#my all time favorite soviet propaganda poster

[serialunaliver]

"Diplomacy the American way"

#my all time favorite soviet propaganda poster

[nocek]

Hello! You were asking about poster/wall art suggestions for your current wip? What about a Thunderbolts poster? Or a classic Soviet propaganda poster featuring the Red Guardian? Or if you want to go extremely meta, the movie poster for The falcon and the snowman 😁

I really, really enjoy your work, both your BuckyNat-verse and Petvengers are some of my all time favorite fanart. Thank you for your hard work and playful attention to details, it sparks much joy for me and many others 😍

Omg those are some brilliant ideas! I hope you are ok with me posting this instead of just answering because I don't want to lose them.

Because you se get the idea of interior design I'm going for. Not what Bucky or Nat would actually have at home but what would be fun for me to draw for them to have :D So yeah I doubt they would have soviet posters but I'm so going to find some stupid ass poster and redraw it. Well maybe not strictly soviet but something more local.

Because yeah, Yelena is a mastermind of being annoying and besides the vest thing and backup Red Beardian why not stealthy switch some pictures of the wall. Family must be included there and since he is kiiiiinda father in law here XD

And dunno why the Thunderbolts mention made me want to include Kobik. But then the pictures are going to be small so maybe just some small picture with cosmic cube lol.

Yeah I'm starting blabbling. I'm sorry. But thank you <3 I always feel so weird on one hand posting petvengers dumbassery and then this semi realisickishy comic bookisch... also dumbassery. Each time feeling kinda guilty of annoying hypothetical people that like the other thing. That's why I've split the blogs.

Anyway still thank you because it actually means a lot to me to actually hear you like both <3

#text post #nocek blabbles #ask

[thosedaysthatwill]

For the violence ask : 7, 8, 18, 19

I love when you give me an opportunity to rant about things!

7. what character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

Sidney Crosby. Is there any other answer? It's bad now, sure, but I mean you had to be there during the heyday of Sidney is /all/ everyone talked about, posted about, wrote, all the time. Like every other fic, seriously, was Sidney (back then usually with Colby or Jack, or honestly anyone and everyone, even Mario, but then it was Evgeni all the time) and he was everyone's favorite player, the commentators were up his rear end, everyone thought he was the greatest thing since the sharpening machine, and that commercial about how the rink was his prom and all that. It was a while ago, and people that are newer and are annoyed with him /now/ don't know what it was like when he was /THE/ player, like the NHL revolved around him. It's different now, it's weaker, but it's still there, it lurks in the parts of the fandom that I don't dare venture into. 

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

That the so-called 'miracle' in 1980 is something to celebrate. I've gone on this rant, I will pull it up again, I will go on the rant again if I can't find my previous rant and anyone hasn't heard it that wants to. But it was NO FUCKING MIRACLE and it was not something to celebrate and it was a bunch of anti-Soviet, anti-communist, pro-Reagan-era-America BULLSHIT. It was propaganda, pure and simple. It was McCarthyism on skates! The poor underdog corn-fed American boys (not!) beat the huge professional Russian juggernaut machine (not!) because of Capitalism, Christianity, and Mom's Apple Pie, or something like that. It's gross. (They didn't even win gold by beating Russia. They won it by beating Finland, but that wouldn't make a good anti-communist propaganda movie.) And there is nothing I hate more in all of hockey. 

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

All defensive defensemen ever. I shouldn't dive right from that into ranting about how people don't appreciate Esa Lindell enough (though they don't!), because he's not a /perfectly/ defensive defenseman (especially since John left and Jani is REALLY stay-at-home, it gives him more freedom to wander, but at least he does it responsibly!) but he at least plays DEFENSE which is more than I can say for some of the most recent Norris winners. Fandom seems to think that defensemen should score, and thus seem to celebrate those that do. But THAT IS NOT THEIR JOB! (this is getting to be another answer to number 8) So those defensemen that don't score, and actually do their damn job get overlooked by fandom, and the announcers, and it's a crime. The only GOOD DEFENSEMEN are the ones that DEFEND. So if they say "well he puts up a lot of points but his defense is his weakest area" and he has a D next to his name, he's BAD AT HIS JOB! Back to the answer, fandom is sleeping on Esa Lindell because he knows that his job is to defend. My favorite thing about him is that he's /very/ good at knowing where to be, he takes his spot and he guards the line. That's like 80% of what a defenseman needs to do (and NOT be down by the opposing net). It's kind of sad that I get super excited when he's perfectly positional because it means that SO MANY defensemen are not, that it stands out that he is. He also skates well, which is a requirement for a defenseman, and he doesn't try to score that much. This was a stronger rant when he was more defensive. I can hope he goes back to that.

19. you're mad/ashamed/horrified you actually kind of like...

Back in the day this would have been 'anyone wearing a Habs jersey'. I was /in love/ with Sheldon Souray back in the day and that was a secret because he was a Hab (but /oh/ what a defensive defenseman, and what a shot! I taped my stick like his because I was cool) and my friend from Montreal sent me an autographed poster (which I did frame and hang up, and I sent her a Patrice shirt). But the Habs rivalry has really become weak over the years, it's not even fun to hate them anymore. There are other teams I hate so much more, so I wouldn't even be ashamed of liking a Habs player, if I did. So I can't think of anyone or anything I'm /ashamed/ of liking. I mean I like some kinda weird stuff but I'm kinda weird, and I'm not ashamed of that. I'm kinda at the age where I don't really /get/ ashamed of what I like because fuck it I've been around too long to care. I wish I had a better answer for this one. 

THANK YOU FOR ASKING! 💜

#I love to rant #this was fun #and kinda long #not sorry #I feel like hockey grandma sometimes

[princip1914]

Hi Princip!! Top five portraits or paintings? :D

@saretton you beautiful human, I’m sorry I missed this ask!

It turns out I have a lot of favorite paintings. Five is hard to do, but here goes.

Let’s start with my absolute favorite painting of all time (above): “The Witching Hour” by Andrew Wyeth (also one of my fav all time artists)

Next we have Gustav Klimt’s painting of “Medicine” for the University of Vienna. This is a colorized photograph of the painting, which was a large fresco in the main hall of the university, which was destroyed during WWII.

Ilya Repin’s “Arrest of a Propagandist.” I really like Repin’s work in general, but the colors in this one and the way it makes history feel alive with all the strewn bits of paper is really cool.

John Singer Sargent’s portrait of Robert Louis Stevenson. If you know me,  you know I’m obsessed with Stevenson, and I just love how *leggy* and spooky he is in this painting and how weird and creepy the red walls are. Those 19th century interiors man!

Howard Pyle, “The Nation Makers.” This one is a bit cringeworthy to have as a fav, but I loved loved loved it as a kid despite the glaringly obvious patriotic propaganda. I really like the way you can almost smell the freshness of the air and the grass and the rain on the horizon. 

Ok, and a few honorable mentions in this already very long tumblr post: I also am a huge fan of Hopper, particularly Nighthawks (deservedly a very famous work IMO) and I also love a lot of abstract work, particularly Malevich and Goncharova and a lot of Soviet propaganda posters, and and and....I just really like paintings. Hit me up if you ever want to talk about it.

#princip's musings #asks #princip answers #paintings #visual art

[artstoday-blog]

The Parent-Teacher Conference

An excerpt from the just finished novel Nothing Straight by John Grantner

Wednesday, January 3, 1979

Mr. and Mrs. Wallace were driving to their kids’ grade school for a full evening of parent Teacher Conferences, wherein the educators tell parents how their children have either screwed up beyond measure or excelled in the past semester. At St. Nicholas School, for the Wallace’s, there never seemed to be a middle ground.

“Steven’s gonna give us grief again, I know that.” he said.

“Yes. he always does.”

“What’s with that boy, anyway? Why can’t he be like Frank Jr.? Or, Christ, even if he were like Kevin… Gawd, there’s a prize, right?… That would be an improvement.”

Olivia didn’t like to hear the conversation turn in this direction. This inevitable direction. Not that she didn’t accept the truth of it, agree with it, but she knew she was wrong to do so. There shouldn’t be favorite and less-than-favorite children. But there are. She hated living with that as she was growing up one of nine children, yet here she was as a parent using that same qualitative measuring scale. She was always aware of the hypocrisy, and it shamed her, so she always did what she could, when she could, to to correct the unfairness, to adjust the tack of the familial ship toward impartiality—that is, in the rare quiet moments when she wasn’t too harried to think. And thus she inevitably spent some time, however small, on occasion, in Steve’s corner.

“Stevie’s smart, in his special Stevie way” she said.

“Lotta good that will do ‘im.” he said.

After meeting the teachers of their other children, they finally entered Mrs. Pierson’s classroom to get the expected dressing down for having burdened Mrs. Piersson, St. Nicholas School, not to mention the Diocesan School System, with Steve. There was no friendly greeting for them, no perfunctory wide smile. Mrs. Pierson simply stared at them intensely, with eyes that drilled into them, as they walked in. She had a homely, thick appearance, and a decidedly humorless demeanor. Her face was pudgy and pock marked. Her cheeks were rounded and puffed out beyond a receding chin, and she had a thick snub nose, like a new potato. Beneath all of that was a massive pendulous second chin. She looked like a stalwart farmer on a 1930s Soviet propaganda poster.

After what seemed like an unusually long walk from the classroom door to the folding chairs in front of Mrs. Pierson’s desk, they sat and looked at her, both smiling brightly.

Mrs. Pierson continued to stare. After a moment, Frank spoke.

“So…?”

With no introductory small talk, no pleasant diplomatic niceties, in a measured tone that sounded like restrained rage, Mrs Pierson spoke.

“Your son is a problem.”

“For sure, he’s a handful…” Frank began.

“Please don’t interrupt me. Let me finish. He comes into school late, every day. In the morning, and when he returns from lunch recess. Every morning and noon… Late… Without exception.”

“He leaves on time every morning, I know that” Olivia said. Mrs.Pierson ignored her and continued.

“But I guess that doesn’t really matter so much because when he is here, he spends most of his time staring out the window, or sometimes just straight ahead… at God knows what?… something a thousand miles away. I’ve never seen a child who is so here in body only but not mind, every… blessed… day… day in, day out… Never. Not like this. And when he does occasionally snap out of it, it is only to make trouble. Disrupt… Goof off. He has a need to perform for the other students. Get their approval. He’s a major disruption. A bad influence for the other children.”

Mrs.Pierson opened a drawer of her desk and pulled out a stack of papers. She held them poised for a moment for effect, above the desk, then opened her pudgy fingers. As they dropped she  said, “And when he doses bother to pick up a pencil, this”, as if “this” were something too repugnant to mention in polite company, “is what he does.”

The stack of papers splayed slightly. They were preprinted form test papers, worksheets, pop quizzes, classroom assignments. In the spaces where Steve was supposed to regurgitate all that he had learned, there were some tentative scribbles; vague phrases, with words transposed, words with letters transposed or backwards; some numbers arranged to resemble equations; many blank spaces. Along the margins—sometimes spilling into the text, like an illuminated Medieval prayer book—were his drawings. Some painstaking, complex, intricate but subtle. Others quick, off the cuff. Mostly the stuff that pre-adolescent boys usually draw: tanks and planes and race cars and imaginative speculation about the opposite sex’s anatomy.

On the top test paper, prominently placed between the answer spaces left blank, was a single drawing: a portrait of Mrs. Pierson. It was quick and loose. Something he dashed off in less than a minute. Spare but economical. Sure. Confident. Even elegant. In no more than half a dozen slashing pencil strokes—like strokes of Asian ideographic calligraphy—he captured the essence of Mrs. Pierson. A simple uncanny likeness, somewhere between caricature and naturalism. And it wasn’t complimentary.

Olivia quickly raised her hand to her mouth to hide her grin of a stifled laugh; but laughter was in her eyes and she couldn’t cover that. Frank lowered his head suddenly, as if the cap he held in his lap needed to be examined at that moment. He gritted his teeth, and with all of the strength he could muster tightened every muscle in his face, so as not to betray a laugh. But then the spasms couldn’t be controlled, and he snorted rhythmically through his nose several times.

Mrs. Pierson’s eyes narrowed as she continued stonily. "It’s clear why Steven would have such a bad attitude. Now try to understand this, Mr. and Mrs. Wallace.” She said slowly, meticulously enunciating, as if they were dim witted and had not been understanding anything she had been saying. "Steven will come to a bad end. He will never get into a decent Catholic High School, and forget about any college at all. You have to think about that now. Start to think now about training him, so he’s not a burden on society. He could support himself, let’s say, by bagging groceries… yard work… shining shoes.…”

“Christ! He’s in the third grade! A little early to be mapping the remainder of the boy’s entire life, don’t ya think?” Frank interjected. “Give ‘im a bit of a chance to catch up.”

“Trust me. I’m a professional. I know these things. You may think his shenanigans are cute, a passing phase, harmless… but they’re a serious warning sign…” Her upper left lip curled slightly, briefly. “He will never fit in. Never. He’ll make trouble all his life. …And his grades! My God! They’re as low as it gets. It’s like he’s not aware that he is ever being judged.” She began to gather the papers as she spoke. “Here’s what it boils down to: If he continues this way, then I can’t pass him on to the fourth grade.” She paused, glared at them and hissed. “And you can be sure, I don’t want to see him again next year.”

Frank: “So then…”

Mrs. Pierson: “So then get Steven to settle down and pay attention, to at least not be a nuisance and disruption. If you do that, I promise I will bend every standard I have to push him on to Remedial Grade Four.”

She opened the desk drawer and quickly dropped the papers, with an expression of abject disgust on her face, as if she were handling a moist turd. She slammed the drawer shut and said, “Thank you for your time and attention Mr. and Mrs. Wallace. Good evening.”

Frank and Olivia exchanged quick glances, then simultaneously turned and nodded slightly to Mrs. Pierson. They rose and left as quickly as they could, just short of breaking into a run.

Beginning the drive home, they both quietly, solemnly stared out of the window for several minutes. Suddenly, without breaking her stare out the window, Olivia burst into a childish giggle. She turned toward grim-faced Frank and grabbed his inner thigh. “Oh c’mon, cher! Gotta admit boy’s got talent! Who d’you know can draw like that?”

Frank began to smile, but then caught himself and frowned. “This is serious, Liv. So he can make nice pictures… So what? That’s all he’s able to do. Who’s gonna pay him to do that?”

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#fiction #literature #novel #excerpt #school #education #john grantner #writing #nanowrimo