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horatiovonbecker · 3 months

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@lilliankillthisman expressed interest in hearing the outline for Hanged For a Lion, my notional Twig divergence fic. So that's what this post is. Major spoilers for Twig up to Arc 14, and minor ones up through the epilogues.

Arc 4 - Stitch In Time - Early Winter 1921 - Divergence Point

Gordon gets to Fray first, and gives her enough information about Sy's selfdestructive contrarianism - probably going into the backstory thing where he ran away, realized it might get the others killed, and then got his mind wiped when he came back - that Fray manages to pitch Sy effectively on defection. Immediate complications: 1) Gordon doesn't actually understand why Sylvester would have both left (making future escape attempts harder) and also come back (not even getting himself out), which eats at him, and might interfere with pitching. 2) Ashton might get cancelled if the Lambs defect too early.

Not sure how to resolve 1 - I might just have to write it, which I keep putting off because I'd have to reread early Twig first - but for 2, I have two ideas: the Lambs pretend to be loyal for another six months while both sides make preparations, and Fray bribes Sy by promising to make Evette.

Arc 5 - Slip of the Tongue - Late Spring 1922

The Lambs are being deployed more broadly, while they and Fray - and behind the scenes, Hayle - are preparing for their defection. I'm not sure what this means in practice, but probably they kill fewer rebellion doctors and arrange to get some of their support equipment captured.

Mary decides to force the issue with Sy a full arc early; thanks to Fray's example, she actually manages to corner him into admitting he likes her.

The nobles also have a lot more of a presence here than in canon; they're fundamentally battlefield commanders, socially, and the war arc is the obvious place to focus on them.

Arc 6 - Down to the Wire - Summer 1922

Mary is pregnant, Jamie is breaking down, it's time to go. The plan had been to fake their deaths in the field, but there isn't time for that anymore, and the backup plan is somewhat derailed by the revelation that Percy has been kidnapping babies to turn them into ninja prostitutes.

I'm not sure how this arc finishes in practice. The Lambs are more interested in killing Percy and shutting down the Ghosts than in tracking down Avis and blowing her cover, and they also want as many of Jamie's exobrains as they can escape with. Possibly they get separated? Possibly they have to fight a Noble or six on the way out.

Arc 7 - Skin of the Teeth - Summer 1922

Following directly from Arc Six, Radham mounts a chase to capture or destroy the Lambs. The Hangman gets deployed for this. There is a train battle.

I'm also not sure how exactly I want Jamie to work, which is probably one of the things I need to do a reread for.

Maybe there should be an interlude arc or something, to establish the new status quo? Fray's group has very little written about it, is the biggest problem.

Another big question is whether Fray tells the Lambs where little Nobles come from. Given that they were secretly built as next-gen prototype Nobles... maybe? I really need to think about their relationship in this thing.

Arc 8 - Born Unto Trouble - Spring 1923

Fray has followed through on her promise to make Evette, and successfully this time: Evette is a Primordial. Primordial-spawn, theoretically, but she hasn't actually given up her biogenesis powers, just her easy shapeshifting.

Mary's baby is due. Her name is Ruth, as an unsubtle hint about what will happen if anyone hurts her. (I don't know where I'm going with this. It just seems like the natural progression of Sy/Mary being a thing.)

Also, it's just about time for the canonical Brechwell Summit, which might be disrupted by the Lambs having acted differently in Whitney? Playing defense against the assassins sounds like fun, though, and Petey the bodypuppeting rapist baby is... personally a victim on par with the Heartbroken, and also a problem on par with the Heartbroken. Possibly we skip this one; it's the one time Wildbow actually squicked me out.

Also, this is about when Ashton gets decanted. There's a lot going on in this arc. I don't know if he actually gets involved yet?

I can't actually plan past this, since there are too many important unknowns (mostly who the heck Fray is as a character and how she relates to the Lambs). But I do have some neat arc titles and a plotline I very much want to see:

Arc... 9? - Birds of a Feather

Mary meets the Falconer, possibly after tracking her down specifically. The Rebellion becomes a full-on civil war.

Other arc titles: Bite the Bullet, Belly of the Beast, Elephant in the Room, Dog in the Manger, Body of Evidence.

Things to address: The Academy's insane scorched-earth tactics, the macroscale politics, possibly who made the Exorcist rifles.

Epilogue - A Hundred Years a Sheep

To be honest a lot of my vision for this story is directly because the arc naming scheme allows for some amazing wordplay, and inverting that Mussolini quote I learned about from a Tumblr recounting of a Twitter account tricking Donald Trump into quoting Mussolini definitely counts.

Thematically, though, it's got to be about prioritizing long life and happiness over ambition, and also a peek into the future of the setting. I like it. :)

#Chrono Tag #Twig #Twig Wildbow #Writing #Fanfic #Puns

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pcttrailsidereader · 8 months

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My Top Three Hardest Days on the Trail

Kathleen ‘Token’ Neves was one of the PCTA’s P3 hikers in 2018. Kathleen tells me that the 3 ‘p’s stand for PROTECT, PRESERVE, and PROMOTE. “As a P3 Hiker, I acted as an ambassador for the trail along my thru-hike and helped represent the PCTA,” Kathleen continued.

In her other life, she has been an avid yoga teacher in the Seattle area for many years. “It was through yoga where I discovered my real passion for hiking. It started with my first Rim to Rim hike in the Grand Canyon. Next thing I know, on the plane ride home, I decided I wanted to hike the PCT,” Kathleen continued. You can see her entire blog at http://www.kathleenlovesyoga.com/

Kathleen has a piece included in Crossing Paths: A Pacific Crest Trailside Reader.

I’ve had numerous amazing experiences out here and I’ve had some not-so-amazing experiences. As with off-trail life, you have your good days and your bad days. On social media, it’s common for people to only talk about the good stuff they experience on the PCT – beautiful sunrises/sunsets, epic tentsites, the incredible views, other cool hikers, tasty food on trail/in town or trail magic along the way. But what about the not so good stuff?

When you hike 15-20+ miles a day for over four months, bad days are inevitable. When sharing my PCT thru-hiking experience, I think it’s important to talk about it all – the good, the bad and the really tough days. Since starting my PCT thru-hike back in April, three really tough days stand out as my absolute hardest out here so far.

When most PCT thru-hikers take the alternate 17 mile route to Mount Whitney, they camp the night before at either the Crabtree Meadow Ranger Station or Guitar Lake and slack pack up to Whitney, bringing only water and snacks with them to the top and leave the rest of their belongings at camp. After hiking up to Whitney, they come back down, breakdown camp and head back to the PCT.

My trail family didn’t do that. Instead, we brought all of our stuff up with us to the junction of Whitney and the Whitney Portal. We left our packs at the junction, hiked up the 1.9 miles to Whitney and then came back to the junction to retrieve our packs. Then instead of going back down the way we came like most other PCT hikers, we went up, over and down the Whitney Portal towards Lone Pine.

Coming down the Whitney Portal was brutal. There was ice to cross over multiple times – I was the only one in the group who had microspikes. There were 99 switchbacks to navigate down. It was the longest 8 miles I’ve ever had to hike. Since we had such a long day, we didn’t take many breaks and hardly ate any food. Hiking up Whitney was hard enough, but coming down was even harder. I had two breakdowns – one when I reached the top of Whitney and one coming down the portal after I realized we still had another five miles to go.

The silver lining in the day was knowing there was a McDonalds in Lone Pine we could have dinner at. Once I meal planned in my head what I’d eat when we got there, I was able to stop crying and focus on getting myself down those last five miles. Seriously, it was McDonalds that saved the day and got me off that mountain. Now whenever I think of Mount Whitney, the first thing that comes to mind is, “Never Again!”

Tough Day #2: Day 63 – Bear Ridge Trail to VVR (in the dark)

My second hardest day on trail was on my sixth day of being in the High Sierra all alone. I ended up hiking 25.8 miles on this day, making it the most physically challenging day in the Sierra section so far.

Mentally, it was hard because quite frankly, I was tired, dirty and lonely. I had spent the last week all by myself hiking up and down multiple passes, having to cross snowfields on most of them. I hadn’t had a shower in six days, ran out of clean clothes, had run out of DEET and was being eaten alive by mosquitoes, had to ford multiple creeks and rivers all by myself, was lonely from having to camp by myself each night and hadn’t had cell service so couldn’t let my friends and family know of my whereabouts. On top of it all, I knew I still had one more pass to make it over and one more big river to ford before heading off trail for a Zero Day.

Even though I had seen some of the most amazingly beautiful landscapes I’ve ever seen in my life, I was ready to get off trail for a day, talk to other people and eat food that didn’t require boiling water to cook.

I hit the junction for the Bear Ridge Trail at around 7pm. The sun was starting to go down, but I decided to take my chances and keep going. I figured if it got too dark, I’d meet up with the other hikers and camp with them.

It got dark quickly, especially in the forested areas on the trail. I picked up my hiking pace, got my headlamp out, turned it on and made a deal with myself – I’d stop at the first tent I saw on trail and camp for the night.

As soon as I turned on my headlamp and started hiking again, I slipped on a rock, fell to my chest and snapped one of my trekking poles in half. I was sad about my trekking pole, but realized the trekking pole had stopped me from sliding face first into a tree. I got up, dusted myself off and kept going down the trail.

I never did see anyone camped along the trail as I hiked down. I don’t know what was more scary – hiking in the dark by myself or realizing I was the only person hiking the trail, in the dark! I made it down to the trailhead well after dark.

Down the 2.5 mile road walk in the pitch dark black I went. I was so creeped out, I started playing music outloud on my phone, in hopes of scaring any animals away. I kept thinking something was behind me, but it was only the full moon shining on everything in its path.

After hiking over 25 miles for the day, at around 10:30, I walked into VVR. I was immediately greeted by a group of other hikers gathered around a campfire. They introduced themselves, showed me where the flushed toilets were, where I could set up my tent and let me know when and where breakfast would be in the morning. I was so relieved this day was finally over, I cried at the campfire in front of the other hikers. I was so exhausted, I didn’t even care. The tough day was now behind me.

Tough Day #3: Day 127 – Goat Rocks to White Pass Reroute

Goat Rocks was a section of the PCT I had been looking forward to doing. I’d seen countless pictures of other PCT hikers on this section and was excited to see the views with my own eyes.

The day before doing the Goat Rocks section, it had been overcast and the clouds above looked like they might bring rain. Grit and I made a collective decision to camp down low in a forested area so we’d have some protection, just in case it rained. Our decision was a good one because it was cold and rained all night. In the morning, there was still plenty of fog, but the sun was peeping out in spots. We took our chances, packed up camp and headed up the mountain.

As I climbed closer to the top, I had two pretty decently sized snowfields to cross. Even though the fog was thick all around me, I could still manage to see the pretty steep drop off below me. One slip, one fall and it would be a slick and steep ride down.

After the snowfields, I had to make a decision – stay on the PCT (the stock route) or take the Old Snowy route where I’d have to scramble my way to the top to see the epic views along the knife edge portion of the mountain. Since I was surrounded by fog, I stayed on the PCT. Turns out the PCT was quite challenging. The rocks were slick and it was still a long way down if I were to slip.

I’m not afraid of heights, but hiking Goat Rocks made me feel like I was. Sometimes the fog would open up just to let enough sunlight in and show me how high I was and how steep of a drop it was on the way down. This entire section of the trail was covered in loose rocks and had numerous steep ups and steep downs. It was incredibly cold and windy up there. I had to keep moving in order to keep my body temperature up and the shivers at bay. Half way through this section, about two miles in, I was ready for my hiking for the day to be over.

At the bottom of Goat Rocks, the PCT was closed due to multiple wildfires in the area. We were then rerouted on another series of trails coming down from Goat Rocks and into White Pass. Since it was a reroute on multiple trails, no one seemed to know exactly how long the reroute was or what the elevation gain/loss might be. A couple SoBos had told us the night before that the reroute would mainly be all down for us heading north. They were wrong. Very wrong.

For the first mile, the reroute did head down. After we passed the first campsite on the trail, we started to climb. The first climb was steep and long. Parts of the trail were crumbly with loose rock and most of this section was exposed in the hot sun. Once I made my way to the top, caught my breath and said a few choice words, I could see the two wildfires burning nearby. I could also see back to Goat Rocks. The fog had lifted completely. It was now clear blue, sunny skies over the entire section. I was so bummed. I’d been robbed of the views I’d been looking forward to seeing. I had to keep moving north if I wanted to get into town that night.

A couple hours into the reroute, I became hellbent on making it into town that evening. I was tired, dirty, thirsty and hungry. I didn’t want to spend another night on trail, especially this hellacious reroute. So I kicked it in high gear and went as fast as I could, not stopping for breaks or to filter/refill my water. Since I had no idea how long the reroute was to town, it felt like the trail was never going to end. I’d climb up to the top of something and then down the other side, through several densely forested areas, having to climb up and down and up again.

At one point, I could start to hear a nearby highway. I got excited because I knew I must have been getting close to the end. At this time, it was also starting to get dark out. Soon I’d have to get my headlamp out to see and if I got to the highway too late, no one would stop to pick me up and give me a ride into town.

I saw a forest boundary line, getting even more excited about how close I must be getting to the end until I saw the fast moving creek right after the sign. My heart sank. It was like the Universe was testing me to see how bad I wanted to go into town that evening. There was no bridge going over the creek. It was starting to get pretty dark and the wind had picked up. There was a sketchy log that went halfway across the creek, but I didn’t feel comfortable enough crossing over the log and jumping off to the other side with my pack on. Desperate to get into town, I sat down on the rocks, took my shoes off, pulled my leggings up to my knees and walked my ass across the creek. Since it was getting dark, it was hard to see just how deep the creek was where I was crossing it. Halfway across, I fell into the creek up to my thighs, getting my leggings soaked in the cold water.

As soon I got across to the other side and out of the water, I didn’t have time to wipe my feet off. I stuffed my wet feet into my dry socks and shoes and moved my soaked leggings all the way down my legs. I got my headlamp out and scrambled my way on down the trail towards the highway. Only the trail didn’t go down. It was a steep half-mile climb up towards the road.

By the time I got to the highway, I was shivering, out of breath and the sun had set, making it dark out. I watched as the occasional car sped up and down the mountain highway. It would be a three mile road walk up into town. There wasn’t a big enough shoulder to walk along the highway safely in the dark. The chances of someone seeing me hitching on the highway or picking me up for that matter were slim to none. Feeling defeated, I could feel the tears form in my eyes as I slowly walked back down the trail.

My only option at this point was to pitch my tent somewhere along the trail so I could get back up to the highway first thing in the morning and hopefully get a hitch into town. Since the trail was such a steep incline, there wasn’t a flat spot to camp at close to the highway. The flattest spot available would be literally right on trail.

As I started to take my tent out of my pack, I saw a set of headlights from the highway. A car had pulled over to the side of the road! Desperate, I left my pack and tent and ran up to the highway with my headlamp still on. When I reached the highway, I saw the car on the side of the road, but was too scared to approach it. Instead, I turned my back to the car and pretended to read the fire closure notices at the trailhead.

“Are you hiking the PCT?” asked the male voice coming from the car. I smiled, turned around and screamed, “Yes!”

“Do you want a ride into town?”

“I’d LOVE a ride! Let me go grab my stuff.”

I ran down the trail, stuffed my tent back into my pack, threw my pack on my back and ran towards the car. In normal situations, I’d be more cautious by getting a good look at the driver before hopping in for a hitch, but I figured nothing could be worse than having to sleep on a slope, in the middle of the trail, in my tent, on a cold night with wet leggings. Town was only three miles away!

Luckily for me, the hitch turned out to be harmless. He was getting ready to start his section hike from White Pass to Trout Lake – and he was from Seattle. What are the odds?

As we drove up the highway, I gave him detailed scoop about the reroute, in-between thanking him repeatedly for giving me a ride into town.

He dropped me off at the Kracker Barrel, the town’s local convenience store/gas station where I thanked him one more time and said goodbye. Kracker Barrel was closed for the evening so I walked behind the building, ready to set up my tent at the first safe place I could find. As I looked at the back of the building, to my right I could see the lit up sign on the building next door that said, “Lodging” After the day I had, I would have paid anything for a room for the night.

I immediately walked next door and rented a room for the evening. In this magical and well-earned room, I would take a warm shower, soak my feet in Epsom salt, heat up one of my hiker trash meals in the room’s microwave and eat candy in a warm, clean bed while I watched “Purple Rain” on TV until 2:30 in the morning. A perfect ending to an incredibly tough day.

Tags: Bear Ridge VVR Vermillion Valley Resort Mt. Whitney Whitney Portal Goat Rocks White Pass

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edwordsmyth · 6 months

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"A couple of things have happened to confirm that the US Navy is preparing for operations on a scale not seen for many years. First was the extension in theatre of the Gerald R Ford, the aircraft carrier that was in the Mediterranean already. This requires Secretary of Defense sign-off and is therefore significant. It has now also been confirmed that the Dwight D Eisenhower, on her way across the pond, is to join up with the Ford. The two carrier groups are each led by a one-star admiral. Militaries love a nice clear hierarchy, and this was duly provided. USS Mount Whitney – one of only two specialist command-and-control ships in the US Navy – put her normal contingent of NATO staff officers ashore in Italy earlier this week and embarked three-star Vice Admiral Thomas Ishee, commander of the US 5th Fleet, and his staff. Potential command and control friction resolved, and confirmation that the US aims to be ready for fleet operations on a grand scale."

#the horror is only just beginning

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ultrajaphunter · 6 months

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Updated Map of US Navy and Allies in the Mediterranean and Red Sea.

Warships from the following countries underway or deployed

U.S.A.

U.K.

FRANCE

GERMANY

ITALY

SPAIN

TURKEY

GREECE

POLAND

BANGLADESH

DENMARK

USS Mount Whitney LCC-20

Ford Carrier Strike Group

USS Gerald R. Ford CVN-78

USS Thomas Hudner DDG-116

USS Ramage DDG-61

USS Carney DDG-64

USS Roosevelt DDG-80

USS Normandy CG-60

Ike Carrier Strike Group

That is one crowded Carrier. Dwight D. Eisenhower transits the Strait of Gibraltar today [USN pic M Daley]

USS Dwight D. Eisenhower CVN-69

USS Gravely DDG-107

USS Mason DDG-87

ITS Virginio Fasan

F-591 USS Philippine Sea

CG-58 Bataan ARG

USS Bataan LHD-5

USS Mesa Verde LPD-19

USS Carter Hall LSD-50

Not Assigned USS Stethem

DDG-63 USS McFaul

DDG-74 USS Arleigh Burke

DDG-51 USS Paul Ignatius

DDG-117 USS Bulkeley

DDG-84 USNS ships

USNS Laramie T-AO 203

USNS Medgar Evers T-AKE 13

USNS Yuma T-EPF-8

USNS Trenton T-EFP-5

UNIFIL Maritime Task Force

HS Adrias F-459

TCG Heybeliada F-511

FGS Erfurt F-262

FGS Oldenburg F-263

BNS Sangram F-113

KRI Frans Kaisiepo (368),

Enroute

FGS Baden-Wuerttemberg (F-125) which will replace FGS Erfurt.

When this happens FGS Erfurt will go to Standing NATO Maritime Group 2

Standing NATO Maritime Group 2

HMS Duncan D-37

ITS Carlo Margottini F-592

ESPS Méndez Núñez F-104

TCG Yavuz F-240

HDMS Niels Juel F-363

HS Psara F-454

FGS Frankfurt am Main A-1412

ESPS Patiño A-14

Littoral Response Group South

RFA Argus A-135

RFA Lyme Bay L-3007

Tonnerre "ARG"

FS Tonnerre L-9014

FS Surcouf F-711

FS Alsace D-656

Along with Submarines and other support ships Work in progress will update daily.

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edwardgdunn · 6 months

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A Hidden Treasure – Franklin Merrell-Wolff

From time to time I try and introduce thinkers / writers who’s work not only represents significant contributions to the field of happiness but also who aren’t part of the popular lexicon or the Amazon best seller lists. Franklin Merrell-Wolff definitely fits that bill. He was a giant in the field little known to today’s readers.

“Experience and Philosophy” by Franklin Merrell-Wolff is his philosophical and spiritual work that explores the nature of human consciousness and its relationship to reality. Published in 1937, the book combines elements of Eastern and Western philosophy, metaphysics, and mysticism to present a unique perspective on the nature of experience and the ultimate reality.

Key Takeaways:

Mystical Experience: Merrell-Wolff begins by emphasizing the significance of direct mystical experience as a valid and transformative source of knowledge. He argues that such experiences can provide profound insights into the nature of reality beyond what traditional philosophy or science can offer.

The Philosophy of Consciousness: The author proposes a philosophy rooted in the idea that consciousness is fundamental to reality. He asserts that consciousness is not merely an epiphenomenon of physical processes but the very essence of existence itself. This perspective aligns with Eastern philosophies such as Advaita Vedanta.

Transcending Dualism: Merrell-Wolff challenges the dualistic view that separates subject and object, self and other. He argues that through deep contemplative practice and mystical experiences, one can transcend these dualities and directly experience a state of unity and oneness with all of existence.

The Divine Reality: The book discusses the concept of the Divine Reality, which Merrell-Wolff sees as the ultimate ground of being and the source of all existence. He suggests that the individual soul can have a direct and transformative encounter with this Divine Reality, leading to a profound spiritual awakening.

The Path to Liberation: Merrell-Wolff outlines a path to spiritual liberation that involves rigorous meditation, self-inquiry, and the cultivation of inner stillness. He describes his own spiritual journey and the stages of realization he underwent on his quest for ultimate truth.

Practical Implications: Merrell-Wolff suggests that the insights gained through mystical experience have practical implications for one’s daily life. They can lead to greater compassion, wisdom, and a sense of purpose in the world.

Wolff (1887-1985) was an American philosopher, mystic, and mathematician. He was born in Pasadena, California, and pursued a career in mathematics, eventually earning a Ph.D. in philosophy from Stanford University. Despite his academic achievements, Merrell-Wolff was drawn to mystical and spiritual experiences from an early age.

He briefly taught mathematics at Stanford in 1914, but left academia the following year. In 1920, Wolff married Sarah Merrell Briggs. The couple joined their original surnames; hence Wolff became Franklin Merrell-Wolff. Merrell-Wolff and his wife founded an esoteric group called the Assembly of Man in 1928, which gathered in an ashram he built in the Siera Nevada mountains near Mount Whitney Sarah Merrell-Wolff, also known as Sherifa, died in 1959. Franklin Merrell-Wolff remarried and lived the rest of his life in the mountains until his death in 1985.

His spiritual journey led him to study Eastern philosophies. Merrell-Wolff’s mystical experiences and philosophical insights formed the basis for his groundbreaking work, “Experience and Philosophy.”

In addition to his philosophical writings, he also left behind a substantial body of work on meditation and spiritual practice. Franklin Merrell-Wolff’s writings continue to be influential in the fields of philosophy, mysticism, and spirituality, inspiring seekers on their own journeys of self-discovery and spiritual realization.

While not a particularly easy read, his seminal book is well worth the effort.

Check out the podcast episode…

Check out the Happiness 2.0 Podcast — https://podcast.edwardgdunn.com/

Happiness 2.0 Blog — https://edwardgdunn.com/blog

#consciousness #spiritualjourney #philosophy #mysticism #FranklinMerrellWolff #happiness #emotional intelligence #mental health

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cavenewstimes · 6 months

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USS Mount Whitney heading to Eastern Mediterranean

Read More Military Times The U.S. 6th Fleet command-and-control ship Mount Whitney is heading to the Eastern Mediterranean Sea to support U.S. operations there, the Navy announced Wednesday, as tensions escalate in the region amid war between Israel and Palestinian militant group Hamas. The Italy-based flagship left Wednesday and will join other U.S. assets — including two aircraft carrier…

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thorsenmark · 2 years

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flickr

Sometimes You Have to Stop in the Alabama Hills National Scenic Area by Mark Stevens Via Flickr: While taking in views at a roadside pullout along Olivas Ranch Road. The setting is looking to the east across the desert landscape present in this part of the Alabama Hills National Scenic Area. The more distant ridges and peaks are of the Inyo Mountains.

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usafphantom2 · 2 years

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flickr

Ronnie Bell Following

Convair B-36D

Side view of Convair B-36D-5-CF (S/N 49-2652) of the 7th Bomb Group (Heavy), Carswell Air Force Base, Texas. (U.S. Air Force photo)The B-36D was basically a B-36B modified by the addition of four J47 jet engines mounted in two outboard wing pods. The jet pod design was "borrowed" from the B-47 program with Boeing approval. The addition of jets increased the maximum speed of the B-36 to more than 400 mph.

In an effort to increase performance, the USAF initiated the Featherweight II program and later Featherweight III. Featherweight II eliminated non-essential interior equipment, and Featherweight III eliminated defensive armament except for the tail turret and most of the fire control avionics.

Twenty-two B-36Ds were built, and an additional 64 B-36Bs were modified to B-36D specifications (86 aircraft total). The first flight of the D model with J47 jet engines was July 11, 1949. The prototype B-36D initially flew with J35 jet engines on March 26, 1949; however, vibration problems required an external brace for the nacelle. During the modification, the J47 became available and these were installed in place of the J35s.

Type Number built/

converted Remarks

B-36D 22 First 10-engine model

B-36D 64 (cv) Converted B-36B

TECHNICAL NOTES:

Armament: 16 20mm cannons, plus 72,000 lbs of bombs (Featherweight III aircraft had two 20mm cannons)

Engines: Six Pratt & Whitney R-4360-41 radials of 3,500 hp each (takeoff power) and four General Electric J47-GE-19 turbojets of 5,200 lbs. thrust each

Maximum speed: 406 mph at 36,000 ft. (Featherweight III -D models could fly 418 mph)

Cruising speed: 225 mph

Range: 7,500 miles with 10,000 lbs. bomb load.; 8,800-mile ferry range

Service ceiling: 45,200 ft.

Span: 230 ft. 0 in.

Length: 162 ft. 1 in.

Height: 46 ft. 8 in.

Weight: 357,500 lbs. (maximum gross weight)

Crew: 13 for Featherweight III ; 15 otherwise

Serial numbers: 49-2647 to 49-2668

Via Flickr

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harvardfineartslib · 3 years

Photo

Paul Thek (1933–1988) was an American artist, who worked with a wide range of materials to create paintings and sculptures, as well as a number of ambitious installations considered immersive environments before such practice was popular. Thek was featured in more than forty solo exhibitions, and his work featured in sixty group shows at institutions such as the ICA London, Moderna Museet, Stockholm, and Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam. Recognition of Thek as a major international artist came posthumously in the United States when the Whitney Museum of American Art mounted the first American retrospective of his work in 2010.

Thek’s life as an artist had many ups and downs, and at times he struggled financially and had difficulty working. His attitude towards art is best described by his statement: “Real art is done with and for the people … REAL is what FEELS + SMELLS + TASTES.” He generally disliked the New York art scene, where “fancy people looking at a lot of stuff that didn’t say anything about anything to anyone.” (pp. 19 & 17)

Stay tuned for the Part II…

Image 1: Front cover Image 2: The Tomb, 1967, Installation view, Stable Gallery, NY, 1967 Image 3: Ark Pyramid, Easter, 1973, Installation view, Museum of Art Lucerne, 1973

Paul Thek : artist's artist Edited by Harald Falckenberg, Peter Weibel. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, c2008. 639 p.: ill. (chiefly col.); 29 cm. English HOLLIS number: 990119859410203941

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aic-american · 2 years

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Mount Equinox, Winter, Rockwell Kent, 1921, Art Institute of Chicago: American Art

An artist with an adventurous spirit, Rockwell Kent traveled widely, gravitating to such harsh and snowy locales as Alaska, Greenland, Newfoundland, and New England for his painted landscapes. Kent set up a small shack to use as a studio in remote Vermont, which he described as a “handy refuge for a frozen realist.” It was there that he captured this view of Mount Equinox in winter, one of a group of paintings that he executed of the peak at different seasons. Although grounded in realism, Kent’s landscapes are not straightforward transcriptions of the natural world; rather, they are harmonious compositions featuring simplified forms, vivid colors, sharp contrasts, and astute design. Gift of Gertrude V. Whitney Size: 86.6 × 111.9 cm (34 1/8 × 44 1/4 in.) Medium: Oil on canvas

https://www.artic.edu/artworks/7755/

#museumarchive #rockwellkent #artinstituteofchicago #americanart

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melancholymetropolis · 4 years

Text

Enemy

Prompt: Reader is secretly in love with Randall and gets heartbroken when she catches him kissing another girl. She sings a sad song about it.

A/N: This fic is combining both my love of Glee and The Order.

Warnings: A LOT OF ANGST, implied smut and curse words, sudden POV change (Unedited)

Words: 3300+

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The ear-bleeding music seemed to slowly die down as the pounding of my heart replaced its significant impact. My brain was trying to differentiate what my eyes were capturing and what I was feeling. Although, I seemed to be doing a terrible job.

Randall Carpio was lip-locked with some girl I had never seen before that day. He was. . . I didn't know what he was at that moment. I didn't consider him a boyfriend since we never had the appropriate conversation about it. Yet, he was more than a friend, since we had kissed a couple of times. Granted, the goal was to divert needy girls from sitting in his face. But, my heart was the warmest when we shared such intimate moments. How our tongues tangled long after the intended audience had left and we were always one minute away from racing to a secluded area. Desperately wanting to release the sexual tension that had been within us since we had met last semester.

I guess I was the only one to feel those things.

I released the breath that I had been holding and turned my back to the scene. I placed the red solo cups on the porch of the rundown home and walked away from the bustling party. I tried my best to conceal the tears welling up in my eyes and the tightness in my throat. I held myself together all the way until I reached my apartment.

The shock on my roommate's face was unexplainable as I crumbled into her arms and soiled her satin shirt with my teary mascara.

I saw his face the very next day, at the student center. He was signing some form, probably for a missing key. Since Randall was a RA, he had to fill out at least 6 of those forms every Saturday morning. Looking out for freshmen was a tough job, but he did it with no complaints. I walked past him and cranked up the volume of my phone. I could feel his eyes on me, but I chose to ignore it. If he hadn’t been signing those forms, I knew he would’ve followed me. Or chased me down.

I walked to the makeshift computer station and tapped my ID on the printer's mount. The device made a loud 'beep' before spitting out several sheets of paper. I gathered the warm items into a pile and stapled them together. Instead of walking out the way I came in, I decided to go deeper into the building and take the back exit. It happened to be further away from the library, where my study group was waiting. But an extra minute of walking wouldn't hurt as much as facing him again.

I proceed to avoid Randall for the upcoming weeks. I dove myself into my studies, spending all my extra time getting ahead on classwork. And, when I got bored with that, I upped my crocheting skills. The temperature was rumored to drop to a cool fifty degrees next week and I didn't have a scarf. Less than seventy-two hours later, I had finished my scarf and began working on my hat.

Janet, my roommate, had gotten worried that I turned into a grandma. So, she bribed me into leaving the apartment.

"Come with me to this club meeting and I'll buy you dinner," she said as she plopped onto my bed.

I stopped in mid-row and looked over at her. "You're only doing this because you don't want to go alone."

"Maybe," she huffed. "But, we'd both be happy when the night is over. You'll get your precious tacos and I'll join a new club."

I rolled my eyes. I finished my row and set my unfinished project on my desk. "Let's go before I change my mind."

The air in the auditorium was alive and thriving. It wrapped around my body like a chilled hug and I never felt so calm. I took my time walking down the aisle to the main stage, absorbing the positive energy all around me. The spotlight was aimed towards the middle of the stage, where the group was huddled. Instruments lie, abandoned, near the back of the stage. Along with mic stands and sheets of music on the floor. One group member picks up a sheet of paper from the edge of the stage and locks eyes with me. He stands up straight and looks up at me.

“I know you!” He shouts toward me.

I looked behind me and saw that there was no one there. “Me? Where do you know me from?”

“We partied together a couple of times,” he said I walked up the side steps of the stage. He paused a second to process the memories and wait for me to close the distance between us. A blush flashed against his face and scratched the side of his neck. “I tried to hit on you a few times, but you were always with that Randall guy.”

Hearing his name still made my heart stop. I tried to push my emotions back into their cave as I mustered the courage to speak again. “I—” My voice cracked with just one letter so I just bit my lip and shrugged.

The familiar stranger seemed to have understood my silence and just carried on the conversation. “Well, I’m glad you could make it! We are kind of desperate for new members.”

I cleared my throat and looked down at the ground. “What’s this club about?”

“We’re like a glee club of sorts. We sing songs that describe the overall feel of the weeks prior,” he replied in an assertive tone. “Interestingly, we have been singing a lot of breakup songs lately. We actually reconsidered to rename the club ‘The Lonely Hearts Club’.”

I looked over at Janet and she gave me a sheepish grin.

Before I could even call out to her, a new voice emerged from within the other bustling ones.

“Okay, everyone! I am excited to announce that we have new members!” The voice cheered with pure joy, which radiated throughout the room. The owner of the voice, a young woman, walked over to me and smiled. “It’s a tradition for the new recruits to ‘audition’ to become official club members. You can either sing a duet—” she looked over at Janet. “Or a solo”, then back at me. “Whichever you feel is comfortable.”

“I think a duet—” I tried to say before being cut off.

“We’re gonna do solos,” Janet interjected. I threw her a harsh look, which she had completely ignored and continued on with her statement. “I have been wanting to play my version of ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears for the longest time.”

“Great! We’ll get the stage set up, and you’ll be ready to go, yes?” The leader said with a hasty head nod. She looked back at me. “While she’s performing, try to figure out if you’ll be singing acapella or acoustic. We have tons of songs from our prior setlists if you want the band to back you.”

The familiar stranger placed a binder into my hands and I almost doubled over by the sheer heft of the object. I departed from the stage and sat in the front row. I flipped through the pages, I saw various pop anthems and R&B baby-makers in the front collection. The further I went into the binder, the more breakup songs I encountered. The majority of them are Beyonce and Taylor Swift. A few from H.E.R and Bryson Tiller. I knew a few songs in their possession but none of them really hit home. Until I reached the last page.

Jhene Aiko’s Triggered.

I had that song on repeat the very first week I started to avoid. . . him. Maybe it was an exaggeration of my feelings but it sure felt right. It captured the anger, the pain, and the longing so perfectly. Plus it wasn’t too much singing. I knew I wasn’t a Whitney Houston, but I could hold a note and remain in key.

I looked closer at the lyrics and sheet music behind me. A voice inside of me wanted to do this without a band. I needed to do this alone. I had to rid myself of the feelings that kept gnawing on my insides, begging to escape.

Janet killed it, per usual. She captivated her audience with her somber tone and gentle approach. A roar of applause flooded the auditorium. Almost making it hard to top that. I handed the binder back to the familiar stranger, Justin, and climbed on the stage. I looked down at all of the glee folk and gave a sheepish smile.

“I will be singing Triggered by Jhene Aiko,” I said, mustering up all the confidence in my being.

“Will you be using the band?” the club leader, Marie, asked.

“No, I would like to sing it acapella,” I replied with a shake of my head. “It’s something I need to get off of my chest.”

“Ooh! I am excited! Go for it!” She cheered before taking a seat in the audience.

I turned my back to the group and took a deep breath. I decided to leave the microphone on the stand just to allow the hollowed-out space project my voice for me. I took a step and just opened my mouth.

“Go figure, you were the trigger,” I sang with the side of my being facing the crowd. “You brought me an obstructed view when you knew the picture was bigger”.

The chitter-chatter among the group dropped and all eyes were on me.

I took another breath and carried on. “Who am I kidding, I knew from the beginning,” I paused. An image of Randall flashed in my mind and I could feel the emotions bubble up. I clenched my fists and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I just—.”

“Unleash it,” Marie yelled from the crowd. “The pain you’ve been holding. You don’t need to pretend anymore. This is a safe space.”

The crowd yelled reassuring testaments from below and it made me chuckle.

“So, cry if you need to! We saw it all,” Justin added in. “And we all have felt exactly what you are feeling at this moment.”

The exchange made me feel comfortable and highlighted that we were all humans at the end of the day. No matter how hard we judge, we all will be or have been in a position that makes us feel so small. So insignificant. It was only human for us to feel.

I nodded. “I’m going to start again.”

I closed my eyes and allowed the words to spill from my lips.

Go figure, you were the trigger.

You brought me to

An obstructed view

When you knew the picture was bigger

I opened my eyes and gave a humorless laugh.

Who am I kidding?

Knew from the beginning.

I saw him kissing her; as if I were experiencing it all over again and all I could feel was anger.

You’d ruin everything

You do it every time.

You are my enemy,

You are no friend of mine.

Muhfucker...

I paused and ran my hands through my hair. I clasped my hand together to make a loud clap before pointing to an empty space on the stage. As if he was there with me.

You muhfucking right

You muhfucking right I’m triggered

You muhfucking right I’m bitter

You muhfucking right I...

I stopped in midpoint and gave a weak smile.

Wanna fuck you right now

The crowd “oohed” in the audience from the statement and gave me a few claps.

He heard her voice before he even entered the building. While jogging across the quad that night. It had been weeks since they had last spoken and he wished he knew the reason behind it. Every time he called, it went straight to voicemail. His texts never went through, and when they did, they were left with some written automated message. Randall had debated whether to stop by her dorm and question her about the sudden disappearance, but he respected her space. But, hearing her voice for the first time in a long time had done things to him. It made him reminisce about the old times they had back at the packhouse with the other wolves. The times where they’d sleep in his bed after a night of partying; limbs drunkenly tangled together and his head on her chest. Randall loved laying his head on her breasts. They were always so soft and inviting and smelled of flowers.

Like a sailor lost at sea, he followed the sweet melodies of Y/N’s eerily beautiful voice. The young man made his way to the auditorium before he had a chance to turn back. And he was thankful he hadn’t. She was like a siren in a pool of auburn water. The spotlight made it seem as though she was glowing. Highlighting the parts of her he found most gorgeous. Randall had taken so much time just staring at her that he shocked at the amount of sadness the lyrics offered.

Tryna let the time go by

Tryna let the time heal all

Tryna let the time kill all

Of our memories

All you meant to me

All that history

All that's history

I'll calm down eventually

Why was she singing such a sad song? Who was this song dedicated to? He pondered the possibilities of anyone that could perhaps make her feel this heartbroken. Was Y/N going through a break-up? Who’s ass did he need to beat?

I'm triggered when I see your face

Triggered, when I hear your name

Triggered, I am not okay (yeah)

You need to stay out of my way

Suddenly the singing stopped and a sole tear rolled down her face. Y/N wiped it away and mumbled the last lyric about three more times before the audience rose from their seats and clapped. Multiple peopled raced to the stage and gave her a warm embrace and Randall watched as the tears continue to flood her face.

“I should kick Randall’s ass for making you feel that way,” a familiar voice— Janet— said in the depth of the group. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I have no idea who he is, but fuck him!” A different voice chimed in. “Men are trash—”

The men in the group made an unsatisfactory sound.

“Current company excluded.”

Y/N smiled and whipped her tears. “Randall’s not trash, he just...” She paused for a moment to think. “Isn’t what I thought he was.”

“And what would that be?” Randall shouted from the doorway of the auditorium.

All the heads in the room snapped in his direction and he could hear Y/N’s heart stop for just a millisecond. As he walked down the aisle, Randall’s ears grew accustomed to her increasing heartbeat. He memorized the sound after all the nights he spent with his head against her breasts, but he hadn’t heard it beat that fast. Ever. It scared him.

Upon walking to the stage, Randall watched as the group parted— like the red sea— Y/N. His favorite girl. No longer the fierce siren he saw while she was performing. Her mascara smudged underneath her eyes and her lip gloss dripped to her chin. But, it hadn’t mattered to Randall. She could walk through a hurricane and he’d still see the beauty within her.

“Why are you here?” She asked as she walked down the stairs.

“You’re such a good performer! I was completely captivated by your stage presence—” Randall found himself spilling before realizing it.

“Can you just not. . . be yourself for one minute and be serious?” Y/N said in a frustrated tone.

It was true. She was mad at him.

“I must’ve really fucked up if you can’t take my silliness,” he mumbled to himself. Suddenly a little self-conscious, Randall looked at the group of people that had obviously been eavesdropping on the situation. He looked back at his girl and gripped her hand. “Can we talk in somewhere private, please?”

Y/N sighed and gave him a nod.

Randall pulled her out of the auditorium and into the vacant corridor.

“Look, I—” He cut her off with an embrace. Hands around her waist and nose in her hair. She smelled like cinnamon and sugar. But, it wasn’t the artificial kind that came in a spray bottle, no. It was the smell of freshly baked buns and the wafty aroma that scattered across the roll while they cooled. “Randall, what are you—”

“Just tell me what I did, so I could never do it again,” he squeezed her body closer to his and pressed a cheek to her head. “Being away from you for that long is something I refuse to do again. I tried my best to give you your space but it pained me. . . Tell me what to do.”

Y/N’s heartbeat slowed to its normal pace as she released a shaky breath. “I saw you kiss some girl at the party.”

His body tensed. She saw him kissing Ashley? The girl was just some drunken sorority chick that stumbled across the party. Randall had won a game of beer pong and she followed him outside to give him a ‘reward’. He hated the kiss if he could even call it that. It felt like Randall was desperately trying not to choke on her tongue. He shivered at the war flashback.

“This may sound lame, but she really did kiss me,” Randall replied. “I didn’t want to come across as rude, so I just let it happen. I wish I hadn’t though. She was such a bad kisser. Like oh my god, so bad. I drool all over my shirt and everything”

She giggled. “That’s disgusting.”

“It was worse than you think,” Randall grimaced before pulling away to face Y/N. “I am sorry that I hurt you so bad that I forced you into isolation. I would never hurt you on purpose, you know that, right?”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I know that now.”

Randall placed a hand on her cheek and gave her a longing look. “Do you, also, know how much I love you, Y/N?”

“. . . What?”

Randall pressed his lips against hers for a steamy kiss. Y/N’s arms wrapped around his neck quickly as she stood on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss. He dropped his hand from her face and gathered her legs in his hands. He lifted her up with ease and pressed her against the wall. She groaned against his lips and arched her back, further pressing their bodies together. Y/N braided her fingers in his hair and tighten her legs around his waist. The pent up frustration from the overall situation had quickly become sexual and they were seconds from ripping each other’s clothes off.

The sound of a door closing brought her back to reality and Y/N pulled away from his lips. Just for him to attack her neck.

“Randall, we have to stop now,” she struggled to stop the moans from slipping from her lips. Y/N craned her neck to the side and tugged on the rooks of his hair. She jerked his head away from her neck and narrowed her eyes. “I mean it, Randall.”

“You’re no fun,” he pouted.

“I am not trying to have our first time in a hallway, Randall,” she hissed.

“But, it would be so risque,” he pouted even more. “The thrill is getting caught is so intoxicating.”

“But getting expelled isn’t,” Y/N rolled her eyes. “Can you put me down now?”

“So you are just gonna leave me all hot and bothered?” Randall said in blatant shock.

“I was going to suggest your dorm room, but since you suggested leaving—! Ah!”

Randall slung Y/N over his shoulder and jogged through the hall. “I take it back! Come on, we don’t have any time to waste!”

#randall carpio #randall carpio x reader #randall carpio imagine #the order #the order imagines #randall carpio angst #implied smut #singing #glee club #jheneakio #triggered #the order netflix #the knights of saint christopher #the knights of saint christopher imagines

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pcttrailsidereader · 3 years

Text

Dangers of Hiking the PCT Loom as the 2021 Season Approaches

This is an excerpt of a story from the San Francisco Chronicle that appeared in the February 21st issue. I do find that there are increasing numbers of hikers populating the PCT whose backpacking and wilderness experience is very thin while the dangers remain the same (perhaps even greater with the addition of forest fire).

By Gregory Thomas

As the spring hiking season approaches, veterans of California’s trail community are urging long-distance backpackers to take extra precautions to avoid catastrophe. Looming over the season is the unceasing threat of the coronavirus as well as a tragic snow-related death last year on the Pacific Crest Trail.

Trail authorities are chiefly concerned that inexperienced hikers, seduced by the prospect of a life-changing adventure on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and the natural beauty of the John Muir Trail (JMT), may be venturing unprepared into dangerous situations in the remote wilderness.

Whereas older generations of outdoors enthusiasts likely built their skills and experience under the guidance of seasoned mentors, younger hikers seem prone to digging for trail expertise in internet blogs and social media. Hundreds of thousands of through-hikers coalesce around hubs on Facebook to discuss strategy and gear. But the vibe of comment threads can turn macho or hostile, and the information exchanged isn’t always sound.

“A lot of the voices (in online trail groups) are great, but some have been historically dismissive of safety,” said Jack Haskel, trail information manager at the Pacific Crest Trail Association, which issues long-distance permits to PCT hikers on behalf of the U.S. Forest Service. “Something we’ve been talking about as a long-distance hiking community for years now is, how do we build a community of alumni who stick around and offer their insights to new generations of hikers?”

Through-hiking the 2,660-mile PCT, which spans mountain ranges between Mexico and Canada, is a six-month commitment to self-sufficiency in the woods. The highly popular JMT, which extends from Yosemite Valley 217 miles south to Mount Whitney, overlaps with hazardous sections of the PCT in the High Sierra.

“This is not a beginner experience, but a lot of people hike the JMT as their first through-hike,” said Inga Aksamit, of Sonoma, who administers several JMT groups on Facebook. She says JMT permits, which become available online each morning for spring and summer hiking dates, are getting snapped up within a minute or two. “That’s really concerning to me,” she said.

The two trails, once the byways of fringe dirtbaggers, now draw tens of thousands of nature lovers to California’s mountains each year. Many aspire to follow in the footsteps of Cheryl Strayed, whose 2012 hiking memoir, “Wild,” became a best-seller and popular film, or re-create the spectacular nature photos of their favorite Instagram influencers.

Last year, the onset of the coronavirus pandemic prompted the Forest Service to stop issuing long-distance PCT permits partway through the season. But many hikers proceeded anyway, sparking vitriolic debate and shaming in the online groups where hikers congregate. This year, permits are back on — the trail association anticipates a return to pre-pandemic levels of about 7,900 permits even as international hikers are expected to stay home.

The potential for hikers to carry the virus into the 30-some-odd remote mountain towns strung along the PCT users is a theme of many social media discussions this year.

“It’s not just the risk in the wilderness this year,” Haskel said. “We’re worried about our trail communities.”

No one keeps precise statistics on trail deaths, injuries and rescues, but there have been at least 15 fatalities on the PCT since the early 1980s. The top causes are drownings at river-crossings and falls. In 2019, a 67-year-old man hiking alone died on the trail near Mather Pass after apparently slipping on a small patch of ice and hitting his head on a rock.

June is regarded as the most treacherous month to be on the trails. That’s typically the peak of seasonal snowmelt in the High Sierra, when summer’s heat flushes torrents of water through alpine streambeds that hikers must ford. Two female through-hikers drowned in Sierra river crossings in July 2017 following a winter of unusually high snowfall.

With so much new interest in long-distance treks, administrators like Aksamit feel more compelled to issue words of warning.

“I sound the alarm on posts that we get on June entries to caution solo hikers against tackling stream crossings on their own,” Aksamit said. “People think we’re fear-mongers sometimes, but a lot of people just don’t know what they’re getting into.”

An unlikely mentor has emerged this year. Doug Laher, a medical association executive from Fort Worth, Texas, has never set foot on the PCT or JMT. But last year, 11 days into his PCT adventure, Laher’s 22-year-old son, Trevor, slipped on an icy slope in the San Jacinto Mountains, near Palm Springs, and fell to his death.

The tragedy rippled through the trail community, in part because Trevor was a strong young man who appeared to be prepared for the hazards of high-mountain hiking. But also because Doug Laher has since accumulated a deep knowledge of trail dangers and spoken about his son’s death in painful detail on the culture’s niche podcasts and online forums.

“Most days I drift, merely existing in a world when everyone else is living,” Laher wrote. “But this helps: the idea that Trevor’s death didn’t happen in vain. There must be something good that rises from our tragedy.”

Trevor’s fateful trek appears to be sinking in as a cautionary tale. Doug Laher says he has received hundreds, if not thousands, of emails and Facebook comments from grateful hikers.

One came from Claire Stam, 24, of Jackson, Wyo., who hiked most of the PCT last year.

Trevor Laher’s death occurred two months before Stam’s hike began, and she had read an early account of the episode. After five months on the trail, Stam and her partner had put the bulk of the trek behind them when they encountered deep snow in Washington’s Cascade Range, 30 miles shy of the trail’s end at the Canadian border. While standing in a blizzard and considering whether to push on, Trevor’s story flashed into her mind. She and her partner decided to call off their hike and go home.

“I was so devastated,” Stam said. “Part of me thought I could do it if I really focused. But then I thought, Trevor probably thought the same thing. I knew that if he had a second chance, he would have made the decision that I made.”

Doug Laher’s message to through-hikers is straightforward: Do your research, carry appropriate gear and know how to use it, read the trail conditions and be prepared to abandon your hike. But to hikers who have in many cases dreamed about the PCT for years and rearranged their lives for the trek, turning away from a rushing river or snowy ridge can feel like chickening out.

“Sometimes through-hikers don’t know where to distinguish the line between discomfort and danger,” Stam said.

Still, Doug Laher intends to continue reaching out to hikers. “I’ve found my new purpose in life,” he said. “If I can influence a hiker’s decisions to be more safe, that’s a win.”

#dangers #death

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gagosiangallery · 3 years

Text

Mark Grotjahn at Gagosian Hong Kong

May 6, 2021

MARK GROTJAHN Horizontals

Opening reception: Tuesday, May 18, 6–8pm May 18–August 7, 2021 7/F Pedder Building, 12 Pedder Street, Central, Hong Kong __________ I like less looking, more doing. —Mark Grotjahn Gagosian is pleased to present Horizontals, an exhibition of new and recent paintings by Mark Grotjahn from the Capri series (2016–). In his paintings, drawings, and sculptures, Grotjahn interweaves various modes of abstraction, employing an expansive vocabulary of motifs and techniques that evolves between series, while infusing existing paradigms with new energy. Exploring color, perspective, seriality, and the sublime, he has drawn inspiration from a diverse history of nonrepresentational painting, from prehistoric to Op art. By incorporating complex and ever-changing modes of expression into an instantly recognizable aesthetic, he continues to develop an authorial gesture that is at once mercurial and entirely his own. Stemming from a body of work that he produced in 2016 for Casa Malaparte on the isle of Capri, Italy, the new paintings extend Grotjahn’s shift away from the representational qualities of the Face paintings (2003–) toward the realm of full abstraction. Inspired by the landmark modernist house of writer Curzio Malaparte (1898–1957)—isolated on a rocky outcrop on the uninhabited side of the island and immortalized in Jean-Luc Godard’s Le Mépris (Contempt, 1963)—Grotjahn inaugurated the series with a group of works titled New Capri. Painted on cardboard and presented behind glass, these dynamic compositions echo the rugged natural environment of the house’s setting. Untitled (New Capri XXXVI 47.47) (2016) typifies his initial approach in that it is structured around almondlike shapes derived in part from the stylized, watchful eyes in the Face paintings.

In the later Capri paintings, Grotjahn moves beyond this motif, conjuring multicolored linear vertices with stylistic echoes of German Expressionism and Italian Futurism, Vassily Kandinsky and Paul Klee. These works are also marked by the influence of American Abstract Expressionism—specifically Clyfford Still’s use of the palette knife. Although allusions to landscape are present in these paintings, most meaningfully they embody in abstract terms the formal and expressive possibilities of paint and process. Some of the most recent works, which adopt the landscape format primarily, also feature rolls of excess paint that Grotjahn “harvests” with a palette knife and arranges in loose grids across the surface of the canvas. Tapering these material elements at either end to enhance their organic quality, he joins them to the support so that they rest atop clusters of vertical and horizontal strokes, providing visual and textural disruptions to the overall compositions. Mark Grotjahn was born in Pasadena, California, and lives and works in Los Angeles. Collections include the Dakis Joannou Collection, Athens; Pinault Collection, Venice; Tate Modern, London; Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam; San Francisco Museum of Modern Art; Museum of Contemporary Art, Los Angeles; the Broad, Los Angeles; Hammer Museum, Los Angeles; Los Angeles County Museum of Art; Walker Art Center, Minneapolis; Des Moines Art Center, Iowa; Museum of Contemporary Art Chicago; Cleveland Museum of Art; Carnegie Museum of Art, Pittsburgh; Museum of Modern Art, New York; Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York; Whitney Museum of American Art, New York; Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, DC; and Rubell Family Collection, Miami. Solo exhibitions include Drawings, Hammer Museum, Los Angeles (2005); Whitney Museum of American Art, New York (2006); Kunstmuseum Thun, Switzerland (2007); Portland Art Museum, Oregon (2010); Aspen Art Museum, CO (2012); Circus, Circus, Kunstverein Freiburg, Germany (2014); Mark Grotjahn Sculpture, Nasher Sculpture Center, Dallas (2014); and 50 Kitchens, Los Angeles County Museum of Art (2018). _____ Image: Mark Grotjahn, Untitled (Capri 53.88), 2021, oil on cardboard mounted on linen, 55 × 68 inches (139.7 × 172.7 cm) © Mark Grotjahn. Photo: Douglas M. Parker Studio

#Mark Grotjahn #Gagosian

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