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centipedelightning · 10 months

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Hobbies pt.2

pt. 1 came out months and months ago and I just haven't wanted to write up pt. 2. well here it is! once again everyone say thank you toni (@tyrannydarling) for the help coming up with these.

| Underswap & Swapfell || fluff |

Hobbies: pt. 1 | you are here | pt. 3 | pt. 4

Blue

The biggest one is hiking.

Blue is super into anything that has to do with spending time outdoors. He will spend Hours looking up new trails to hike.

As an extension of that, he is also really into foraging. He has books upon books about safe foraging and what is available in the area.

It was a trial by fire though. He didn't realize things can have highly dangerous lookalikes. After he fed his brother a meal with a lookalike, the night of non-stop vomiting that followed served as a sizable warning for the future.

Stretch now requires proof of safety for everything Blue finds after The Incident.

He is also into birdwatching! He's more casual about it than his other interests, but he likes being able to recognize birds and bird-songs

Blue picked up scrapbooking on the surface once his brother started getting into photography. It's a bonding session for the two of them to collaborate and make a book to commemorate their hike(s).

For a less outdoorsy theme, Blue is also into jigsaw puzzles. He even got a fancy table made for doing puzzles as a Giftmas gift one year.

He's not the Best at them, so a basic 1000-piece will take him a few weeks off and on.

Stretch

He got into photography on the surface.

Stretch was browsing a random small thrift when a vintage film camera caught his eye. Cameras didn't usually make it into the Underground Dump in good shape, so he decided to splurge.

He bought it, found what film he needed, and got to work.

Initially, he only really took practice pictures around the house or at the local parks, but once Blue succeeded in dragging him on a hike, he got more into it.

He does a lot of macro stuff on the hikes. One scrapbook he and Blue work on is just of bugs they find.

Blue is the one that came up with the scrapbooking idea, but Stretch is the one that started stepping up the creativity game and bought the fancy paper, stickers, and stamps.

He makes a lot of friendship bracelets.

His favorite design is the zig-zag but he's good at pretty much everything.

Stuffed animals!

He loves making plushes and has made them since Blue was a babybones. He referenced a few Surface biology books he found in the Dump to make a sea turtle for himself and a rabbit for Blue's 6th birthday.

Indigo

Indi is closest to blue personality-wise, so it is only natural he has a similarly outdoorsy hobby and that's beachcombing!

Underground he used to spend a lot of his free time in Waterfall training with Alphys so he developed a taste for the water.

He isn't very good at swimming but loves to spend hours on the shoreline looking for anything interesting.

He has a Massive shell collection meticulously organized.

He is subscribed to magazine upon magazine about beaches and the latest in beachcombing news.

On the topic of collections, he is an uber-nerd about rocks and has an equally large collection of cool rocks and crystals.

He has taken a number of trips with his brother to rock shows (no matter how far away)

He likes making little crafts with the rejects from his collections.

If he finds a rock or shell in better condition than what he has in the main collection, he'll replace it and use the old item for things like jewelry and decor.

A notorious baker.

Notorious in what way? That's for everyone else to find out.

In all honesty, he's not too bad. The icings might be overwhipped and the cheesecakes a bit curdled but the flavors are actually quite nice.

Strangely enough, he is masterful at making the perfect puff pastry.

Cash

Gambling.

I'm kidding. kinda.

Making money is his life's mission, not his hobby.

His actual hobby is drawing.

He becomes a tattoo artist on the Surface, so having skills in traditional and digital art is important and he has it!

He does a lot of illustrative stuff that happened to translate well into tattooing.

He used to offer to draw Monster's portraits for a few G when he was younger.

Cash has an extraordinary amount of free time so every once in a while he offers commissions online.

On the Surface, he also picks up stained glass.

Initially, it was just a time waster. He picked up a little kit from a craft store and got hooked from there.

He really likes making super personalized window hangers as gifts. Indigo got a beach scene for one birthday that has hung in his room since receiving it.

He wasn't expecting to like it very much, but it only took a few months before he started getting himself some nicer equipment.

There is now a small setup in the garage with his fancy sanders and saw.

Indi installed a nice shelving system to organize all of Cash's glass panes as a gift.

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idesofrevolution · 2 years

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Beach Bum

"SOLD! For eight thousand five hundred to number 29, thank you so much ma'am, please see our associate afterward for your banking information." The auction hall was buzzing. It was all over the news: locker 482 having it's lock busted and the heavy iron door rolled up to reveal the long lost estate of the old school pro-surfer Ronnie "Riptide" Darensbourg. Ventura's very own legend from the 70's, Ronnie Riptide was a local hero who'd passed away in 1991. In fact, he'd been the hero for Francis Cragg since childhood.

To Francis, the heartthrob represented everthing he wanted to be as a teenager in 1977: laid back, efforlessly cool, athletic, flirtatious, sexy... and notoriously "open minded" in the bedroom. To be queer back in the day was quite the scandal that was reserved only for the Hollywood stars and not for the everyday person. Under this strict social law, Francis couldn't look at another guy, couldn't even be suspected of being gay- but he could live vicariously through Ronnie. All the gossip columns, all the magazines, the exposees... through Ronnie's insane stories, Francis felt as if he were the one with the outrageous, ostentatious life. Now 62 years old, the repressed man eagerly sat in the ornate auction hall, eagerly hoping to snag even a small piece of memorabilia. On his phone, the smiling image of Ronnie himself beams from his wallpaper.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we have lot 35: a vintage 1980's Canvas Duffle Bag Tote. Cylinder shape. Bright abstract southwestern style pattern in red, orange, purple, turquoise, yellow, and green. End has graphic of a surfboard and words 'Laissez les bon temps rouler.' We will start the bid at $300." Francis raised his paddle, immediately recognizing the bag from the old Maxim articles in 1982. With a low starting bid at $300, he couldn't pass up the opportunity. The bid was quickly followed up with their paddles. $500... $1000... $1500... $1750... Francis opened up his wallet, devoid of cash, and holding about six maxed out credit cards. The last hope: his American Express, which was just $5000 shy of his limit. He felt compelled, required to get this small piece of his idol. Holding his breath, Francis thew up his paddle: all in at $5000.

"Five thousand on number 13, five thousand going once..." The crowd grew quiet, only whispers and murmurs breaking through the silence. "Going twice... SOLD! For five thousand to number 13. Please see our associate with your banking information." Francis immediately stood up and rushed to the back of the room, glibly handing over the very last of his funds to the smiling woman behind the counter, blissfully unaware of the middle aged man's complete economic collapse.

"Is it alright if I take the bag now? No need for delivery." The woman nodded with her wide grin, grabbing the arm strap of the bag and handing it over to him. The moment his fingertips touched the old fabric strap, he felt his breath rush out of his lungs; the electric sting of being starstruck. The bag draped naturally over his shoulder, just like it did on Ronnie all those years ago. Beaming from ear to ear, he strolled out the door back to his car, unaware of the gentle squirming within the zipped bag.

The drive home took merely minutes, as he stayed at the Beachcomber Motel overlooking the rolling waves of Ventura Beach. He slammed the door of his old jalopy, waving at the invalid Ms. Parthay mindlessly staring from behind her dusty window. He walked into the room, so used to the smell of mildew and mold that it no longer made his eyes water the way it used to. But in this one singular moment, the depressing everyday life of Francis Tate melted away. He let the bag droop down onto the ratty old bedspread as he eagerly examined every inch of it. The weathered old canvas bag with it's faded Aztec woven pattern, once extremely in vogue, now sat riddled in frayed holes in an unfortunate derlict state. But to Francis, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Just as he was raising his fingers to unzip the bag, it jolted sharply to the left.

Francis jumped backward, taken off guard. Surely it couldn't be a rat or mouse- the Auction House would never let someone spend thousands of dollars on a rat-infested item... right? The raging thought of some rodent knawing on his prized possession overtook whatever common sense he held, and with a single stroke of his hand he unzipped the bag. No movement. Nothing jumping out. No squeaking. Yet, an unmistakeable smell began to waft out of the open bag: a mix of age old air and sweaty rubber. Peering down into the dark confines, his jaw dropped open. Underneath an old barbasol can and broken plastic water bottle was the famous competition wetsuit itself. His breath labored and his pupils dilated, he gently pinched the rubbery shoulder of the neoprene suit and pulled upward, the sheer size of the thing shocking him to his core. Perhaps the Auction house did not actually thoroughly inspect their items after all.

He pulled the suit close to his face, intensely inspecting every inch of it for rubber rot, as the piece hadn't been used since the 80's. To his delight, the suit was entirely intact, the fabric stretching effortlessly without so much as a single crease. What it did have, however was a stench. Extremely salty and sour, clearly marinating in Ronnie's sweat and skin oils for decades, leaving the odor permanently imprinted within it. Bringing the rubber suit to his face, he pressed it against his nose and inhaled. This was as close as he'd ever been to his idol, the guy who had been an every day fantasy in his dreams. Wrapped in his scent, feeling the slick rubber material between his fingers, it was his life long dream. In his mind, he could feel the rise and fall of Ronnie's chest pushed against his, his lean, muscled arms wrapping around him, the scrunching and squeaking of his wetsuit as he moves...

In reality, his eyes tightly closed shut as his nose pressed against the suit, Francis couldn't see the zipper slowly slide downward and the arms wrap around his shoulders. He couldn't feel his clothes slowly unbutton themselves before it was too late, and they were forcibly ripped from his body by unseen hands. All he could do is gasp loudly as the suit flew backwards with impressive speed, pressing him firmly against the wall as the sleeves quickly slipped onto his arms. Just before he could muster out so much as a whimper, his left hand clasped over his mouth. Muffled and gagged, he could do nothing as his right hand helped stretch the musky suit down and over his legs. Behind him, the suit zipped itself up quickly, compressing Francis tightly within it's rubbery confines.

"Mmmmmmph... Mmmmmmmmsh..." He struggled against his own body betraying his every movement, controlled by some ethereal presence as if a puppet on a string. The smell was growing stronger and stronger, amplified by the spiking body heat and sweat that began to seep into it's fabric. Tighter, tighter, tighter it squeezed Francis as if a corset had been strung tight against his chest until he could barely breathe- and when he could it was filled with the dizzying musk. His gut began to press inward, flattening out with the blasting sound of deflating balloons blowing out of beneath the suit. Barely conscious, he could only look down from behind his pulsating hand's gag to see the liquifing fat start to squirm beneath the shiny black rubber, quickly sloshing into his pecs and broadening shoulders.

All at once, Francis felt the fat within him squish and thrust into his muscles, the suit croaking and groaning as his biceps and triceps began to bulge out and his hands shrink and become lean, soft palms and long fingers. Francis could feel his awareness, the last vestige of control he had within his quickly morphing body, desperately trying to center himself and fight the invasion which was slipping him on like the suit he sported. His bulge started to balloon out, feeling tendrils seep into his elongating cock, his weighty balls, and further slithering down into his quads and calves. His feet cracked and squeaked with pressure as they stretched outward, his toes as long as his ring finger and his arches perfectly bridging his heel with the balls of his feet. He'd lost nearly half his weight and mass, but looking down at his lean, toned, muscular body... He began to recognize just who it belonged to.

"Heheheheh..." A gravelly baritone chuckle rang out within his head, just as his jaw shifted to the left, cracking and sharpening as dark black hairs started to pierce out of his tanning skin. "Almost there, duuuuuuude." The voice was slick as his gleaming suit, yet stained with the aura of stonedness. He felt his jaw crack downward, opening his mouth wide while his lips plumped up and his long tongue snaked outward, a silver ball now piercing it in the center. The sides of his mouth curled into a cheeky grin as his teeth whitened and his moustache filled in. "Fuuuuuuck, bruh. You're a perfect fit for me. Fuckin' bitchin'." Francis's hair burst into a poofy blonde mop, his dark eyebrows falling down, down, down, tooping off his narrowing and increasingly bloodshot eyes. "Ayy, scoot over, dude. Let's let the Riptide take the wheel for a while..." Francis felt pressure within his head, something pushing, pounding against his brain... perhaps it was something deep down within him he'd all but repressed for all these years, or perhaps it was the sheer shock that had overwhelmed him in the moment, but as he felt the slithering present penetrate into his mind and flooding within, he couldn't help but feel satisfied as someone else, his idol, took over. One last crick of the neck, and Ronnie's piercing turquoise eyes now glistened beneath his furrowed brow.

"Awwwwww fuch yeahhhhhhhhhhhhh." Ronnie shot his load in the tight rubber wetsuit, feeling it's warm, sticky texture pressing against his sagging, sweaty balls. Smirking as he saunters over to the mirror, Ronnie gleamed from ear to ear, his perfect million dollar smile nearly sparkling from his new face. He could still feel the body adjusting to having him slip in, merely pinching the skin of his cheek and pulling grotesquely stretched his entire face outward before it snapped back- it'd take a few months before he felt 100% at home in his shared skin. He examined his new face; as if he'd slipped on a mask, once could see the original Riptide beneath it all, but hiding inside a mish mashed amalgamation of his host and his spirit. Unzipping the back of his suit, he pried his upper half free of it, his chiseled pecs and cobbled abs wafting the musky stench that now poured from his pores. He pursed his juicy lips, practicing the smoulder that had bedded a thousand babes and a thousand dudes.

"That's right, baby. Ahah," he gripped his chin between his fingers, admiring every inch of his sexy mug. "I'd fuck me." He laughed and winked in the mirror as he pried the rest of his rubber wetsuit off- he'd get back on the board soon enough. Perhaps he could just enjoy the beginnings of his new life. Snapping his fingers, the suit melted and flowed onto his body: massive, beat up checkerboard Vans, a pair of blue boardshorts, a gold chain and a pair of orange sunglasses now clothed him- just enough to show off to some sexy beach babe, or some hunky surfer dude he could toke and stroke with. "Yeahhhh, that's perfect."

Ronnie strode right out the door of the hotel room, passing by the maid, who stood there dumbfounded. This was not the man who entered the room moments ago... He winked at the perplexed woman, remarking just how familiar that face was under her breath. As the sun set on Ventura Beach, the surfer king sat on the lifeguard tower, smoking a blunt and watching the waves crash down onto the sands. Ventura might have changed, time may have passed, but those rolling waves are just the same as they always were. He smiled, putting his arm behind his head, and sighing in a chill aire. He'd own the town, just like he used to- and the future was bright.

#male possession #surfer transformation #male transformation #wetsuit #rubber #musk #jockification #twunk #original #male tf

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masterblackoak · 4 months

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Sister in a Whale ~ by Julie O’Callaghan

You live in the hollow of a stranded whale

lying on top of our house.

My father was embarrassed by this

so a roof was put up as camouflage.

On the ribs you have hung plants

and a miniature replica of a whale

to remind you where you are.

The stomach lining is plastered with posters

and your Snoopy for President buttons

are stuck to a piece of blubber beside your bed.

Through the spout you observe cloud formations.

It isn’t as orderly as a regular room:

it’s more like a shipwreck of notebooks,

school projects, shirts, paper bags,

coke cans, photographs and magazines

that have been washed up with the tide.

You beachcomb every morning for something to wear;

then it’s down the corkscrew

to the real world.

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mixergiltron · 11 months

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You'll need to bring along a 10th level cleric to read this post.

The Zombie is a legendary Tiki drink created by Don the Beachcomber. It's famous for both its potency and for the mystery of ingredients needed to make it. You see,Donn didn't want folks getting their hands on his recipes,so he did everything in code. 2oz of rum bottle A,1oz of mix #2,etc. So the original recipe was lost in time. Then along comes Jeff "Beachbum" Berry,who decides to get all serious with Tiki drink research,and he presented the following recipe created from painstaking research:

Mix #21 Book of Tiki Zombie

2oz gold rum 1oz dark rum 1oz white rum 1oz lime juice 3/4oz papaya juice 3/4oz pineapple juice 1/2 apricot brandy 1tsp simple syrup

Shake it all together and pour into tall glass. Add a float of 151 Demerara rum and garnish with a green cherry,a pineapple stick,and a red cherry on a toothpick,then sprinkle a bit of powdered sugar over it.

This was published in Sven Kirsten's book,The Book of Tiki,in a chapter Jeff wrote entitled "Mixologists and Concoctions". As an aside,it was also printed in the booklet of the Ultra-Lounge CD Vol 1 Mondo Exotica:

which also includes a bad recipe for a Blue Hawaii(you've been warned). This was considered to be the Zombie recipe,until 2005 when Jeff received some new info. After a bunch more research,he came up with this updated version:

Mix #22 Remixed Zombie

1.5oz gold rum 1.5oz dark rum 1oz 151 Demerara rum 3/4oz lime juice 1/2oz Don's mix * 1/2oz falernum 1tsp grenadine 6 drops absinthe dash Angostura bitters 6oz crushed ice

Blend at high speed for 5 seconds. Pour into tall glass and add ice to fill.

*Don's Mix is 2 parts white grapefruit juice to 1 part cinnamon syrup. I've used regular grapefruit juice and BG Reynolds syrup with good results.

As you can see they're pretty different recipes. From what I've read,the Remixed is probably the correct one,but I prefer the BoT version because it's sweeter. Either way,the Donn wouldn't serve anyone more than two Zombies,and given the octane rating of these,I wouldn't either. Pick the one you like best,or give them both a try. Just make sure you're sitting down at home when you do it.

Ok class,now that we've covered the original Zombies,let's take a look at some modern versions. The aforementioned Beachbum has gotten together with Hamilton Rum to create a special zombie blend(which I've used to make a seriously twisted Mai Tai) and a recipe that showcases it:

Mix #23 Hamilton-Beachbum Zombie

2oz Beachbum Berry's Zombie Rum Blend 3/4oz lime juice 1/2oz white grapefruit juice 1/2oz cinnamon syrup 1/2oz falernum 1tsp grenadine 8 drops absinthe dash Angostura bitters 6oz crushed ice

Blend for 5 seconds at high speed.

This is slightly less powerful than the originals,but don't let that 'only' two ounces of rum fool you,this does pack a punch.

Ken Holewczynski(no I don't know how to pronounce that) is the very cool dude who is behind the House of Tabu,creator of the Order of the Golden Fez,and publisher of the excellent Tiki magazine Exotica Moderne(so you should probably buy him a Mai Tai if you ever meet him). He came up with his own Zombie riff,from issue #17,the same one I was published in:

Mix #24 Zombo

2oz Beachbum Berry's Zombie Rum Blend 1oz orange juice 1/2oz lime juice 1/2oz falernum 1/2 Demerara syrup 1 bottle Underberg

Shake everything except the Underberg with ice and pour into a tall glass. Top with more ice and insert bottle of Underberg into the glass upside down.

First,never drink Underberg straight,always mix it with something,trust me. This is an interesting drink,the falernum and Underberg really come forward. Very spice-y and bitter-y. I actually pulled the bottle out after a couple pulls because I found it a bit intense. I liked it,but it won't appeal to the daiquiri/pina colada crowd.

BG Reynolds,maker of fine syrups,has also created a couple versions. Here are two from their site:

Mix #25 Atomic Zombie

2oz white rum 1oz Plantation OFTD rum 1oz lime juice 1oz lemon juice 1oz pineapple juice 1oz fassionola 1/2oz cinnamon syrup dash Angostura bitters

Blend with 1.5 cups of ice.

A slightly sweeter Zombie with a good bit of kick.

Mix #26 Fassionola Zombie

1/2oz Demerara 151 1/2oz Demerara rum 1/2oz dark rum 1/2oz white rum 1oz fassionola 1/2oz lime juice 1/4oz Demerara syrup

Blend with 1.5 cups of ice.

Be careful with this one. It's only got two ounces of rum,but a half ounce is 151. Combined with all that fassionola and you can have a recipe for a good hangover.

So put down your barb-wire-wrapped baseball bat,lash a walker to a treadmill to power your blender,and forget all your troubles with what Donn called "a mender of broken dreams". Just remember the rules and stop at two,or you might be a zombie in the morning.

#tiki drinks #tikiculture #rum cocktails #tiki #zombie #don the beachcomber #don beach #rum drinks #rum

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treasureseekersshelltours · 1 year

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We are so proud of our Shell Guide Sarah with a “H” ❤️Sarah has been featured in Beach Combing Magazine and the Beach Combing Calendar 2023 for her Beautiful Photography . To order you Beach Combing Magazine you can do so online . www.beachcombing magazine. com

Photos by : Shell Guide Sarah with a “H”

🐚

Come shell with us let us help you find the Shell of a Lifetime ™️

🐚

Only Collect Empty Shells🐚

🐚

#shells #magazine #beachcombing #beachcombingmagazine #ocean#photog

#treasureseekersshelltours #shellingkiceisland #beachcombing #naplesflorida #naples fl #marcoisland

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obscuree · 2 years

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Laura Catherine Soto

Laura Soto is a mixed media sculptor living and working in Los Angeles. Her practice centers mainly on large forms built of fiber that transform under the weight of media amassed.

"Mimicking the forms of nature, the dripping of liquid over sinewy surfaces that leave behind distinctly waxy, organic globules, Laura Soto designs things that - despite this description - are actually very beautiful. In the way that we might have an initial revulsion to things, like strange species of fish from the depths of the ocean, we too might feel that way with her designs. But, just like those fish that we can’t actually look away from, so too are we mesmerized by that which the artist constructs." (source below)

Soto aims to explore organic shapes that she finds whilst exploring nature. Thematically, this sense of exploration permeates her works. Looking through her body-of-work is like a hallucinogen-fuelled stroll along the coast. Both shells and mossy dew drops are represented, but in more vivid colours, their shapes accentuated to an almost grotesque degree. Sensory and physical experiences are important to the artist, who is inspired by nature as an observer, but also as a participator - taking solace in the value of touch.

Soto’s process is reminiscent of the cycles of nature. Perpetual loops of destruction and construction are embodied in the trial-and-error nature of her works, where imperfections manifest accidentally as they would appear in the natural world.

However, it is in the space she gives to chaos that Soto’s sculptural works really come alive.

I originally came across images of Soto's books and sculptures on Pinterest (which is where I gather most inspiration and artists of interest - aside from books of art collections). The aesthetics of her work is what attracted me initially, but after looking into her process and her motivations for these bizarre creations, I was far more interested in her compulsion to deconstruct and reconstruct fragments.

"I began as a painter who was increasingly dissatisfied with the lack of absurdity in my representational work. During college, I began to destroy my paintings and became enamoured with the fragments. Which sparked a connection to my childhood fascination with beachcombing... all this luminous ephemera and debris. I occasionally will incorporate stone or found concrete into my work now… but I prefer to tease this line between organic and fabricated, until I find myself somewhere entirely other." - Laura Soto for Coeval Magazine

Her inspiration is rooted primarily in her childlike fascination with collecting and beachcombing, as well as being driven to create work that reflects her own absurdities and enjoyment within displaying both pre-existing and naturally occurring elements. As an artist that has recently attempted to incorporate sculptural works in their practice; Soto was a particular point of interest this semester - and was one of the largest motivators for me to move away from canvas work into the sculptural and ephemeral. Learning to fragment, recreate, destroy, rebuild, take pieces and add pieces to preexisting elements.

Interviewer: Your work glows with eternity to me. If you were offered to be able to live eternally, would you take it and why? Soto: Wow, thank you, that is an enormous and beautiful response. Being that my practice is so process-based... the regeneration of old material and ephemera… I can comprehend eternity through the lens of my consciousness continuing on in some form, repurposed. I would not want to interrupt the process of birth and decay in my own body but, being drawn to mysticism as I am, find myself at peace with the idea of continuation of consciousness in a physical form or otherwise. (for Coeval Magazine).

I also enjoy that her artistic practice is rooted in so many different aspects of the process of life and living. I am always interested in creatives that use their experiences as living beings (e.g nature, spiritual connection, childlike fascinations, nostalgia, sensory connections) - as i strongly believe that art can reflect the human condition even in the most simple of forms. Developing art from the appreciation of the fact I get to exist is something that I really like to incorporate and project. If my work elicits any form of emotional/physical response (either negative, neutral or positive), I know that I have achieved what I created the work for.

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spkcomics · 4 years

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[Photo] [Movie] [The Beachcomber] [1939-02-24]

#photo #The Beachcomber #1930s #newspapers and magazines

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kolajmag · 3 years

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COLLAGE ON VIEW

Overboard

Andy Yoder at Brattleboro Museum & Art Center in Brattleboro, Vermont, USA through 6 March 2021. Andy Yoder was inspired by "The Great Shoe Spill of 1990", when over 60,000 Nike sneakers landed in the Pacific during a storm. Yoder said, "Most of the sneakers are made from materials I pulled out of recycling bins, like a beachcomber collecting Nikes on the beach. Making art is a form of alchemy, and being creative gives us the power to steer the ship, rather than bobbing around like a sneaker lost at sea." MORE

*****************************

Kolaj Magazine, a full color, print magazine, exists to show how the world of collage is rich, layered, and thick with complexity. By remixing history and culture, collage artists forge new thinking. To understand collage is to reshape one's thinking of art history and redefine the canon of visual culture that informs the present.

SUBSCRIBE | CURRENT ISSUE | GET A COPY

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bienenkiste · 5 years

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"Beachcomber". Yom Benjamin photographed by Ivona Chrzastek for Unpolished Magazine

#yom benjamin #ivona chrzastek

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katemurphythings · 6 years

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Got my issue if @beachcombingmagazine with article about me. Soooo happy!!! 😍 #seaglass #beachglass #beachcombing #magazine #SeaStainedGlass #stainedglass #stainedglassart #recycledart #seaglassart #trashtotreasure #odessaart #odessa #me #витраж #морскоестекло #я (at Odessa, Ukraine) https://www.instagram.com/p/BqE6LiBgE9A/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=63migdbsssj1

#seaglass #beachglass #beachcombing #magazine #seastainedglass #stainedglass #stainedglassart #recycledart #seaglassart #trashtotreasure #odessaart #odessa #me #витраж #морскоестекло #я

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chiseler · 4 years

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Phillips Holmes: Too Beautiful

“Phil I loved dearly, but he was too beautiful to be in love with. You’d really get hurt. I knew that."

— Mae Clarke, Featured Player

“I know that quite sincerely/ Houseman really/ Wrote The Shropshire Lad about the boy.”

— The Schoolgirl in Noel Coward’s “Mad about the Boy”

“Young Phillips Holmes, on the Paramount roster of juveniles, has had his hair bleached and curled for a forthcoming production. Now he is a perfect blond. Whenever Jack Oakie sees him on the lot he pauses, and a puzzled expression crosses his face. ’Oh,’ he always says with mock surprise, ‘I thought you were Carole Lombard.’”

— Motion Picture News, April 26, 1930

Anyone beachcombing through the tide wrack of pre-Code Hollywood is tempted to ask, at one time or another: what happened?

But first: who he? His bizarrely plural name derived from the last names of his mother (Edna Phillips) and father (Taylor Holmes), both distinguished actors on Broadway and in films. They were comfortable enough to send him to the Newman School, where he rubbed elbows with the sons of ambassadors and plutocrats and crossed paths with his French teacher on the threshold of the local brothel. (“Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose I shall have to report you.” “Likewise, I’m sure.”).[1] Thence, Grenoble, a year in England as a Cambridge undergraduate, and Princeton, where Frank Tuttle, shooting exteriors on a gridiron drama, scooped him up for Paramount in 1928.

Having joined the studio’s deep bench of chiseled masculine profiles, Holmes managed to stand out. His patrician willowiness tended to be matched, in a slight trylon and perisphere effect, with more plebian dollfaces: Nancy Carroll, Helen Twelvetrees, Sylvia Sidney. He moved away quickly from the obvious undergraduate and scion roles. Only a year after canoodling with Clara Bow in The Wild Party, he made his mark in The Devil’s Holiday as a country innocent fallen agonizingly in love. Picture Play Magazine noted “… he plays it naturally, sincerely, sympathetically. He makes masculine innocence not laughable but tenderly moving and credible.” Paramount continued casting him for innocence and sensitivity in Stolen Heaven (a first-time robber makes a pact with a first-time streetwalker: spend the money on beauty and happiness, then end it all); Broken Lullaby (Lubitsch’s adaptation of Rostand’s play, in which a French musician, guilt-wracked for killing a German musician in the trenches of WWI, becomes part of the lives of the German’s parents and sweetheart); and von Sternberg’s An American Tragedy. In the latter, his innocence curdles into unearthliness, a seemingly unmotivated wavering between hypersensitivity and numbness, abetted by the Machinal-like grotesquerie of his rich relations’ conversational rhythms and the mysterious busywork of the stamping room he supervises. From the rear we see him make a sudden (boisterous? exasperated?) lunge at Sylvia Sidney—she reacts with such shock we don’t know whether he kissed her or, perhaps, licked her nose. Preparing for the party to which his dream girl has invited him, he practices introductions and handshakes in front of a mirror with rapt Martian application.

He was well received by fans and critics; one wonders how he stood with his peers. A fawning interview in 1930[2] gave him rope to hang himself as a dizzy blond and a preening, sneering snob.

“… the day I met him he was sitting up in a hospital bed with a black eye, a swollen jaw, souvenirs of a motor accident, and with his hair dyed—at a director’s insistence, I assure you—that hideous hue known as Hollywood blond. … [T]here was a steady procession of what Phil termed ‘the Greeks bearing gifts.’ … ‘I’m not getting any rest,’ he wailed. …

“[W]hen he first came out [to Hollywood] he despised the place…. The town’s well-known provincialism irked him considerably…. ‘I was the most desolate and despondent person in this sad suburb.’ …

“’I haven’t really been presented sympathetically to the fans. In Only the Brave I had the role of a heavy, in Pointed Heels a snob, and in The Devil’s Holiday a weakling.’ …

“There are many players whom he doesn’t particularly fancy. He doesn’t indulge in gossip or verbal criticism of them, however. He impersonates them. He is a clever mimic and if his victims could see him imitating them they would get a rude shock.

“If Phil possesses any of the duller virtues like chastity or modesty, he keeps the fact to himself. He thinks a declaration of idealism, or a protestation of ‘purity,’ the most absurd gesture a man could make.”

In 1932 Thalberg beckoned and Holmes left Paramount for MGM, perhaps hoping for more “sympathetic presentation,” perhaps wanting to escape his reputation and start over. There, nothing seemed to go right either for him or for those close to him. Thalberg collapsed at the 1932 Christmas party and left on sabbatical; Selznick was a new broom and apparently unenchanted with his predecessor’s trouvaille. With few exceptions, Holmes was stuck in the aspic of the studio’s style.

And one foggy night in 1933 he drove Mae Clarke home from a party. She ended up in the hospital with a wired jaw, losing the prestigious part she had just begun shooting. The fan magazines viewed Phil’s latest motor accident—one of many—much less airily than they would have a few years earlier. “Little Mae Clarke” was a brave working girl whose career had been damaged, perhaps destroyed, by a careless wastrel. “The picture couldn’t wait—and that picture would, undoubtedly, have meant stardom! What a terrible break!”[3] (That picture was Made on Broadway; she was replaced by Sally Eilers.) Clarke excused and forgave him, but did Hollywood? His MGM contract came to an end in 1934 and was not renewed. It’s interesting to contrast his 1930 interview with the immensely more conciliatory 1934 “The Strange Case of Phillips Holmes” (“determined to redeem himself in the eyes of his fans”).[4]

In 1936, Phillips Holmes fell under the spell of Libby Holman, a torch singer with a predilection for beautiful, fragile younger men (her most famous liaison was Montgomery Clift). Holmes moved in with her, but was unable to hold her fully; when they were separated by the demands of their careers, he drank himself into a daze. Holman ended their affair in 1938 and married Holmes’ younger brother, Ralph.

Holmes continued working, in the US and abroad, in film and theater: in stock, he played opposite Frances Farmer in Petrified Forest; in Chicago, more startlingly, Odet’s titular Golden Boy. (Yes, the role taken by William Holden in the film version—William Holden, who played the boy toy to a Holmanesque star in Sunset Boulevard, the very part that Montgomery Clift turned down as too close to the bone.)

Both Phillips and Ralph Holmes enlisted in the Royal Canadian Air Force in the summer of 1941. In the summer of 1942, the military transport on which Phillips Holmes was a passenger collided with another plane. There were no survivors. He was Hollywood’s first “star” casualty of WWII.

by Phoebe Green

[1] Jon Bradshaw, Dreams That Money Can Buy: The Tragic Life of Libby Holman, New York, W. Morris, 1985, p. 199.

[2] Edward Nagle, “Out of an English Novel,” Picture Play Magazine, November 1930.

[3] Photoplay, May 1933, p. 82.

[4] Laura Benham, “The Strange Case of Phillips Holmes,” Picture Play Magazine, May 1934.

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gatabella · 5 years

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During the filming of The Little Hut, as a bit of publicity, the English magazine Picture Post asked Ava Gardner who she would choose to be stranded on an island with. Her choices reflected her interest in culture and the arts, as well as her sense of humor:"Adlai Stevenson, Ernest Hemingway, Yul Brynner, Robert Graves, Tennessee Williams, Salvador Dali, and Alberto, the bartender from Beachcomber's Bar in Hollywood."

The men she chose appeared more than happy to join Ava: "I'm flattered. Where is this island?" responded Stevenson. Beachcomber Alberto said, "Packing bags and libations. Where is the island? Impatient!!" The most amusing reply came from Hemingway:"If Mr. Stevenson became President I would naturally make a supreme patriotic effort to return him to his exhausting duties. We would keep the others for amusement value only, and do away with them if they attempted to change their status. Yul Brynner is reportedly an extremely dangerous man, so he would probably be the first to go. Ask Ava the approximate position of the island and my expected time of arrival."

- Ava: A Life in Movies

#Ava Gardner #ernest hemingway #salvador dali #yul brynner #robert graves #tennessee williams #quote #the little hut

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original-marrakech · 7 years

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Yes j'adore !!!! Très belle présentation du magnifique magazine @lifeismorocco au @royalpalmoficial . Joyeuses Pâques ❤️❤️❤️. #marrakech #royalpalm #lifeismorocco #presse #panier #paniers #baskets #summerbag #golf #hotel #luxury #hamptons #nyc #morocco #creationoriginale #createurdoriginalite #magazine #cieldafrique #mongolfiere #beachcombers #royalpalmmarrakech (à Royal Palm Beachcomber Luxury Marrakech)

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youcanchangeyour · 5 years

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ロッキーリンチ | プロフィール

ロッキー・マーク・リンチ (Rocky Mark Lynch)

1994年11月1日生まれコロラド州リトルトン出身 Twitter / IG @RockyLynch

ミュージシャン、作曲家、プロデューサー

ロッキー「ギターを初めて手にとったのは11か12あたりじゃなかったかな。単に母さんを喜ばすためだった。母さんは俺にルーンスケープ（オンラインゲーム）をさせてくれなかったしな」(Paper Magazine)

コロラドでの幼少時代、母ストーミーの方針で兄弟揃ってダンスや歌を学び、かつては兄ライカーや弟ロスのようにドラマやビデオに出演した経験のあるロッキーだが、それらが好きになれなかった彼はギターと音楽に自分の生き方を見出す。

ロッキー「確かに少しは演技の仕事もしたけど、なにか感じることは決して無かった。だが音楽は違う、自分の心に響くものがあるんだ」(Mood Magazine)

子供時代に独学でギターを学ぶことから始めて、R5 時代には着々と作曲のセンスとプロデュース技術を伸ばし、バンドの音楽性を支える作曲家へと成長した。

ロッキー「ひとつ、俺たちがずっと言ってることがある。『R5 は俺たちにとってのカレッジだった』」(Mood Magazine) 「R5 では多くの学ぶところがあった。けれどそこには『自分の考えたあるべきバンドの形』を刷り込もうとする他人があまりに多かった」(Paper Magazine)

2018年3月に結成した The Driver Era で自分たちの目指す音楽の制作に没頭し、リリースごとに前の曲とは違ったジャンルの新曲を発表。

また、TDE 以外のアーティスト (New Beat Fund, Sage Charmaine, Riker and The Beachcombers など) への楽曲提供やプロデュース、ロスと共に映画のサウンドトラックの作曲 (Turnover, Colossal Youth) 等の活動もしている

ロッキー「多くのジャンルに影響を受けているから、我々のジャンルは常に多岐にわたっている」(Paper Magazine) 「ジャンルや雰囲気を気にすることはない、まわりで起きていることを体感するんだ」 (Mood Magazine)

Photo:Mood Magazine, Ragged Magazine, OfficialR5, Grumpy Magazine, This Bitch Magazine. Melodic Magazine

Rocky Lynch on … : 過去の出演作品など

Gear / 楽器 : Link - The Green Hills of Earth / Rocky Lynch

プロフィール・ロッキー：2019年9月更新 >>過去版プロフィール

訳・解説ああるふぁいぶjp

#biography rocky #rocky Lynch #the driver era #r5

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