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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Dust, Volume 7, Number 7

What are Grandbrothers doing to that piano?

Greetings from under the heat dome, where shipments of vinyl are melting mid-journey and even the coolest of cool jazz sounds a little wilted by the time it reaches your ear. We are sitting in the shade. We are drinking lemonade and iced tea. We are looking for the window fans and lugging old air condition units up from the basement. We are, perhaps, headed to the community pool for the first time since our kids were young, though also, perhaps not. In any case, we are still getting through piles of recorded music, even in this heat, and finding some gems. Here are dispatches from the furthest reaches of Japanese psych, European free jazz, self-released indie folk, Irish lockdown angst, Moroccan raging punk and lots of other stuff. Contributors included Mason Jones, Jennifer Kelly, Bill Meyer, Tim Clarke, Bryon Hayes, Jonathan Shaw, Arthur Krumins and Chris Liberato. Stay cool.

Yuko Araki — End of Trilogy (Room40)

End Of Trilogy by Yuko Araki

These 16 tracks whoosh past in just 35 minutes, with most of them clocking in around two minutes in length. Many don't reach a conclusion: they simply end abruptly, and the next one starts. Araki manipulates electronics to create whirling, sizzling atmospheres of confusion, sometimes fast-moving burbles of percussion and synths, at other moments pushing distorted hissing and confrontational tones to the front. The aptly-named "Dazed" begins with a cinematic feel, then its galactic drones give way to static and metallic scrapes. "Positron in Bloom" is like a chorus of machine voices shouting angry curses into space, and "Dreaming Insects" sounds as if the titular creatures are being pulled downstream in fast-moving rapids. Oscillating between menacing and humorous, End of Trilogy's bite-sized pieces of surrealist electronics are never boring.

Mason Jones

Alexander Biggs — Hit or Miss (Native Tongue Music Publishing)

Hit or Miss by Alexander Biggs

Alexander Biggs blunts sharp, stinging lyrics in the sweetest sort of strummy indie-pop, working very much in the Elliott Smith style of sincerity edged with lacerating irony. “All I Can Do Is Hate You” finds a queasy intersection between soft pop and tamped down rage, Biggs murmuring phrases like “I want you to fuck me til I can’t say your name,” but melodically, over cascades of acoustic guitar. “Madeline” is the pick of the litter here, a dawdling jangle of guitar framing knife-sharp lyrics about romantic disillusionment. “Miserable,” sports a bit of lap steel for emotional resonance, demonstrating once more, if you had any doubt, that very sad songs can make you feel better somehow. Biggs is good at both the softness and the sting, and for guy-with-a-guitar albums, that’s what you need.

Jennifer Kelly

Christer Bothén 3 — Omen (Bocian)

Omen by Christer Bothén 3

Dusted’s collective consciousness has spent a lot of time considering Blank Forms’ recent publication, Organic Music Societies, which considers Don and Moki Cherry’s convergence of artistic and familial efforts during the 1960s and 1970s, as well as the two archival recordings by Don and associates, which shed light upon his Scandinavian musical activities. All three are worth your attention, but their liveliness is shaded by the awareness that almost every hopeful soul involved is no longer with us. But Christer Bothén, who introduced Don to the donso ngoni and subsequently played in his bands for many years, is not only among the living, he’s got breath to spare. This trio recording doesn’t delve into the African sounds that bonded Bothén and Don. Rather, the Swede’s bass clarinet draws bold and emphatically punctuated melodic lines, driven by a steaming rhythm section that takes its cues from Ornette Coleman’s mid-1960s trio recordings. This music may not sound new, but it’s full of lived-in knowledge and vigor.

Bill Meyer

Briars of North America — Supermoon (Brassland)

Supermoon by Briars of North America

New York-based trio Briars of North America take patient, painterly, occasionally cosmic approach to folk music. With “Sala,” Supermoon sounds like a backwoods Sigur Ros. A falsetto voice intoning a made-up language arcs elegantly over sustained waves of electric piano. Soon after, the album touches down into more grounded guitar-and-cello territory on pieces such as “Island” and “Chirping Birds,” which bring to mind Nick Drake, albeit less contrary or withdrawn. At the album’s midway point, the listener is carried into the aether with the eerie sustained brass and wordless vocals of the eight-minute “The Albatross of Infinite Regress.” A similar space is explored at the album’s end with the 12-minute “Sleepy Not Sleepy,” as strings and warbling synthesizer tones intermingle with the return of the made-up language. Though the band’s more conventional vocal-led songs, such as “Spring Moon,” are decent enough, Briars of North America touch upon something expansive and ineffable when they explore their more experimental side.

Tim Clarke

Bryan Away — Canyons to Sawdust (self-released)

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Chicago-based actor, composer and multi-instrumentalist Elliot Korte releases music under the moniker Bryan Away. His new album, Canyons to Sawdust, begins with what feels like two introductions. “Well Alright Then” is a Grizzly Bear-style scene-setter for wordless voices, strings and woodwinds, while “Within Reach” sounds like a tentative cover of Radiohead’s “Pyramid Song” that runs out of steam before it had the chance to build momentum. The first full song, single “The Lake,” gets the album up and running in earnest with its melancholy piano and string arrangement spiked with pizzicato plucks and bright acoustic guitar figures. Half Waif lends her vocal talents to “Dreams and Circumstance,” another highlight featuring some lovely interplay between guitar arpeggios and drum machine. One pitfall of exploring romantic musical territory is the risk of sounding a tad saccharine, and the weakest links in the album, companion tracks “Scenes From a Marriage” and “Scenes From a Wedding,” have the kind of performative tone you’d expect to find on the soundtrack of a mainstream romantic comedy. Elsewhere, though, Korte’s judgment is sound, and there’s plenty of elegant music to be found. Fans of Sufjan Stevens will no doubt find a lot to like, and it’ll be interesting to see where Bryan Away ventures next.

Tim Clarke

Jonas Cambien Trio — Nature Hath Painted Painted The Body (Clean Feed)

Nature Hath Painted the Body by Jonas Cambien Trio

On its third album, the Jonas Cambien Trio has attained such confidence that it’s willing to mess with its signature sound. The Oslo-based combo’s fundamental approach is to stuff the expressive energy and textural adventure of free jazz into compositions that are by turns intricate and rhythmically insistent but always pithy. This time, the Belgian-born pianist Cambien also plays soprano sax and organ. The former, stirred into André Roligheten’s bundle of reed instruments, brings airy respite from the music’s tight structures; the latter, dubbed into locked formation with the piano and jostled by Andreas Wildhagen’s restlessly perambulating percussion, expands the music’s tonal colors. The tunes themselves have grown more catchy, so much so that their twists and turns only become apparent with time and repeat listening.

Bill Meyer

Ferran Fages / Lluïsa Espigolé — From Grey To Blue (Inexhaustible Editions)

From Grey To Blue by Ferran Fages

When discussion turns to a pianist’s touch, it’s tempting to think mainly of what they do with their fingers. But it must be said that Lluïsa Espigolé exhibits some next-level footwork on this realization of Ferran Fages’ From Grey To Blue. Fages is a multi-instrumentalist who functions equally persuasively within the realms of electroacoustic improvisation and heavy jazz-rock, but for this piece, which was devised specifically for Espigolé, he uses written music and an instrument he doesn’t play, the piano, to engage with resonance and melody. The three-part composition advances with extreme deliberation, often one note at a time, turning the tune into a ghostly presence and foregrounding the details of the decay of each sound. This music is so sparse that the shift to chords in the third section feels dramatically dense after a half hour of single sounds and corresponding silences. The elements of this music have been sculpted with such exquisite control that one wonders if Catalonia has looked into insuring Espigolé’s feet; her way with the piano’s pedals is a cultural resource.

Bill Meyer

Grandbrothers — All the Unknown (City Slang)

All the Unknown by Grandbrothers

The duo known as Grandbrothers hooks a grand piano up to an array of electronic interfaces, deriving not just the clear, gorgeous notes you expect, but also a variety of percussive and sustained sounds from the classic keyboard. In this third album from the two—that’s pianist Erol Sarp and electronic engineer Lukas Vogel—construct intricate, joyful collages, working clarion melodies into sharp, pointillist backgrounds. The obvious reference is Hauscka, who also works with prepared piano and electronics, but rather than his moody beauties, these compositions pulse with rave-y, trance-y exhilaration. If you ever wondered what it would sound like if the Fuck Buttons decided to cover Steve Reich, well, maybe like this, precise and complex and shimmering, but also huge and triumphant. Good stuff.

Jennifer Kelly

id m theft able — Well I Fell in Love with the Eye at the Bottom of the Well (Pogus Productions)

Well I Fell in Love With the Eye at the Bottom of the Well by id m theft able

Al Margolis’ Pogus Productions imprint has cast its gaze toward the strange happenings in Maine, netting a mutant form of electroacoustic wizardry in the process. Scott Spear is the one-man maelstrom known as id m theft able, an incredibly prolific and confounding presence in the American northeast. He draws influence from musique concrète and sound poetry, but adds a whimsical spirit, a tinker’s ingenuity and the comedic timing of a master prankster to his compositions. Sometimes this leads to the bemusement of his audience, but he tempers any surface madness with an endless curiosity and a playful sense of the meaning of the word music. Well I Fell in Love with the Eye at the Bottom of the Well ostensibly came to be via Spear’s desire to create a doo-wop tune. Only Spear himself knows whether this is fact or fiction, because it is clear from the opening moments of “Shun, Unshun and Shun” that this disc is full of sonic non-sequiturs, amplified clatter and delightful mouth happenings that are as far removed from doo-wop as possible. The madness is frequently tempered with beautiful moments: a broken music box serenades a flock of chirping birds in the middle of a mall, Spear hypnotically chants at a landscape of crickets, flutes pipe along to the patter of rain on a window. As one gets deeper into the record, the sound poetry aspects become more and more pronounced, such as on “The Curve of the Earth” and the closing piece, “Purple Rain.” Those seeking a humor-filled gateway drug into that somewhat perilous corner of the sonic spectrum would be wise to pop an ear in the direction of this frenetic assemblage of sound.

Bryon Hayes

Mia Joy — Spirit Tamer (Fire Talk)

Spirit Tamer by Mia Joy

Mia Joy turns the temperature way down on gauzy Spirit Tamer, constructing translucent castles in the air out of musical elements that you can see and hear right through. The artist, known in real life as Mia Rocha, opens with a brief statement of intent in a one-minute title track that wraps wisps of vocal melody with indistinct but lovely sustained tones. The whole track feels like looking at clouds. Other cuts are more substantial, with muted rock band instruments like acoustic and electric guitars and drum machines, but even indie-leaning “Freak” and "Ye Old Man,” are quiet epiphanies. Rocha sounds like she is singing to herself softly, inwardly, without any thought of an audience, but also so close that it tickles the hair in your ears. Rocha closes with a cover of Arthur Russell’s “Our Last Night Together,” letting rich swells of piano stand in for cello, but tracing the subtle, undulating lines of his melody in an airy register, an octave or two higher. Like Russell, Rocha sets up an interesting interplay between deep introversion and presentation for the public eye; she’s not doing it for us, but we’re listening anyway.

Jennifer Kelly

Know//Suffer — The Great Dying (Silent Pendulum Records)

The Great Dying by KNOW//SUFFER

It’s not inaccurate to describe The Great Dying as a hardcore record. You’ll hear all the burly breakdowns; buzzing, overdriven guitars; and grimly declaimed vocals that characterize the genre, which since the mid-1990s has moved ever closer to metal. But Know//Suffer have consistently infused their music with sonic elements associated with other genres of heavy music. Most of the El Paso band’s 2019 EP bashed and crashed along with grindcore’s psychotic, sprinting energy. The Great Dying is a longer record, and it slows down the proceedings considerably. There are flirtations with sludge, and even with noise rock’s ambivalent gestures toward melody: imagine Tad throwing down with a mostly-sober version of Eyehategod, and you’re more than halfway there. As ever, Toast Williams emotes forcefully, giving word to a very contemporary version existential dread. But there’s frequently a political edge to the lyrics on this new record. On “Thumbnail,” he sings, “I swallow what must be hidden / Hoping assimilation makes me whole / The whole that everyone thinks I am / Smiling under this mask knowing / I’m not hiding my face in public.” “Assimilation” is a loaded word, especially on the Southern Border, and it’s no joke walking around in public as a proud black man anywhere in Texas. Wearing a mask as you walk into Target? P.O.C. stand a chance of getting shot. Know//Suffer still sound really pissed off, but the objects of their anger seem increasing outside of their tortured psyches, located in the lifeworld’s social planes of struggle. That gives their grim music an even harder charge, and makes Williams’s performances of rage even more powerful.

Jonathan Shaw

Heimito Künst — Heimito Künst (Dissipatio)

HEIMITO KÜNST by Heimito Künst

The debut album from Italian experimental instrumentalist Heimito Künst, recorded over several years in his home studio, uses an array of electronic and primitive instrumentation to create an overall woozy, dark atmosphere. From groaning, atonal slabs of organ, like a detuned church service, to murmuring field recordings and scrapings, these seven tracks are less like songs and more like unsettling journeys through sound. Pieces like "Talking to Ulises" blend quiet Farfisa tones and a wordlessly singing voice in the distance. Ironically, although the final track is titled "Smoldering Life", it's unexpectedly brighter, with major-key synth notes over the cloudy sound of a drum being bashed to pieces before ending with an almost gentle, summertime feel.

Mason Jones

Jeanne Lee — Conspiracy (moved-by-sound)

Conspiracy by JEANNE LEE

Lots of 1960s and 1970s jazz reissues offer beautiful music, but few redefine how liberating improvised music can be. Conspiracy, originally recorded in 1974 by Lee on vocals with an ensemble that includes Sam Rivers and Gunter Hampel, falls into the latter category without feeling forced. It combines sound poetry, the conversation of spontaneity, and grooves that don’t stay on repetition but still get ingrained into your brain somehow. Best digested in a contemplative sitting, the album demands you give your whole attention to the direction of the music and words mixed with extended vocal techniques. The sound shifts from a full-on medley of flutes, drums, bass and horns with voice, to more minimal experiments. The recording is clean and uncluttered, even at its busiest. A lushly enjoyable listen.

Arthur Krumins

Sarah Neufeld — Detritus (Paper Bag)

Detritus by Sarah Neufeld

Sarah Neufeld’s third solo album grew out of a collaboration with the Toronto choreographer Peggy Baker, begun before the pandemic but dealing anyway with loss, intimacy and grief. The violinist and composer works, as a consequence with a strong sense of movement, underlining rhythms with repeated, slashing motifs in her own instrument and pounding drums (that’s Jeremy Gara, who, like Neufeld, plays in Arcade Fire). You can imagine movement to nearly all these songs. “With Love and Blindness” rushes forward in a wild swirl of strings, given weight by the buzz of low-toned synthesizer and airiness in the layer of denatured vocals; you see whirling, bending, graceful gestures. “The Top” proceeds in quicker, more playful patterns; agile kicks and jumps and shimmies are implied in its contours. “Tumble Down the Undecided” has a raw, passionate undertow, its play of octave-separated notes frantic and agitated and the drumming, when it comes, fairly gallops. This latter track is perhaps the most enveloping, the notes caroming wildly in all directions, in the thick of the struggle but full of joy.

Jennifer Kelly

Aaron Novik — Grounded (Astral Editions)

Grounded by Aaron Novik

Aaron Novik is a clarinetist with an extensive background in jazz, klezmer, rock and in-between stuff, but you wouldn’t know any of that from listening to this tape. Its ten numbered instrumentals sound more derived from the sound worlds of 1970s PBS documentaries, Residents records of similar vintage, and Pop Corn’s fluke hit, “Pop Corn.” Recorded during the spring of 2020, when Novik’s new neighborhood, Queens, became NYC’s COVID central, it manifests coping strategy that many people learned well last year; when the outside world is fucked and scary, retreat to a room and then head down a rabbit hole. In this case, that meant sampling Novik’s clarinets and arranging them into perky, bobbing instrumentals. The sounds themselves aren’t processed, but it turns out that when recontextualized, long, blown tones and keypad clatter sound a lot like synths and mechanized beats. There’s a hint of subconscious longing in this music. While it was made in a time and place when many people didn’t leave the house, it sounds like just the thing for outdoor constitutionals with a Walkman.

Bill Meyer

Off Peak Arson — S-T (Self-released)

Self Titled by Off Peak Arson

Presumably named after the Truman's Water song — a fairly obscure name check, indeed — Off Peak Arson hail from Memphis, TN. Their debut EP's five songs are less reminiscent of their namesakes than of heavier, noisier bands like Zedek-era Live Skull, Dustdevils and Sonic Youth. Which is not a bad thing at all. The four-piece leverage the dual guitars to nicely intense effect, and with all four members contributing vocals there's a lot going on, at times blending an interesting sing-song pop feel with the twisty-noisy guitar. The band have a way of finding memorable hooks amidst sufficient cacophony to keep things challenging while also somehow catchy. Keep your ears open for more from this quartet.

Mason Jones

Barre Phillips / John Butcher / Ståle Liavik Solberg — We Met – And Then (Relative Pitch)

We met - and then by Phillips, Butcher, Solberg

In 2018, ECM Records issued End To End, a CD by double bassist Barre Phillips which capped a half-century of solo recording. You might expect this act to signal the winding down of the California-born, France-based improviser’s career; after all, he was born in 1934. And yet, in 2018 he played the first, but not the last, concert by this remarkable trio, which is completed by British soprano/tenor saxophonist John Butcher and Norwegian percussionist Ståle Liavik Solberg. Recorded in Germany and Norway during 2018 and 2019, this CD presents an ensemble whose members are strong in their individual concepts, but are also committed to making music that is completed by acts of collective imagination. The music is in constant flux, but purposeful. This intentionality is expressed not only through action, but through the conscious yielding of space, as though each player knows what openings will be best occupied by one of their comrades.

Bill Meyer

Round Eye — Culture Shock Treatment (Paper +Plastick)

“Culture Shock Treatment,” the lead-off track from this unhinged and ecletic album, swings like 1950s rock and roll, a sax frolicking in the spaces between sing-along choruses. And yet, the gleeful skronk goes a little past freewheeling, spinning off into chaos and wheeling back in again. Picture Mark Sultan trying to ride out the existential disorder of early Pere Ubu, add a horn line and step way back, because this is extremely unruly stuff. Round Eye, a band of expatriates now living in Shanghai, slings American heartlands oddball post-punk into unlikely corners. Frantic jackhammer hardcore beats (think Black Flag) assault free-from experimental calls and responses (maybe Curlew?) in “5000 Miles, “ and as a kicker, it’s a commentary on ethno-nationalist repression (“Thank…the country. Thank…the culture”). “I Am the Foreigner” hums and buzzes with exuberance, like a hard-edged B-52s, but it’s about the alienation that these Westerners most likely experience, every day in the Middle Kingdom. This is one busy album, exhausting really, a whac-a-mole entertainment where things keep popping out of holes and getting hammered back, but it is never, ever dull.

Jennifer Kelly

So Cow — Bisignis (Dandy Boy)

Bisignis by So Cow

This new So Cow record is a mood. Specifically, that mood during the third and “least fun” of Ireland’s lockdowns, when you head to your shed and bash out an album about everything that’s been lodged in your craw during a year of isolation — including, of all things, the crowd at a Martha Wainwright show (on “Requests”). And while sole Cow member Brian Kelly might have dubbed the record Bisignis, the Old English word for anxiety, it’s his discontent that takes center stage. “Talking politics with friends/Jesus Christ it never ends” Kelly sings on early highlight “Leave Group” before employing a guitar solo that could pass for some seriously fried bagpipes to help clear the room. This album takes the opposite approach of The Long Con, the project’s 2014 Goner Records one-off where So Cow made more complex moves towards XTC and Futureheads territory but obscured its greatest weapon: Kelly’s deadpan wit. And while a couple of these songs overstay their welcome with their sheer garage punk simplicity, others like “Somewhere Fast” work in the opposite way and win your ears over with repeat listens. “You are the reason I’m getting out of my own way,” Kelly sings, and in doing so has produced the project’s best full-length in a decade. So what? So Cow!

Chris Liberato

Taqbir — Victory Belongs to Those Who Fight for a Right Cause (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Victory Belongs To Those Who Fight For A Right Cause by Taqbir

In our super-saturated musical environment, another eight-minute, 7” record of scorching punk burners isn’t much of an event. But the appearance of Taqbir’s Victory Belongs to Those Who Fight for a Right Cause (the title is almost longer than the record itself) is at the very least a significant occurrence. The band comes from Morocco and features a woman out front, declaiming any number of contemporary socio-political ills. So there’s little wonder that the Internet isn’t bursting with info about Taqbir; you can find a Maximumrocknroll interview, some chatter about the record here and there, and not much else. It must take enormous courage to make music like this in Morocco, and even more to be a woman making music like this. The long reign of King Mohammed IV has edged the country toward marginal increments of cultural openness — if not thoroughgoing political reform — but conservative Islam and economic struggle are still dominant forces, combining to keep women relegated to submissive social roles. And the band is not fucking around: their name is a Moroccan battle cry, synonymous with “Alu Akbar!” Their repurposing of that slogan in support of their anti-traditionalist, anti-religious, anti-capitalist positions likely makes life in a place like Tangier or Casablanca pretty hard. The songs? They’re really good. Check out “Aisha Qandisha” (named for a folkloric phantasm that ambiguously mobilizes the feminine as murderous and rapacious monster): the music slashes and burns with just the right dash of melody, the vocals go from a simmer to a full-on rolling boil. Taqbir! y’all. Stay safe, stay strong and make some more records.

Jonathan Shaw

TOMÁ — Atom (Self-Release)

Atom by TOMÁ

Tomá Ivanov operates in interstices between smooth jazz and soul-infused electronics, splicing bits of torchy world traditions in through the addition of singers. You could certainly draw connections to the funk-leaning IDM of artists like Flying Lotus and Dam-Funk, where pristine instrumental sounds—strings, piano, percussion—meet the pop and glitch of cyber-soul. Guest artists flavor about half the tracks, pushing the music slightly off its center towards rap (“A Different You featuring I Am Tim”), quiet storm soul (“Outsight featuring Vivian Toebich”), falsetto’d art pop (“Catharsis featuring Lou Asril”) or dreaming soul-jazz experiments (“Blind War featuring Ben LaMar Gay”). Thoughout, the Bulgarian composer and guitarist paces expansive ambiences with shuffling, staggering beats, roughing up slick surfaces with just enough friction to keep things interesting.

Jennifer Kelly

The Tubs — Names EP (Trouble In Mind)

Names EP by The Tubs

“I don’t know how it works” declared The Tubs on their debut single, but they’re diving right in anyways on its follow-up, Names, with four songs that explore the self and self-other relationship. Their cover of Felt’s “Crystal Ball” tightens the musical tension of the original in places but still allows enough slack for singer Owen Williams to stretch the lyrical refrain — about the ability of another to see us better than we see ourselves — into a more melancholy shape than Lawrence. Of the EP’s three originals, Felt’s influence is most obvious in George Nicholls’ guitar work on “Illusion,” especially when the change comes and his lead spirals off Deebank-style behind Williams while he questions his connection to his own reflection. “Is it just an illusion staring back at me?” “The Name Song” is the longest one here at over three minutes, and in a similar way to The Feelies, it feels like it could go on forever, which might prove useful if Williams adds more names to his don’t-care-about list. “Two Person Love” is the best track of the bunch, though, with its classic sounding riff that swoops in and out allowing room for the chiming and chugging rhythm section to do the hard work. The relationship in the song might have been “pissed up the wall,” as Williams in his Richard Thompson-esque drawl puts it, but The Tubs certainly seem to have figured out how this music thing works.

Chris Liberato

Venus Furs — S-T (Silk Screaming)

Venus Furs by Venus Furs

Venus Furs sounds like band, but in fact, it’s one guy, Paul Krasner, somehow amassing the squalling roar of psychedelic guitar rock a la Brian Jonestown Massacre or Royal Baths all by himself. These songs have a large-scale swagger and layers and layers of effected guitars, as on the careening “Friendly Fire,” or hailstorm assault of “Paranoia.” A ponderous, swaying bass riff girds “Living in Constant.” Its nodding repetition grounds radiating sprays of surf guitar. You have to wonder how all this would play out in concert, with Krasner running from front mic to bass amp to drum kit as the songs unfold, but on record it sounds pretty good. Long live self-sufficiency.

Jennifer Kelly

Witch Vomit — Abhorrent Rapture (20 Buck Spin)

Abhorrent Rapture by Witch Vomit

Witch Vomit has one of the best names in contemporary death metal (along with Casket Huffer, Wharflurch and Snorlax — perversely inspired handles, all), and the Portland-based band has been earning increasing accolades for its records, as well. They are deserved. Witch Vomit plays fast, dense and dissonant songs, bearing the impress of Incantation’s groundbreaking (gravedigging?) records. Does that mean it’s “old school”? Song titles from the band’s previous LP Buried Deep in a Bottomless Grave (2019) certainly played to traditionalists’ tastes: “From Rotten Guts,” “Dripping Tombs,” “Fumes of Dying Bodies.” And so on. This new EP doesn’t indicate any significant changes in trajectory or tone, but the songwriting makes the occasional move toward melody. See especially the second half of “Necrometamorphosis,” which has a riff or two that one could almost call “pleasant.” If that seems paradoxical, check out the EP’s title. Is that an event, a gruesome skewing of Christianity’s big prize for the faithful? Or is it an affective state, in which abject disgust somehow builds to ecstatic transport? Who knows. For the band’s part, Witch Vomit keeps chugging, thumping and squelching along, doling out doleful songs like “Purulent Burial Mound.” Yuck. Sounds about right, dudes.

Jonathan Shaw

yes/and — s-t (Driftless Recordings)

yes/and by yes/and

This collaboration between guitarist Meg Duffy (Hand Habits) and producer Joel Ford (Oneohtrix Point Never) is an elusive collection of shape-shifting instrumentals. Each piece is built around Duffy’s guitar, yet the timbre and mood tends to switch dramatically between tracks. The album’s run-time is fairly evenly split between dark, atmospheric pieces, such as “More Than Love” and “Making A Monument,” and hopeful, glimmering miniatures, such as “Centered Shell” and the wonderfully titled “In My Heaven All Faucets Are Fountains.” “Learning About Who You Are” looms large at the album’s heart, as nearly eight minutes of hazy, wind-tunnel drone pulses and reverberates across the stereo space. Despite the variation in tone, each track stakes out its own territory in the tracklist, and it’s only “Tumble” that comes across as an unrealized idea. While it’s only half an hour, yes/and feels longer, its circuitous routes opening up all kinds of possibilities.

Tim Clarke

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milomeepit · 4 years

Text

An Untitled Document (Roman Angst Oneshot)

Ship: Roceit, background Analogical TW: Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence Word Count: 2k AN: ... yep.

Roman groaned as he tapped his fingers against the keyboard of his laptop. The sunlight streaming in through the window left a blinding white glare on the upper half of the screen, but he didn’t quite care enough to be bothered getting up and closing the curtain. He instead angled it down, sinking lower into the wooden dining chair. His back would surely complain later, but a shower would probably fix any aches or pains from the awkward position.

He wondered if he should get up and walk around for a bit, stretch his legs and give himself a break from his (apparently fruitless) efforts to work. But, then again, it seemed wrong to give himself a break when he hadn’t really done anything.

He had eaten breakfast- if cold leftover pizza and too-strong coffee counted as breakfast- and fed his pets. He’d even played with the cats for a while, and that had left a fleeting smile on his face as he sat down at the dining table with another cup of coffee and a bottle of soda to sip at while he worked.

The last dregs of coffee sat untouched in the cup, now cold and cloudy, while the soda was half-gone already. His teeth felt rough and slimy, coated in the absurd amounts of sugar from the unhealthy drink. The document on screen hadn’t changed since he sat down an hour and a half ago, the cursor blinking and taunting him. Sure, he’d written and rewritten and deleted a few hundred words, but nothing he’d written seemed good enough.

Writing was supposed to be his passion, the thing he could still grab and hold close to his chest when things got rough. It was all he had left at this point. He couldn’t dance anymore, not with the weak knees he’d inherited from his mother, and his own growing ankle issues from several years of working on his feet for whole days with no breaks. He couldn’t remember the last time he performed a song or in a play, the foggy memories of hot stage lights and elaborate costumes and giggling, whispered conversations in dressing rooms now leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Drawing and painting was an option, still, but they were never really his, not after the ridicule he’d received through highschool from one particularly sharp-tongued art teacher.

Roman’s stomach growled, and he grimaced, glancing at the clock. Only eleven o’clock. He couldn’t eat until one, at the very least. He couldn’t let himself slip into comfort eating again, not when he still had a generously padded belly, not when flab swung off the bottom of his arms, not when his back fat poked unattractively out of the bottom of his binder, not when-

He shook his head, as if to clear it like one of the Etch A Sketch boards his nephew loved. He was in a bad enough headspace right now without spiralling down into a dysphoric, self-body-hating hellscape.

He instead turned his attention back to his phone, which sat on the table between him and his laptop, and continued scrolling blankly through social media. Memes and posts and videos flashed past his eyes, some of them drawing a faint smirk or an amused huff. He sent a few to Dee. He was well aware that his fiance was at work, but some of them would hopefully give him a smile when he went on break later.

He set his phone down again and took an absentminded swig from the bottle of soda. He winced as it grated against his teeth, the sugar almost hurting his teeth as it swirled down his throat. He ran his tongue over his teeth, prodding at them gently. He hissed sharply as he got to the loose one at the bottom of his mouth. Adults probably weren’t meant to have loose teeth, he thought to himself. He probably needed to see a dentist. When he could afford it. If he could afford it.

11:11am. Roman spent a few seconds trying to think of a wish, but before his mind could grasp a solid thought, the clock ticked over, and the moment was gone. It was all rubbish, anyway. Wishes didn’t come true, and life was cruel to those who didn’t deserve it. Dee was one of the best people he’d ever met, and certainly his favourite, yet he was a ball of anxiety and guilt complexes. He deserved to feel confident about himself, to love his laugh and his soft tummy and his small stature that put him at the perfect height for cuddling, to love his loud way of speaking and his passion for those he cared about. Roman certainly loved them, more than words could say.

He was jolted from his thoughts by his phone buzzing with a message from Dee. He must have been on break already. Roman had yet to pin down the break times scattered throughout his shift, so he never knew exactly when his beloved would be online during the day.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: good morning darling <3 how did you sleep? cocoa_crowns [11:16]: hi, love <33 alright, how’s work going? snakememesaremadeofthese [11:16]: oh, you know, same old same old. It’s.. a day pft snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: what are you up to? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: nothing much really, just dishes and laundry

That was a complete lie, but Roman couldn’t quite face telling Dee he hadn’t touched the chores they discussed last night. He fully intended to do them before Dee got home, that was for certain! Just... not right now.

snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: so, are you working this weekend or? cocoa_crowns [11:17]: i havent gotten a shift request yet so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ snakememesaremadeofthese [11:17]: all good, that means we can stay home over my long weekend, do some cleaning and stuff.

Roman let out a soft whine. He’d honestly been hoping that he would get a job request for the weekend, between rough finances and missing his older brother. Logan seemed happy to let them stay at his and Virgil’s house over the weekend when Roman was working, though that was likely because Roman was working for Virgil.

At least Dee usually didn’t seem to mind hanging out at their place while Roman was working. He spent most of his time with Logan and Virgil’s three year old son, Patton. Patton, for his part, adored Dee as if he’d hung the moon and stars in the sky with his own hand. It was cute to see, even if a tiny part of Roman stung with jealousy over being replaced as Patton’s favourite. He genuinely did love seeing the two of them cuddled up on the couch together, playing with toys or watching TV or talking.

It made him excited for the idea of having children, in all honesty. Dee had made his desire to one day have kids clear pretty early on, and Roman had to say he agreed. For a long time, he hated the idea of having children- mostly because he didn’t want to be pregnant, the very idea of it set off his dysphoria like an alarm bell- but he didn’t mind the idea of raising a child with Dee.

Speaking of... he turned back to the computer, squinting at the bright white screen. It was meant to be a story about adoption and found families and unconditional love and hope, but... he just couldn’t get it to click. No matter what he wrote, the tone didn’t feel right for what he was trying to hit. It was just... Wrong, and he hated himself for it.

Writing was meant to be the one thing. His thing. But it just wouldn’t flow, no matter how hard he tried, or what tips and tricks he tested out, or how many breaks he took, or what projects he tried to work on. He loved these stories and characters with his whole heart, and he knew people would be interested in this story- after all, he’d gotten a great reception from the first installment in his planned series. He could talk about them for hours, gush about his plans and ideas and characters, but when it came to actually writing them?

Not a chance.

His heart ached. He felt like he was spinning in the same circles as he had been for months. New house, an (ex boyfriend) friend turned vaguely irritating housemate, new pets, a possible new job that would pay well but he was certain he would loathe- despite Dee’s company during breaks- all of these changes were throwing him off rhythm, and while he was sure that they were for the best, and long term, they would help him live a Happy Life, it was upsetting.

A small, shameful part of him wanted to go home. Not home back to the shared house he had been miserable in, despite only living there for a few short months, not home back to Logan and Virgil’s house, but back to the house he grew up in. It was filthy and toxic, and the people there weren’t much better, but it was familiar. It was regular. He knew how to navigate the treacherous landscape of rotting food left piled in the kitchen, of insults screamed over minute irritations, of the stench from medical issues improperly treated, of prescription medications abused and leaving the mother who was meant to protect him in a drug induced haze, of his father bellowing and throwing things and breaking precious objects and walls (and, in some terrifying cases, people), of the two middle brothers fighting and not understanding why it upset him so. He knew how to try and keep the peace, and how to cope when he failed, as was so often the case in that household. He knew who to talk to and who to avoid in that neighborhood, who to run to if he got in a fight, who to stand up against and who to back down from. The scars from knife wounds in his youth had taught him lessons more valuable than his rundown school ever had.

He didn’t realise that he was crying until a fat tear plopped onto the dining table, narrowly missing his phone screen. He hated that he missed it. He hated that he missed his father, despite swearing off contact with him after coming away from their last conversation with a black eye. He hated that both he and Logan were deliberately keeping their mother at arm’s length, trying to save themselves from the pain of her likely-approaching death. He hated that his other brothers were good people, people he loved, and he couldn’t even go near them anymore out of fear for their parents.

Roman glanced at the clock blinking in the lower corner of his computer screen. An hour and a half had passed since Dee had messaged him, and he hadn’t moved from his slouched position at the dining table. He probably had roughly three hours to do everything else he needed to do before Dee got home. That should be plenty of time. Should be.

He noticed numbly that he hadn’t yet changed out of his pyjamas, just thrown on the cat hoodie he’d bought at a convention a few years ago to show it to the kittens and see if they would cuddle up in the large pocket on the front. He probably needed to shower, as well. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bathed.

... Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He knew he’d had a bath at least semi-recently, because he remembered using one of the bath bombs that he and Dee had gotten at the pharmacy near Logan’s house the other weekend.

He twisted a finger into his hair, pulling his fringe down over his eyes to inspect it. It didn’t feel too greasy, and it looked fine. He was probably fine. Though he should at least wash his face, to deal with his blotchy cheeks and red eyes, if nothing else. Maybe slap on some makeup and go for a walk in the pleasant weather outside. Take the dog with him, wander around town a bit.

As he stared out the window at Dee’s dog, who was sprinting wildly up and down her tether, probably chasing some bug or lizard, he felt his heart sink. He knew he wasn’t going to do any of that. Pipe dreams for someone with far more energy and functionality than he possessed lately.

So, instead, trying his best to ignore the looming sense of dread he felt, and the anxiety he could feel building over Dee’s return and subsequent disappointment over his lack of productivity, he turned his still tear-blurred gaze back to the too-bright screen of the laptop, readied his fingers over the keyboard, and attempted once again to write.

Depression, anxiety, past abuse mention, unhealthy habits, dysphoria mention, brief eating disorder, death mention, bad family past, brief past mention of violence

#milo writes #roman sanders #sanders sides #deceit sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #roceit #analogical #depression #dysphoria mention #death mention #violence mention #anxiety #fanfic #fanfiction #thomas sanders #fun fact roman cried because i did :)#fun fact the second i pretty much want to die right now :)

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thewritewolf · 5 years

Text

Rekindle Chapter 16: Ghosts

The day after their defeat of Hawkmoth.

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@marichatmay

Enjoy!

Read on Ao3

The morning lights filtered in through the windows, forcing Marinette to accept that the day had begun. Still mostly asleep, she groped blindly toward the other half of the bed, searching for the familiar source of warmth that had helped her sleep so soundly last night. When she didn’t find it, she sat up on her elbows and blew aside an errant lock of hair with an irritated huff. Excluding herself, the bed was empty.

Had it all been a dream? No - his overshirt and shoes were cast aside at the foot of the bed. He’d at least been here. And unless he intended to go walking around in his bare feet, then he was still here. She sniffed the air hopefully, but couldn’t smell any delicious scents, much to her disappointment. Although maybe that was to be expected. She certainly wouldn’t have felt in the mood for cooking if that all had happened to her.

She rolled over to plant her feet on the ground and forced herself out of bed. There was a lot to do in the newly Hawkmoth-less world. She hesitated as she looked down the hall at the guest room. Maybe he had gotten up in the middle of the night to sleep alone? Poking her head in, she saw the bed was still perfectly made and waiting for a guest. So he’d spent the night with her. Her heart fluttered before remembering why he’d had to stay at all.

The living room was as she remembered it last night - restored by the Ladybug Cure, but blankets left astrew from their impromptu movie marathon.

“Adrien?” She softly called his name, not wanting to alert the neighbors. “Are you there?”

“Marinette?” Tikki replied. She turned around to track its source and found her kwami sitting on top of an envelope in the kitchen, working her way through a cookie only slightly smaller than herself. “They left before I woke up. But they left a note!” She floated off of the envelope as Marinette walked over to pick it up.

The message was simple and frustratingly vague: “I’ll be back tonight. Discovered something about Hawkmoth.”

She frowned at that. Hawkmoth. Not dad, or father, or even Gabriel. Hawkmoth. Before she could dwell on it further, her eyes widened and she frantically looked around. The Butterfly miraculous was missing!

Taking a deep breath, Marinette forced herself to calm down and think things through. “Tikki. Can kwami appear if there isn’t a wielder of their miraculous?”

Tikki considered this for a long moment. “Well, yes, but we don’t like to. It is super tiring because it means we have to manifest without a living anchor in this world.” She nibbled a little at her cookie, looking pensive. “Do you think that Nooroo spoke to Adrien?”

“Nooroo? That’s the name of the butterfly kwami?” At Tikki’s nod, Marinette continued. “I don’t see why else Adrien would take the butterfly miraculous. But I don’t understand what Nooroo could’ve told Adrien that would make him leave without saying goodbye.”

Putting a comforting paw on Marinette’s cheek, Tikki replied, “I’m sure he had a good reason. Chat Noir wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

Marinette flashed a smile at Tikki’s concern. “I know. But thanks for saying it. It makes me feel a little better. Especially with what we have to do next.” Marinette ran her fingers through her hair and suddenly realized how dirty she felt. Even if the sweat and grim had been cleaned off by the Ladybug Cure, she’d feel better after a shower. “Finish up your cookie. We need to talk with the mayor and call a press meeting.”

And if Adrien wasn’t back after that was over… then she’d let herself start to worry. But for now, she put on a brave face and got cleaned up. Who knows? Maybe she would meet someone new today.

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

Adrien entered his childhood home, just another shadow among many. The mansion’s defenses hadn’t been difficult to weave through. They were like an old friend to him, a hurdle he would have to constantly evade back during his teenage years. Only slightly more arduous to get around was the police sentry posted outside, but even then, the early morning ensured the guard wasn’t exactly at the top of his game.

Maybe they didn’t have a warrant yet, or maybe their lingering fear of Hawkmoth kept them from entering. Either way, only his footfalls echoed in the spacious halls, halls that felt even emptier without Gabriel’s presence looming over everything like an omnipresent shadow. Finding himself in the foyer, he looked up at the giant painting Hawkmoth had commissioned shortly after the disappearance of Emilie Agreste.

Disappearance. Adrien remembered Gabriel’s very careful choice of words, remembered how he had brushed it off at the time as him just being a strange person. Even years later, Adrien just thought that Gabriel hadn’t given up on finding his wife someday. That he was unable to move on.

His claws hands clenched into a fist. He hadn’t been entirely wrong. Gabriel hadn’t been able to move on, but that was partially because he had known something that Adrien didn’t. Something he had kept hidden from Adrien for ten years. Something that Nooroo had told Adrien after forcing himself outside the tainted miraculous. Emilie Agreste, Adrien’s mother and the wife of the person who would become Hawkmoth was alive… at least for now.

Adrien climbed the staircase and entered Gabriel’s study. Just as he remembered it, a painting of his mother hung on the wall at the back of the room. Years ago, he had discovered a safe containing the miraculous book behind it. But there was more to it than that. Pressing the hidden buttons that Nooroo had described, Adrien felt a brief rush of panic as he sunk through the floor and ended up inside an underground facility.

All his questions faded away to background noise when he saw her, resting peacefully inside a sarcophagus of glass and metal. She didn’t look a day older than how he remembered her, wearing her favorite white suit with a vibrant rose attached to her lapel. Her expression was serene, as if she was sleeping. Or was he sleeping and this was just another dream of his, the sort that he had stopped having a few years after she had vanished?

Before he could find a way to pinch himself through the suit, a tiny but ragged voice sounded near his ear. “She doesn’t have long left.”

His head jerked to the side, where he saw Nooroo, looking at him with weary eyes. He hadn’t even considered that kwami could become sick, but those doubts were put aside when he took in how frail Nooroo looked, the way that his big kwami eyes had bags under them, the way he shivered in the chill of the underground. Nooroo was looking even worse than he had before, when he had woken Adrien up in the early hours of the morning.

His words caught up to Adrien. “What do you mean? Isn’t she fine while she is in there?”

Nooroo shook his head sadly and Adrien heart dropped. “The machine is effective, but imperfect. Her sickness has advanced through the years. On the tenth anniversary of her internment, she will succumb to the infection.”

“Sickness? Infection?” He fought to keep his voice from breaking. It was hard to grasp that his mother was still alive, making it all the more painful that she was about to be ripped from him all over again. He was starting to get tired of all the tears.

“Gabriel and her used to run across the rooftops of Paris, using the miraculous not for evil but for simple pleasure.” Nooroo sighed. “But Duusu’s miraculous had been damaged during the Fall. It wasn’t safe to use. We tried to tell them but...” Nooroo looked over at the still form of Emilie. “...They didn’t listen.”

“So… Gabriel somehow built this,” Adrien gestured to the wires and tubes leading into the machine, “and put mom in it. Right?” Nooroo nodded. “Can’t I just get her out now, take her to Master Fu? There is still a week until the anniversary. That should be plenty of time to heal her, right?”

Nooroo watched him with sad eyes. “I’m so sorry, Adrien. She will last a week inside the machine, or maybe an hour or two outside of it. Even if she did live a week, there is nothing Master Fu can do. The infection is beyond mortal power to heal. There is only one thing that could possibly save her now.”

Adrien looked at his ring and frowned, deep in thought.

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

As much as Marinette would love to have Chat Noir by her side right now, it was for the best that he didn’t see the crowd of reporters gathered in front of her. Most were wearing bright smiles and there was an excited energy arcing around the space. And why shouldn’t they be excited? Their long nightmare was finally at an end.

She clamped down on her nervousness, remembering the lessons Chat Noir had given her way back near the beginning of their superhero career. Deep breaths. Stay focused. She had always been curious about how he knew so much about making public appearances. Now she knew.

“Citizens of Paris!” The voice of Ladybug cut through the chatter, silencing conversations immediately. “Hawkmoth, now known to be Gabriel Agreste, has been defeated for good. I am in possession of his miraculous and he is now in police custody.” She allowed them to cheer before she continued. “I will now be answering questions by the press, but keep in mind that some things must remain secret.”

“Was Gabriel Agreste working alone? Do you know if his son or any of his employees were involved?”

Marinette’s heart leapt to her throat before she got her feelings under control. It was a question she had been anticipating, but not so soon. Still, she rolled out the answer she and Tikki had prepared.

“I can only say for certain that Nathalie Sancoeur had some involvement in Hawkmoth’s plans, as evidenced by her willful assistance during last night’s battle. Adrien Agreste, meanwhile, we believe to be completely innocent of his father’s wrongdoings.”

“And where is Adrien Agreste?”

Showtime. “Since we believe he may be in danger, Adrien agreed to be hidden for his own protection. Chat Noir and I believe that this is the ideal solution for the time being. Rest assured that he is being looked after.” Hopefully that would buy time for everything to die down a little before Adrien returned to the public eye. The reporters jotted down her answer, not fully pleased with it, but at least accepting it.

The questions continued to come, but nothing made her react the way that the first one had. Some she had to turn down entirely - where the miraculous would go or how they intended to track down Nathalie, for instance.

All the while, worry gnawed at her in the back of her mind.

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

“Hey, Adrien,” she settled next to where he sat on the stairs in the foyer of his old home, in the shadow of a horribly dour painting of his father and him. His head was in his clawed hands as he stared at the ground.

He seemed startled at the sound of his own name and looked over at her with red rimmed eyes and a wavering smile. “Hey, Mari. How’d you find me here?”

She dropped her transformation and wrapped an arm around his and wiped away his tears with the cuffs of her sleeves. “It wasn’t hard. Where else would you have gone? And with the Butterfly miraculous too.”

“I could’ve taken it to Master Fu,” he offered feebly.

“Then you would’ve taken me with you.” She cupped his cheek and smiled sadly. “Sorry, kitty. I don’t want you to be alone.”

He swallowed heavily. “I found out what Hawkmoth was trying to do.”

“Was it something to do with your mother?” It was an educated guess. What else would Gabriel Agreste, the fabulously successful and rich fashion star, want?

“Yeah…” He stared off into the distance again before looking around the foyer. “You know, this place used to be my whole world. I rarely ever got to leave when I wasn’t doing stuff for his business. I didn’t mind much at the time, though. I didn’t know anything different. Besides, mom was there, so even if it wasn’t lively, it was warm and welcoming.”

She just watched and held onto him. It was clearly something he needed to get off his chest.

“We had a funeral for her three years ago. There hadn’t been any sign of her for years, so we just gave up hope.” He scowled. “Not Gabriel though. Refused to go to the funeral, so I had to go alone, see family I’d never met before and try to explain why he hadn’t show up to his own wife’s funeral.”

There was a long silence between them before Marinette said, “I’m sorry about your parents, Adrien. Your mother sounds amazing. I’m wish I could’ve talked to her, thanked her for raising such a good son.”

Adrien turned to look at her with those wide Chat eyes and for a moment she was worried she said something wrong. Then, he smiled. It was small, but it was genuine and heartfelt. “Come with me, Mari. There's someone I want you to meet.”

#MarichatMay2019 #Miraculous Ladybug #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Ladybug #Marichat #Tikki #Nooroo #ml fanfiction #my writing #Rekindle

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sommer-rain · 7 years

Text

This day has gone fast, but it has been a very good day.

Went to my homeopath’s building to a course in practicing how to paint Mandala paintings by the same artists who’ve made the two paintings i’ve mentioned earlier that i bought.

It began 11:00 o’clock to 16:00 o’clock. The time went so fast it felt like it could very well only be 14 o’clock rather than 16 when my dad picked me up.

It was really fun and i had a nice time, not being frustrated or getting hooked up on anything i painted. I felt like home. Not like i would feel like i wouldn’t have a good time being on the Evening Painters but this, This was just different! -Everyone was engaged in painting mandalas and all the nifty and interesting things Britt-Marie Löf mentioned and told us about-

, just getting all loose on it, making patterns, abstract and colorful, that’s all me! :D

We all got two canvases each to paint, so we could switch between them when we needed how parts of either of the two paintings to dry enough to continue. I actually like to go with that too when i paint initially too. -We didn’t talk so much, at least in the way that no one was able to loose concentration, but then we all were so concentrated in our painting we almost didn’t eat the lunch we had taken with us!

I find funny that i’m like a freaking perfectionist but i never complained and had no difficulty of any of it through the whole time and didn’t bother at all about getting things so perfect. You really don’t need to - actually rather not making things on the motive(s) being perfectly made circles and whatever other stuff and patterns you make on your paintings getting a more personal touch to it. Don’t go about trying to paint a motive you’ve thought out before but just start paint and don’t think. Let the the colors and hand decide that. As said “what will/suppose to happen, happens!” It really isn’t as hard as one believe if you just stop go about “trying”. It happens by itself and it can be so fun and satisfying nd releaving painting mandalas!

-Back to what i meant to say - i found it funny me not having hard time dealing with what and how to make the paintings when my Homeopath herself was the one being too perfectionistic and not enough pleased with how her painting (she had only one canvas, apparently) came out tho we all asured her it was all fine and she’s being too picky again on herself. I’m not finding reason for her to be that just because she said had never really painted before (you know, except when you were child and only got to use crappy cheap watercolors that can’t even be counted because it’s not “serious painting” in that age, at least to me), because she had got all the information she needed already to understand the easy principles we all new and others in the small group (it’s not a big room so we didn’t have more room for more attendants anyway. We were perhaps just seven ppl, included the artist herself holding it, too) and as i know my homeopath i’ve hard thinking her that much of a perfectionist, not when coming to these things at least. Not like it made me demotivated or bother me in any actual way but i’m usually the one being like that - but worse over things i paint, being hard to get satisfied enough. If even i can assimilate to something like this it can’t be so hard.

Everyone’s paintings was interesting and so unique and differents from painter to painter! They all had such great motives and color scheme! :D

Tho, i still didn’t really got to finish my two paintings, but almost. (probably because i’m naturally focusing much not getting things precise(not saying i’m trying to be perfect about it)) Gotta finish them of perhaps tomorrow. -I think i overdone a bit the second canvases’ background, because i got so much going on on it that i well could have just havig it finished like that if it wasn’t that i were supposed to have a mandala (or more than just one) on it.

I wasn’t nervous at all there. I was a bit worried i would feel nervous or anxious being in a group with people i’ve never seen before an a course about something i hadn’t been on before. I do know about mandalas before, but not so deep just.

I stayed home at dad for a few hours until half 18~ around before i got back to my apartment. -She’s having another course, about something else next weekend too, same place but i’m not sure IF i’ll go tho i’d like to but i have to think a bit on my money. This course, with canvases, paint and brushes that the artists took to the course and a few other things already it was quite expensive. -The course coming is about..half of the price or whatever than this one but still quite expensive too. I’ve spent my money quite alot these last recent weeks so i’m gonna wait a bit before i’m gonna buy/pay other things than bills and groceries. At least this coming week.

I’m sure i’ve missed mentioning something still but it’s too late this night to remember it now. Gotta sleep.

Goodnight

#Painting #painting mandalas #Mandala #Art #Course #Personal #Weekend

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1474683809-blog · 5 years

Text

A keen 👁 for Art and Design

I believe that to be asked at the age of 16 what direction in life you want to take is an impossible decision to make. For the past five years since me leaving high school, I have been indecisive on what route I would like to take. From attempting A levels, to Sport and Exercise science, to Hairdressing, I have never quite found a career course I find more to be a hobby than a ‘job’ when qualified. I have dabbled in Personal Training, Hairdressing, bar work, Working within a swimming pool, Administration… you name it I have tried it. After endless, sleepless nights of questioning what to do with my life, feeling disillusioned, I came to the realization that to thoroughly enjoy a career for the rest of my long life, it must be something I am truly in love with. Something I am passionate about, something that inspires me to get out of bed every morning. I believe that if you’re going to be within a job for many of years, you are to enjoy it, want to get up and go there. Get that morning coffee on your way to work. Enjoy what you do and who you do it with, as your job takes up a big percentage of your life, so why just coast along and ‘settle’. Life is so much more than that. Life is precious and for many, close-mindedness is a weakness. A few years ago I felt I had hit a brick wall. I felt empty, useless and felt I had no meaning. I woke up every day to go to a college course I threw myself into because I didn’t know what else to do. Taking myself to college day in day out with lack of ambition, to then go to a part time job I despised being at to help provide for myself. I continuously felt drained and tired, getting myself into bed as soon as I got home ready to wake up for the same old boring routine the next day. I felt empty. It was time for a change.

I started to recollect all of my joyous memories as far as I could remember, and that’s when it clicked. I have always been driven with art and design. From the age of 8, I remember my mother having the painters round; I rudely interrupted and gave my opinion, ‘PINK’. I fascinated over the painters splodging blick barbie pink on my walls. I then went over this paint with nail varnish and had a go myself, mesmerised by such vibrant colours. Although this got me in trouble... I did not feel one bit guilty, I remember the pleasure I got front explosively slashing colours onto my walls.

Throughout the years, without any acknowledgement, I have always enjoyed painting, designing, sculpting, creating collages of art work, creating mood boards, experimenting with colours and textures, using hairdryers, tea bags, mud and sand to create different creations and many other categories that fall under art and design.

My expression for design became clear to me when I started to design my mother’s home. Unfortunately my mother suffers with muscular dystrophy, a progressive weakening of the muscles, which leaves me as the handy man. When I was 14, I took it upon myself to rip my bedroom carpet up with a kitchen knife, (messy business) stripped the walls from paper and painted everything white, giving myself a blank canvas. Letting my imagination run wild and getting creative with colour schemes, furnishings and painting, I can easily say as a 14 year old, this was the best day ever. For my mother on the other hand, when she received a text saying ‘where’s the drill’ that’s when she realised I was getting far too confident so she called it a day at work and came home before I turned the house into a pile of bricks. I managed to turn my dull, outdated room into a room I was proud of. I used to walk out of my room, close the door behind and walk right back in to look at the work I had create for the first time, again and again and again.

As the years past, without realizing my passion for design, I transformed the entire house, from wall to wall, floor to floor, all to my mother’s and my taste. It started off as one room… one day my mother mentioned she wanted tartan carpeted stairs. (Our house was very out dated, basic and to my preference… boring!) And that was it, I was off! Visiting local show rooms, B&Q, IKEA, local furnishing stores (I spent hours getting lost in these stores, and often go to these stores to ‘browse’… they’re my guilty pleasure), all to find inspiration on how I would like to of designed a hall way with a tartan carpet. With a great sense of self achievement, I completed this, and a greater satisfaction seeing my Cheshire cat of a mother’s reaction. I had to take into consideration my mother’s needs within the living spaces of the house, as she can not get around the house easily, therefore I could not be buying ornaments that could become obstacles or pick out wall features such as low shelves that could become hazardous. With deep thought and careful planning, I created a black and white themed hall way. A black silk banister, crystal white walls, black and grey tartan carpet (I won’t take credit for carpet laying as I did not, however I did rip up the previous carpet with a stanly knife again..), and the finishing touches that I knew would be catered to my mother’s fancy. Such as thimble cases... every country/town/state we travel to, we colllect a thimble, so I bought some old vintage thimble cases and sprayed them gloss black to put up on the wall. To me, it’s the thought process towards each design that is key.

After completing my GCSE’s, I went on to do A levels. I chose Art, Photography, Geography and English Literature. During my studying at Baines College, I found myself drawn to the Art department permanently. Whenever I had a free period to study, I would choose to spend this time within the art building, experimenting new drawings, paintings and designs. Exploring new materials, textures and ways of creating art in my own unique practice. From using mesh to print Hydrangeas with melted crayon, to using fine coloured pens to draw on laminated clear sheets, to using different types of papers, fabrics, wax and many other materials to create and craft art. I felt comfort and contentment when I based myself in the art building. I felt lost within my own world and loathed leaving to attend another subject. Unfortunately, due to ill-health (repetitive Tonsillitis), I was unable to completed AS level. Luckily the year after, I finally got them taken out!

Even though I did not finish the qualifications, I believe Art gave me a lot of in-depth knowledge and experience about how to channel my inner-creativity and adapt to new and unique artistic potentials. From life-drawing, to capturing pictures of scenery, buildings, nature and up-close in-depth pictures from different lightings and angles, and transforming these into my own inventions/creations. Using these pictures to let my imagination expand and create work that I was proud of. I cherished every opportunity I had getting my hands soiled in art and design. My interest grew and grew, to the point I would stay at college after hours (until they kicked me out) to draw and paint. I would then take my art book home and continue to discover artists of all different backgrounds and abilities, such as contemporary artists like Wolf Kahn, who I took inspiration from to create my own work. A visual artist named Gerhard Richter who created uplifting abstract art that assisted with me visualizing how to construct my own. One particular artist of the name Robert Rauschenberg (pop artist) caught my eye. He created several individual pieces and intertwined them onto one piece, creating a mood board of creations. I took a liking to his work, as it interested me how he took buildings, instruments and objects, and meshed them as one, making the viewer question in a greater depth as to what the message/meaning is behind the art. This artist gave me the incentive to create art in a more experimental approach, using different sceneries and designs, and creating one collage from them all. From all of the artists I researched, my all-time favourite was Georgia O’Keefe and Anita Nowinska, two artists inspired by nature. I adored their work, and even better so creating this type of work myself. Using water colours, pastels, acrylic etc and getting neck deep in imaginative art drove such a passion in my heart I just can’t ignore it! I created multiple types of art inspired by Georgia and Anita and have a sense of self-love when looking back at my art work.

Throughout my college course, myself and my peers would always help each other with ideas and how to get going. More often than not, we would be given group projects, such as ‘The Grand Theatre’ located in Blackpool. This project required myself and five other peers to collectively group pictures, designs and detail of the building, and take that back to the drawing room. We then as a whole came up with the idea to split the Theatre into five sections. Each peer had one section and it was then decided each section would be recreated differently. I created my fifth as a ‘pop out’ look using papier mache, with bright oil pastels. Another peer used water colour, and another used materials to create their fifth of the building. Once completed, we collated all five pieces of work together to create a whole, which was then exhibited in the main hall of the school.

Following on from my uncompleted art course, I went on to complete sport and exercise science, which half way through the course, I concluded that there was something missing….art! Throughout this course, I would often go home and draw, and get a feel-good feeling that I felt I had been lacking since leaving my previous college due to ill-health. I decided I had to finish this course as I did not want to waste my time and I did not want to fail nor did I have an excuse to, I had my tonsils removed. During my second year of attendance to this course, I decided this was not enough for me. So I explored my options and decided to do a part-time level 2 course in hairdressing based in Lancaster alongside. This course was two week nights each week. I thoroughly enjoyed this course and recently I had realized the reasoning behind this was due to it being creative. Colouring, cutting, shaping, texturizing and styling all different hair types, came with such satisfaction when the client showed appreciation for my unique styling that I catered and adapted to each individual. I believe that when I was hairdressing, my imagination and creativeness was set free again. I also believe this helped me realise that I had a such a highly-driven character for art and design, as I completed these two courses within the same year, alongside two other part time jobs to fund myself, and I did not feel this was too heavy upon myself, as I found enjoyment out of being busy and always having my hands full. I never found myself at a lost cause when being so busy, it allowed my mind to run wild with imagination.

Once I completed my level 2 hairdressing with flying colours, I decided to convert the spare room in our home into a salon. From the several skills I obtained in my previous experiences of designing and my art course, I transferred these to me designing another room. The walls were bright blue, with an orange carpet and oak coloured woodwork. There was also a sofa that had been left in the room, that I could not remove as a whole as it was FAR too big to get out of the door way... so I spent over 2 hours manually sawing the sofa in half... crazy I know, but it was great fun and my mother found it entertaining. I had to overcome obstacles regarding the logistics of hairdressing, such as the washing of hair and styling tools/colouring station. I took all of this into account and researched equipment, for example, a portable sink with drainage adaptations. I had to think carefully about my needs as a hairdresser, and used my intuition to create a fully functional home-based hair salon. I decided to paint the walls and oak woodwork white, to give a clinical feel, but then add a feature wall to give the salon a stylish, modernized look. Using furnishing of a matching style, to create an overall professional salon. To me, it’s the little details that matter, it’s the little things that add just that little bit of jazz. For example, I decided to buy two plain storage boxes, one small one large. The small one was to hold my business cards, the large to hold my client record cards. But of course I couldn’t have plain boxes… I went to hobby craft and bought different items to personalize and decorate these boxes to my acquired taste. This taught me that I can look into occupation within a space, and adapt my design to the need of the occupation and individual. It is all down to the very finest of detail for me, I even designed my own business cards! - I felt a pleasure like no other before when creating and designing this room, the transformation in my opinion was outstanding and my satisfactory rate was through the roof!

Throughout the years, I had never noticed my keen eye for art and design, until I started fixing the jig saw together. Once I fit all the pieces together, the picture was crystal clear, I want to become a designer. I have always had great interest for art and design without even realising, and to me, that is what everyone should take on board, reflecting on life itself and identifying passions carried through the years. My ambition in life is to become a designer of all interiors. I follow many design pages on instagram, from ‘love to be home interiors’ who design homes, to ‘Van life explores’ who design the interior and exterior of camper vans for travelers. This particular page stuck out to me... I have a goal in mind that I want to one day achieve, and that is setting up my own business, buying old unwanted camper vans and creating them into a gorgeous living space for people to rent all across the globe. I have always loved to travel and am always for up new explorations around the world, there’s so much to offer out there, so many different cultures and backgrounds, why stay in one place? What better way to explore the world than to do it in an extravagant camper van? That is my goal!

My ambition is to turn my passion into a career and become a designer of interiors of camper vans, which to me sounds more like a paid hobby. I feel that I now know I am aware of exactly what career path I want to take and the direction I know I need to head in. I will be sure to share this passion and creative imagination throughout this blog, as I believe one person’s passion can be another’s inspiration, and I believe I have yet, a lot to learn from many other like-minded explorers.

Dream big am I right?

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