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#Gertrude Stein
nobrashfestivity · 3 months
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Nice cover on Gertrude Stein, Portrait of Mabel Dodge at the Villa Curonia, Firenze, 1912
Artist unknown
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thesuperheroesnetwork · 7 months
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Texts From Superheroes
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morgleaf · 1 month
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from page 10 of tender buttons by gertrude stein
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sundaynightlive · 9 months
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Fresh Night Air [Book was there, it was there…](Greatwise)
Disclaimers: No age gap shit. They’re 16 and 17 respectively.
Also: I do not hate Mike or any of Will’s friends—I’m just exploring the way they might tip toe around him after all the shite he’s been through.
Realistically: I ship Byler. But I like healthy love interests MOST and whatever’s going on in ST right now is not that, so why not throw a Gareth in there?
If it’s not your thing, I get it :) I only wanted to write a sweet little happy-Will fic with LIGHT angst for like two seconds. If you’re going, have a good rest of your day <3 peace and love darlings.
If you’re staying, enjoy :)
“Gareth Emerson,” the boy introduces, and Will shakes his hand over the table. He’s still a little pissed about his friends joining another party while he was in California, but when’s the last time Mike took anything Will said seriously, ever?
He shouldn’t be surprised.
They sit back down—across from each other, no less—and turn their attention to Eddie now that they’ve all been decently acquainted. The DM claps his hands together and rubs his palms excitedly—despite Will’s initial annoyance at being completely and utterly betrayed, he actually really likes Eddie, fangs and all. He’s cool, he’s nice, and he’s the only Upside Down monster that doesn’t wanna kill or eat any of them, save for the occasional half-cup of blood that seems to satisfy him completely.
They had all been astounded at the convenience of that—blood being so filling.
Or maybe Eddie’s affliction hadn’t fully taken by the time they got his body out of the Upside Down and a troupe of federal scientists pumped him full of drugs—they aren’t totally sure.
Either way, he’s a sad excuse for a vampire, and a completely awesome dungeon master.
“Good evening, intrepid heroes, and welcome to my eighth,” Eddie pauses, as if he’s in awe of that number himself, “And best campaign yet. Drumroll, please!” Will starts a little as the boys around him (plus Erica) begin to pound on the table with their fists. Will joins them after a moment, allowing himself to grin both at the nerdiness, and the undeniable giddy excitement that’s filling his chest and shoulders.
Eddie uses his hands to push his feet up on his seat—his throne, really—and then stands, throwing his arms out wide—
“Plight of the Hellwalkers!” A cheer rises up from the table, as if any of them know what that means other than tieflings and devils and the sort. Maybe something celestial, if any of them are feeling particularly combatant. Will’s already got all these ideas forming in his brain—he’s known for being pretty creative when it comes to PC’s. Will the Wise hadn’t exactly been the height of ingenuity, but Mike hadn’t always wanted to DM a complicated character—he just wanted to run impossible dungeons and make his players sweat.
Eddie’s a different story.
Will’s running all kinds of characters through his brain when he notices Gareth looking at him. Will would’ve thought he’d be chatting with all the other boys, or even with Eddie since the two of them seem to be pretty close—but no. He’s looking at Will.
Hesitantly, Will makes eye-contact with him. Gareth doesn’t seem bothered about getting caught staring. Will’s brows furrow—this is… weird. They just met not even five minutes ago.
What? He mouths.
Gareth holds up a finger, like he’s gonna tell Will in a second. Will’s confused by this (because when are they gonna have a second?) until Eddie announces today’s session is all about working on PC’s, and in order to keep the campaign interesting and fun, he’d like them all to leave the room and come back in one by one so he can get a brief idea of each character, by the end of today, and hopefully by next session, have everything ready to go.
And then he says—
“Gareth, you first. And then Mike. And after that I don’t care who goes when—figure it out.” Gareth gives Will one last glance. He raises an eyebrow. Then, he absentmindedly looks over at Eddie, and finds he’s staring daggers into the side of Gareth’s skull.
What is happening?
Still perplexed, he leaves the auditorium with his friends, unable to shake the feeling that he’s being discussed in the room they left behind. He picks at his clothes—his nice, plaid button-down and his khakis. He feels kind of stupid—everyone else has a Hellfire t-shirt of some sort—all his friends in a baseball tee, and some of the older members in what are probably older t-shirts. All Eddie’s school-allocated budget must go towards them—Will’s certain they probably don’t get more than fifty bucks, if that.
“So?”
Will starts as Mike throws an arm around his shoulders, completely oblivious to how that affects him.
“Isn’t it fucking awesome?”
Will snorts at the profanity—Mike’s been cussing more and more since he started tailing Eddie like a lost puppy. Will assumes he thinks it makes him sound cool—not that he has anything against cussing, it’s just a little funny to him that Mike never talked like that before.
“Totally,” Will says, letting a little sarcasm seep into his tone, “You just couldn’t resist breaking your promise, could you?” Mike’s eyes widen—deer caught in headlights.
“I–it’s—you never said anything about extracurriculars!” Mike tries, and Lucas and Dustin burst out laughing at the lame attempt at an excuse. Will rolls his eyes, shrugging off Mike’s arm.
“Asshole,” he mumbles. Lucas and Dustin roar with more laughter as Mike looks for other excuses—Eddie this, Dustin that—
“Dustin didn’t promise me anything,” Will points out, and Mike groans.
“Dog house!” Erica is teasing, “Mike’s in troooooubleeeee.”
Truth be told, Mike’s not in trouble. There was certainly an initial sting—the only thing Will had asked of him had not been honored—but beyond that, Will’s not fond of holding grudges, especially given he knows full well how quickly life can go from bad to worse.
It’s just fun to watch Mike squirm.
“I’m sorryyyyyy,” Mike whines, “But Eddie’s just so cool and I couldn’t say no!” He puts both hands on Will’s shoulders, shaking him lightly. Will bites his lip to stifle his grin—the way Mike is pouting at him for forgiveness is equal parts adorable and hilarious.
“Forgive me?”
Will shakes his head, still biting back that grin.
“Figure out how to make it up to me—then we’ll talk.”
Mike straightens up, puts two fingers against his forehead, and dramatically salutes. Will loses the ability to stifle his grin and fully laughs at this ridiculousness.
They’re alive, they’re friends again, and Will’s desperate crush is dwindling by the day seeing how happy his sister is. Will couldn’t stay mad at his best friend for anything, and he won’t go on liking him, either.
Things are okay. Things are on their way to good, again.
“Wheeler—get your bony ass in there.”
And that’s Gareth.
“You—” he points directly at Will, exactly like Will figured he might, “Can I steal you for a second?”
Will stands. He doesn’t miss the confused look that Mike gives him, but he does choose to ignore it, mostly because he’s equally as confused. Gareth motions for Will to follow him outside, and sensing no danger or malintent, he decides there’s no point in saying no, especially since he’s not certain how long he’s gonna be sitting bored on this bench otherwise.
“Okay,” Gareth says, once the doors are shut firmly behind them. The night air is cool and nice on Will’s skin. He wants to take a deep breath—relish in all this comfort of being home, of being able to breathe—but he doesn’t know if Gareth would clock that weird reaction to just stepping out. So he tells himself he’ll take that moment later. “I had a crazy idea, and I wanted to know if you’d be down.”
Will raises an eyebrow.
“I’m listening.”
“So, totally shoot me down if you have a better idea, but I think it would be sick to play as angels—you know, since it’s a hell campaign—but specifically an Angel still in line with Heaven’s order, and a fallen one. So, they like, know each other super well, but also are at odds with each other, and like, one’s trying to convince the other to fall and vice versa.”
Gareth looks at him expectantly. Will stares back, trying to comprehend how Gareth even…
Gareth must have read his mind.
There’s no other explanation for how spot on that idea is compared to all the concepts he’d had running around in his own head mere moments ago. And not only that, but Gareth is looking at him like… how did Will not notice he looked like that, before? Why is it only now that—
“Hello? Earth to Byers?” Will starts. Right—he has to answer.
“Yeah—I mean, that sounds awesome,” he manages, cheeks growing pink in embarrassment. He looks away from Gareth’s cool gaze, unsure how to handle the feelings he’s feeling at this moment. Excitement, anxiety—and a myriad of other things he doesn’t feel right naming yet.
“Awesome,” Gareth repeats, slugging him lightly in the shoulder. Will’s whole stomach jumps into his throat.
This cannot be happening.
“So, if you’re down, I’m free tomorrow night. We could kick it at my place and talk background and logistics and shit.”
That’s a terrible idea.
“Sounds great,” Will says, and in his mind he’s repeatedly kicking the shit out of his own kneecaps. He wishes he were a stronger man, but the idea of playing a character that’s not only complex in his own way, but has a strained relationship to another PC? It’s too good to pass up. Plus, Gareth already talked to Eddie, so Will get’s to play under a DM who’s capable of managing that kind of storyline—it fills his chest with something downright palpable.
“Fuck, I’m excited,” Gareth says.
“Me, too.”
Will wonders briefly if his internal criticism of Mike’s cussing was spoken way too soon.
-
Gareth’s bedroom is a dream—Will would call it a loft, but that’s not exactly what it is. It’s adjacent to the attic, an alcove that sticks out from the roof and makes the house look both magical and completely ridiculous. All sides of it are fitted with windows, and in between those, the walls are a deep, navy blue. For the most part, it’s immaculately clean apart from misplaced shoes and a sock or two.
The slivers of walls which are not windows are covered with intense shelving that holds both an extensive collection of cassettes and vinyls, and books. Will wouldn’t have guessed Gareth was a reader, but by the looks of it, he’s practically a library.
The carpet is soft, the bed is big and covered with an enormous quilt. There are soft white Christmas lights hanging throughout the space, creating an inviting glow. Gareth tells Will to drop his bag anywhere, so Will finds the most out-of-the-way corner he possibly can, and sets his stuff down gently. He’s absolutely enamored with the space, but he’s trying not to show it. He could only imagine the teasing that would ensue if he told Gareth the bedroom he spends every night in is like Will’s own personal heaven.
To Will’s further dismay, Gareth plops down on his bed and pats the space next to him. Never in his life did Will expect to be sitting in bed with a cute boy who’s also basically a stranger, but here he is, swallowing his own nervousness and settling down. It’s unbelievably soft. Will let’s his mind wander to what it must be like to sleep there, and then quickly snaps himself out of it.
That’s creepy, he scolds himself. Stop.
“So, did you think of anything in the last 24-hours, or do you wanna start with just the general idea I had?” Gareth asks—and it’s so impossibly normal for how abnormal Will feels. He’s so stiff he might as well be made of wood. Jesus—even his fight or flight is starting to act up.
“Well,” Will says, deciding he’ll force himself to relax by talking, “You know how angels are, like, usually a patron of something? Like, they have a specific purpose, or whatever? I thought we could use something like that to determine our proficiencies, and stuff. I was also thinking that I could be the straight-edge angel and you could be the fallen one? But that’s totally up to you—your idea, your rules.”
Will fidgets nervously with his own hands. Gareth is… actually listening to him. His expression is attentive. Will’s not used to that—so he keeps rambling.
“Also—I like the idea of a sibling dynamic but I thought it would be better if it was strictly a best friends thing? I feel like a lot of D&D overdoes the, like, “you were my brother” thing but meaningful friendships or whatever can be so much more impactful because you choose your friends and stuff, and for a character to choose their person and then lose that person and find them again but still be at odds is just—Sorry, I should shut up. I just realized I’ve been talking for way too long.”
Will wants to melt into the bedspread—hell, he just might.
Gareth grins at him, shaking his head.
“No, totally keep going. You’re brilliant.”
Yup. Melted. Absolutely a liquid. Will doesn’t think he’ll ever be a solid again.
-
Will starts spending an ungodly amount of time with Gareth, but it’s not his fault. His own friends are great, and he spares them every moment he can, but it’s been a long time since being with them has ever felt like this—totally and completely void of tension. His friends… they haven’t been giving him attention freely. It feels weighed down by this notion that they’re forced to hang around because everything they’ve been through.
It’s not fair to think of them that way—he knows they’d still care for him, regardless.
But that pity is stuck behind their eyes. And they won’t talk about things in front of him, like how they’re feeling, how they’re doing. Once, he was hanging around Lucas and Dustin, and they left the room after uttering some lame excuse. Curious and a little hurt, Will had pressed his ear to the door to find Lucas venting about Max, and how she was doing, and how he’s trying to hang out and have fun but she’s all he can think about—half-paralyzed and totally blind, all alone at home when he’s not with her.
It’s selfish, he knows, but he couldn’t help feeling offended. He can be a shoulder—he knows he can be a shoulder. He’s not going to break down the minute someone else needs a hand. They’ve been plenty good for him—he can do the same.
He just needs a chance.
But they won’t give him it, so he loses himself in the simplicity of a brand-new friendship. He and Gareth start just talking over the campaign, and the D&D stuff, but it soon evolves into much more than that. It starts with a book—
“Gertrude Stein,” Will muses, slipping the collection of poetry right off the shelf. He lets it fall open in his palm to a random page. Gareth had gotten bored of devising background and trying to locate biblical information without a bible—so he’d flopped over on the bed and hidden his face in his pillows.
Will had rolled his eyes at him, and went looking for something to entertain himself.
This is where he finds himself, now.
They read a little Gertrude Stein in English, and Will remembers it fondly. He’s not a huge poetry guy, but Stein’s poetry is so ridiculous it actually manages to interest him. It was also generally impossible for most of the class to read aloud, because of it’s insanity, but Will excelled at it. He read it so well, and so succinctly in class, the teacher herself had been shocked.
Maybe his trauma had rewired his brain for nonsensical poetry.
Book was there, it was there. Book was there. Stop it, stop it, it was a cleaner, a wet cleaner and it was not where it was wet, it was not high, it was directly placed back, not back again, back it was returned, it was needless, it put a bank, a bank when, a bank care.
Gareth looks up at him from the pillows curiously, and Will grins in his direction. He begins reading with the utmost conviction, as if anything he’s reading makes a lick of actual sense.
Suppose a man a realistic expression of resolute reliability suggests pleasing itself white all white and no head does that mean soap. It does not so. It means kind wavers and little chance to beside beside rest. A plain.
Suppose ear rings that is one way to breed, breed that. Oh chance to say, oh nice old pole. Next best and nearest a pillar. Chest not valuable, be papered.
Cover up cover up the two with a little piece of string and hope rose and green, green.
Please a plate, put a match to the seam and really then really then, really then it is a remark that joins many many lead games. It is a sister and sister and a flower and a flower and a dog and a colored sky a sky colored grey and nearly that nearly that let.
Will finishes the poem—called Book—and looks back up at Gareth, who seems to be stifling a laugh. Will raises an eyebrow.
“What?” he teases, “Didn’t get that? I’ll read another one.”
Suppose it is within a gate which open is open at the hour of closing summer that is to say it is so.
All the seats are needing blackening. A white dress is in sign. A soldier a real soldier has a worn lace a worn lace of different sizes that is to say if he can read, if he can read he is a size to show shutting up twenty-four.
Go red go red—
Suppose and Eyes is cut off abruptly by a pillow smacking into Will’s chest and falling over the book he’s holding out—an accident which has Gareth absolutely howling with laughter. Will retaliates immediately, tossing the book to the floor and going after Gareth with a pillow.
The rest is history.
They hang out after school, they go to record stores and diners and swimming in the pond behind his house. They have an absolute blast role-playing ex-best friends while becoming best friends, all the while, Will’s fondness growing exponentially every time they share breath. They spend nights at each other’s houses, they talk for hours, they read together, they listen to music together—Will even get’s a little bit into metal, even though it’s not totally his vibe. Weeks and weeks pass—then months. They know everything about each other like the backs of each other’s hands. Will’s friends start making comments about it—Mike especially—and light-heartedly complain that Will is “replacing” them when that is certainly not the case.
They could never be replaced.
But being around Gareth is like magic, up until the moment it’s not.
“Hey… can I talk to you about something?”
Famous last words, but Will is so full of pizza and so content with his back pressed into Gareth’s bed, head resting lightly against the outside of the boy’s knee, that he doesn’t quite grasp the connotation.
He wishes he had—that there had been warning.
“Sure.”
“So… after the earthquake—”
Will should’ve known then and there this was headed in a foul direction, but he was none-the-wiser. He was still half-engrossed in Emily Dickinson, who had grown to be his absolute favorite poet over the last few months.
“Eddie told me everything that happened. And he told me what happened to you.”
This is where it hits him. Will jerks away from Gareth’s knee like it’s scalding, hurt painting over his face as it all crashes over him.
None of this has been any different.
“Will?”
“Are you serious?” Will asks, horror growing in his chest, in his tone. Gareth’s face screws up, a look Will knows all too well—a look he only sports when he’s thoroughly confused.
He must be stupid—Will’s reaction shouldn’t be confusing to him at all.
“I just wanted—”
Everything is tainted. The way Gareth looks at him, acts with him, the way he chose Will out of everyone from that stupid table that first day of Hellfire—he knew. The whole time.
Will is some pathetic charity case who needed a real friend. And he let Will think, this entire time, that he actually liked Will for himself. Not because Will desperately needed to be liked, not because they were bonded by some shared hell, not because Will had suffered, but because Gareth liked him.
It had all been a lie.
“How could you?” Will asks, shakily. He feels tears gathering in his eyes, and he hates himself for it. Now he’s gonna cry like the broken, traumatized baby he really is. The one Gareth has always seen in him. He’s just proving a fucking point.
That’s all he ever does.
“How could I—”
“I can’t believe I let myself be another fucking charity case,” Will hisses, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand as he scrambles to his feet. Gareth seizes his wrist.
“Will—”
Will’s stronger than Gareth—he doesn’t look it, but there’s a lot of muscle beneath his clothes. He makes sure of it—he doesn’t wanna be the victim of anyone or anything ever again. He wrenches his wrist out of the boy’s grasp, pointing at him accusingly with the other.
“You. Suck,” Will snaps, doing his best not to yell. He doesn’t wanna get worked up enough that Gareth sees just how deeply this has stricken him, and part of him, a naive part of him, hates how devastated Gareth already looks. “I can’t believe I thought you actually liked me. I’m so fucking stupid.”
And with that, he snatches his bag up off the floor, and gets the hell out of there.
It’s only when he’s home, past his mom and his brother, and in his bedroom with the door shut tight, that he crawls into his closet and muffles his sobs with his teeth bared into a sweatshirt.
Heartbroken.
-
“Hello?”
“Don’t hang up!” Will should absolutely hang up. It’s been three days of nothing—avoiding Gareth at school, refusing to speak to him, neglecting to answer the phone even when he was nearest to it.
And now, just when it so happened that nobody else was home, Gareth was on the other end of the line.
“I should so hang up,” Will snaps, already angry. He didn’t wanna be reminded. He’s been so fucked up the last few days, it’s almost like Gareth dumped him. In a way, he kind of did. Or, Will did.
Whatever, the details aren’t important. What’s important is that Gareth lied to him. Extensively.
“Listen—I need to talk to you, but I wanna do it in person, okay? Please—just ten minutes of your time, and if it’s not fixed, I’ll never talk to you again. Except at Hellfire. But that’s it! Okay?” Will wishes he had the balls to say fuck no, but it’s too difficult. He allotted months of his life to Gareth, and as much as he hates it, can attribute a ton of his recent healing to him. Being carefree and spending time with Gareth had been exactly what he needed most days to get out of his own head, to stop thinking about things that couldn’t be helped.
A breath of fresh night air, one might say.
Looking back at that now makes Will nauseous, but he swallows it down. He doesn’t exactly want his and Gareth’s time being good friends to forever be tainted by the fact that it had all been out of pity, but Will doesn’t know what he could possibly say to make that better. He sighs into the phone.
“Get here ASAP. And ten minutes is all you get!”
“Sir yes sir!”
-
“Thank you for letting me talk,” Gareth says. Will crosses his arms over his chest. He’s got no intentions of letting Gareth step foot over the threshold, and Gareth seems to be able to tell.
“Ten minutes,” he says firmly, and Gareth nods quickly.
“The first thing I should’ve done when we started hanging out is tell you I knew about the Upside Down,” he says quickly, and yeah, he’s got that fucking right. “I’m really sorry that I hid that from you—I guess I didn’t think you’d wanna talk about it, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have talked about it. I’m sorry.”
“Decent start,” Will says begrudgingly.
“Second, I did not choose you as my D&D partner because I felt bad for you,” Gareth says, and then his face get’s all screwy, and he starts shifting his weight back and forth, like whatever he needs to say is really hard for him to say. He looks left, and then down at his shoes, and then crosses his arms over his chest and let’s out a breath he’d been holding—
“Spit it out.”
“I thought you were cute!” he says, all his words running together, so much so that it takes Will a second to process what he’s even just said, “And I wanted to hang out with you and I thought that if our D&D characters shared a backstory then we’d spend a lot of time together and I’d be able to make a move but I felt bad about making a move knowing stuff about you you hadn’t shared with me so that night I wanted to kiss you so bad but I wanted to talk about what I knew first so that I wasn’t kissing you and then bringing up your childhood trauma because that wouldn’t be smooth at all, but then I messed everything up and—”
Will’s not sure what happens to his body. First of all, he’s absolutely floored at the notion that he wasn’t a charity case or anywhere near that at all—this boy was attracted to him and wanted to be around him. That’s so far out in left-field it’s practically a home run. Second—Gareth likes him? Like that? In small-town, middle-of-nowhere Hawkins, Indiana, a cute boy likes him? And it’s not Mike Wheeler, feelings-denier extraordinaire, or someone Will would rather eat glass than hang around with?
God, it’s Gareth?
He completely loses track of his ability to command his own body—he steps forward, puts both hands around Gareth’s face, and kisses him right on the mouth to shut him the hell up. Will’s never kissed anyone in his life, save for one girl in California, just to prove his own disinterest, but he makes it work. Gareth certainly doesn’t seem to be complaining, the way his arms move securely around Will’s waist and he kisses back with fervor.
They break, both void of breath. The kiss wasn’t exactly long, but all the excitement has Will’s ribs heaving. He presses his forehead into Gareth’s, blushing like crazy and avoiding the eye-contact Gareth’s trying to prompt from him.
“You’re such an idiot,” Will manages between breaths.
“Kiss me again.”
“Definitely.”
-
It was only a few weeks later that things started getting bad again, but they were heavenly weeks of sneaking around, sharing looks when no one was paying attention, and kissing in dark corners. Will started feeling whole again, like the places and things that the Upside Down had stolen from him were things that Gareth could replace, curling up on couches with him, meeting his mom, holding his hand, and treating him like someone who was already whole.
And though he wished, ached to ignore the warning signs, he told Gareth immediately when The Mind Flayer felt like it was slithering closer, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck and tugging at the corners of his mind.
And Gareth had been there, as fresh as summer night air in his lungs, all the way until the end.
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tygerland · 2 months
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Portrait of Gertrude Stein. Pablo Picasso, 1906. Oil on canvas: 100 × 81 cm (39 × 32 in).
Top - Gertrude Stein in her Paris studio with the Picasso portrait and other paintings hanging on the walls around her. May 1930.
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philosophors · 4 months
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“Everybody knows if you are too careful you are so occupied in being careful that you are sure to stumble over something.”
— Gertrude Stein, “Everybody’s Autobiography”
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jeanharlowshair · 7 months
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Hollywood Magazine, August 1935.
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unlivedtenderness · 8 months
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Victoria Chang, Dear Memory: Letters on Writing, Silence, and Grief
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davidhudson · 2 months
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Gertrude Stein, February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946.
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electronicsquid · 3 months
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Alice B. Toklas and Gertrude Stein with Basket
(Carl Mydans. 1944)
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textsfromsuperheroes · 7 months
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Texts From Superheroes
Facebook | Twitter | Patreon | Instagram
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nobrashfestivity · 5 months
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Alvin Lustig Dust jacket designed by Alvin Lustig for Three Lives by Gertrude Stein. Norfolk, Conn: New Directions
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cygneeclectique · 11 months
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Lisa Fonssagrives-Penn lying in a field of grass, reading Gertrude Stein's Picasso book
Irving Penn, 1952
Vogue
Condé Nast
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thefiresofpompeii · 3 months
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some highlights and standouts from the reina sofia gallery of 20th century art ! part one
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Gertrude Stein, "A Long Dress" from Tender Buttons (1914).
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diana-andraste · 25 days
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...in the morning there is meaning, in the evening there is feeling. In the evening there is feeling.
Gertrude Stein, Tender Buttons
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