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vance-emmeline · 3 years

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ϟ ━ was that EMMELINE VANCE around the leaky cauldron ? SHE disapparated before i could approach them ! what a pity, for they are DETERMINED and LOYAL, but maybe it's best to keep my distance because they are also CLUMSY and FIERY. i remember that they were a RAVENCLAW back in school but have since made a name for themselves as a DAILY PROPHET JOURNALIST. if this alleged war came knocking on their door, it is supposed that they would FIGHT FOR DUMBLEDORE ( cis woman & she/her / zoey deutch / 26 / half-blood).

biography & statistics below the cut

𝒷𝒾𝑜𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓅𝒽𝓎

Emmeline Vance has always been described as ‘capable’. From a young age she was solving puzzles in creative ways and forging a path for herself early in life. Her parents offered Emmeline a safe and happy childhood, although they both worked long, exhausting hours at the ministry meaning that child-care was left to her grandfather who owned Honeydukes sweet shop. As a small child, there was nothing that Emme loved more than suggesting new sweets her grandpa to try and make to try and then helping him make the ideas from her imagination into a reality. When she was six years old, her grandpa gave her her own little apron and nametag for when she was at the store.

Helping out at the store truly shaped Emme as she grew up. All sorts of people stopped by the store in their trips to Hogsmeade - all shapes, all sizes, all races, all blood statuses. Emme naturally became kind and compassionate, willing to help whoever might need it no matter what their background. Her first signs of magic showed in the store - she had to carry 3 tubs of jelly slugs from the cellar to the top of the store, and managed to levitate one in front of her like grandpa did with a degree of concentration after huffing about the fact she couldn’t carry three with her little hands. Certainly, her grandfather was more of a parent than her own parents ever were.

The issue of parenting came to a head just before her ninth birthday, when her parents decided that they were going to move to France to start life afresh. Emme’s father had been offered a job at the French Ministry and they had taken it easily, jumping at the opportunity to start life again in the beauty of France. But Emme’s little heart broke at the idea of not only being taken away from Britain and the promise of Hogwarts, but from the most important person in her young life. A few roaring arguments between her father and grandfather while Emme was supposed to be sleeping (but was really hovering at the top of the stairs trying to listen to what the adults were saying) and the three adults called her downstairs asking her a simple question.

“Would you rather live in Britain with grandpa or move to France with Mummy and Daddy?”

Emme never answered verbally, but instead ran over and clung to her grandpa’s leg, who had been more of a father to her than her own father had. It wasn’t their fault, of course, that they worked long hours and hardly ever saw their daughter - but Emme’s decision was easy. And so it was that within the next few months Emme’s parents prepared to move away and prepared to leave their daughter behind (promising visits, of course). In January, her parents were gone leaving her to live with grandpa and grandma in their small flat above the store. Life passed by peacefully until her eleventh birthday arrived and with it, a letter inviting her to Hogwarts.

On her first day at Hogwarts, Emme learned that not everyone was as kind as her. Her grandfather had pulled her aside at Hogsmeade station before she ran to join the arriving students and said ‘be brave enough to stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves’. Those pearls of wisdom stuck a chord deep within Emme, who had always considered herself kind but hadn’t had to put herself in any level of discomfort to be kind so far. She had lived a reasonably sheltered upbringing, after all. Cruel thoughts had not been present in either her home or the sweet store (after all, who can find it in their hearts to be cruel when surrounded by that much sugar). With that wisdom fresh in her mind, Emme made her way towards Hogwarts where the sorting hat confidently placed her in Ravenclaw.

From there, Emme excelled at school. She had always loved reading as a child, and she made a name for herself quickly as one who always placed near to the top of her class. She engaged in lots of extra-curriculars including Charms club and Dueling club, and spent most of her evenings buried in magical practice and theory. In fifth year Emme became a prefect.

During her careers meeting, Emme looked at the pamphlets before her and knew there was only one real option for her. She had half considered the aurors programme, but reading and writing had always been her passion. Emmeline applied for a job with the Daily Prophet as a junior journalist. Working hard at her N.E.W.Ts, Emme left Hogwarts with an Outstanding in all subjects and a well-earned place at the Daily Prophet.

Since starting work at the Daily Prophet eight years ago, Emmeline has carved a name for herself as a well-respected journalist. She always works for the truth no matter how uncomfortable or unsettling it might be, and is determined to bring the truth to the public. This has, on occasion, led to Howlers being sent through the post but Emme is not deterred.

Emme is a notorious coffee drinker and can almost always be found with a flask in hand. She also loves to bake, frequently bringing in home made snacks to share around the office - Merlin only knows that their office needs a sprinkling of happy on a semi-regular basis. She gets excited about any and all holidays, and her absolute favourite place to be is the beach - especially when she’s wandering up and down the sand wearing a cosy jumper and bright yellow wellington boots. Despite reporting on some of the atrocities that happen in the wizarding world, Emme still lives with a sense of optimism and an understanding that the world really is full of good people even if it might not seem like it.

Emmeline is committed towards seeking justice both professionally and personally for all. She believes that the way that muggle-borns were treated at school was unjust, and has continued to speak against this in her journalism. When it becomes clearer that Voldemort is truly persecuting muggle-borns, Emmeline will step up to work against him firmly. When Emmeline commits, she throws her whole self behind a cause and can never be called ‘half-hearted’.

𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒾𝒸𝓈

Basics:

FULL NAME : Emmeline Raye Vance MEANING : The name “Emmeline” means gentle and brave. MONIKERS / NICKNAMES : Emme GENDER AND PRONOUNS : Female, she/her DATE OF BIRTH : 13 April 1958 AGE : 26 ORIENTATION : Bisexual OCCUPATION : Daily Prophet Journalist

Background:

LANGUAGES SPOKEN : English, French FAMILY : Samuel Vance (father), Eliza Vance (mother), Ambrosius Flume (grandfather) SPOUSE / SIGNIFICANT OTHER : open & wanted for plotting! CHILDREN ( chronologically ) : n/a

Magical Detail:

BLOOD STATUS : Half-blood ALUMNA OF : Hogwarts, Ravenclaw, 1976 ACADEMIC FEATS ( clubs, organizations, positions, etc ) : duelling club, charms club, prefect O.W.L.s ( subjects taken and the results ) : astronomy, charms, defence against the dark arts, herbology, history of magic, potions, transfiguration, ancient runes, arithmancy. O in all subjects but arithmancy and history of magic which were E’s. N.E.W.T.s ( subjects taken and the results ) : charms, defence against the dark arts, herbology, history of magic, potions, transfiguration, ancient runes. O in all subjects. WAND : Maple, unicorn core, 10 ¾ inches, supple AMORTENTIA : Fresh coffee, baking bread, the smell of seaside air, new books. BOGGART : Werewolves PATRONUS : A swift - a creature with a strong sense of determination and a drive to accomplish things. They are hopeful, positive and energetic and are drawn to live and work in large communities where they find inspiration from the high spirits of others.

Physical:

HAIR : Mousy brown EYES : Brown HEIGHT : 5’3 BUILD : Athletic, slender. MARKINGS ( birthmarks, tattoos, scars, etcs ) : A scar on her left hip from a fall down the shop stairs when she was younger. A small tattoo of an opening speech mark on her left wrist, and a closing speech mark on her right wrist - inspired by her journalism and her love for writing. Not a permanent marking, but Emmeline has a sapphire necklace that was a 17th birthday gift from her mother. It is perhaps the most expensive thing that Emme owns, and she never takes it off.

Personality:

TROPES : Gentleman and a scholar - “He manages to be both a highly intelligent expert in his chosen field and a pleasant, well-adjusted and socially engaging human being, some times even more attuned to the nuances of social etiquette than many less-intellegent Gentleman and a Scholar - “He manages to be both a highly intelligent expert in his chosen field and a pleasant, well-adjusted, and socially engaging human being, sometimes being even more attuned to the nuances of social etiquette than many less-intelligent characters. Frequently, his emphasis is more on the humanities than on the natural sciences.” MBTI : ENFJ-T ENNEAGRAM : Type 2 - The Helper ALIGNMENT : Lawful Good TEMPERAMENT : Phlegmatic ZODIAC : Aries POSITIVE TRAITS : Determined, loyal, resillient NEGATIVE TRAITS : Clumsy, fiery

#principium.intro #principium.task #about #i wish i could use photoshop & create a good looking graphic but alas!!!#excited to get started <3

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ftb-writes · 4 years

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Wooo! Fic time!

"Bye, Sarah," he told his older sister, ushering her out the door. "Good luck at Uni, don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

"What, like blow up a school toilet? Dad's still paying that off, by the way." Sarah shoves her bags into the trunk and looks back up to where he's standing at the top of the porch steps. "Remember, Mom and Dad's convention--"

"Ends on Wednesday," he finishes for Sarah, "but if I call and have a problem, they can be home as soon as they can get a flight. I know." He smiles. "It's just a few days, Sarah. I'll manage just fine. Be careful. Call when you get there."

Sarah sighs and climbs into the beat-up hatchback. "See you for Winter break, Toby! Don't mess with anything in my room!"

Toby, for that is the boy's name, rolls his eyes as Sarah pulls out of the drive. "Watch me," he snorts, and goes back inside.

Lancelot the teddy bear sits in his place of honor on the shelf besides Sarah's bed -- he's the only toy Sarah had ever kept from her childhood, and Merlin, the family dog, snuffs as Toby takes the bear down to brush away an invisible mote of dust. This bear is the only exception to Sarah's rule -- Toby is allowed to come in and get Lancelot whenever he pleases, but Toby does relish nudging a book slightly out of alignment.

"Take that Sarah," he whispers, and then actually reads the title of the book he's poked. It's small, with a red leather cover and gold lettering spelling out in smart letters, The Labyrinth.

Toby pauses. He remembers the old stories she used to tell him about Jareth, the Goblin King, stealing him away, of this innocuous little book coming to life, of her friends -- Hoggle, Ludo, Sir Didymus and his noble steed, Ambrosius.

Toby cautiously picks the book off the shelf, and when there is no sudden claps of thunder or bursts of lightning fortelling his doom, Toby brings it and Lancelot into his room.

Posters of rock stars and NES games line the walls, and the color scheme is, according to Sarah, 'painfully vampiric.'

"Red and black?" he can remember his mother clarifying when he'd asked to redecorate his room. "But Tobias, darling, those colors are so dark! And drab…"

"I'll close my door if it bothers you," he'd retorted, a can of paint in each hand. "But the black is the same stuff they use for blackboards, Mom, so I can draw on it, or use it to write out notes for classes; it'll be useful!"

His mother had sniffed, but relented. By that point, Toby had started seeing why his mother and half-sister didn't get along well.

He flops on the bed and sets Lancelot down, listening to Merlin pad over to his bed in the other room. Holding the book up to Lancelot's glass eyes he whispers, "Our little secret, eh?"

Lancelot does not answer, and Toby flips the book open and begins to read.

"Give me the child."

Toby jerks awake, the book falling off his face and onto the bed next to him. He shakes himself, looking around to see what had woken him. It's dark out, and Merlin snores in the other room.

"That must be him!" a shrill, reedy voice is whispering. "Look at that hair! And he has the bear!"

"Shush!" another voice hisses, "he'll hears us!"

"Well, it would be terrific if he did," the first voice grumbles.

"Shush," the second voice repeats, a low growl. "Sarah just wants us lookin' after him! There is no needs to be botherin' him!"

"But Toby friend," a third voice, deeper than the other two, chimes in.

"Sarah says he doesn't needs to know we're here," the second voice whisper-yells at the other two. "The more he knows is really reals, not just stories, the more risk of -- of Him findin' him!"

"But He's only a shell of His former self. I'm sure He'd be unable to find Toby." The first voice sounds reassuring, but the second voice is quick to shut them down.

"The only reason He's not at full strength is because He's trying to find Toby!"

"Awake," the third voice says, dreamily.

A ringing silence descends. Toby swallows and stands, clutching the book to his chest. "Hello?" he calls. "Is someone there?"

When there is no answer, Toby steps out into the hall, but he isn't surprised that nothing appears out of place.

"You're Sarah's friends from the Labyrinth, aren't you," Toby asks the empty air. "Hoggle, Ludo, and Sir Didymus?"

Still, there is no answer, and Toby shivers. "Please, I know you're here. Who is He? Why is He trying to find me?"

Slowly, a small man with bushy eyebrows and a belt adorned with costume jewelry and a leather coin purse steps into view, seemingly out of nowhere. "Now, you can't tell Sarah you knows," the small man says, defeated. "You can't tell nobody."

"Alright, Hoggle. Now, what's going on?"

Sir Didymus and Ludo sip cocoa across from Hoggle and Toby. Toby had offered Hoggle a drink as well, but he had declined, and Toby himself was drinking a soda. Sarah's copy of The Labyrinth sits on the table between them all.

"Jareth's been lookin' for you all this time," Hoggle is saying. "He wants to makes you a goblin, one who will be smart enough and strong enough to become the next Goblin King. He thinks you're meant to be the next King, 'cause you were rescued, but still knew 'bout him and the Labyrinth's existence, even just as stories. Jareth's… become a shade of hisself."

"A shade," Toby repeats in question.

Didymus swallows, sets down his mug. It's the smallest mug Toby and his family own, but it is comically big in Didymus's pause, well the biggest mug is tiny in Ludo's grip.

"He has sacrificed much of himself," Didymus explains. "For more time. The Goblin King is never meant to live so long as this. But the King cannot let his line end. No one quite remembers why anymore. Jareth never had any children survive the change to goblin-hood fully intact. You're his best chance. And as he is now, Jareth can't put in the energy to trick anyone else into sacrificing their child."

"So, he's going all in for me," Toby summarizes.

"You just has to outlast him. Only another year of your time at most," Hoggle assures. "It shouldn't be that hard with the three of us to help!" The dwarf beams up at Toby, and Ludo and Didymus chuckle and toast with their mugs. "Not to mention that we's not the only friends Sarah made in the Labyrinth!"

"I'm doomed," Toby sighed.

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jasontoddiefor · 7 years

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My dear Faust

Title: My dear Faust Fandom: Blue Exorcist Ship: Mephisto x Shirou Summary: Rin had always thought it was ironic that his adopted father wasn't the demon. Weird as hell fashion sense, tons of familiars, a love for game and bets and a vast knowledge- Johann Faust was the weirdest exorcist there was. AN: A Role reversal AU with Mephisto as the human Johann Faust and Shirou as the Demon King of Time! At eight years old, the earliest memory Rin could recall was one of Yukio crying. They couldn't have been much older than three and Rin was sitting on the sofa as Papa picked Yukio up. He told him of Gehenna and Assiah, about each of the familiars serving in the household and about the missions he had been on.

Sadly Yukio kept on crying because such stories didn’t calm a toddler when they had just hurt themselves.

The next thing Rin recalled was somebody, who had been sitting next to him, getting up and taking Yukio out of Papa's hands with a sigh. The man wasn’t as tall as Papa but close. He had white hair and piercing red eyes. He wore black clothes Rin now knew were the exorcist uniform. The attire clashed totally with Papa’s white or pink clothes. Rin knew only one person who appeared to be a total opposite of his father while at the same time fitting the man so well.

Fujimoto Shirou. Samael. Demon King of Time.

Shirou was often around, even though he tried to keep his distance. Somehow he never managed though, probably fearing that Papa would end up accidentally drowning Rin and Yukio or revealing their nature to the world. Rin honestly doubted that Papa would ever make such a mistake, he was brilliant.

Still-

Papa and Shirou fought about Rin and Yukio all the time.

Papa thought it would be stupid to try to make them human when they clearly weren’t. Rin agreed. He liked the way he was, he didn’t particularly want to be human. Not when Papa told him how great Yukio and he could be one day if they gave it their all. Not when he told them about all the demons that would bow to them. But even more than that would Rin miss using his flames for making smores when they sat outside on warm summer nights. Rin was sure that Yukio would also never want to give up his abilities. Yukio had amazing perception and the way his blue eyes would shine with the same color as Rin’s flames was just awesome.

Rin would never deny his demonic heritage, even though it was scary at times and forced Yukio and him to be very careful when in proximity to people, especially exorcist. But still, it was a part of him. Rejecting it would do him no good (and living without a tail would be way too weird).

Shirou disagreed with Papa on that topic. He called Yukio and Rin innocent as if that had something to do with the fact that they had human blood too. Shirou wanted them out of the war he was fighting.

"Two siblings less to worry for," he had said to Papa. "Keep them out of it, Johann."

Papa never listened either way and Rin was thankful for it. One of Papa's summons - or at least Rin thought it was a summon - was Amaimon, the Earth King. Often also called Ambrosius and posing as Papa's little brother. That particular actuality made Rin frown. It was weird. Amaimon was Yukio and Rin's older brother after all, right? Just like Shirou! If he was pretending to be Papa’s brother, he’d be Rin and Yukio’s uncle and that was just wrong.

Last time Amaimon came to visit while Shirou was there, the younger demon got the scolding of his life. It didn't seem to bother him as much though.

"Nii-san's always been like that," Amaimon had told Yukio and Rin. "He worries and worries and lectures and lectures and tries to stop us from causing chaos. It doesn't work though."

After that Amaimon, whose range of expressions was somewhere between nonexistent and boredom, looked almost hurt.

"That's why he wants to keep you out, wants you to be human. You're less likely to become as messed up as us then."

Yukio had hugged Amaimon then. It had looked awkward and rather funny, it was no wonder Papa had joined the hug. Papa joining the hug looked right too. Rin couldn’t imagine what it would have looked like if Shirou had joined in. Wrong probably. Shirou was almost too normal to look right in their household. Papa and Amaimon though could almost pass as related. They possessed the same kind of weird. Yukio had told him that it wasn’t kind to call people weird but Rin didn’t particularly care. People called Papa lots of fancy words when what they really meant was weird.

Eccentric for example was what other people called Papa. Reckless too. And Irresponsible. But the insult that came up the most when people thought they were being silent was Demon lover.

That one always made Papa laugh.

"They're right, you know!" He had told them. "I truly love demons, more than humans even! I love you, my little hellspawns and Amaimon-"

"Shirou too?" Yukio had asked, blue eyes full of wonder.

"Oh, yes. Him especially."

Papa had smiled kindly. It was all teeth and madness.

"Did I ever tell you the story of Johann Georg Faust?"

The twins had stared at him, lack of comprehension shining in their blue eyes.

"Your story?" Yukio asked.

"In a way," Papa replied. "Long ago there lived a man by that name and he made a pact with a demon that back then was called Samael. The demon accompanied Faust, who was always greedy for knowledge, for 24 years. It was Faust who made Samael bet with him over and over again, selling away more and more each time. As human as Faust was, he certainly loved demons and their deals. So for a long time they lived side by side until Faust, thinking he could do greater than Nicholas Flamel or King Solomon and become a demon himself, made a mistake and paid dearly. As Faust was dying, Samael devoured Faust’s soul as a payment for the 24 years he had helped the man.”

Papa took a break and poured himself another cup of tea before he continued.

“But the demon, and wasn't that the miracle, didn't let the soul dissolve to strengthen himself! Instead he kept it and watched it. He watched the soul of Faust who wanted to become Mephistopheles so much. The legends say that Samael was a demon that had come to enjoy Assiah. And for him Faust, whose own fate he had bet against heaven, had to exist on Assiah. Some people say that it was love what the demon had learnt on Assiah but that’s ridiculous. If he could already love, he wouldn’t try so desperately to be human, right?”

Rin and Yukio shared a glance. Both of them couldn’t really follow their Papa. That was rather often the case. It would take ages until the twins comprehended another carefully worded explanation or riddle their Papa had given them.

“And since Samael had come to care for Faust,” Papa continued, “he broke time just for Faust instead. So whenever he saw the opportunity, he brought Faust back to life. In exchange for that being overlooked, Faust always had to stay in the Vatican's care and work for them alongside with the King of Time.”

With that Papa ended his tale and took two small cups off the tray and poured tea into them too. Rin smelled cherries, haws and banana – children’s tea for him and Yukio.

“Not that I mind. The most interesting things happen here," Papa said and smiled. “And what would I be without Shirou?”

Rin was left with more questions than answers.

#blue exorcist #ao no exorcist #ane #shiro fujimoto #mephisto pheles #okumura rin #okumura yukio #fanfic #mephiro #thats the ship name right?#faust #this is what i use my knowledge on the drama faust for #gay anime demon fanfics #my german teacher would love it #and im not even using it accurately #lmao

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digital-arts-etc · 7 years

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This Artist's Hanging Gardens Find Beauty In Decay

By Isabel Lloyd On 8/15/16

Hanging flowers: “The Beauty of Decay” at Chandran Gallery, San Franciso, earlier this summer.

One summer, when the British installation artist Rebecca Louise Law was not quite a teenager, her father—then an assistant head gardener at a stately home in Cambridgeshire, England, and a man who understood the business of growing flowers en masse—insisted that his whole family bus out to one of the flat, Fenland fields near the village where they lived. It must have been late June, early July at most, because the field was brimful with the bright, airy faces of ox-eye daisies.

“I didn’t care,” says Law, a serene, fair-complexioned 35-year-old with artfully slipshod hair, as she sits in the back room of her tiny gallery in east London. “I was at the age where you’re seeing boys, and I didn’t care at all about gardening, or flowers.” While her father and younger sister were taking photos of the long-legged daisies, and her mother was drawing the daisies (it was an artistic family), Law thunked down in the middle of the field in a full-on adolescent sulk.

And then something happened. “I was just sitting there, with all these flowers at head height around me, and I couldn’t see my family. And I thought, Oh my goodness, this is amazing. I knew from my father that the field would only be like this for one or two days; it was only now that it was that strong, and I thought, How can I re-create this? How do I share it?”

Law has been sharing some of the long-brewed results of that moment at her most recent exhibit, “The Beauty of Decay” at the Chandran Gallery in San Francisco, where visitors weaved between a rain of gleaming copper wires that ran from floor to ceiling, the wires strung with the heads of 8,000 fresh gerberas, roses and statice. She has been making three-dimensional works from flowers since 2003, buying them fresh in bulk and then paying assistants to thread the individual flower heads onto wire. Often, as at the San Francisco show, she suspends the flower-filled wires from the ceiling, creating an effect that can be either tender and ethereal or, if the wires are packed closer together, disconcertingly dense, as if the world has flipped and you’re walking beneath an inverted meadow. The flowers then slowly dry and die, fading from what she calls their “poppy” reds, oranges and yellows into shades of cream, tan and pale rose, the emphasis of the piece moving gently from color to form, from vivid, superficial life to the more solid structure below: the skull beneath the skin.

Once the installation is over, the flowers are taken off their wires and stored in acid-free tissue, ready to be used again. “Absolutely nothing is wasted,” Law says. “It all goes into my archive.”

Works from this archive will make up her next show, a comprehensive, six-week presentation of existing pieces—along with a new installation made of ”all the flowers I’ve ever collected”—starting August 25 at the Broadway gallery in Letchworth Garden City in southeast England. In December, an installation she made for Art Basel will move to Art Basel Miami, and early in 2017 she will be one of seven international artists exhibiting across Denmark as part of the city of Aarhus’s program as the EU’s European Capital of Culture for 2017. Law’s flowers have bloomed in shows at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, Times Square in New York, and—her biggest venture yet—in a semipermanent installation of 100,000 flowers in the roof of a shopping mall in Melbourne, Australia. “It’s intended to last for 10 years,” she says. ”Though if some massive spider takes up residence in it—well, we’ll have to see.”

Law’s studio is also her home: two floors above a storefront in a row of early-Victorian conversions made up equally of galleries, tony vintage-clothing stores and 24-hour mini-marts. (And guess what? It’s on the same road as London’s most famous weekly flower market; her husband buys her a bunch every Sunday—“But the deal is, he has to arrange them.”) The façade is brick, painted black to better show off the colors in the window, which in early August was filled with the fat cerulean heads of inverted hydrangeas.

Inside, the gallery walls display editions from a series Law worked on with the photographer Tom Hartford, re-creations of Dutch Golden Age still lifes by Jan Davidsz. de Heem, Ambrosius Bosschaert and Balthasar van der Ast, but with subtle subversions, such as a modern-dressed figurine peering up into the flowers. At the rear of the studio, a 3-foot plaster statuette of Christ suffering the little children is draped with garlands of minute, pinkish-white gypsophila interspersed with the iridescent green bodies of beetles. The dead insects are a typical Law move, a dainty, sly reminder that when it comes to the works of man, mortality always gets the upper hand. Still, the works of man—or rather, women—are much in evidence: At the table that almost fills the center of the room, four women, one wearing a floor-length caftan with a brightly embroidered hem, are stringing frilly orange helichrysum and laying each wire into long cardboard boxes marked “Nike”—part of a commission for the sportswear brand.

Nike is a little late to the party. The earliest adopters of Law’s work were high-end fashion houses—fashion loves flowers, nature’s own luxury brand—and a breakthrough moment came in 2011 when Hermès commissioned Law to fill the glass roof of the Floral Hall at London’s Royal Opera House. (If you have any illusions about how big brands sniff out new talent, abandon them now: They searched for “art with flowers” online.) This was eight years after Law had used flowers for the first time, in a “hideous” piece she made at the end of her third year studying fine art at Newcastle University. “I was trying to paint in 3-D. I had used food, sweets, wool, and some flowers in amongst it all,” she says. “And I actually didn’t even think of them as flowers. I was just trying to find any kind of materials I could use as my palette.”

Frustrated, she went home for the summer, where her dad’s nursery beds were full of “huge, stunning, colorful dahlias. I asked, ‘What do you think about these drying? Do you think they’ll dry well?’ And he said, ‘Yes! Of course they will, and they’ll be brilliant!’ So I took a whole carload back to university that September.”

Once there, she spent a week hanging the dahlia heads on fishing line, in “an exact square, very precise,” from the ceiling of the university’s installation space. “It felt like I was creating [a] painting in the air. Then when I saw the interaction between the viewer and the work, I realized this was beyond color. My obsession with color suddenly became not the most important thing. Instead, it was about the interaction between human beings and nature, and, too, the transformation of the flowers, which dried into a whole other material.” It might have taken a while, but that field in the Fens had worked its way out.

Law’s father was not just responsible for giving her early inspiration and materials; he also introduced her to an art collection that continues to inspire her: the Golden Age still lifes at Cambridge’s Anglesey Abbey, the former priory where he worked. From the beginning, Law was fascinated by how these paintings “capture time”—by which she seems to mean arrest it as well as portray it. They are highly artificial constructs, almost the diametric opposite of the Van Gogh way of stuffing flowers in a vase and then painting them, fast and bright, there and then. The combination of flowers and fruit they show was aseasonal, outside time, and Law knows from trying to reconstruct it that “the balance is impossible—the flowers defy gravity.”

Those 17th-century paintings also had a job to do: advertising new varieties of flowers from Dutch growers. Today, Law buys much of her raw materials from the Dutch, often homing in on whichever variety might have been over-grown that year in order to reduce her environmental footprint: The Dutch glasshouses grow at such scale that, even when she was installing in Melbourne, there was a moment when she thought it might be greener to get her materials from Amsterdam. In the end, though, local growers won the day, and all 150,000 flower heads were antipodean.

About 90 percent of Law’s work is large-scale work for public consumption, but her gallery sells limited, color-photograph editions at about £1,500 ($1,950) for a print. She also accepts private commissions, installing pieces in people’s homes for between £3,000 ($3,900) and £8,000 ($10,400). No one has yet complained when the flower sculpture that cost thousands begins to die, seeming to accept Law’s contention that the fading is a way of showing flowers not as “purely ephemeral objects but as a beautiful sculptural material for you to enjoy for a lifetime.” According to Law, visitors to the Chandran have certainly enjoyed it: “People were walking through and getting tangled up in the flowers, and going, ‘Aaahh!’”

She dreams of spreading the joy even further, filling the Turbine Hall at London’s Tate Modern with an upside-down meadow made of flowers donated by the public from people’s gardens. You imagine that vast space filled with people, sighing with pleasure, modern Marvells ensnared by flowers. Wouldn’t that teenager, sitting awestruck in a field, be delighted?

http://www.newsweek.com/2016/08/26/rebecca-louise-law-flower-installations-490502.html

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