

What was your last adventure or walk through your neighborhood that showed up in one of your work, thematically or just visually? One time a friend invited me to a barbeque. They lived near the train tracks a couple of miles from me, so I walked up the tracks passed the cemetery and over a few tressel bridges. It was really nice walk. Met a turtle. They had to come down and get me because I didn’t know the path to their house, and it was getting dark.

What IS your favorite thing to draw or paint? Do you have an UNfavorite thing to draw or paint? I like drawing pineapples. I hate when strangers ask me to draw them. I want to punch them in the face.

When did you start picking up the paint brush and taking your works to the canvas? What do you enjoy about painting vs. drawing? The first time I painted was in my high school art class, I think like most other Americans. I was using tempera, so it sucked. But I started buying acrylic soon after. I think painting and drawing is kind of the same thing, or least I just paint like I’m drawing. I don’t think it was a strange transition.

What’s a typical day like for you at home and in the studio? What’s your process like? I fill out internet orders sometimes, or a wholesale order. Sometimes I draw. Mostly I get up and look at my email and go, “I have a lot of stuff to do and this is gonna suck”. I don’t really multitask, so it’s usually me filling out orders for 8 hours and trying to get to the post office before 4:30 while watching dumb shit on the internet, or me helping a friend screen print in my garage, or if I have a show just ignoring everything else in life and painting for two months.

A few years ago I kind of got burnt out of making a living with just painting. So I was like maybe I should make more t-shirts and prints. So I ended up moving to Fort Bragg and screenprinting more stuff and making more drawings toward that. But now my days are filled with me screen printing and filling out small orders or hanging out on my computer photoshopping all day. So now I’m in some other kind of hell.

What are your go-to art tools? A Pilot Hi-Tec C (They’re called G-Tec 4s in other places) pen. I use the .4, but should probably switch to .5. You have to have a light touch with them or else they’ll jam.

Right now I enjoy using Mitsubishi pencils, but the cheap Mirado Black Warrior pencil you can get at most stationary store is just as good.

Been filling a sketchbook using Opaque markers. Posca’s are pretty good, but the color choices are limited, so I started buying Molotow. The Molotow’s can be refilled so they might end up being a better value.

Lately I’ve been painting with cheap $2 craft paints mostly because I don’t like mixing colors. Just bought a few of the Martha Stewart’s at Michaels. I still buy Golden and Liquitex, but it’s nice to mix in other stuff.

Not only do you draw and paint, you are always printing and creating zines of your works. Do you remember your very first zine you made? Are you working on a new zine? The first zine I made was pretty horrible. It was staple at the top corner, and I gave it out to my friends when I was in high school. I put everything precious in a box before I left for college and when I came back my dad had threw it out. At the time I was pretty bummed, but now I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that. I’m always working on something. Sometimes things take a really long time. I drew everything I ate while in England and Scotland several years ago and just now getting it all together. I’ve gotten rejected from a bunch of zine fairs, so there really isn’t a urgency to get it finished. I’m thinking of making one for the tiny town I’m in, and other that’s like a newspaper, but filled with just my gibberish drawing of words.

Do you have a favorite zine maker out there you’d like to share with folks? I’m pretty excited to be tabling at Comics Art Brooklyn. Last year I sat nearby Evan Cohen (http://www.evanmcohen.com) who I had just bought zines online from a few weeks before so that was kind of unexpected. He makes rad work. There was a few other artists there whose work I enjoyed. I came home with a lot of nice prints which I never really get from strangers. Stuff from Natalie Andrewson, Tiny Splendor, most everything Peow Studios publishes, and Jen Tong. I like this zine called Terror House by Sammy Harkham that I’d buy a few to give out to friends and the zines my friend, Evah Fan makes.

What are you constantly inspired by? And who are some of your early and current art influences? I think what keeps me going is random problem solving with how I paint. Or maybe the natural world. I don’t really know if I’m being totally honest. I grew up reading Peanuts. It has it’s good moments. I think I became comfortable with not always having to be in the up. I really like Tove Jannson’s work.. I’m not a fan Tintin, but I like the way Hergé uses color and lines. I was lucky enough to come to the Bay Area while the Mission School was around and Yoshitoma Nara had a few shows, so it made it okay for me to make paintings the way I do.

What do you do when you are not painting, drawing or making zines? How do you find yourself unwinding? I watch a lot of dumb shit on youtube and take long walks. Each week I go to a game night where I do board games (Catan, Ticket to Ride, Dixit, Pirates Cove are in the usual rotation). I like to cook and have people over. I actually unwind by drawing and watching a lot of basketball while listening to basketball podcasts.

What advice would you offer to an aspiring artist who might wanna follow in your footsteps? Be nice to everyone you meet ever. Always try to learn. Don’t get caught up in what people think of you or your work. Know that if you keep on doing something you’ll get better at it. Pick up different hobbies. Make friends with other artists. Be open to all opportunities. Get used to rejection.

What’s your best Art School tip that you want to share with folks? Some random wisdom you learned through your personal journey or just while making art? You know I don’t know if I’m the best person to get advice from since I sort of carved out this weird existence. When you’re young, it’s easy to get caught up in weird things and maybe a person should just get caught up in those things. I do meet old school mates who have regrets about how their time in art school was spent, but I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way of doing it. I think there really isn’t any rush, and also if you feel like you “failed” you can always just get back up because no one is really paying attention.

I think I hear a lot from folks who worry that they’re too old to try painting or doing art for a living. And I’d hear this from someone who’s like 25 or 30. But there really isn’t a deadline to any of this stuff and also no one really knows how old anyone is. I think everyone’s trying to get to some sort of finish line, but really just existing and making work is all there is.

What do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t an artist? In an alternate universe, what career would Deth find himself doing? I’d probably be working in tech if I’m being honest with myself.

What’s a question you never get asked in an interview that you wanna ask yourself and answer? There really isn’t.

What are your favorite style of VANS? My favorite Vans were the slip ons with a grey herring bone pattern on them. I had 4 or 5 pairs, but I think they switched to a smaller pattern because I couldn’t find them again.

What’s coming up for you the rest of the year or into the next? Comic Arts Brooklyn (http://comicartsbrooklyn.com), a solo show in January at Spoke Art (https://spoke-art.com) in San Francisco. I’ll have stuff at a print fair in Oakland (https://www.oaklandprintfair.com), and an art book fair in Berlin (http://www.friendswithbooks.org/content/about) through Vanilla Studios (http://vanillastud.io).

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#Art #Vans #Vans Art #Deth P. Sun #Art School #interview #painting #drawing

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sociallyblogwards · 7 years

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#fifthstreet #bridge #tressel #railroadcrossing #traintracks #arch #greatmiamiriver #dayton #ohio #citylife #cloudy #suspensionbridge (at Dayton, Ohio)

#cloudy #arch #railroadcrossing #greatmiamiriver #tressel #fifthstreet #dayton #suspensionbridge #ohio #bridge #citylife #traintracks

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onecutmedia · 4 years

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Getting some shots in the Sea to Sky and I came upon this cool tressel bridge. There were workers on the tracks so I knew there were no trains a coming 😂 coming around that bend 🙀 #ihearthetrainacomin #cominaroundthebend #onecutmedia #onecutmediaphotography #seatoskyphotographer #vancouverphotographer #squamishphotographer #traintracks #traintrackphotography - - - - - - - @sonyworldclub @sonyalpha @sonymirrorless @sigmaphoto #sonya7iii #sigmaart2470 @polarpro @petermckinnon #polarpropetermckinnonedition #ndfilter #ndfilterphotography #traintressel #johnnycashquotes (at Train Tracks) https://www.instagram.com/p/CB0pqmEgozl/?igshid=1qxpvsvcxwt38

#ihearthetrainacomin #cominaroundthebend #onecutmedia #onecutmediaphotography #seatoskyphotographer #vancouverphotographer #squamishphotographer #traintracks #traintrackphotography #sonya7iii #sigmaart2470 #polarpropetermckinnonedition #ndfilter #ndfilterphotography #traintressel #johnnycashquotes

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centurymanoffdarails · 5 years

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Beautiful day for my 5000 mile ride on the #Diverge. Had to ride 61 miles to get 5000 on the bike since acquisition. 11 months and 10 days to get it! So awesome to be out in God’s beautiful weather. #RidingWithHydrocephalus #HAM2019 #PrayPedalRepeat (at High Tressel Bridge) https://www.instagram.com/p/B2xP1DFAjts/?igshid=1qqgqgfo4hfnu

#diverge #ridingwithhydrocephalus #ham2019 #praypedalrepeat

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spartaneyesphotography · 6 years

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#bridge #tressel #mill #pennsylvaniaphotographer #pennsylvaniaisbeautiful #pennsylvania_life #bridgeoverthewater (at Spartansburg, Pennsylvania)

#bridge #tressel #mill #pennsylvaniaphotographer #pennsylvaniaisbeautiful #pennsylvania_life #bridgeoverthewater

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jmuzic99 · 7 years

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A peek at the new #railroad #tressel #bridge. The #DLRR reopens on July 29 in @disneyland_today. #Disneyland #DisneyTime #DisneyFun #DisneySide #Frontierland #DisneylandRailroad #DisneyLife #AnnualPassholder #HappiestPlaceOnEarth #JustGotHappier #SundayNightAtThePark #Jmuzic99 #Resolutions2017 #2017Goals --- Day 176 of 365 June 25, 2017 (at Big Thunder Trail)

#sundaynightatthepark #jmuzic99 #2017goals #railroad #dlrr #disneytime #disneyside #frontierland #happiestplaceonearth #bridge #disneylandrailroad #tressel #justgothappier #resolutions2017 #disneyfun #disneylife #annualpassholder #disneyland

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maurajosephine-blog · 7 years

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Personal Photography

Taken March 04, 2017

#photography #black and white #photo #bridge #train tressel #personal photography

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jaigeddes · 7 years

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Mersey Gateway Bridge set to open early

The new Mersey Gateway Bridge could open to traffic as early as mid-September after the construction consortium building the new bridge re-assessed the programme for the remaining works.

This will mean the six-lane toll bridge project is opening ahead of time and within budget after a three-and-a-half-year construction programme that has seen major roads across Widnes and Runcorn re-routed and improved.

The achievement will be a major coup for the bridge building consortium which consists on Kier, Korean giant Samsung and Spanish contractor FCC.

It secured the £600m contract by switching from the original reference design based on steel fabrication to a reinforced concrete deck cast in-situ, saving “tens of millions of pounds”.

Once the new 1km bridge opens, tolls will be in place immediately.

The bridge will use a free flow camera tolling system which will keep traffic moving quickly across the route. .

The Silver Jubilee Bridge will be closed for around 12 months of major refurbishment work, but will remain open to cyclists and pedestrians during this time.

There will be about a year’s worth of landscaping and other work to be finished off after the bridge opens, including the removal of the temporary trestle bridge across the river.

Hugh O’Connor, General Manager of Merseylink, said: “All along we said we’d be opening in autumn 2017 and it is great to be able to keep that promise. We’ll update everyone with a firmer date as we get closer to opening but we’re confident that we will open by mid-October at the latest.

“Much of our final work is weather dependent, but we will be able to give a definitive date around five days ahead of opening.”

Mersey Gateway construction over three and a half years

View from south pylon looking across shorter central pylon

Final concrete pours before bridge connection

The wing traveller carrying out concrete pours to form the outer segments of the approach roads

The cables are anchored into delta frames inside the bridge deck.

View from inside the bridge deck, looking at the delta frames which anchor the stay cables

Many stay cables are 200m long with 90 strands inside

Stayed cable being installed on south pylon deck segment

MSS Webster ready for the next concrete pour

Vast Movable Scaffold System, known on site as Webster, was designed to construction curving southern approach road

Team preparing for concrete pour on Movable Scaffolding System Webster specially designed and built to construct the curved viaducts on the Mersey Gateway’s south approach viaduct.

The Mersey Gateway route spans three canals and the Mersey estuary

Tressel bridge and cofferdam in place

First pylon cofferdam complete in December 2014

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ndbasilica · 7 years