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cheri-translates · 3 years

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[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - Inevitable

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (不可抗力) which has not been released in English servers!🍒

This R&S features S2 Gavin!

It is incredibly important to read Ch 9 Part One before embarking on this!

[ Chapter One ]

At midnight, a young man makes a turn at a secluded alley, walking into a small hotel that’s still open for business.

He walks around the main hall, and straight into the innermost booth. The sound of shuffling in the night is continuous, and the dealer holds a cigarette in his mouth, drawing a card.

A hand suddenly approaches, and the muzzle of a gun covers his temple.

"How long will it take for you to finish this round?" Gavin’s voice is calm, fingers exerting more pressure on the trigger.

The others are so frightened that they rush out. With no way out, the man suddenly whips out a knife and swings it at Gavin. Gavin grabs his wrist, the other hand reaching for the handcuffs.

All of a sudden, a voice rings in his head: Don’t get hurt, and don't ignore the consequences. If he were to do this, it seems someone would be very sad. He doesn’t seem to want to make that person sad either.

In that second of distraction, the knife glinting with a cold light in the man’s hand slices the area between Gavin’s thumb and index finger. The thoughts in his mind accumulate amidst the pain. Gavin gathers some strength in his palm, a raging gale rolling up the battered tables and chairs. The man’s gaze turns frightened...

Three minutes later, the man, who was puffed up with pride earlier, is firmly handcuffed and kneeling on the ground, begging for mercy.

Gavin pushes the person out of the booth, and the colleague responsible for providing assistance steps forward, escorting the person into the police car.

In the main hall, the little girl who was clapping her hands and singing the birthday song earlier has burst into tears, shocked by the sight before her. Her mother comforts her. "Don't be afraid, darling. This is the Special Police Uncle who catches bad men and is here to protect us.

After glancing at him, the little girl cries even more fiercely.

Gavin nods to the girl’s mother apologetically, then walks towards the claw machine at the entrance of the hotel. After a short while, he returns, hugging the largest doll in his arms.

"Happy birthday.”

He hands a huge cartoon doll to the little girl, then turns and walks out the door.

An hour of interrogations is enough to leave one exhausted. Tang Chao stretches, holding a tidied statement while heading towards Gavin’s office.

It’s late at night, and the lights are still on. Tang Chao knocks thrice but receives no response. He tries pushing the door open, and is shocked to find that Gavin, who is seated behind the desk, is neither dealing with a case nor official business. Instead, he’s in a daze.

Gavin leans against the chair, his gaze fixed on the computer screen for a long time, brows furrowed deeply. Tang Chao walks over and glances at the screen - it’s a report regarding the arrest of the producer from [MC’s Company Name] not too long ago. He reaches out, waving his hand in front of Gavin. He asks, "How many fingers?”

When Gavin glares back coldly, Tang Chao feels relieved. However, seeing the scab wound on his hand, he’s confused again - what could be so important that he’d forget to tend to his wound?

He places the tidied statement on the table, then drags Gavin to the infirmary. "Even a body forged in iron can’t be compared to you.”

Fortunately, the wound isn’t deep, and can be healed in a few days. But Tang Chao’s intuition tells him that Gavin is a little different from usual. This time, the offender wasn’t considered dangerous, and could be easily subdued by Gavin’s skills. How did he get hurt this easily?

Before Tang Chao can ask a few more questions, Gavin has already vanished without a trace.

[ Chapter Two ]

At four o'clock in the morning, the clerk at the 24-hour convenience store yawns, overcome with boredom as he stares at the TV commercial on the wall to pass the time. A cheerful electronic sound rings. The automatic doors slide open, and a young man walks in.

The clerk perks himself up, and is about to say "Welcome" when he realises that the customer in front of him looks very familiar.

This man lives in an apartment in the vicinity, and visits this convenience store frequently. Sometimes, he drives past in a smart-looking motorcycle. When someone tries to hit on him occasionally, he always rejects them coldly. It’s a pity that whenever he visits, he either buys instant noodles or instant bento... looks like it’s the same this time.

When the clerk sees him heading towards the convenience food shelf, he sighs in his heart: Young people these days don’t take care of their health at all.

Gavin leans down, his gaze flitting across the neatly arranged food on the shelf, absentmindedly differentiating the expiration dates marked on the packets.

Shiitake mushroom flavoured instant noodles aren’t tasty. The stray cats at the entrance of STF prefer meat, not anchovies. Don’t get hurt, don’t get mired in danger alone, don’t leave without saying a word.

Such thoughts once again surge forth. From a certain point in time, many unfamiliar experiences have been intruding into his life. It’s as though he’s sharing another memory, these disordered fragments of memories twisting into a long, thin thread, holding onto his wrist, tugging at him secretly from time to time.

Gavin returns to his senses, subconsciously drawing back the hand that was reaching for the convenience food, and picks the brand at the side which contains more vegetables.

When checking out, Gavin notices that there are rows of potted succulents next to the cash register.

"This is a public welfare activity jointly launched by our store and the Loveland City Environmental Protection Association. For every plant sold, we will donate the same amount of funds to the environmental protection charity.”

Seeing how unresponsive the young customer in front of him is, the clerk is tactful as he continues scanning the remaining products, "Nine dollars in total.”

The receipt is printed, and the clerk hands it to him along with the bento. The young man suddenly points at the small potted plant that had just emerged from the soil.

"Add this too.”

Back home, Gavin throws his jacket into the washing machine, sets the time for washing and drying, then heads into the bathroom to take a shower.

A strong gush of water flows from the shower, and white mist quickly fills the entire space. The stinging pain from the wound sobers him up quite a lot, and he subconsciously thinks: The wound should be tended to quickly, and “she” can’t know about it.

Realising what he’s thinking, Gavin is once again stunned-

Who’s “she”?

And why is he so concerned about how that person feels?

Stepping out of the bathroom, the washing machine makes a "ding" sound. Gavin wipes his head and walks over to take a look, only to realise that he had put bleach instead of laundry detergent. He stares at the washing machine in silence for a while, then reaches out to unplug the power, retrieving the ruined jacket.

After all of this, Gavin suddenly remembers the small potted plant he just bought. The clerk said that if it is placed in a location with sufficient sunlight, there would be new shoots in a week, and that it’s very easy to grow.

Gavin places it on the balcony, then picks up the phone and begins to search "How many times must succulents be watered in a day". Whether it’s a mere illusion, that sense of deja vu once again surfaces.

"What in the world am I doing...?" He mutters to himself, tossing his phone aside a little irritatedly. He returns to the bedroom, lying on the bed and closing his eyes, waiting for sleep.

In the depths of this autumn night that no one knows about, the rain outside the window patters against the leaves gently, and there is a very, very light stirring in his heart.

Gavin opens his eyes, looking at the ceiling which is illuminated by car lights. Suddenly, an unnamed emotion surges in his heart - he feels that the memories he has never been able to grasp weren’t “forgotten”. Rather, they are “losses” which render him powerless.

[ Chapter Three ]

On a rare, idle weekend, Tang Chao calls a group of friends from the STF together for hotpot. Right after ordering the hotpot base, Lu Yi’s conscience suddenly bugs him, and he asks if he should call Captain Gavin over.

Thinking about how rarely Gavin gets to rest and how he definitely wouldn’t be willing to see this group of people, Tang Chao knowingly shakes his head. However, his mouth has a different idea. “I’ll call him then.”

On the other side, a few special police officers are comforting Xiao Zheng from the Publicity Department who was hurt emotionally. Xiao Zheng fell out of love last week, and has been feeling extremely fragile and sensitive these few days. Hearing the bitter love songs in the shop, his eyes immediately redden.

Tang Chao taps open his contacts list, silently recalling the odd behaviour of Gavin recently. He isn’t interested in being a busybody, but his instincts tell him that Gavin has something on his mind, and it’s a change obviously brought about by that girl’s appearance. But whenever Tang Chao wants to inquire about it, the words get halted by Gavin’s killer glare.

Thinking about this, Tang Chao glances at Xiao Zheng sympathetically, and comes to a definite conclusion - if Captain Gavin were to continually suppress his emotions without releasing them, it’d result in an illness.

Tang Chao asks the waiter to serve two dozen beers, then dials Gavin’s phone.

"Good evening Captain Gavin. Have you eaten?"

"I don’t mean to annoy you, but Captain Eli invited us to have butter hotpot. You coming?

"Don't be in such a hurry to refuse. I’ve got something to talk to you about. Yes, it’s happening right now... it’s of utmost urgency.” Tang Chao shoots a grin towards an astonished Eli. Then, he continues fabricating a tale. "I don’t want to run laps. There’s a genuine matter.

Half an hour later, Gavin frowns as he walks into the hotpot restaurant. Seeing this, a few young special police officers immediately set down their chopsticks and stand up straight in a row. The only thing they haven’t done is to salute at Gavin.

Tang Chao grins, asking the waiter to bring an additional pair of tableware over. “Captain Gavin, you’re here.”

Gavin glances at Tang Chao and says in a cool voice, "What’s the urgent matter?"

“Xiao Zheng fell out love, so he asked you over to console him with us.”

“...”

Xiao Zheng frantically waves his hands in surprise, stammering a retort. Tang Chao pushes him back onto his seat and signals for him not to speak.

"Don't be sad, the chances of people ending up together is always unpredictable." Tang Chao pats Xiao Zheng on the shoulder. "Besides, who doesn’t have someone in their heart? Don’t you agree, Captain Gavin?"

These words are akin to a sudden clap of thunder on a calm sea. Xiao Zheng immediately forgets to cry. Eli immediately straights up, and the others hurriedly set down their chopsticks, whipping their heads over to look at Gavin like meerkats.

Gavin remains expressionless, though the hissing sound emanating from his body is even cooler than the ice cubes in the beer.

Since they’re in public, Tang Chao knows that it wouldn’t be convenient for Gavin to give him a beating. As such, he’s incredibly composed, and continues with his questions without a fear of death. “Captain Gavin, why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Why do you think this has anything to do with her?”

“I already saw the photograph back in the training days. Is she the lady from before when you roared “Tang Chao, put your hands away”?

[Note] These are references to R&S [Tempering] and Ch 2 Part One!

"...Tang Chao!”

“I'm here, I'm here." Tang Chao fills Gavin’s glass with beer. "Captain Gavin, I actually realised that you haven't been in the best state recently, but you don't like speaking your mind. I’m showing my concern."

“It’s said that you speak the truth after drinking, and today’s beer should be enough. Whatever you want to say, whatever’s suppressed in your heart, just release them all happily. Right, Captain Eli?”

After three rounds of drinking, Tang Chao fails to get Gavin drunk, but ends up drinking too much himself. Once again, he complains about Gavin's "Death Training" back in the days of special training. In the end, Gavin foots the bill.

Eli steps forward and pats him on the shoulder, saying, "Did something happen recently?" Gavin shakes his head in resignation. "You really believed him? His mouth is like a runaway train.”

Eli looks at Gavin and sighs. "I know you don’t need anyone to worry about you.”

"But that kid Tang Chao said one thing right. If one keeps suppressing their feelings, they’ll be suppressing problems.”

[ Chapter Four ]

On the way back, Gavin sees withered leaves on the branches along the street, and only then remembers the small succulent he had bought not long ago.

Back home, the potted plant on the balcony shrinks alone in the corner. Originally thinking that the plant he had left “free range” for so many days would meet a premature end, it turned out to be alive despite having a few withered leaves. Gavin finds this a little unbelievable, and he becomes more meticulous in watering it.

The next morning, Tang Chao opens the door to Gavin’s office and apologises solemnly. "Captain Gavin, I'm sorry. I promise that I’ll never inquire about your personal life in the future, let alone make arbitrary conjectures about your feelings.”

Without looking up at Tang Chao, Gavin only tosses out a sentence. "Before next Monday, re-check all the case data in the Archive Room.”

The Archive Room is on the third basement floor. The dust is very dense and the materials are very thick. Tang Chao wails immediately, leaving dejectedly.

Gavin picks up the document Tang Chao had just placed on his desk. It is a sealed report for the seizure of "small syringe" production plants, which records in detail the batches and output of pharmaceutical companies which participated in the production.

Reaching the final part of the report, Gavin is silent for a moment. At the end of the report, there is a line of small characters - "Ten boxes of drug samples are suspected to have gone missing."

Without putting much thought into it, a face with a beaming smile locks onto his mind.

“...I won't investigate you this time." He sighs, putting the report back into the drawer.

After ferreting the mole out of STF, Gray Rhino seems to have erased all traces of the "small syringes". But Gavin knows they wouldn’t withdraw easily from competing for "CORE" - naturally, neither will Black Swan.

Gavin is clear that the current peace will not last for long. Before the girl stands against him on the opposite side, what he has to do is be one step ahead, obtaining more crucial information as soon as possible.

The phone beeps, notifying him of a new e-mail. Gavin is pulled back from his thoughts, and his eyes fall on the unknown email that popped up.

"Congratulations on your successful registration in the Hunter Game" - the sender’s address is encrypted, and there is no doubt that no information can found.

Gavin's thoughts gradually settle. His hands are clasped lightly on the table, his gaze falling on the words "Hunter Game", his gaze turning sharp and determined.

That place definitely has something they’re looking for.

[ Chapter Five ]

In the STF Intensive Care Unit, a dripping sound accompanies the plastic tube. Gavin sleeps very peacefully, and he feels like he had a lot of dreams in his dazed state. They aren’t nightmares which wake him up with a start, but dreams which make him willing to remain asleep.

However, it seems he can only remember the final dream from the long series of dreams. When he’s roused awake by the sound of footsteps in the corridor, what lingers before his eyes is a blurry yet familiar face. Gavin sits up on the hospital bed, the pain from the no-longer-effective anaesthesia making him more awake.

Despite not telling Tang Chao and Eli about his participation in the Hunter Game, they aren’t suspicious. They’ve grown accustomed to Gavin’s aloof nature, and as such, assumed that he went on a secret mission.

During his absence over the past few days, there was a new development in the Evolver assassination incident - a new victim has appeared.

Gavin is very clear that if the cases were to be allowed to ferment, the higher-ups from “that side” would intervene in the matter. They have to take immediate action.

“There’s one more tricky thing." Tang Chao sits at the edge of his desk. "For the latest assassination case, we encountered a witness with a special situation. We might have to ask an Evolver who can read memories for help."

Tang Chao blinks and asks, "But I don't know any Evolvers with this ability. Do you know any, Captain Gavin?”

According to theory, aside from work purposes, they should be keeping a distance from each other. But according to the girl, the reason why they’ve come out for an idle stroll is, for one, to relax. Two, to search for inspiration to solve the case.

The lead from the only witness to the Evolver assassination was cut short. Gavin isn’t affected much, since he knows that this matter isn’t simple. In contrast, the girl is especially bothered by it, and feels apologetic for not being able to help.

On the bustling street in the afternoon, Gavin returns to his senses, taking the oden which the girl hands over with a smile.

When walking by her side, Gavin realises that he’s barely thinking about the things that are bothering him. He naturally picks up her conversation topics, as if they had wandered aimlessly on the street side by side before.

Does she feel the same way? In his heart, Gavin shakes his head in self-mockery, wanting to forget these thoughts which confuse him.

Walking out of the food street, rain patters down. The pedestrians on the street crowd together suddenly, rushing towards the station. Gavin holds up an umbrella, planning to send her back.

The yellow wintersweet flowers exude a subtle fragrance in the rain. The smell, colour, and the scent of the person next to him seem to be magnified, forming a memory of the present moment.

Perhaps, even before he noticed it himself, while he has been deliberately neglecting the complex emotions in his heart, they have been also been growing in a place where he cannot see. When she calls his name, when she accidentally touches his hand, it’s as though some things from a very long time ago are coming back to life in his mind--

Someone had once called his name using such a tone.

Someone had once held his hand in this way.

Someone... was once his strength.

The emotions which he conceals deeply, whether they are good or bad, were once held gently.

A scorching wave of heat suddenly rushes into his chest.

The traffic lights change, and the crowd waiting at the side of the street slowly surge towards the middle of the road. The surrounding pedestrians squeeze past each other, bumping into his shoulder from time to time.

Gavin lifts his head abruptly, watching the side profile of the girl as she’s in the rain. It’s as though there’s an intriguing overlap. It’s as though a very long time ago, his heart had leapt this fiercely for her.

The girl suddenly turns around, looking in his direction and waving at him. Putting away her umbrella, she points to a mother-daughter duo hiding from the rain underneath the bus stop. She asks for his opinion through her gaze. Without much thought, Gavin removes his jacket, brisk walking towards her in the rain.

Raindrops patter down, and the water beneath his feet leave splashes in their wake. Akin to rain, they land on his body. It’s as though he gets slightly more drenched with each step. At this moment, Gavin realises that on days when memories are muddied, he has grasped a thin thread since a long time ago.

The jacket supports a narrow world, and wind and rain occasionally blow in.

If their reunion was meant to verify their directions, no matter what the future holds, what he has to do now is to run forward with her, together.

[Note] Please don’t ask me about the Hunter Game! I haven’t had the chance to read the earlier chapters in detail so I don’t know the specifics 😅

💙 More S2 content: here

💙 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #...T^T #please don't send me asks about the new chapter even if it's about verifying spoilers floating around!#I haven't read them and I don't wish to be spoiled HAHAHA

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houseofvans · 6 years

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ART SCHOOL | Q&A with DETH P. SUN

Influenced by the works of Richard Scarry, Charles Schultz, and the likes of Tove Jannson, artist Deth P. Sun’s interest in art and zines started early on–from drawing everything in an encyclopedia to creating his first zine in high school. From that point on, Deth has been a prolific painter, zine maker, and doodler, focused on making his art on his own terms. With his central hero– a genderless cat – Deth explores various natural and strange worlds through a subtle narrative, created by his brushwork, ambiguity, and color palettes.

Find out more about Deth’s art, his wordless storytelling, and what inspires him by taking the leap below.

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself? My name is Deth P. Sun, I’m an artist living in a tiny coastal town in Northern California, but most of my adult life was spent in the Bay Area, primarily in Oakland and Berkeley. I tell people I’m Cambodian, which is mostly true.

When did you begin having an interest in art and painting? How or why do you think you gravitated towards this profession? I’ve always enjoyed drawing, I think I kind of like getting better at it and learning about new things that are centered around that. It’s one of the cheaper hobbies to get started in as a kid. It’s not really a thing I think about too much these days. Mostly I wonder how my life was set by my 17 year old self.

How do you describe your work to people who maybe unfamiliar with it? Until I moved to this town I live in now, I kind of never had to. Mostly because I don’t meet new people outside of my circle. I just tell people I’m a graphic artist. If they want more info I just stare at them blankly because I think it’s kind of rude to ask strangers what they do for a living.

There are various aspects to your paintings from being narrative and storytelling to those that feature various painted objects and natural things. Can you tell us a little bit about the narrative elements of your works and how that came about? Yeah, I just like suggesting that there’s a narrative with my work, which isn’t that hard as long as you don’t stray too much from your pallette or reuse images to find in each painting. I kind of like seeing a whole set of paintings, that’s when you sense that there is a story.

When did you protagonist character start to take shape? How did that evolve and come-about? I’ve just always drew a character like that. Probably in high school. It’s been so long I don’t really remember. It probably came from my sketchbook. Most of my sketchbooks are kind of boring because it was just me repeatedly drawing the same stuff until I got better at it. I think I was trying to draw a cat and I drew something else that I liked.

In some of your other works, you paint collections of items from food, mushrooms, crystals to swords and old style cell phones. How did these paintings originate for you? Were you finding yourself sketching certain things that you read about or were you just obsessed with a certain object that week? My parents taught themselves English using Richard Scarry books so they were the first books I had my hands on. It’s just pages and pages of him drawing things with words describing what they were underneath. When I was younger I had this project where I’d take an encyclopedia and try drawing everything in it. I think I only got to M. Also when I was kid while drawing in my sketchbook I would just run out of stuff to draw so I’d go room to room drawing everything in each room.

It was just a thing to kill time.

How has where you live and its landscape influenced the work you create? What’s your favorite thing about residing there? I guess it does a little, but I think I drew the stuff and then when I got here, I liked it a lot, so I ended up on this tiny coastal town on the bluffs. I started drawing weird epic landscapes after watching a bunch of Swedish films a few years ago.

What was your last adventure or walk through your neighborhood that showed up in one of your work, thematically or just visually? One time a friend invited me to a barbeque. They lived near the train tracks a couple of miles from me, so I walked up the tracks passed the cemetery and over a few tressel bridges. It was really nice walk. Met a turtle. They had to come down and get me because I didn’t know the path to their house, and it was getting dark.

What IS your favorite thing to draw or paint? Do you have an UNfavorite thing to draw or paint? I like drawing pineapples. I hate when strangers ask me to draw them. I want to punch them in the face.

When did you start picking up the paint brush and taking your works to the canvas? What do you enjoy about painting vs. drawing? The first time I painted was in my high school art class, I think like most other Americans. I was using tempera, so it sucked. But I started buying acrylic soon after. I think painting and drawing is kind of the same thing, or least I just paint like I’m drawing. I don’t think it was a strange transition.

What’s a typical day like for you at home and in the studio? What’s your process like? I fill out internet orders sometimes, or a wholesale order. Sometimes I draw. Mostly I get up and look at my email and go, “I have a lot of stuff to do and this is gonna suck”. I don’t really multitask, so it’s usually me filling out orders for 8 hours and trying to get to the post office before 4:30 while watching dumb shit on the internet, or me helping a friend screen print in my garage, or if I have a show just ignoring everything else in life and painting for two months.

A few years ago I kind of got burnt out of making a living with just painting. So I was like maybe I should make more t-shirts and prints. So I ended up moving to Fort Bragg and screenprinting more stuff and making more drawings toward that. But now my days are filled with me screen printing and filling out small orders or hanging out on my computer photoshopping all day. So now I’m in some other kind of hell.

What are your go-to art tools? A Pilot Hi-Tec C (They’re called G-Tec 4s in other places) pen. I use the .4, but should probably switch to .5. You have to have a light touch with them or else they’ll jam.

Right now I enjoy using Mitsubishi pencils, but the cheap Mirado Black Warrior pencil you can get at most stationary store is just as good.

Been filling a sketchbook using Opaque markers. Posca’s are pretty good, but the color choices are limited, so I started buying Molotow. The Molotow’s can be refilled so they might end up being a better value.

Lately I’ve been painting with cheap $2 craft paints mostly because I don’t like mixing colors. Just bought a few of the Martha Stewart’s at Michaels. I still buy Golden and Liquitex, but it’s nice to mix in other stuff.

Not only do you draw and paint, you are always printing and creating zines of your works. Do you remember your very first zine you made? Are you working on a new zine? The first zine I made was pretty horrible. It was staple at the top corner, and I gave it out to my friends when I was in high school. I put everything precious in a box before I left for college and when I came back my dad had threw it out. At the time I was pretty bummed, but now I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that. I’m always working on something. Sometimes things take a really long time. I drew everything I ate while in England and Scotland several years ago and just now getting it all together. I’ve gotten rejected from a bunch of zine fairs, so there really isn’t a urgency to get it finished. I’m thinking of making one for the tiny town I’m in, and other that’s like a newspaper, but filled with just my gibberish drawing of words.

Do you have a favorite zine maker out there you’d like to share with folks? I’m pretty excited to be tabling at Comics Art Brooklyn. Last year I sat nearby Evan Cohen (http://www.evanmcohen.com) who I had just bought zines online from a few weeks before so that was kind of unexpected. He makes rad work. There was a few other artists there whose work I enjoyed. I came home with a lot of nice prints which I never really get from strangers. Stuff from Natalie Andrewson, Tiny Splendor, most everything Peow Studios publishes, and Jen Tong. I like this zine called Terror House by Sammy Harkham that I’d buy a few to give out to friends and the zines my friend, Evah Fan makes.

What are you constantly inspired by? And who are some of your early and current art influences? I think what keeps me going is random problem solving with how I paint. Or maybe the natural world. I don’t really know if I’m being totally honest. I grew up reading Peanuts. It has it’s good moments. I think I became comfortable with not always having to be in the up. I really like Tove Jannson’s work.. I’m not a fan Tintin, but I like the way Hergé uses color and lines. I was lucky enough to come to the Bay Area while the Mission School was around and Yoshitoma Nara had a few shows, so it made it okay for me to make paintings the way I do.

What do you do when you are not painting, drawing or making zines? How do you find yourself unwinding? I watch a lot of dumb shit on youtube and take long walks. Each week I go to a game night where I do board games (Catan, Ticket to Ride, Dixit, Pirates Cove are in the usual rotation). I like to cook and have people over. I actually unwind by drawing and watching a lot of basketball while listening to basketball podcasts.

What advice would you offer to an aspiring artist who might wanna follow in your footsteps? Be nice to everyone you meet ever. Always try to learn. Don’t get caught up in what people think of you or your work. Know that if you keep on doing something you’ll get better at it. Pick up different hobbies. Make friends with other artists. Be open to all opportunities. Get used to rejection.

What’s your best Art School tip that you want to share with folks? Some random wisdom you learned through your personal journey or just while making art? You know I don’t know if I’m the best person to get advice from since I sort of carved out this weird existence. When you’re young, it’s easy to get caught up in weird things and maybe a person should just get caught up in those things. I do meet old school mates who have regrets about how their time in art school was spent, but I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way of doing it. I think there really isn’t any rush, and also if you feel like you “failed” you can always just get back up because no one is really paying attention.

I think I hear a lot from folks who worry that they’re too old to try painting or doing art for a living. And I’d hear this from someone who’s like 25 or 30. But there really isn’t a deadline to any of this stuff and also no one really knows how old anyone is. I think everyone’s trying to get to some sort of finish line, but really just existing and making work is all there is.

What do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t an artist? In an alternate universe, what career would Deth find himself doing? I’d probably be working in tech if I’m being honest with myself.

What’s a question you never get asked in an interview that you wanna ask yourself and answer? There really isn’t.

What are your favorite style of VANS? My favorite Vans were the slip ons with a grey herring bone pattern on them. I had 4 or 5 pairs, but I think they switched to a smaller pattern because I couldn’t find them again.

What’s coming up for you the rest of the year or into the next? Comic Arts Brooklyn (http://comicartsbrooklyn.com), a solo show in January at Spoke Art (https://spoke-art.com) in San Francisco. I’ll have stuff at a print fair in Oakland (https://www.oaklandprintfair.com), and an art book fair in Berlin (http://www.friendswithbooks.org/content/about) through Vanilla Studios (http://vanillastud.io).

FOLLOW DETH | INSTAGRAM | WEBSITE | SHOP

#Art #Vans #Vans Art #Deth P. Sun #Art School #interview #painting #drawing

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igotablankpage · 5 years

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Mimi's Guide to Definitely Not Being Kidnapped by Faeries - Part One

Go away, go away, go away.

That’s what I keep silently praying as I squeeze behind the trash cans lined up along our garden fence. If it weren’t there, I wouldn’t have to take the pungent, much less scenic route to the back of the garden.

If I just ignore it, make sure not to step in it, they’ll have to get bored with me eventually. Hopefully move it somewhere not in my backyard? Yeah, that would be ideal.

It wasn’t there yesterday morning. I clearly remember walking through the very middle of the yard to go water my newly-planted carnations. And I know it wasn’t there early last night, when I walked through the yard yet again to check on the tulips.

So you see, I had no reason to believe anything out of the ordinary would happen this morning. I woke up at the crack of dawn (ugh, med school), stumbled downstairs, and practically sleepwalked into the kitchen. After quickly making a cup of black coffee, I mumbled a “hello” in response to my atrociously cheery mother. She was always more of a morning bird than my father (guess whose genes I got in that regard).

After the coffee restored me to partial functionality, I stepped outside into the warm morning mist to greet my plants (yes, I am a plant nerd. Make fun of me all you want).

And that was when I froze in my tracks - one footstep away from trampling through it.

A faerie ring.

And I don’t mean a couple of cute mushrooms. I mean a six-foot diameter, freakishly symmetrical ring of small mushroom, so small most people probably wouldn’t notice one if it were alone (I say most people - remember, I’m a plant nerd); all together, however, they were a sight to behold.

It was at that moment that Grandma Lucy’s voice echoed in my mind:

“Stay away from those ancient faerie circles. One step inside, and you’ll be enthralled, never to see your home again. Or at least, not for several hundred years.”

Yeah. I think you can forgive me for being a bit wary.

Lucy isn’t my real grandmother, of course. My biological grandmother passed away when I was eleven, and is still missing from the recesses of my memory. I had only met her twice before my parents and I left South Sudan, and I had been far too young to remember anything. She never failed to write me a birthday letter though, and sometimes I feel the pull of a life, of a family, that I’ve never known. What would my life be like if we had never left South Sudan? If we hadn’t moved to the monotonous suburbs of Des Moines, Iowa? Sometimes I find it difficult to reconcile these two pieces of my life, the past and the present clumsily intertwining like clasped hands that don’t quite fit each other.

I do know that I wouldn’t trade Lucy for any other life. She’s a sweet older lady who works at the local library that I occasionally visit. I was never much of a reader, but I do enjoy checking out new cookbooks or gardening tips once in a while. I think Lucy recognized a bit of a lost soul in me, because, from the first time I set foot in the library at age ten, she was there to help. She talked to me about my passions and my dreams, those far-off ambitions that only little kids dare to express. She helped me with schoolwork, talked me through my problems, and helped me realize when I had made mistakes (something I do quite often, but acknowledge far less). It was her support that pushed me to reach for my goals, and culminated in my scholarship to medical school. If I hadn’t had her for the past 16 years, who knows where I’d be.

And, incidentally, she’s where I get my basic knowledge of faerie tales from.

So when I walk into the yard and discover a full-blown faerie ring, I do what any rational adult would do: I go out of my way to step carefully around it. Which involves nearly falling into the garbage.

Once I check on my plants, I take the same route back inside, a little more confidently this time.

It’s not that I believe I’ll take one step into the circle of whimsical mushrooms and get whisked away to a land of nightmares. But you can only listen to Lucy’s stories so many times before they begin to make you a little paranoid.

Upon returning to the kitchen, I take a few deep breaths, resting against the door.

“Are you alright?” my father asks, one eyebrow raised from where he sits at the kitchen table.

I nod in assent so as not to give away my nerves through a shaking voice.

Maybe I’m just imagining it. Yeah. That makes sense. I’ll come back from class this afternoon and it’ll be gone. Slightly reassured (but who am I kidding), I push myself off the wall and hike back upstairs to get dressed.

* * * * *

The glass door of the library swings closed behind me as I head straight for the desk. Long gone are the days where I pretended to be remotely interested in browsing. I pass a few other librarians who nod or wave when they recognize me before I reach Lucy.

“Lucy, you’ll never believe what I saw this morning.”

Lucy peers at me over her glasses while simultaneously scanning in a book. “And good afternoon to you too, missy. Cutting class, are we?”

I roll my eyes. “You know I don’t have an afternoon class on Tuesdays, Lucy, you don’t have to make that joke every time.”

“Ah, but what else are forgetful old ladies for?”

I snort. “Anyway, I woke up this morning, half-dead as usual, and went out to the garden, again as usual. But today, in my garden, I found…” I trail off in anticipation. Lucy raises her brow, waiting. “A faerie ring,” I finish.

I had some time to mull it over, and I decided the best way to deal with it is to act like it’s not a big deal. I had probably imagined it, so why not play it off as a joke just to make sure?

Lucy’s eyes widen. “A faerie ring? Are you sure, Mimi?”

I lift my hands palms-up in self-defense. “Honest to God truth. A perfectly symmetrical mushroom circle with at least a two-yard diameter.”

“Hmm,” Lucy grunted.

“So?” I prompted, waiting for a fuller reaction.

“I say go for it,” she said matter-of-factly as she returned to scanning the books.

“Wait, what?” I feel my face scrunch up in confusion.

“Honey, it’s a faerie ring. That alone spells ‘adventure’. And if there’s anything you need, it’s an adventure.”

I squint at her. “Is that an insult?”

“It’s a fact,” she says as she continues with her work. “All you ever think about are your studies. And maybe your garden. It’s a 95/5 percent split. All I know is that you need a break.”

I sigh. Maybe she’s right. How is it that she can read me like a book?

Maybe it has something to do with her being a librarian.

Suppressing a groan at my horrible and utterly useless joke, I suddenly notice the look in her eye. Doubt. Indulgence. Of course. All of a sudden, I realize: she doesn’t believe me. No, that’s not quite right - she doesn’t believe herself. Those faerie tales she told me, back when I was just a child, were only fiction to her. I can’t decide whether the fact relieves me or disappoints me.

I can’t help but think, however, that there’s a hint of sincerity among the mischievous twinkle in her eye when she looks up, leans towards me, and says, “So what are you waiting for?”

* * * * *

I arrive home completely out of sorts. Sliding off my bike, I note the empty driveway; my parents must be working. They own a small bakery right off the main road, not hugely successful but popular enough among locals to make a living. I have fond memories of my adolescent years, helping them to bake muffins or to perfect (more often catastrophically fail at) a new recipe. School takes up too much time to bake as a family these days.

After unlocking the door, I step inside, quickly shutting the door behind me. It makes me scoff at myself, but there’s a pulsing sense of urgency in my bones to check the backyard. I close my eyes and breathe before forcing myself to first deposit my bags upstairs. I then slowly make my way back down the staircase, a stone forming in the pit of my stomach with each step I take.

Just one look, I tell myself, to prove it’s not there. I approach the back door. Steeling myself, I yank the door open.

And promptly slam it shut.

It’s. Still. There.

I want to scream. I’m not quite sure what to do.

I think about Lucy’s obvious disbelief. What can a couple of mushrooms do anyway? But then I think about what she said about me. I never realized before how right she was. Sometimes I’m so trapped in the same routine that I can’t breathe. There has to be more to life than useless, unfulfilling ambitions. Don’t get me wrong; I enjoy med school. It’s what I want to do with my life. I love the rush I get when I know I’m doing my best work, when I’m using my brain to the fullest of its abilities and helping people at the same time. But sometimes it gets so…predictable.

I think about the faerie ring again. But, regardless of Lucy’s beliefs, I’m not sure if I’m confident enough in it harmlessness to walk into it quite yet.

I look down and realize I’m pacing. Stressing this much about such an inconsequential event can’t be healthy.

I walk to the kitchen sink. Washing dishes is how I destress. It helps me take my mind off of what’s happening around me, and that can be just what I need to find a solution.

I’ve only just picked up a dish and a sponge when I hear voices. Angry ones. And they’re coming from the kitchen window, which I realize now is open.

“It’s not my fault that the human won’t step in it!”

I stare at what appears to be thin air, looking for the person who spoke. Suddenly a sharp movement catches my eye, and I look down. I barely make out what appears to be two small humanesque figures in the grass.

“Well, it’s not mine either! You were the one who said to put it here!”

I should be panicking right now. Why am I not panicking?

Lucy said I should go for it. My impulses take over. I walk calmly towards the door. Before my brain catches up with what my body is doing, I’ve already opened the door and stepped into the yard, still taking care to avoid the ring.

What are you doing? my brain screams.

“What exactly is the problem?” My mouth forms the words without my brain’s approval.

Both figures, standing in the middle of the ring, pivot sharply to face me. Almost instantly, plumes of purple and gray smoke appear out of thin air, enveloping the creatures in its clutches. Before my own eyes, the smoke swirls and expands, until it fades away to reveal two very human-sized figures - faeries? - in its wake.

My first thought is that they’re not what I imagined faeries would be. They’re both extremely beautiful; that part at least is accurate to the legends. The male’s beauty is classic fae, with sharp angles, glowing pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. Are those horns that peek through his messy red hair? It’s difficult to tell. The female, however, contrasts sharply to him. She stands several inches shorter than me, with a warm brown skin tone only marginally lighter than my own. While he is all lines and angles, she is all curves. From her body, to her flowy bohemian dress, to the purple hair cascading down her shoulder in natural curls, everything about her is swirling; and while her appearance differs drastically from written descriptions of the fae’s beauty, it doesn’t make her any less stunning. In fact, she’s even more beautiful than the faeries I’ve read about.

And that is the moment it hits me: either I’ve gone stark raving mad, or there are two faeries in my backyard.

With their predatory gazes fully focused on me.

#submission #not mine #sanguinewritings

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