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spirallingintothevoid71 · 2 months

Text

99.9% of the time I prefer 'her' to be in control. But every so often...

Enjoy

Spiral

----------

It seemed so long ago now.

That first time you followed me to my storage unit.

You knew you shouldn't pry, but wondered what I had there.

Waiting until I left, you convinced the lady at the desk to give you the code with a sympathetic tale.

You let yourself in, surprised to find only a cot, a couple of battery powered lamps in the corners by the door, barely adequate to light the space, a folding chair, and a fold up desk with a laptop and headphones on it.

Your curiosity grew.

You were even more surprised to find the laptop wasn't password protected, but figured I had thought hiding it away in my storage unit would be protection enough.

You sat down. Looked at the desktop, lit up in the semidarkened space.

Folders were marked along it.

Do not listen more than 15 min

Do not listen more than 10 min

DO NOT listen more than 5 min

You wondered why the last one was different.

Curiouser and Curiouser.

You opened the first folder. It was littered with video files. Three were marked 'beginner', others 'intermediate' or 'advanced'.

You put on the headphones and clicked the first file marked 'beginner'.

A spiral appeared on the screen. You heard a rhythmic sound in the headphones, barely audible.

'WATCH' appeared over the spiral, then vanished. You waited. It reappeared, then vanished again. "What the hell?" you thought. "What is this?"

The video ended suddenly, the spiral fading away. Had it really been fifteen minutes? Your watch confirmed it was. Huh.

Although you felt some reservation (where had the 15 minuted gone?), you clicked on the next file. A different spiral appeared. This one started out in a kaleidoscope of colors, transforming into a spiral, then back again. You had to admit, weird as it was, it was beautiful.

'NEED' appeared on the screen.

A different rhythm played on the headphones. You listened intently, in case you missed anything. Again, it appeared and disappeared. "Strange," you thought, but again, watching the captivating explosion of color, the fifteen minutes disappeared.

You clicked the last file. This time there was a small spiral contained within a larger one, moving in opposite directions. You found yourself waiting for the next word to appear, not paying as much attention to the background noise.

'MORE'

You watched it through to the end.

You were about to click on the first of the intermediate files when you heard someone rummaging around in the storage unit next door. Snapping you out of your thoughts, you gathered yourself up and left.

You thought about it for the rest of the day. The strangeness of it all. The storage unit. The laptop. The spirals... You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. You'd talk to me about it after work tomorrow.

You dreamed of the spirals. Of the strange, rhythmic beats. The words flashed in your mind.

'WATCH'

'NEED'

'MORE'

The next morning you woke up late. I'd already departed. You found a note on my pillow. "Long day at work today. Probably home late."

You were annoyed, but then you started thinking about the storage unit again. Your annoyance equaled only by your curiosity, you found yourself driving there. Armed with the code now, you let yourself in.

You hurried to get inside the storage unit, to make sure you weren't seen. It wasn't because you were interested in what was next, you told yourself. You moved to the intermediate files.

The spirals came again. With a new rhythm. This time the word didn't appear so much as fade in and out.

'FOCUS'

And you did. You focused on the screen. The spiral. The word. When the 15 minutes were up, you simply clicked on the next one. More spirals. More rhythms. More words.

'STARE'

The file ended. The last of the intermediate files beckoned you.

'REPEAT'

And you did. Repeated all three files before you pulled yourself away this time. You looked at the time, realizing how late it had become. How many times had you repeated the cycle?

You hurried home, barely arriving before me.

You thought about bringing it up that night, but decided to wait. You were mentally exhausted, and... wondered what else you might findm

You dreamed of them again. Spirals, rhythms, words.

'WATCH'

'NEED'

'MORE'

'FOCUS'

'STARE'

'REPEAT'

You woke early, in a sweat. What had you been dreaming? This time you snuck out early. You quickly went to the storage unit, anxious to find out what was next. You clicked on the first advanced file.

This time the spirals, the swirling colord all seemed so much more intricate.

'BLANK'

'MINDLESS'

'EMPTY'

You watched each file multiple times again, this time without needing to be prompted. When you were done, you felt mentally tired. You laid down on the cot, and dozed off. When you awoke, you were surprised to find that you could feel a mild wetness between your legs. Were you aroused by being here? By watching the videos, or by sneaking in here?

You realized it had become late again, and decided to think about it later. Right now, you needed to be blank, mindless, and empty. Wait, no, that wasn't right. Right now you needed to get home. That night, you dreamed again.

'BLANK'

'MINDLESS'

'EMPTY'

You were definitely damp when you woke early in the morning.

You were back again, this time moving to the 10 minute files. The spirals seemed to change during each video. The thrumming rhythm seemed to be a bit louder, somehow more insistent. Was there another sound there? Pleasurable moaning?

The words seemed bolder somehow, and your attention focused.

'OBEDIENT'

'NEEDY'

'GRATEFUL'

You weren't surprised when you dreamt of them again. Or when you woke up more than a bit damp. You hurried to the storage unit. You moved to next set of files.

'DRIFT'

'DROP'

'SUCCUMB'

You were a bit surprised when the last video ended. You didn't remember moving from one to the next. And you could see your reflection on the screen. You looked almost... vacant.

Still, you dreamed. And you returned.

The last of the 10 minute files beckoned to you.

'TOUCH'

'BEG'

'RELEASE'

You barely remembered moving to the cot. Instead of sleeping you lay there thinking about the videos. Without conscious thought, your hand began to move, slipping between your legs.

'TOUCH'

You pressed against the dampness between your legs, rubbing through your shorts. You couldn't seem to stop. And you couldn't seem to bring yourself to an orgasm either. The minutes creeped by.

10 minutes, to be exact.

'BEG'

The word flashed across your mind. You could see it above you, the colors, the spirals behind it.

And you begged.

It didn't matter that there was no one there to hear it.

You begged.

Suddenly, you needed to. And still the orgasm wouldn't come. You begged. You pleaded. You rubbed harder, faster, your shorts discarded though you didn't even remember removing them. The minutes crawled by.

10 minutes.

And then you saw it. The spiral. The word. Hanging above you. In your mind.

'RELEASE'

Your world exploded. Your body rocked as the orgasm took you. Took your body. Took your mind.

'RELEASE'

It echoed. Seemed to prolong your orgasm. Until finally, spent, you lay there, thinking about nothing.

You were back the next day. And the day after that. You no longer questioned it. Moving to each of the 5 minute files. Now they were filled with words, with instructions.

The colors captivated you. The words became your thoughts. The thrumming filled your ears, your mind. You could hear a voice in it, barely audiible, repeating the instructions on the screen.

One of the files told you how to dress better. How it would make you feel so much better, so much sexier.

Another told you how to drop faster. How to repeat all the words in your mind over and over, so you were always prepared when you came to the storage unit.

Still another gave you edging instructions. Taking away your ability to orgasm without being told you were a good girl. The new videos ended that way, forcing you to return.

But you didn't mind anymore. You wanted to be there. Needed to be there. You spent all your time there, absorbing all the videos, all the instructions, until you finally watched the last one.

The last one.

No instructions this time. None that you could remember. Only a beautiful spiral. The most intricate one yet. A perfect rhythym in the backround.

You watched it, not caring that there were no words, no instructions. You were lost in the spiral. When it ended, you orgasmed automatically. You weren't even sure you had touched yourself. You didn't remember pushing the chair back. You didn't remember getting on your knees.

All you really remembered was the spiral.

The beautiful, commanding, mind numbing spiral. You got up and left, going home. You weren't sure what to do now.

That night, you dreamt again.

Each word filling your mind.

The rhythms overlapping.

Each set of instructions whispered to you.

When you woke, you were alone, your hand already between your legs, rubbing furiously, so damp the sheets were soaked.

But instinctively, you knew you wouldn't be able to orgasm.

Something was missing.

You got out of bed. You looked across the room, and found the laptop sitting there. You felt surprise, but somehow not as much as you should have.

Somehow, it felt... right.

Without thinking, you went to it. Sitting, you opened the screen, slipping on the headphones.

There was a new folder now, marked differently.

LISTEN

You didn't question it. You clicked on the file. The spiral appeared. The rhythm began. Soft, melodic moaning in the background. Somewhere, words.

You were unaware. Your mind had gone completely blank. Your hand slipped between your legs as the last of the programming filled your unconscious mind.

When it finally finished, you noticed vaguely that the sun seemed to have moved in the sky.

But that didn't matter.

You moved to your closet. Thoughtlessly, moving like a robot, you slipped on the pantyhose you had already placed there. It didn't occur to you to put on panties first. Then you slipped on the the tight shorts laying there. You moved to the over the knee boots that you didn't remember buying, pulling on each one. Finally, discarding the bra you'd gone to bed with, you slipped on the tight sweater you'd set out.

You didn't remember applying the make up.

You looked at yourself in the mirror for a moment. At the transformation. At someone you never would have been just a few weeks ago.

You felt dampness course between your legs again.

You walked to the center of the room, and got on your knees, facing the door.

Waiting.

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

I walk in, watching you. The vacant, needy look on your face.

Standing in front of you, I tilt your head up, looking in your eyes.

The simple touch makes you whimper.

I say the word you've been waiting for.

"MINE."

You shudder, pleasure filling your body, your mind. A smile crosses your face as you say back.

"Yours."

"Good girl." I say

The pleasure increases, so much you start to shudder. Your thighs instinctively squeeze together. You're soaking now, but unaware as you try to repeat the words.

"G-g-goood... g-g-g-iirrlll..."

The words become a moan, echoing through the room, as your body shakes with pleasure.

I smile down at you. In this moment, nothing exists for you but me. I can feel the desperation, the need in your gaze.

And give you what you need with your last trigger.

"SPIRAL"

Your moan suddenly draws outward as that one simple word causes you to orgasm in a way you've never experienced before.

Your mind empties as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. You feel nothing else as your body crashes to the floor, unable even to kneel anymore. You see nothing but me, hear nothing but me, know nothing but me.

You are mine.

You are

Spiraling into the Void

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adore-laur · 2 months

Text

REWIND: PART TWO

——

The neon aquarium gravel is a direct portal to memories of Reese's childhood.

Kaleidoscopic pebbles of blue, green, and orange sit idly on the bottom of her little brother's fish tank. They remind her of being a kid and how her sole responsibility at night was to feed her two goldfish she won in a ring toss game at the county fair. Sunset and Rocky were their names.

She envies the weightless joy of youth that younger siblings feel. To be that innocent age again, the only worry being the thought of accidentally tipping the fish food container too much and dropping flakes of earthworm and vitamin confetti onto the useless pets.

It didn't mean much until it meant everything.

Reese, at twenty-two years old, is just a girl swimming around in the metaphorical fishbowl most days, even when it turned from a sphere into a rectangular prism over the years of her fleeting adolescence. When it was moved out of her room once she became an adult, she tried to catch and keep any wave of purpose in the water. It was to no avail, since the obvious point is that there's no waves in a fishbowl, only stagnant water that doesn't change unless someone makes an effort to. The handbook for navigating adulthood was never given to her, needless to say. Change happens everywhere around her, but she stands and waits in the middle, sticking to her comfort zone of antisocial tendencies.

It used to be harmless until it wasn't.

She currently stands in front of the glass, watching the glow-in-the-dark anemone swiftly move in the murky water. If she tries hard enough, she can pretend that she's underwater with the calico fish. She can hide herself in the soft limbs like in the beginning of Finding Nemo. It's quite simple to do with enough practice. It would take less than a minute to drown out the noise of her brother playing a video game and the TV turned up loud in the living room where her grandmother spends most of her time.

It was fun until it became a habit.

In the reflection, Reese can see her hair still braided and clipped up from the night before like a lunatic cartoon character. She always looks forward to waking up in the morning and undoing the twisted strands, letting the soft and subtle curls fall over her shoulders. She prefers her hair frizzy instead of straight, like how it is naturally. The volume hides her face better.

The lighter stripes of her brown silk pajamas glow fluorescently from the decorative luminosity surrounding her. She should probably take her clips out and change into something nicer since it's already the afternoon. She should also listen to some music to give her brain a break.

"Nuna, your phone is playing a pretty song."

Pause. She can continue later.

Her brother's voice sounds drowned out in the background, almost like she's actually underwater. Reese emerges above the surface and snaps out of her aquatic trance, shifting her gaze to see Rowan lifting one side of his headphones and giving her an impatient look. The melodic chime of her ringtone becomes clearer now that her ears aren't clogged with dissociative imagination.

"Shit," she mutters under her breath, clumsily taking her phone out from her pocket.

Skimming her eyes over the unknown number on the screen, she has a gut feeling she might know who it is. It's been two days without a call from the man named Harry she met in the grocery store. He had said he'd give her a call about a potential interview, so who else could it be? Granted, it could be someone calling the wrong number, or spam calls about her nonexistent student loans, but she's always been good at hanging onto false hope until the branch breaks.

"Hello?" Reese quietly answers, sitting down on Rowan's space-themed bed sheets.

"Hi, is this Reese?" A friendly voice crackles through.

It's him. The warm, polite tone and British drawl are familiar, like a home-cooked meal on a dreary day in autumn. It brings color to her cheeks, the rare kind. A powerful blush of spiderwebs across her face weaved with volcanic vertigo of the heart.

What is he doing to her?

Reese wipes her sweaty palm on her bouncing leg. "Y-yes, this is she."

"Hey!" he greets on the other line. "It's Harry. Sorry I couldn't call sooner. I've been quite busy with work, so I'll try and make this quick."

Is this real? It feels like a distant dream. She feels like she's floating outside of her body right now.

"It's okay," she says, leaving it at that. She clams up easily.

There's shuffling on the other end and what sounds like a door softly closing. "So," he begins, "when are you available?"

Reese gulps and picks at her nails. He's so casual about everything. "I'm free anytime," she replies, trying to match his easygoing tone. "Whatever fits your schedule."

"How about tomorrow? Eight o'clock bright and early?"

If there's one thing about Reese's social anxiety, it's that she needs more than a twenty-four-hour notice if she's going to participate in plans without being a nervous wreck. She supposes she can make an exception for Harry.

"That works for me," she tells him with a ghost of a grimace.

"Perfect, I'll see you then. If you could just bring a resume, that'd be wonderful."

Rowan yells at the computer screen, and Reese throws a dirty sock at the back of his head. "No problem," she mentions distractedly. "Um, where are we meeting?"

"My house, preferably," Harry says. "If you're comfortable with that, of course. It would just be convenient since I have work tomorrow and I also have Marlowe with me."

She absentmindedly nods as her brother sticks his tongue out at her. "That sounds great." She then mouths a threatening "I'm gonna kill you" to Rowan.

"I'll text you the address, yeah?"

"Okay."

She can hear him hum a tune and walk around. He must be getting something done or going somewhere. "How's your rutabaga, by the way?" he asks after a few seconds. "I saw it fall out of your bag when we were in the parking lot."

Reese's face sets on fire. She utters a small, "You saw that?"

Harry laughs, a beautiful and breathy sound that her phone doesn't do justice. "I did, yes."

"Nice." She cradles her flaming cheek and pinches her eyes shut. "Well, the rutabaga turned out fine. It's in soup now."

"Oh, yummy. You should bring some over."

How is he so casual about everything? It's like he's asking her to bring an agreeable dish over for a goddamn Thanksgiving get-together.

"I'm serious, by the way," he adds before she can manage to stutter out an answer. "Marlowe and I are suckers for soup. You don't have to, obviously. Completely up to you."

Reese traces the stitching on the bed comforter. "Yeah, I can bring some. For sure."

There's babbling in the background as Harry replies, "Great. Okay, I'll let you go now since Marlowe is two seconds away from screaming at me. See you tomorrow at eight, right?"

"See you tomorrow.”

"Goodbye, Reese."

"Bye."

Reese hangs up first and immediately throws her phone across the bed, then runs her damp palms over her flushed face. She despises phone calls, and now she has to do an in-person interview with a handsome man? She's done for.

"Was that your boyfriend?" Rowan childishly snarks, his eyes still focused on a video game.

"Shut up, dude."

——

The apricot-colored doorbell lays under her thumb, ripe and ready to signal her arrival. If she presses it, there's no turning back. No resetting the clocks, no rewinding the tape, and no pausing to rethink her decision.

Reese forgot to eat something before leaving, but she loses her appetite when she gets bad anxiety anyway. She arrived ten minutes early because of that exact anxiety settling horribly in her throat. There's no reason to be nervous, though, right? She'd met him before, he was kind, and he was nice enough to give her a chance.

Dreadful pessimism isn't helping her case. She needs to think positively, even if she doesn't believe it.

Remembering her grandmother's slightly offensive encouragement about how everyone her age already has a full-time job and that this should be a walk in the park, Reese presses the fateful doorbell and waits. She looks up at the grey sky and takes a deep breath, letting the warm thermos of soup in her shaky hands soothe her anxiety. She feels her heart kick like a drum, the pounding reaching all the way to her ears.

The white turtleneck she wears is making her sweat profusely. The resume in her pocket that she typed up and printed at the last possible minute isn't folded evenly. There's a queasy ache quickly forming in the pit of her stomach. She just needs to fast forward through it.

But what if this whole thing goes south? What if she's not prepared? She can't do this!

"Come in!"

Reese jumps at the muffled voice coming from inside the house. Taking another deep breath and shifting the thermos under her armpit, she turns the metal doorknob and opens the door.

Immediately, she's greeted with the inviting smell of breakfast. The kitchen is the first room she steps into, a small area with lime green walls and dark ceramic flooring. It's a simple layout with granite counters and an old-fashioned stove on the right side, and a wooden table with two chairs on the left side. She was surprised when the address led her to a street hidden away in the downtown area, trees hanging over bumpy pavement and kids riding bikes. From the outside, it seems like a friendly neighborhood. The perfect place for people who have their life together.

The sound of the faucet turning on breaks the clouds of her thoughts. Reese looks over to the noise and sees Harry standing over the sink washing his hands, wearing a white tank top and a pair of pristine black slacks. And Holy Mother of God, he has a lot of tattoos. His entire left arm is completely covered. There's black ink from his shoulder all the way down to his wrist. The first one her brain processes is a black heart.

"Hey, Reese," Harry says, drying off his hands with a towel draped over the stove handle. "Sorry it's a mess in here. We just finished having breakfast."

We. She scans the room until she sees Marlowe sat in her highchair with a tipped-over bowl of Trix cereal in front of her. Her short hair is pulled into pigtails on the top of her head, and the bib around her neck has bumblebees on it.

"Hi. Nice to see you both." Reese shuts the door and holds the thermos out. "I, uh, brought that soup we were talking about."

Harry's mouth forms an 'o' shape as he takes it from her and unscrews the top to smell it. "Mm, you're the best. Thank you so much."

If she wasn't blushing before, she definitely is now. "I also have my resume," she says, walking further into the room.

Harry puts his hands in his pockets, pursing his lips. He then looks up at her under his eyelashes and smirks beautifully with two dimples. "Can I be honest with you? I've never conducted an interview before. I haven't got a clue what I'm doing."

Reese lets a natural smile take over her face. "Let's just wing it, then. That's what I do all time."

Maybe not the smartest thing for her to say with a job on the line, but it's better than acting like she's prepared when she's the furthest thing from it.

"Yeah, we're winging this thing," he says with a shrug before holding his hand out. "Please, have a seat."

They both head over to the kitchen table. Harry tugs up the material of his slacks before sitting down, then pulls out the chair next to him for her. Not across, but next to him. She's going to pass out.

"All right," he says with an exhale, "let me first address the elephant in the room." He crosses his legs and faces her. "I'm divorced. My ex-wife didn't want anything to do with us, so I'm a single dad."

Reese's eyes widen. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that."

"I prefer it this way, just me and my daughter." He clears his throat as he shifts in his seat. "Now that that's out of the way, all I really need to know is that you're capable of making sure Marlowe is safe and taken care of for a maximum of six hours a day while I'm at work."

It saddens Reese to think that he's parenting all on his own. He doesn't have family close by. He's a pediatrician. How he juggles it all, she'll never know. Her mood lifts knowing she could be of help to him.

"My little brother is nine," Reese says softly, "so I've been taking care of him since I was thirteen. I've dealt with all the ups and downs of the baby and toddler years."

Harry nods, his eye contact very intimidating. "What's his name?"

"Rowan."

"I'm sure he loves having you as a sister. I assume you have experience with changing diapers and formula feeding, then?"

"Yes," she replies, fixing the sleeves of her turtleneck. "I live with my disabled grandmother, so I helped with those things a lot. I also know CPR. And the Heimlich maneuver."

She needs to rewind. Oversharing never ends well.

"That's amazing," Harry says. He reaches over to Marlowe and adjusts her bib. "I told you she was deaf, right?"

"You did."

"Do you know any sign language?"

Reese rolls her lips in before muttering, "Not really, no. Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Marlowe starts fussing, so Harry takes her out from the highchair and places her on his lap. "You don't need to worry about it since she's not talking in sentences yet, however there are a few signs that are important. The only ones you'll really need to know are hungry, drink, play, and sleep."

"I'll look those up as soon as I get home," she tells him while making a mental note for herself.

Harry bounces his daughter on his leg and says, "I can teach you right now, if you'd like."

She'd like that. She'd really, really like that.

"Go ahead."

Smiling, he clasps his hands over his daughter's tummy. "So, for hungry, she'll usually be the one to sign it to you. She'll cup her hand around her neck and bring it down to her stomach like this." He does the gesture twice, and Reese mimics it. "Perfect, just like that. You can always ask her yourself if she's getting hungry by doing that as well. She'll eat pretty much anything you give her."

He continues, "For drink, it's really easy. Just act like you're holding a cup and taking a sip from it. If she does that, I have pre-made bottles in the fridge. If she doesn't take that, she's a major fan of apple juice. You can just put some in a sippy cup."

Reese nods. It's endearing to see him so passionate about the language.

"And if she wants to play," he says, "she'll do the hang ten sign like a stereotypical surfer dude. That's how I always describe it."

"Like this?" Reese asks, holding her pinky and thumb out and then twisting her wrist back and forth.

"Exactly," he praises, eyes lightening a shade. "See? You're a natural. Um,"— he looks around the room for a couple of seconds — "we have a bunch of toys laying around. She's quite independent when she plays, so I'd just watch her and make sure she's safe and not putting anything in her mouth."

She focuses on a stray stuffed animal on the floor. "Of course."

"Then for sleep, just spread your hand over your eye and bring your hand down to your chin while closing it into a fist. She has naps around eleven that last for an hour or two. You can put her in her crib and pray that she falls asleep." Reese laughs quietly as he adds, "Then you can watch TV or clean up. Whatever you'd like. Don't forget to turn the baby monitor on."

She blows out a sharp breath. "Okay."

Harry cracks a kind smile. "I've written everything down in detail since it's a lot to remember." He stands and grabs a piece of paper on the counter. When he sits back down, she sees that it has several bullet points with scrawly handwriting next to each one. "In case you forget or need to know where something is, this is for you. And as always, don't hesitate to call me with questions or concerns. I just... I don't want you to feel overwhelmed because she's deaf and needs extra care, so I also pulled out some books and flashcards for you if you need them. They're in the living room."

"It's not overwhelming at all," Reese sincerely replies. "I'll make sure she's taken care of. I promise."

"Thank you from the bottom of my heart," he says, his eyes never leaving hers. "Even as her dad, I'm still learning how to make sure I'm doing everything I can to make things easier for her, you know? I trust you to provide her with that."

"I understand. You're doing a great job." She understands completely. Everything she does is for her grandmother and brother. She has no choice but to be the provider. It's all she's known for years.

Harry is silent for a beat, nodding thoughtfully before he carries on. "For the more technical stuff, Marlowe has a hearing aid that helps her hear faintly. She's not completely deaf with them on, but usually it helps to gesticulate more and focus on facial expressions. When she takes her nap, just take them off."

"In terms of my work," he adds, "I'd still like to take her with me some days since she's gotten used to it. I don't work weekends, so would babysitting Monday, Wednesday, and Friday work for you? It'd be six-hour shifts unless I work overtime. And for hourly pay, I'll leave it up to you as long as it's reasonable."

Eighteen hours a week. Three days. Six hours each. It's a good start. Great, even. Rowan's old enough to watch their grandmother for a short period of time. It works out exceptionally well.

"Those days work perfectly," Reese says. "I'm not sure what a reasonable wage would be, though."

Harry jerks his chin up. "Give me a number."

She freezes and swallows. "Um... ten dollars?"

"Higher than that, come on."

"Twelve?"

He knocks on the table. "How about fifteen?"

Reese chokes on her words when she says, "O-okay. Fifteen. Sounds good."

"All right, that's settled." He sets his elbow on the table and cradles his cheek, staring intently at her. "You're hired, by the way."

Rewind, rewind, rewind.

"Huh?"

"I decided a while ago that you're hired," he casually rephrases.

He's giving her severe whiplash at eight in the morning. "Thank you... so much," she tells him. "You're serious?"

"Yeah." He rubs at the back of his neck before hesitantly asking, "Can you start today? You can say no."

Reese presses pause and checks her mental calendar. Empty. Completely empty, so she shrugs with a giddy smile. "Sure, why not?"

"Wonderful." He stands and gently sets Marlowe on the ground. "Do you have a PayPal account?"

"Yes, I can write that down for you."

After she scribbles down her username, along with some other essential information he might need, Harry leads her to the connected living room and places a hand on his hip, pointing to something. A thick silver ring on his finger catches Reese's attention as he rambles. She can make out an engraved hand doing some symbol that's not familiar to her. She assumes it's sign language.

"This is our puppet theatre." Reese mentally stumbles back into reality at the sound of his voice. "It's cardboard, but it gets the job done. Like I said earlier, visual stimulation really helps Marlowe, so if you want, you can put on a show for her. Lots of finger puppets to choose from."

Looking around the living room, she likes how small it is. The cardboard theatre, which has Marlowe's Theatre written on the top, is tucked into the corner, surrounded by tiny finger puppets of different animals. All the essentials are in one place — a TV and bookshelf, a couch and a recliner, as well as an indoor patio. Toys are scattered in every crevice, and if there's one word to describe the home, it'd be cozy.

"Any questions?"

Reese jerks her head to Harry, fizzling out from her trance. "Um, no, I think you covered everything."

"I'm glad you said that, because I'm about to be late for work," he lightheartedly says. "You can hang out with Marlowe while I get ready, yeah?"

Reese nods and gives a thumbs up as Harry starts to head to another room. She holds her head and rubs at her temples to stay present. She hasn't fully processed what happened yet.

She just got hired. That's what happened.

After a few minutes of observing Marlowe crawl around and fascinatingly look at stuff, the creak of the wooden floor makes his daughter's eyes light up and move past Reese's shoulder. Turning her head around, she only has a single second to prepare herself for what she sees.

Harry stands in the open doorway, doing up the last button of his white doctor's coat. She completely forgot he was a pediatrician for a moment. He wears a plain white button up underneath, along with the same slacks he already had on. His hair is slicked back a little save for one strand that has naturally fallen loose.

Reese's throat goes dry. She has an impulsive thought of wanting to ask why the hell his wife would ever leave a man like him.

He just smiles at her and then goes to clean Marlowe's mess on the highchair. Once he's wiped it down with baby wipes, he scoops her up and signs something to her, a single hand gesture remarkably similar to the one on his ring. She does it back. He then kisses her forehead twice and pinches her cheek.

"Call me if you need anything at all," Harry says, carefully passing his daughter over to Reese. "I'm ten minutes away if there's ever an emergency. Have fun, okay? I'll see both of you soon."

Reese sets Marlowe on her hip. It reminds her of when her brother was young. "Bye. Have a good day."

He shuffles over to the table to grab the thermos of soup and then walks backwards with a wave on his way out. "You as well. Thanks for the soup, Reese."

The door closes shut, and the movie begins.

——

Six hours pass in the blink of an eye.

Reese and Marlowe had fun together, thanks to her being one of the most relaxed babies she's ever met. There were no tantrums, and she went down for her nap with no trouble at all. She also ended up putting on a puppet show for her, finding it much easier to not have social anxiety around kids since they couldn't care less about what she says or does.

Overall, she really enjoyed today. It's been a while since she's felt content. She deserves this.

Harry had come back right on time, his doctor's coat slung over his shoulder and a box of frosted cookies to give her as appreciation for babysitting. He looked exhausted, so she didn't keep him long before saying goodbye and driving home with a smile on her face.

Currently, Reese saunters into her room and immediately flops onto her bed, reaching over to turn her star projector on. It's dark outside now. Just as she's about to get comfortable under the blankets, her phone buzzes on the bedside table.

Tapping the screen, she sees a text message from Harry as well as a notification saying someone sent a hundred dollars to her PayPal account.

It reads: Just wanted to say thank you again for babysitting. Marlowe went down really easy tonight. Let me know if you got the PayPal transfer. I added an extra ten dollars for gas.

Pause. She needs to think before she ends up replying with something stupid.

Her fingers shake as she types out and sends: we had fun! i think she liked my puppet show. and yes, i got the money

You actually did that? You didn't have to. I know it can be a little dehumanizing, especially when she doesn't laugh.

you must not be very good then haha. she was laughing the entire time i did it

Did she? I suppose my Mr. Tiger character is a bit outdated.

she's really sweet! i don't think she cried once

That's good to hear. I've got to head to bed, but I'll see you on Wednesday. Just wanted to thank you again and make sure you got the money.

have a good night!!

Goodnight, Reese.

The fake stars above Reese twinkle dimly as she replays the scenes of today. Her tangled film will unravel and show flashes of conversations or significant happenings until she drifts off into unconsciousness. It's how it always goes until dreams fill the spaces, vivid fragments of a different reality that cruelly vanish once she wakes up.

Dreams of escaping the immutable fishbowl with a soaring leap, diving into the unfathomed ocean.

Dreams of a single day unburdened by anxious thoughts, worrying no more with a spirit and soul free of misgiving.

Dreams of kind eyes looking into hers with undivided attention, the color as green as spring grass with flecks of sunlit marigold.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles x oc #dadrry #dad!harry #harry styles #adore-laur

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britishmuffin · 2 years

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Sorry if this has been asked before - do you have any tips on how you create those lovely stained-glass-like patterns for the round backgrounds for patreon pieces?

Sure! Although this will be entirely about Clip Studio Paint because it's what I use :>

CSP has a fantastic symmetry tool that lets you draw multiple sections at the same time, a bit like a kaleidoscope. You can increase the number of symmetry lines and use it to make really intricate patterns quickly.

Here's a few I've made in the past using this method:

Or!

you could do what I did for the NN portrait borders and download free-to-use assets from the vast realms of the community hub :D

Such as these pretty brushes I used: [1] [2]

Then click the spanner symbol to open your circle tool settings (or using whatever line or shape tool you want!) you need to head into the Brush Tip sub-menu, the Material tab, and import your new downloaded brush.

Have a look at your brush tip settings too, some brushes need a different angle or need to be flipped horizontally for them them to look right. Fiddle with this section if your result looks funky!

Pop into the Stroke sub-menu and make sure ribbon is ticked also.

Then it's just a case of adjusting the Brush Size afterwards, and off you go :D

I hope that helped, have fun making your own funky borders!!

psst I have a handful of tutorials and full video timelapses on my patreon if making art is your jam <3

★ patreon || website || twitter ★

#if you're reading this and wanna know anything super specific about CSP shoot me an ask btw!#muffin tips #reply

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shallowseeker · 5 months

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Sam whirls, panicked, "Is he gone? Are we back?"

Jack grits his teeth, trying to wrest control of the worlds. The trickster keeps pushing in, enfolding dimensional walls like a kaleidoscope, dissolving whatever protection Jack throws up. "No."

The streetlamp flickers.

Sam's voice floats across the street, tinged with an irritating whine, "Then what are you waiting for? Get us out of--!"

"Hey," Dean cuts him off. "He's tryin' to concentrate."

The road is dimly lit--asphalt shiny and threateningly wet. Jack can't tell if it's slick with rain or blood. He squints against the bright flare of the closest streetlamp. It flashes at bizarre intervals, spotlighting them where they stand.

Their surrounding looks vaguely familiar, like it's a something Jack's seen on TV but can't place. He concentrates on teleporting away, reaching for Naphil powers that don't come.

"I think we're in another one of his worlds," Dean whispers, shivering. "You hear something? I do, but I don't see nothin."

Jack's clothes start to change, phasing in and out, similar to the way Gabriel had done it earlier. He feels his fed threads melting away into something tight and red.

Dean laughs. "Nice digs there, Jackson. Is it close to midnight?"

Jack looks down. Red leather outfit with jutting shoulder pads. Black leather dancing shoes.

Wait. He knows this.

Oh, fuck.

"Graveyard, three o'clock," Sam reports, and fogs rolls over them like a special effect. "Dean? That, uh, it looks like a crowd of zombies. Are you seeing this? Dean. Dean! Hey, Keith, are you gonna--"

Jack almost says, "I don't remember you being this annoying," but he reels it in at the last second. Instead he huffs, "We see it, Sam!"

The grin Dean sports is half-excited, half-terrified. "Holy crap, I think he put us in the goddamned music video for Thriller."

"No," Jack moans, so ashamed. "This is mine."

Dean spins. "Yours?"

"I--I can't control it. I don't know--"

Sam shrieks as the zombies drift closer, swaying like they're slaves to the wind. The Thriller music starts up, just a whisper in the background at first. "What do we do now?"

"Same thing we've been doing this whole time," Dean barks, and the music starts getting louder. "We play to it. Fighting it zaps away your powers...right, Kid?"

Jack swallows. Technically-- "Yeah. Fighting it is fighting me."

Sam looks more horrified at the prospect of dancing than he had at performing surgery as a doctor stand-in. The zombies surround them and leer even closer.

Dean prepares to march forward, clothes getting rattier by the second, just like the dancers in Thriller. "Okay then."

#time travel fic eating me as always #every day every hour #past gabriel versus jack changing channels style #jack and dean DEFINITELY know the dance #sam...does not #he keeps awkwardly looking over his shoulder #so then jack's subconscious says *i guess he's not a zombie* puts him in the ponytail damsel costume and sam is mortified

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dustedmagazine · 8 months

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Mandy, Indiana — i’ve seen a way (Fire Talk)

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There are plenty of different ways for a record to be overwhelming. We sometimes talk of great pop music as undeniable, as if solid enough craft has its own kind of inexorability. There is of course pure sonic and/or conceptual extremity (heck, there’s a whole book on that if you’re interested), and in even more subjective waters we can each find our personal limits when it comes to emotional intensity. Mandy, Indiana have made an LP that has some familiarity with most of those realms, but also shows off one other particular kind of overwhelming. i’ve seen a way can seem at first both thorny and kaleidoscopic in construction, a discombobulating whirl of a record. But it has a sneaky way of reconfiguring your expectations, so that even listeners who don’t know quite what to make of it may find it evolving from patchwork to singular statement even as they’re listening.

For Anglophones, at least, there’s one immediate barrier here; although the quartet formed in Manchester, vocalist Valentine Caulfield sings entirely in her native French. The kinetic and sonic force of her vocals are present regardless of linguistic background, but translating turns up everything from a list of things men have said to her about her body (the fierce “Drag [Crashed]”) to… instructions for video game players (the stiff robo-grooves of “Injury Detail”). The rest of the band (Alex Macdougall on drums, Simon Catling on synths, Scott Fair on guitar and production) match her range and radical force. If you want to start tracking down rough genre referents for i’ve seen a way you’ll be grabbing pieces from post-punk, synthwave, industrial, noise, and more and spotwelding them together, less worried about achieving seamlessness and instead taking pride in the visible joins. Most bands don’t display the kind of range found here, for example from the seesawing, shuddering blare of “Peach Fuzz” to the fervid steamcloud ambience of “(ノ>ω<)ノ :。·:*:·゚’★,。·:*:♪·゚’☆ (Crystal Aura Redux),” let alone sequence those examples next to each other.

At times, like when the menacing, cavernous “2 Stripe” evokes a half-dub of Massive Attack’s Mezzanine or when the brief “Mosaick” overdrives vocals, cymbals, and various grinding noises into the red, it’s easy to feel in the moment like you’ve gotten a bead on what Mandy, Indiana “does.” But then they immediately pivot somewhere you might not have immediately expected (to the placid feedback howls of “Iron Maiden” and the cyberpunk motorway music of “The Driving Rain (18),” respectively). And miraculously enough these shifts always feel like they make sense, even like they’re building to something. Mandy, Indiana are still a pretty young band; 2021’s … EP was a thrilling and promising debut, and i’ve seen a way is a lot more than that. If they keep improving (and expanding) at this rate, the prospect of what that might do is almost a little scary. Overwhelming, even.

Ian Mathers

#mandy indiana #i've seen a way #fire talk #ian mathers #albumreview #dusted magazine #noise rock #synthesizers #post-punk #france

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leelee120000 · 4 months

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Looking Back On: Panic! At The Disco, “Vices and Virtues”

April 27, 2020

“Vices and Virtues” is pure steampunk in aesthetic and sound. It was the newest Panic! At The Disco album when I got into them in early 2011. It’s so good but I should stress that these articles cover my favorite albums – not the albums I think are technically the best – because If that were the case, I’d be writing about “Pretty. Odd.” (2008). Nothing else in emo can compare to it and most fans cite it as P!ATD’s best work.

The album even received a short film! (Source: Youtube/Fueled by Ramen)

The album “Vices and Virtues” starts with “The Ballad of Mona Lisa” with its dark, moody tone and strong strings it sets the bar for new-wave baroque pop and immediately shakes away any fears of this being a basic album. The music video is wonderful and only builds upon the aesthetic as it takes place at a funeral. I won’t spoil the twist ending but it’s great.

“Let’s Kill Tonight” is one of my all-time favorite P!ATD songs, placing among my top three. So everything has to be perfect when it comes to that level of my standards. The strings, the lyrics, the speed, the story is all breathtaking and accompanied by the music video, it is a song that well-defines the album.

“Hurricane” is so good. I love the elevator-music-style intro right before the song shifts into high gear, it’s such an appreciated change of pace before such an intense song. The following track, “Memories” being next to “Hurricane” is so natural; they fit so well together. The lyrics in “Memories” talk of a young love that burnt out fast and the “Hurricane” is song about a fast young love.

Next is “Trade Mistakes.” If I haven’t gushed enough about the strings on this album, here, I have to. They fit so well. The chime noise is so weirdly creative but works so well. Perhaps it’s because of my own orchestra background, but the string work makes this album for me.

“Ready To Go (Get Me Out of My Mind)” is next. Hot take here: the music video is amazing with its time travel storyline and isn’t too crazy for the album. I know that it got a lot of hate when it came out for “breaking” the narrative and I get that but I think that it works! Honestly, I used to hate it but I’ve grown to appreciate it.

“Always” makes me want to cry but in a good way. It was the first album released after the band split up which makes the emotion behind the post-split hit so hard. “Always” feels like it was written for the other bandmates. The emotion of “The Calendar” is so good. The ending acts as an intermission for the album.

“Sarah Smiles” was written to woo Sarah, the woman who eventually became Brendon’s wife. It is so cute. I adore it with such romantic lyrics like “Sarah smiles like Sarah doesn’t care, She lives in her world, so unaware. Does she know that my destiny lies with her?” and “Oh Sarah, are you saving me?”

“Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met…)” is such a good song. The demo version, remixed with the final cut became my ringtone for years. Nothing beats the intro after the choir singing and the strings. It feels the most like a Bohemian Rasphody echo with the multiple songs in one song. The transition between the intro to the bass really makes this song.

Now onto the bonus tracks. “Kaleidoscope Eyes” is a great song but it ranks lower than the rest. It feels the most basic with generic lyrics and it would’ve tanked the album if it wasn’t a bonus.

“Oh Glory (Demo)” is amazing and clicks with the album but I understand why it wasn’t included as it feels uncompleted.

“Stall Me” is such a bop, but I think the emotions around the break-up explain why it stayed as a bonus having two split songs would’ve been excessive.

The last few rapid-fire thoughts, “Bittersweet” is so well known, so I don’t even think of it as a bonus. “I Wanna Be Free” fits really well with “Ready To Go.” I think it was cut due to similarity. “Turn Off The Lights” should have made it to the album; it’s too good to have been a bonus.

LeAnne McPherson

#my writing #p!atd #panic! at the disco

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purplepinkcoruscantskies · 11 months

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Karma MV Analysis

Like a lot of people I was watching TN's Insta livestream really excited to watch the premiere before the stream ended and I was left staring at my phone. But the music video came out like an hour after that stream so it didn't matter in the end.

Anyway, I really like this music video and it has a lot of easter eggs so it's time to see if Taylor's been hinting at things three years in advance.

The video opens with a moonstone blue Midnights vinyl from which pink and blue glitter and butterflies fly out of. This can be a callback to the ME! music video where the snake representing Reputation turned into a kaleidoscope of butterflies (kaleidoscope was also theorised to be the title of TS7). This can represent the Midnights era coming to an end through an old way of showing transitions between eras.

The next scene shows Taylor portraying the Greek goddess of justice Themis (mythology is a major theme in this video so that's fun). I've seen a lot of people say that these Roman numerals at the bottom of her statue translate to 1989 but my own research (I say research very lightly) doesn't come to the same conclusion, I guess this is something you can have your own opinions on.

We then see Taylor wearing a devil mask in what looks like the Underworld. When she takes off the mask we see she's wearing a very Reputation inspired look with black lipstick and the hairstyle of that era.

After that, she takes inspiration from The Wizard of Oz by walking down a yellow brick road wearing red shoes, acting as Dorothy in a children's fairytale book. This is the first of a few fairytale references, the second being Taylor lying on top of a giant cat in a blue dress, potentially referencing Alice in Wonderland. Three Grim Reapers dressed in red flip her off and she blows lavender dust at them which transitions to the next scene.

Next we see Taylor sitting in both sides of an hourglass with lavender coloured sand running into the bottom half. This could represent the time in the Midnights era running out and being replaced with Speak Now TV.

There's also a link to the Blank Space music video here with the hourglass briefly turning into a sunglasses shape for Taylor, hinting that 1989 TV will be next.

Then we see Ice Spice sitting on a clam shell in the middle of the ocean holding pink pearls. This might be a reference to the birth of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love and beauty who rose from the ocean on a shell.

Taylor lights up one, then three, then five lightbulbs while dressed in gold. This could be a reference to the golden cage scene in LWYMMD (as well as a hint to SNTV and 1989 TV).

The next scene is probably a link to the line “Love you to the moon and to Saturn” which is from seven. I don’t think this has any more of a meaning beyond Taylor and Ice are really good friends. Maybe if you wanted to make a reach you could say this represents Taylor owning her albums produced from 2019 onwards because she’s holding the lyrics from folklore on a leash? What you can be sure about is Taylor and Ice’s zodiac signs in the starry background, you can’t really expect Taylor to not be an astrology girlie at this point.

The thumbnail showing Taylor and Ice sailing a pink boat down a pink river could be inspired by Egyptian mythology. Correct me if I’m wrong but the west bank of the Nile River is associated with the underworld and death, funeral barges and other ships would often sail across the river to represent the sun’s arc across the sky (explaining why the sun is setting in this scene). Maybe Taylor wanted another way of saying she comes back from the dead.

Finally, we have the coffee cup.

There are a few things to unpack here:

- Taylor’s nails are painted blue and then black, possible hinting at 1989 TV and then Reputation TV

- the Roman numeral for 4 isn’t “IIII” it’s “IV”

- the clock is nearly at midnight

Then Taylor sets the coffee cup down on what looks like the piano in the room used for the Midnights photoshoots and the clock strikes twelve, midnight on the dot. This representing the end of Midnights and the beginning of new music.

#taylor swift #midnights #karma #karma analysis

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krispyweiss · 5 months

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youtube

Song Review: Grateful Dead - “Wang Dang Doodle” (Live, Aug. 26, 1993)

Retrofitted with a slinkier, less-edgy arrangement in the period after Brent Mydland’s death, “Wang Dang Doodle” nevertheless retained its spot as a killer blues spotlight during Grateful Dead sets.

The Aug. 26, 1993, version in California, just released as part of the ongoing “All the Years Live” video series, is no exception. Known best for multi-colored kaleidoscopes of sound, the Dead prove true-blue with this selection, which Bob Weir growls with authority as the band swings behind him.

This version sparkles for Phil Lesh’s bass, Vince Welnick’s grittier-than usual backgrounds and organ sounds from his rig and a fully engaged Jerry Garcia - not always the case in this era - playing grimy licks and joining Weir and Welnick at the mic during the chorus.

Sound Bites could listen to this one - ahem - all night long.

Grade card: Grateful Dead - “Wang Dang Doodle” (Live - 8/26/93) - A

Read Sound Bites’ previous “All the Years Live” coverage here.

11/16/23

#Youtube #grateful dead #all the years live #wang dang doodle #jerry garcia #bob weir #phil lesh #bill kreutzmann #mickey hart #vince welnick #brent mydland

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kaleidoscopevisualart · 6 months

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✴ Kaleidoscope Visuals ⛅ Earth Cloud

💖 Click to Watch Kaleidoscope Art Videos with Relaxing Background Music 📺 Kaleidoscope Visuals - Colorful Visuals

📌 https://youtube.com/@KaleidoscopeVisuals

A kaleidoscope is a dreamcatcher. The patterns of a kaleidoscope can be calming and soothing. They can help to clear your mind and to focus on the present moment.

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kaleidoscopeshortvideos · 21 days

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📺🎶 Kaleidoscope Mind

#Kaleidoscope Video Background #Visual Relaxation Video #Kaleidoscope Mind #art #artwork #abstractart #symmetryart #kaleidoscopevisuals #kaleidoscope visuals #kaleidoscope #kaleidoscopeart #digitalart #kaleidoscopenostalgia #fairy aesthetic #retro #classickaleidoscope #minimalist #mandala

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longlistshort · 8 months

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(Alison Elizabeth Taylor, “Anthony Cuts under the Williamsburg Bridge, Morning”, 2020 Marquetry hybrid (wood veneers, oil paint, acrylic paint, inkjet prints, shellac, and sawdust on wood)

Currently at Orlando Museum of Art is The Outwin: American Portraiture Today, an impressive collection of work in a variety of mediums.

From the museum’s website-

Launched in 2006 to support the next wave of contemporary portraiture in the United States, the National Portrait Gallery’s celebrated triennial Outwin Boochever Portrait Competition is a major survey of the best American portraiture selected by internationally prominent jurors and curators. Now in its sixth edition, The Outwin: American Portraiture Today presents 42 works selected from over 2,700 entries, that foreground the vibrancy and relevance of portraiture today. In addition to paintings, photographs, drawings, and sculptures, The Outwin includes video, performance art, and textiles, highlighting the limitless possibilities of contemporary portraiture.

Open to both emerging and established artists, this year’s entrants were encouraged to submit work that moves beyond traditional definitions of portraiture, and to explore a portrait’s ability to engage with the social and political landscape of our time. The variety of media and subjects featured in the exhibition invite audiences of all backgrounds to find relation in the human experience.

Since its inception, finalists for the exhibition have been determined by a panel of jurors including three Portrait Gallery staff members and four external professionals (critics, art historians, artists). The competition is endowed by and named for Virginia Outwin Boochever (1920 – 2005) who, for 19 years, volunteered as a docent at the Portrait Gallery. Her commitment to advancing the art of portraiture is continued through the support of her children.

Below are a selection of works from the show and information about them from the museum.

Alison Elizabeth Taylor– Anthony Cuts under the Williamsburg Bridge, Morning, 2020 (pictured above)

On walks around her Brooklyn neighborhood during the COVID-19 lockdowns, Alison Elizabeth Taylor encountered the hair groomer Anthony Payne, who,with his workplace shuttered, had taken his scissors, mirror, and chair to the streets. Payne sought to financially support the Black Lives Matter movement, especially in the aftermath of George Floyd’s murder, and turned over proceeds from his donation-based haircuts to organizations advocating for social justice.

Taylor’s process, one she developed and named “marquetry hybrid,” incorporates vivid paints, inkjet prints, and the natural grains of over one hundred veneers. Marquetry, with its inlaid combination of woods, can “memorialize,” Taylor notes. She acknowledges the history of the craft, which was favored by Louis XIV (1654-1715) when he was acquiring furniture for Versailles. By giving Payne this “royal treatment,” Taylor aims to pay tribute to him. ”I want him to see how much his example meant to me,” she explained.

Kira Nam Greene– Kyung’s Gift in Pojagi (From the series “Women in Possession of Good Fortune”), 2019, Oil, gouache, colored pencil, and acrylic ink on canvas

In this mixed-media work, by Kira Nam Greene, the artist Kyung Jeon faces us with relaxed self-assurance. She is carefully positioned on her couch as her long black hair falls over her orange and turquoise tunic. In the foreground, a wooden cylinder containing paint brushes reveals her medium of choice. A plate with persimmons, consumed during the harvest festival Chuseok to celebrate good fortune, brims with potential while the rest of the painting pulsates with action.

Greene situates her friend in a fantasy world that echoes Jeon’s artwork and their mutual interest in the traditional Korean fabric quilting technique of pojagi. Two rabbits, representing Jeon’s Chinese zodiac, appear to be concocting a potion. Flowers sprout as kaleidoscopic patterns envelop her. The reference to pojagi, the visible paint drips in the background painting, and the hands of the sitter- left unfinished- invoke the role of tradition, process, and exploration in artmaking.

Stuart Robertson– Self Portrait of the Artist from the Out and Bad series, 2020, Aluminum, earth, acrylic paint, enamel, paper,metallic bubble wrap, sequins, and gold foil on wood

“In my world, skin is high-tech, amorphous, and armored,” the artist Stuart Robertson observes. “Blackness is percussive, lustrous, flexible, and indestructible.” Self-Portrait of the Artist depicts a fragment of a man- half of his face and his upper torso-shiny and monumental. A black beard delineates his jaw, and a small gold hoop adorns his ear. Although the figure is cropped beyond recognition, the work’s title provides a clue.

Through the alternation of flat and repoussé aluminum sheets, Robertson achieves a hypnotic effect, a poignant tension playing on what he reveals or hides from us viewers. His refusal to depict his entire face or figure challenges the notion of what a portrait should be and blocks the objectification of the Black male body, so often sexualized in visual culture. Simultaneously, Robertson delivers an irrepressible, resplendent image of that body, one inspired by the aesthetics of Jamaica’s dancehall culture.

Vincent Valdez– People of the Sun (Grandma and Grandpa Santana), 2019, Oil on canvas

An elderly couple faces us with the gentle authority that old age provides. People of the Sun (Grandma and Grandpa Santana) is a portrait of Vincent Valdez’s maternal grandparents. “My grandparents spent most of their time outside,” the artist recalled. “Grandpa spent his entire life working under the blazing Texas sun as a carpenter and yard worker, cutting lawns in the wealthy communities of San Antonio right up until he passed away. Grandma was constantly working with her hands–raising kids, washing, sewing clothes, and tending the plants in her yard.”

The Santanas are depicted in a space defined by details the artist remembers: their vintage AM radio, their plants, their homemade clothes. The bedsheet, like the Virgen de Guadalupe’s aura, signals their spiritual role in the family. This portrait connects the pair to the Indigenous and mestizo cultures of the American Southwest, including the Aztec and Maya, who honored the sun.

Elsa María Meléndez– Milk, 2020, Canvas with silkscreen, embroidery, ink, and other textiles

Elsa María Meléndez routinely crosses the boundaries between artistic mediums in large-scale artworks that command space and attention. Combining silkscreen, drawing, and various needlework techniques, Milk portrays the artist charging forward, determined. She carries a limp bull and advances while her breasts drip glistening drops of milk.

Created six months into the COVID-19 lockdown, this artwork encapsulates Meléndez’s reflection on the fight for gender equality in Puerto Rico. As people went into quarantine, gender violence escalated around the world. In Puerto Rico, where femicides increased substantially, feminist organizations took to the streets, demanding that the government declare a state of emergency. They received the scorn of substantial sectors of society, across gender lines. In response, Meléndez created Milk, an icon of indomitability that recognizes the strength of women and their life-sustaining force while acknowledging their willingness to nurse the beast that sustains patriarchy.

Timothy Lee– A portrait of the comet boy as a bearer of memories, 2019, Silk, heat-transfer ink, gold leaf, and oil on canvas

In his practice, Timothy Lee investigates his struggles with anxiety, which he feels stem from his Asian American, queer, immigrant, and diasporic identities. Yet, while drawing from his personal narratives more broadly, Lee also attends to the disquieting complexities that are intrinsic to growing up as part of two cultures.

The ironic figure of the “comet boy,” visualized here as if emerging from a halo, is both an embrace of and a departure from the artist’s past. The dynamic interplay of light, shadow, and texture evince the layered nature of Lee’s inquiry. A keen attention to materials and precision, as evidenced by the incised cuts throughout much of the work’s surface, allude to the artist’s earlier scientific training. Snapshots of the artist’s childhood in South Korea emblazon the comet boy’s body. Memories, and with them the past, become part of the flesh, like tattoos.

Clarissa Bonet– Glimpse, 2019 from the City Space series, Inkjet print

The discovery of a figure amongst a grid of windows and vertical blinds conjures the disorienting situation of coming upon an unknown face peeking through a window. With that chance encounter comes the recognition that one is being watched, possibly even surveilled. Glimpse is part of a series that explores urban life, specifically the relationship between private and public spaces and the daily experiences of those traversing these areas, including those of the artist.

Though made before the COVID-19 pandemic lockdowns, for Clarissa Bonet, this photograph brings to mind the recent state of being “isolated from the public spaces we all used to enjoy freely.” The unidentified woman may be looking onto an unknown subject left out of the composition, or onto nothing at all.

Ilene Spiewak– Deeper into the Isolation of Self Information and Gender, 2020, Acrylic paint and charcoal on canvas

For over fifty years, Ilene Spiewak has focused on the relations between color and visual space, painting at the edge of representation and abstraction. The introspection and solitude brought by the pandemic made her compositions more sparse and her palette more restrained. “I realized what I had in my studio was myself always. . .. I began to insert myself in my paintings more than I was conscious of in the past.”

In this self-portrait, Spiewak outlines her silhouette in charcoal. Her face and nude torso are rendered in soft shades of white, pink, and gray that push against the yellow background. With frankness, she paints her aging body, countering centuries of idealized, youthful, slender female nudes in art. By placing her figure off-center on the picture plane, with her right arm extended but truncated, Spiewak subtly allows us into the intimate act of observing and painting herself.

Inga Guzyte– Cutting Edge, 2020, from the Kindred Spirits series, wood and used skateboards

Inga Guzyte recycles old skateboards, sawing and reassembling them into new sculptural configurations. Cutting Edge, a portrait of Alison Saar, is from Guzyte’s series “Kindred Spirits.” which honors women who have made their mark in the art world. The ethos of bravery and independence that is part of skateboard culture conveys the tenacity and perseverance of Guzyte’s role models.

Aptly made from reclaimed wood, a recurrent material in Saar’s sculptures and installations, this portrait stands between painting and sculpture. Saar’s expression evokes her fierceness and commitment to her practice. Her headdress points to her Afro-diasporic background, while its dynamic red and orange twists suggest her fiery creative energy. Like a flame, the headwrap attracts a multitude of moths, which recur in Saar’s work to signify a go- between for the real world and the spiritual world.

This exhibition is on view until 10/8/23.

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