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ybon-paramoux · 22 days

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Nathaniel Sichel: Judith

#art #painting #judith #nathaniel sichel

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hobbyarchivist · 6 months

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1914

The Toronto World

#art #history #lgbt #writeblr #spilled ink #painting #art history #1910s #sappho #sapphic #Nathaniel Sichel #greek #poet #poetry #illustration #artist #lesbian #academia #dark academia

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the-lost-lamb · 9 months

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An Oriental Beauty by Nathaniel Sichel (detail)

#art #detail #Nathaniel Sichel #m

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oldsardens · 9 months

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Nathaniel Sichel - The Flower Girl

#Nathaniel Sichel

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hidekomoon · 7 months

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i finished the first 3 last spring and then completely gave up on this project until i completed number 4 & 5 this week. i’m kind of running out of paintings with easy poses to photoshop together but i’m gonna keep looking! (here’s my little collection of lesbian montages)

1. Evelyn de Morgan’s The Prisoner (1907-08) with Joanna Mary Boyce’s portrait of Fanny Eaton (1859)

2. Waterhouse’s The Awakening of Adonis (c.1900) and John Simmons’s Titania Sleeping in the Moonlight Protected by her Fairies

3. Portrait of a Lady by Natale Schiavoni (c.1820) with Nathaniel Sichel’s In the Time of Roses

4. A painting by Eugene de Blaas and L’Espoir by Auguste Leroux

5. La Blanche et la Noire by Félix Valloton (1913) with Portrait of Madeleine by Marie-Guillemine Benoist (1800)

#medievalcore #painting #mine #lesbian #wlw #art history #evelyn de morgan #john william waterhouse #waterhouse #fanny eaton #joanna mary boyce #pre raphaelite #academism #classical #mythology #sapphic #the first one is my favorite montage i've ever done tbh. boyce's portrait of fanny eaton is just perfect

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simena · 2 years

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Nathaniel Sichel - The Flower Girl (detail)

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sugar-phoenix · 10 months

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un-satyr.

I decided to swallow my perfectionism and just write out a short story without making it special or anything, just writing all the parts that I wanted to write and finishing. I might edit/add more but honestly I'm pretty happy with what I wrote and I wanted to share it.

tw: gore/violence, mentions of blood + wounds + pelting + pain

Sitting on the riverbank, I carefully brushed my platinum locks. They fell over my shoulders in strands, and on all sides of my head. I hated having my hair cut. If I could, I would wrap them around my horns to keep them out of my eyes.

But I didn’t have horns.

I dipped my hooves into the water, and continued straightening out my hair until it no longer looked like I had tossed and turned all night. Only my family and the village doctor knew I had been suffering from terrible migraines. It was one more defect to add to my list of flaws. One more reason why I didn't belong. I hoped to hide my problems from the rest of the world.

Alas, brushing your hair out did not fix the dark circles under your eyes, and against my sickeningly pale skin, it was wildly obvious I was losing sleep.

I frowned as I felt a painful throb inside my skull. Why was I born this way? Blindingly white, horn-less, and now, having terrible migraines. Instead of being a regular, normal satyr, I was the village abomination.

I rose from the riverbank to walk.

The smell of the lavender field cleared my migraines a little bit and made it better. Here, I was further from the village, from the feeling of being out of place. Here, I belonged.

I laid in the grass and rested.

And then they began to pelt me.

Younglings, picking up pebbles and throwing them at me. Telling me I was a freak, a monster. Taunting me with their little nubs of horns on their heads.

Although nobody had ever outright expressed their distaste of me in the village (fae such as us were loath to express anything that might make us seem ungraceful), the behavior of the children spoke volumes of what they thought of me. I rose from the lavender field. A pebble struck my forehead. I ran, blood dripping down my face.

The pain was immense. I clutched my forehead in bed, gently bandaged by my mother, and screamed as my father sent for the village doctor. It didn’t hurt this much initially, yet ever since I came home, the pain had only steadily increased. I struggled to hold still as the doctor unwrapped my bandage, checked my forehead, and reported nothing out of the ordinary. The pain was merely a product of the concussion combined with my migraines. Nonetheless, he re-bandaged it, and gave me a potion that was sure to knock me out as cold as a corpse.

I slept.

I woke up free of the pain that plagued me only hours ago, to a dry, crusty pillowcase. It was stained a deep, dark red. I gasped, and jumped up from my bed to inspect my wound in the mirror.

My reflection’s eyes stared back at me, the eyebags underneath them gone. My skin glowed, pale as ever, yet it was… sparkling? The hair that fell around the wound was caked red, yet the rest of my hair flowed flawlessly. In between my bangs, I saw something else. Something new.

Ivory and pearlescent, it tore out of the bandages that had unknowingly held it back. A single, solitary horn.

dividers by @cafekitsune here. Header is Young Lady with Roses by The Bank of a Lake, Nathaniel Sichel, from this post here.

#writeblr #writing #fantasy #short story #short stories #creative writing #writing community #original fiction #satyr #satyrs #unicorns #✎ . writings

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mermaidenmystic · 2 years

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