#Oil quay

[adieuparis]

La marne , le pont du RER huile sur toile 65 x 50

#huile sur toile #oil painting #contemporary art #french painter #cityscape #urban landscape #parisfrance #Manuel Leonardi #Leonardi Manuel #Paris #art #pintura #painting #peinture #la Marne #quai

[clairity-org]

Maurice de Vlaminck, Le Havre, Grand Quai, 1906, Oil on canvas, 8/9/23 #StlArtMuseum by Sharon Mollerus

#Saint Louis Art Museum #1906 #Grand Quai #StlArtMuseum #Maurice de Vlaminck #Missouri #Le Havre #Oil on canvas #St. Louis #MO #flickr

[kafkasapartment]

Le Quai des Grands Augustins with Tree, 1907. Edward Hopper. Oil on canvas.

#edward hopper #art #painting #peinture #pittura #pintura #malerei

[huariqueje]

Quai des Celestins, Paris   -   Serge Mendjisky , 1974.

French , 1929-2017

Oil on canvas ,  50.8 x 65.4 cm    20 x 25 3/4 in.

#Serge Mendjisky #french artist #city night lights #Paris #Quai des Celestins #street light #bridge nocturne

[thunderstruck9]

Lesser Ury (German, 1861-1931), Seinequai im Nebel [Quay on the Seine in Fog], 1928. Oil on canvas, 32 x 24 cm.

#lesser ury #german art #paris #fog #street scene #quai

[lawrenceleemagnuson]

Félix Vallotton (Lausanne 1865-1925 Paris) Bateaux à quai, Honfleur (1913) oil on canvas 73 x 60 cm

[urgetocreate]

Gustave Loiseau (French 1865-1935) Le quai du Pothuis à Pontoise, 1905, oil on canvas

[pwlanier]

Frank BOGGS 1855-1928 PARIS, LA SEINE, NOTRE DAME,

LE QUAI VOLTAIRE AND THE INSTITUTE

Oil on canvas signed lower left

Interencheres

[villasugandhala]

Henri Matisse, Studio, Quai Saint-Michel, 1916

oil on canvas

58 1/4 x 46 in.; 147.955 x 116.84 cm.

#henri matisse

[jareckiworld]

Constantin Kluge (1912-2003) — Quai de la Seine, Notre Dame de Paris  [oil on canvas, 1950s]

#Constantin Kluge #french art #old paris #quai de la seine #Notre Dame de Paris

[adieuparis]

Alforville nord , la Marne , huile sur toile , 81 x 65

#huile sur toile #oil painting #contemporary art #french painter #cityscape #urban landscape #parisfrance #Manuel Leonardi #Leonardi Manuel #Paris #art #pintura #painting #peinture #la Marne #quai

[beedreamscape]

Quay washes Laerryn's hair.

A much longer n sadder successor to the hair braiding excerpt. No quotation marks bc I wanna be experimental, hopefully it's understandable.

~1.5k words. Post Evandrin's death.

Loquatius had only ever known grief as a concept, something external, real, but intangible.

Until yesterday. Until Evandrin.

It had been quick, the interval between the fading and the funeral. Patia and Loquatius had been making sure to have it all set up, so neither Zerxus nor Laerryn would have to worry about any bureaucracy in this time of pain --- also because it would start getting really hairy having to explain what illness had taken Evandrin without a body to examine, luckily for them, forgery of memory and documents isn't something any of them is morally above.

What Loquatius hadn't expected was for the pain to hit him as well, a quiet creeping, soul-deep and unshakable.

All he had known were either immortal or lived long enough to feel as such, and Avalir has been safe enough that violent deaths were a distant reality even for fighters like Evandrin.

This wasn't violent, but the rupture wasn't any less painful.

Laerryn last saw him the night before --- he watched her kiss him goodnight for the last time, how her hand rested on his barely there hair ---, it happened in the morning, and by the late afternoon, the whole city had gathered to pay their respect to its First Knight.

Loquatius read a speech, a week in the making, but enunciated from memory as not to offend his loved ones. He had lost hope a week prior, he wanted to make sure due respect and honor were paid to his dear friend. Evandrin knew it too, Loquatius promised then to make sure his memory lived on, that Elias would only know of his father as a hero greater than those of myths.

A whole twenty-four hours have passed since they dispersed the funeral and memorial -- hours of arranging reports, hours of trying to calm down Zerxus, hours of arranging killing disclosing some of the archives regarding the first Knight --, and Laerryn finally returns home from the Labyrinth.

She hasn't eaten, bathed, or spoken since the morning before.

She walks into the apartment slowly and apathetic, as if the place is as foreign as how she feels.

He wants to comfort her, but he's far too attuned to her to even try.

He stands up from where he was, waiting for her, and holds out a hand. Let's get you cleaned up so you can rest, darling.

Laerryn nods and takes his hand.

He helps her through the whole process. He can see how heavily she carries her limbs as she walks to their master bathroom, so he helps her out of her boots and clothes, her jewellery, gently removed and placed on the tray on their vanity. With the proximity, he can see how her eyes look exhausted and on the verge of tears, but also at the aftermath of hours of weeping.

He places a kiss on her cheek, feeling the softest peach fuzz and the warmth under his lips, thankful to have that yet another day with her, before moving on to prep the bathtub with warm water, enriching it with bath salts and oils.

He looks back at her, barely there.

Come, darling.

Won't you bathe as well?

I already did.

Oh...

The dim light in her eyes grows even weaker.

Would you like me to help you?

There's half a second of hesitation, of her age-old instinct to put walls of self-reliance, but she's too worn out now and has been enough hours on her own to know it was futile to ease the pain. In this moment, her pride has no chance against her need to be near him.

It's barely a whisper, but he hears it. I would.

She watches him roll up his sleeves before she even dares to move. I'll grab a stool.

And when he returns, she's still waiting for him, standing awkwardly by the tub.

He places a hand on her back. Darling. Would you like to wash your hair? Otherwise, I can put it up for you.

I haven't washed it in a while...

He just nods. Get in, I'll grab the toiletries.

Their bathtub is a classic, cast iron with a gilded exterior set to the left to leave space for their very luxurious, even in this day and age, shower space of marble wall and flooring topped with a waterfall-like showerhead.

Laerryn's body is carrying the weight of grief and exhaustion and guilt, she sits on the tub and feels herself sinking beyond the surface of the iron, like an anchor or maybe a ball and chain, always sinking but never hitting the bottom.

Loquatius situates himself behind her with the products at his feet.

And so the metaphor gets lost in her. Quay moves and the air around him becomes richer for it. He's the anchor, and the water, and the wind, and the sails.

Loquatius takes a clay cup and scoops up some water before pouring over her hair. It takes quite a few turns to get it soaked through given the density of her curls and its knots.

The hair soap, handmade and hand-carved, was made especially for her with the smell and the shape of violets, dark purple marbled with yellow. He had gifted her a box with a couple dozen, months previous, to celebrate her good spirits on her yet-to-be-revealed invention.

She had told him to send one to Evandrin for his contributions so Quay asked which were his favourite flowers which she didn't remember but promised she'd ask and he promised to order it when she did.

For the funeral, Laerryn and Zerxus had decided no flowers and Quay passed the word forward. Flowers were gifted as a manner of covering up the smell of death before magic could, but they all knew there was nothing to hide. Loquatius had the idea to request that the fighters brought their swords and rapiers and all matter of weapons, and presented them in the memory of Evandrin, to make the same promise he had made as First Knight.

He soaks the soap in the water before scrubbing generously against her scalp, parting sections to reach deeper, washing away the sweat and dust. Once the bubbles start to build up, he uses only his hands, burrowing spindly fingers into her hair, massaging her scalp and scrubbing the length of it.

She remains quiet, knees to her chest, watching the view outside the circular window. Outside, mostly the stars and the pinpricks of light coming from the city are visible.

Close your eyes, dear.

As he leans down to pick the cup back up, he observes a line of soap trail down her neck and shoulders, the contrast against her skin is a delicate ephemeral masterpiece. She is the most beautiful woman he's ever know, he will ever know, he will take care of her.

That is if she allows him to do so; in this moment, at least, she does.

When her hair is ridden of the soap, he gives her shoulders a little squeeze. You should start cleaning yourself up, darling. I'll leave the conditioner resting for a few minutes.

She nods and stretches her long legs under the water.

The conditioner comes in a pear-shaped crystal bottle and smells like something icy as he pops off the lid.

He pours a generous amount into his hand and works through the tangles of curls, combing through it until his fingers slide down its length. She doesn't move much while he's at it, she scrubs herself sluggishly, mindlessly.

Once he's satisfied, he puts her hair up into a slippery asymmetric bun at the top of her head, and watches as she bathes.

He will have to make amends, dirty his hands to keep her name clean.

But she's his and he is hers, their names mingle and merge. They're two incredibly free individuals, they're also the same person. They touch and the lines blur.

He watches his wife bathe and her only comfort in this moment is knowing she's being watched by him.

He's waiting with a towel when she rises from the bathtub like something between an alluring siren and a wet cat, folding into herself yet never negating the long breathtaking thing she is.

The towel is fluffy and enchanted, he barely needs to rub it against her skin. He starts with her face and makes his way down.

He's on his knees when she starts crying, going up her left leg after drying the right one. Loquatius has touched her countless times in the past, every inch, in every way, but the clarity of the moment and the cold from her wet skin wakes her to the privilege of being touch so intimately and gently by someone.

His hand stops on her inner thigh and her knees nearly buckle.

He looks up. Darling...

She extends out her hand calling him up. He holds her, wrapping the towel over her wet back. She is warm, damp, and supple.

Laerryn is rough sharp edges, Laerryn is a lovely lovely woman.

I don't know how much worse it'd be without you, Quay.

And you never will, I have you.

#loquaerryn #laerryn x loquatius #loquatius seelie #laerryn coramar seelie #exu calamity #writing #angst #beezwritez #short fic

[huariqueje]

Cityscape with sun, at the quay - Jan Altink ,  1925.

Dutch, 1885-1971

Wax crayons and oil on canvas, 98.5 x 78 cm, 

#Jan Altink #dutch artist #city scene #light

[thunderstruck9]

Jean-François Raffaëlli (French, 1850-1924), Le quai des Grands Augustins, Paris. Oil on canvas, 57.5 x 75 cm.

#jean françois raffaëlli #jean-françois raffaëlli #french art #cityscape #paris #quai des grands augustins

[lawrenceleemagnuson]

Auguste Herbin (1882-1960) Quai du Port de Bastia (1907) oil on canvas 72.8 x 60.5 cm

[schuetzenjagennachts]

destrinchamento de uma vida musical

nos últimos dias eu quis reunir quais são seriam os álbuns "fundamentais" para me conhecer e ao formar essa lista, me deparei com reflexões sobre por que eu escolhi esses álbuns, o que eles significam em si, o que significam pra mim e qual é a minha percepção sobre eles. pensei que gostaria de escrever então um pequeno blog sobre essa aventura que será destrinchar cada um desses álbuns, alguns deles controversos por natureza e dos quais devo ter assimilado também um certo nível de controvérsia

mais interessante ainda é refletir sobre como descobri esses álbuns e como na minha confusa e complicada adolescência eu atribuí tanto sentimento a eles e os tomei como referência para minha identidade

a lista de álbuns segue abaixo:

estes foram os álbuns que citei a princípio para me conhecer:

toda a discografia - Crystal Castles

Arca - Arca

Oil of every pearl's un-insides - SOPHIE

Vulnicura - Björk

Ison - Sevdaliza

Trinity - Eartheater

Salvador - Sega Bodega

SILENT HILL 2 (Original Soundtrack) - Akira Yamaoka

Joyful Death - SONIKKU

estes abaixo foram "menções honrosas" que acredito também terem considerável significado para mim:

Nymph - Shygirl

Miss Anthropocene - Grimes

Этажи - Molchat Doma

m♡rtal - Meth Math

Sin Miedo (del Amor y Otros Demonios) ∞ - Kali Uchis

Romeo - Sega Bodega

What's your pleasure? - Jessie Ware

Pang - Caroline Polachek

Tearless - Amnesia Scanner

The Understanding - Röyksopp

Eletrocardiograma - Flora Matos

enfim, nos próximos posts iniciarei a discussão sobre cada um dos álbuns, começando pelos do crystal castles

#crystal castles #björk #sega bodega #eartheater #grimes #alice glass #ethan kath