#also the candles and the memento mori symbolism
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I've got all this love I've got to keep to myself /
All this effort to make it look effortless 🕯️💀🕯️
I just love Flu Game and the imagery it evokes in me. I really wanna draw more for this song.
#fall out boy#(so much) for star dust#so much for stardust#flu game#fall out boy fan art#also the candles and the memento mori symbolism#I can't help it#my stuff
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Semifinals 1
Tamquam alter idem
Means "as if another self," as if a second self
Apparently it's cicero's description of a friend but it's also PYNCH'S WAY OF SAYING I LOVE YOU TO EACH OTHER!!!!!!!
Pynch = Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish (The Raven Cycle)
Memento mori
Means "remember you must die"
Mostly showcased through artwork, a memento mori reminds us of the brevity of our time here and the fragility of human life.
A basic memento mori painting would be a portrait with a skull but other symbols commonly found are hour glasses or clocks, extinguished or guttering candles, fruit, and flowers.
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Like the skull, the candle has been invoked throughout art history as a poignant memento mori, the transience of its flame reflecting the ultimate ephemerality of all life. It is a symbol that is also articulated in world faiths, standing for the ardent strength of the human spirit. Whilst Richter has always considered himself an inveterate atheist and anti-ideologue, the image is a perfect tribute to the man who continues to affirm his belief in art as 'the highest form of hope'. Perhaps significantly, Richter had just turned fifty when he created his first candle painting. At this moment in his life, the motifs of burning candles and gently illuminated skulls were a means to come to terms with the passage of time. As he explained, 'I was fascinated by these motifs, and that [fascination] is also nicely distanced. I felt protected because the motifs are so art-historically charged, and I no longer needed to say that I painted them for myself. The motifs were covered by this styled composition, out-of-focus quality, and perfection. So beautifully painted, they take away the fear' (G. Richter quoted in D. Elger, Gerhard Richter: A Life in Painting, Chicago 2009, p. 262).
christies
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1st image by Maria van Oosterwijck(1668)
2nd image by Pieter Claesz(1625)
Notes on Momento Mori
Momento Mori is an art form that translate to, “remember you must die.” It has not only influenced art but philosophy, literature and architecture. The ideology of memento mori is to remind of the invisibility of death and the fragility of life. Epictetus once said :
“do you then ponder how the supreme of human evils, the surest mark of the base and cowardly, is not death, but the fear of death?”
This links to Ernest Becker’s denial of death theory, that the fear of death causes human to do horrible things. The idea of momento mori is to become familiar and comfortable with death, because once you come to terms with it you are liberated. It first originated from Ancient Rome, when a general would win a battle he would be paraded through the streets whilst people cheered, a slave would be behind him however whispering, “rember you must die.” This was to remind the general of his morality, and not to get to big headed.
The ancient Egyptians also took part in remembering death, when feasting they would raise a skull and say,’ drink and be merry, for such shalt thou be when thou dead.”
Buddists practiced Maranasati, which is, “death awareness.”
In some of these examples it seems that momento mori has been used to humble, which is an underlying aim of my film. We believe we are invincible, we believe we are immortal and that has a negative effect on our behaviour as humans I believe, I think its important for the west to be reminded that death comes to us all.
A key art form of Momento Mori is Vanitas, where still life paintings depict carefully placed objects that symbolise the fleeing nature of life, and how we should not waste our time on meaningless objects and pleasures; the two images above are examples of these paintings. Common objects in these paintings are, “skulls, candles, hourglasses, watches, rotting fruit, wilting flowers and fraying books.” Symbolically placing objects next to a skull serves as a reminder of the impermanence of us and our objects, the dying flowers and Burnt out candles also depict this. Clocks and hourglass are used to show time running out, and bubbles are sometimes placed to again show fragility of life.
Momento mori was also heavily popular in the victorian times, they wee fascinated with death, they would spend years meticulously planning their last words, they would even take photographs with their deceased ones. Momento mori jewellery was very popular during this time, they would wear rings with skeletons, sometimes wearing crowns to show deaths superiority.
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Vanitas are closely related to memento mori still lifes which are artworks that remind the viewer of the shortness and fragility of life (memento mori is a Latin phrase meaning ‘remember you must die’) and include symbols such as skulls and extinguished candles. However vanitas still-lifes also include other symbols such as musical instruments, wine and books to remind us explicitly of the vanity (in the sense of worthlessness) of worldly pleasures and goods.
Memento mori is a Latin phrase meaning ‘remember you must die’. A basic memento mori painting would be a portrait with a skull but other symbols commonly found are hour glasses or clocks, extinguished or guttering candles, fruit, and flowers.
Boltanski’s particular brand of postmemory is highly connected to the thematic and iconographic tradition of vanitas and its reminders of mortality.
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ART TERM: VANITAS
" A still life artwork which includes various symbolic objects designed to remind the viewer of their mortality and of the worthlessness of worldly goods and pleasures. The term originally comes from the opening lines of the book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible: 'Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities, all is vanity Vanitas are closely related to memento mori still life which are artworks that remind the viewer of the shortness and fragility of life (memento mori is a Latin phrase meaning 'remember you must die' ) and includes symbols such as skulls and extinguished candles. However, vanitas still-lifes also include other symbols such as musical instruments, wine, and books to remind us explicitly of the vanity (in the sense of worthlessness) of worldly pleasures and goods." The 'fragility and shortness of life is something that I want to allude to within my works, that societal concepts don't hold as much value as we may believe as life is short and fleeting. As we see a growth in expressed individuality complexes in the rise of social media platforms, creating the perception of measured individual worth holding influence on the actions in the every day of individuals. When faced with death we are reminded of life, everything that we experience through life creates who we are, the contrast of growth, and the interaction between the artificial and organic. The expression of the online vs the natural world.
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ART TERM: VANITAS
" A still life artwork which includes various symbolic objects designed to remind the viewer of their mortality and of the worthlessness of worldly goods and pleasures.
The term originally comes from the opening lines of the book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible: 'Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities, all is vanity
Vanitas are closely related to memento mori still life which are artworks that remind the viewer of the shortness and fragility of life (memento mori is a Latin phrase meaning 'remember you must die' ) and includes symbols such as skulls and extinguished candles. However, vanitas still-lifes also include other symbols such as musical instruments, wine, and books to remind us explicitly of the vanity (in the sense of worthlessness) of worldly pleasures and goods."
The 'fragility and shortness of life is something that I want to allude to within my works, that societal concepts don't hold as much value as we may believe as life is short and fleeting. As we see a growth in expressed individuality complexes in the rise of social media platforms, creating the perception of measured individual worth holding influence on the actions in the every day of individuals. When faced with death we are reminded of life, everything that we experience through life creates who we are, the contrast of growth, and the interaction between the artificial and organic. The expression of the online vs the natural world.
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Researching still life photography... I came across ‘Vanitas’ paintings.
From Tate.Org: “ Vanitas are closely related to ‘Memento Mori’ still lifes which are artworks that remind the viewer of the shortness and fragility of life (memento mori is a Latin phrase meaning ‘remember you must die’) and include symbols such as skulls and extinguished candles. However vanitas still-lifes also include other symbols such as musical instruments, wine and books to remind us explicitly of the vanity (in the sense of worthlessness) of worldly pleasures and goods.”
Peter van Kessel (Antwerp, c. 1635 – Ratzeburg, early October 1668)
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Memento Mori, "To This Favour", William Michael Harnett , 1879, Cleveland Museum of Art: American Painting and Sculpture
The Latin term memento mori describes a traditional subject in art that addresses mortality. In Harnett’s example, the extinguished candle, spent hourglass, and skull symbolize death. A quote from William Shakespeare’s Hamlet, inscribed on the inside cover of a tattered book, reinforces the theme. It comes from the play’s famed graveyard scene where Hamlet discovers a skull and grimly ponders his beloved Ophelia, ironically unaware that she is already dead. The "paint" in the quote not only refers to Ophelia’s makeup, but also wittily evokes the artifice of Harnett’s picture.
Size: Framed: 77.9 x 98.4 x 8.6 cm (30 11/16 x 38 3/4 x 3 3/8 in.); Unframed: 61.3 x 81.5 cm (24 1/8 x 32 1/16 in.)
Medium: oil on canvas
https://clevelandart.org/art/1965.235
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Memento Mori and Vanitas Inspiration in VNC
Memento mori: an artwork designed to remind the viewer of their mortality and of the shortness and fragility of human life.
Memento mori is a Latin phrase meaning ‘remember you must die’. A basic memento mori painting would be a portrait with a skull but other symbols commonly found are hourglasses or clocks, extinguished or guttering candles, fruit, and flowers.
Closely related to the memento mori is the vanitas still life.
Vanitas: an artwork which includes various symbolic objects designed to remind the viewer of their mortality and of the worthlessness of worldly goods and pleasures.
The term originally comes from the opening lines of the Book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible: “Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” Closely related to the memento mori, vanitas also include other symbols such as musical instruments, wine and books to remind us explicitly of the vanity (in the sense of worthlessness) of worldly pleasures and goods.
#vanitas no carte#vnc#case study of vanitas#jun mochizuki#vanitas#memento mori#art history#art terms#art styles
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Frans van Everbroeck - Portrait of a lady, head and shoulders, surrounded by a stone cartouche and garlands of fruit and flowers - 1667
oil on canvas, Height: 106 cm (41.7 in); Width: 85 cm (33.4 in)
Frans van Everbroeck (c. 1628– between 1676 and 1693) was a Flemish still life painter who is known for his fruit still lifes, vanitas still lifes and pronkstillevens. He was active in Antwerp, Amsterdam and London.
Van Everbroeck painted fruit still lifes, vanitas still lifes and pronkstillevens, i.e. sumptuous still lifes of luxurious objects.
A number of his still lifes fall into the category of 'garland paintings'. Garland paintings are a type of still life invented in early 17th century Antwerp and whose earliest practitioner was Jan Brueghel the Elder. Paintings in this genre typically show a flower or, less frequently, fruit garland around a devotional image or portrait. Garland paintings were usually collaborations between a still life and a figure painter.
Van Everbroeck collaborated on garland paintings with other painters, but it is not recorded who were his collaborators. The collaborators painted the figure or figures inside the cartouche while van Everbroeck painted the fruit garland. An example is the Garland of fruit surrounding St Joseph with the Child Jesus (1667, at Hampel Fine Art Auctions on 27 March 2009 in Munich, lot 280). The artist has included a beetle on the stone ledge and a butterfly on the left side among the fruit in the garland. Van Everbroeck rendered the fruits in a luminescent and naturalistic manner, with a pronounced depth. Another example of his production in this genre is A cartouche still life of flowers and fruit around a portrait of a lady dressed as a shepherdess (At Sotheby's on 3 May 2017 in London, lot 138).
Van Everbroeck is also known for his vanitas still lifes, a genre of still lifes which offers a reflection on the meaninglessness of earthly life and the transient nature of all earthly goods and pursuits. An example is the composition Memento Mori (At Van Ham Kunstauktionen on 17 May 2013 in Cologne, lot 478). This composition contains the typical symbolism of vanitas paintings: a skull, soap bubbles, a candle, an hourglass, a watch and a book (symbolising the futility of mankind's higher aspirations). On a paper are written the words Memento mori (Latin: "remember that you have to die"), one of the principal themes of vanitas paintings.
The Dutch painters Abraham Mignon and Maria van Oosterwyck are regarded as his followers.
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Round 3 Poll 4
Sic semper tyrannis
Means "Thus always to tyrants," often implying that tyrants will be overthrown (death/defeat)
For its use in ancient history, the phrase is often connected to the assassination of Julius Caesar because they didn’t want a tyrant running things. And that totally showed him! And the others! But more recently it has been thought to be what Booth said after botching his jump from Lincoln’s box seat.
But wait there’s more! It is the seal of Virginia and is on the state flag. Since it needs an example to describe what always happens to tyrants, the flag depicts a defeated (dead??) man with his crown beside him being stood over/on by a female warrior! Also, this is the only flag I can think of that has a boob on it.
And, if you are pro-tyrant, you can still use this phrase if you include a positive example like have a tyrant feasting!
"Thus always to tyrants" is also an Oh Hellos song
Memento mori
Means "remember you must die"
Mostly showcased through artwork, a memento mori reminds us of the brevity of our time here and the fragility of human life.
A basic memento mori painting would be a portrait with a skull but other symbols commonly found are hour glasses or clocks, extinguished or guttering candles, fruit, and flowers.
The [picture on the right] is Pablo Picasso's 'Goat's Skull, Bottle and Candle'
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memento mori
remember when i said i was going to fic kor phaeron’s horrible death? yeah, this isn’t that, i’m still working on that one. hope you guys like this anyway :)
content warning: this piece is about grief, specifically about grieving loved ones, even family. take care while reading it if you’re currently mourning someone. also, on a less serious note, i’m not entirely sure about having nailed the characterization, but i think i’ve done a well enough job to post it.
please enjoy!
A room on a ship. Small, but clean; wide windows opened to the voids of space. Simple. Empty, but for a chest on the back against the wall, made perhaps out of the same material — welded as one more part of the chamber. Silence, the whirring of a ship moving, distant chatter of serfs. Then — footsteps. Heavy footfalls, in power-armored boots, getting closer. Stopping briefly. Behind the door, the noises of armor being removed. Latches unlocking. Someone toeing out of his boots, delicate. Even more serf chatter; smaller footsteps, lighter, as they left. Silence. Silence, for a moment — then a metallic whine as the door to the chamber opens.
An unnaturally tall figure, in casual clothing. Black and draping. He turns around; the door clicks closed, locked. The figure steps forward. He's graceful. The chamber is small enough for him to cross it in but a few steps.
He stops before the chest, breathes in deep. He's carrying something - a lighted candle. It's small — smaller than his hands — and white, and it burns with a tiny, golden light.
He kneels before the chest — first one knee, then the other, slowly, as if they could not hold his weight. The candle, carried on a small metallic dish, is left on the floor. His fingers reach the latch; it opens with a faint groan, and he opens the chest in one swift movement. He has done this before. He picks a few things up from the depths of the chest: a small wooden box, a few sticks wrapped in a black ribbon, a large red candle. He places them on the floor with practised ease, and closes the chest.
The figure places the wooden box on top of the chest. It almost looks like a music box. It's uncarved but for a rough, unpolished symbol, its edges softened more by touch than by sanding. The red candle is placed by the box's right, and the sticks by its left, diagonal.
The figure lifts the white candle and uses it to light the red one. He places the white one behind the red one, stares one last time at the galaxies — for a moment — and closes his eyes.
"I miss you," he begins. His voice is clear, sonorous. It is beautiful. He hesitates before continuing. "Today, more than any other day," he repeats, "I miss you. ...Where to even begin?"
He sighs. "...I still am often reminded of the day you died. When I saw you hold onto your first captain... You could've lived through it, I know you could've. ...but you didn't want to, did you?"
He pauses. "I remember seeing you, holding him to yourself so tight as he burned. Spontaneous combustion, did you call it...? The fires licked your arms. I remember your face — your eyes on us, on..." He trails off. "Until they melted." Another pause.
"You could've come back from this. You didn't want to. ...I think I understand, now." He smiles, weakly. "I will not die in vain. But... I figure you didn't feel like your death was in vain either, did you? ...Excuses, perhaps. Maybe you did. Maybe dying was worth any lie, any excuse."
There is silence, for a moment.
"...you died in vain," the figure repeats, now devoid of question. "I... don’t know why I feel so nostalgic tonight." It's not the right word, maybe, but - maybe it is? "...Well. That's not entirely true. I think I do know why. But... it's not something I'd like to think about." He pauses. "And yet, I feel like I should tell you."
He swallows. His Adam's apple bobs. A lock of hair untucks itself from behind his ear. His eyes flicker away from the candle, to the windows, to the stars — to a star — then back.
"...You never liked your homeworld," he says, slowly. "I've long doubted following its rituals of mourning, for you. But — it's too late for that now, is it." He drums his fingers against his thigh for a moment. "...Nothing makes sense these days. There's something of a comfort in this, in..." In knowing why he did this, when he struggles to understand the reasoning behind others' actions. Others' violent actions. "...in secrecy. Perhaps that is the reason for..." He stops, suddenly quietens. He hides his eyes for a moment. It flashes by; soon, he's fine again.
"...You died in vain," he states. "Hah. Look at me, repeating myself. You would've found that funny, wouldn't you?"
...
"I'm deflecting, I know. It's just... painful to admit something like this to you, knowing how..." He pauses. "How you died. Why you died." There is a bitter weight on his tongue. No, not bitter — acidic, metallic, like blood. He almost laughs at that thought, but—
He glances at a star, a different star, a guiding star — wonders perhaps if his words will have consequences. If he will hear. Well. He wouldn't like him doing this in the first place, so what's one more stripe to the tiger?
"...There is a flaw," he reveals to the thin tinny air of the ship, "in my legion." He waits a moment, haunted. He has seen it. It is not — that isn't all that haunts him. He's waiting for a reply, he realizes, ridiculous as it sounds. He feels like a coward. It burns in his chest and runs down his limbs. "...I'm so sorry," he says. "I couldn't say anything while your fate was decided. At least you made your death your own, didn't you? ...Did it bring you any comfort, to die on your own terms? And by the flaw that decided your fate, too." Burnt to ash. He blinks away dust.
"...according to that judgement, I should be dead, too. Like you." His breathing is measured. "I was afraid. Of... so many things. Death; not mine, but... well." Images of his men, their corpses littering a planet, the planet burnt to ash — "...I know why I didn't speak. I think you might have known, in the end, how heavy my silence was. But I can't stop thinking it could've gone differently. I know mine isn't the only flawed one. I wonder... I wonder how he learnt of yours." He laughs, and it isn't funny. "Brother, even if it still stood - nothing in this galaxy could make me return to Rangdan."
Something shines briefly, in the low light of the stars and the candles and the distant sun, as it falls to the floor. The figure rustles, shuffles for a moment, then settles down again.
Sound waves cannot travel through the void. Space is, before anything, quiet; there's nothing that could hear you, anyways. Or — nothing that you'd want to find listening to you, if you're lucky.
"...I know we haven't spoken in some time," the figure says. "I'm sorry. It's been..." He sighs. "A lot of things have happened." How do you deliver bad news to someone who's been dead for so long? "...I still see your children between the Ultramarines sometimes, brother. Or - well. What remains. There's a dreadnought I'm sure was one of yours, but I can't confirm it. I've been sworn to never say your name, and so has he. I can't imagine how it feels, to be entombed in the wrong colours."
He blinks. Looks away. He has long lashes, and they reflect the candlelight when they flutter. "I wonder if our father regrets the order sometimes. I can't imagine what he must've felt, to enact something like that..." But he can. He can and he does imagine, and he doesn't want to, because every piece of his sibling's flaw, his trial, his — the circumstances behind his death, the order, it all adds up to something he doesn't want to think about. He knows their father loves them, but...
"...He forbade speaking of you, but never to you," he muses. "I wonder if that was on purpose. Or if our brothers have realized." He swallows. "I know you were devastated when... our mutual sibling was condemned to damnatio. You actually spoke up against father. Contested him. I can't say that I..." Well. He can't avoid what he's been talking around any longer, can he. "...Perhaps you would've joined Horus, on his."
The word gets stuck in his throat. He has spoken it before, many times. His what?
"On his treachery."
There it is. He raises his shoulders, shuffles his limbs closer to his body. Guarded; defensive.
"He has betrayed us," he whispers out, breathless, "betrayed the Imperium. He champions some — strange, dark gods. I fear they have corrupted him. And... he seeks to kill our father." A pause. "Alongside half of our brotherhood, too. We have been torn apart."
He hesitates for a moment, his head leaning forward, and then he lays it on the chest, right beside the box. Cold metal against his cheek. One hand is tracing the carving on the box, the other content to rest beyond his head, half on soft blonde hair, near the edge of the chest.
His brother gave better hugs than anyone else did. Most of his brothers are awkward, or crush his ribs, or don't know how to hug him, or only deign to half-hug. He doesn't blame them; he isn't easy to hug. But — his brother had somehow done it.
"...if you had been here, Lorgar wouldn't have fallen," he tells the box. "Our brothers wouldn't have fallen. You would’ve known how to speak to them, how to console them. I wish I could’ve—" He makes a small noise, and saltwater drips onto metal — “I wish I could’ve done something. You would’ve noticed far earlier than me, you were always—” Plink, plink. He shivers.
He waits for a moment, lifts his head up slowly. He watches the candles' flames tremble. "I was unmerciful on Rangdan. Unlike you. Maybe if I hadn’t been, we wouldn’t be here.”
There is silence, void like beyond the open windows. The candles flicker like distant stars.
When he speaks, it is with renewed strength, but still low. "I came to speak with you today," he says, "because I doubt I will be able to return. I... know our brother well. ...Or I thought I did, at least. It's unfortunate, isn’t it? ...I don’t know. He seems. Different, these days, somehow.” But he’s stalling, and he realizes that. “...I don’t think I will return to speak to you,” he says. “I wanted to do that one last time, at the very least, before…” Well. “...I wanted to tell you. About my secret.” He’s trying to hold something back in his chest, between his ribs. A bleeding-heart dove in a birdcage. “...I kept visiting you,” he hums, “and never telling you about it, and I meant to get around to it, eventually, and I… don’t have an excuse for not having told you before... before you even died, but.”
The dove pecks at the bars of its prison. The primarch shakes, shivers, and it is beautiful and violent both.
“I did it, though,” he whispers, in the empty shade of the chamber, and he lifts one hand to thoughtlessly trace the symbol on the wooden box. “I told you, in the end… in the literal end. I won’t return from this battle,” he repeats, and every time he says that it feels more and more true. “I don’t know who will kill me, is I think the scariest part…? I thought I knew, before, but.” He’s had time to mull over it.
He smiles and for once his smile is ugly, for the first time in his life, unpleasant to the sight of his enemies and allies alike. “I thought I’d die at the hands of our father for the longest time,” he mentions. “Ever since you did. And then, when I realized Horus would kill me — I felt… relieved. Embarrassing, isn’t it? You’d laugh at me for that one.” … “And now, I don’t know anymore. They’re both angry, I know it, but…” He continues softly tracing the carving. There’s a knot in his throat and it’s a noose, isn’t it.
“...I should leave,” he mentions after a moment, “but I don’t…” A sigh. Then, a small noise; he shifts, presses his forehead, his face to the cool metal. The smell of the sea, faintly, only close enough. “I don’t want to die,” he admits, very small, like something - like someone - that would only come up to his knees. Something hangs, unspoken, even unthought about in the air; the sentence doesn’t end there, but he doesn’t finish it. The first half is hard enough to admit.
He lifts his head. Golden-dyed hair rises first, a tan face with dark eyes, a profile fit for royalty. He blinks, clearing his sight: a small bundle of sticks, two candles, a box. A chest. And on the chest, an ocean of private grief.
The dove bats its wings and it is free. The primarch’s shoulders rise and fall and he shrinks, somewhat, and in the darkness twin trails on his cheeks suddenly flood, grow; reflected light revealing sharp cheekbones, full lips, a single mole under the jawline as he briefly raises his head, looks away. Gathers strength.
He picks the bundle of small sticks up, and with two fingers slowly takes one out. The stick wobbles a little bit. He lifts the stick; its other end meets the candle and slowly starts burning. A pleasant smell fills the cabin.
He waits.
It takes some time. He moves a few times, shuffles where he’s kneeling, sits legs criss-crossed and all limbs defensive. The embers light his face, delineate the fleshy pinks below dark eyes. Eventually, though, the stick burns out, leaves only ash behind, and he brushes it onto his palm, opens the box with his off-hand and places it there.
He stares at the ash for a moment, part of a bigger pile. There is a piece of bone beneath it. A tooth, if he remembers; a canine. Canine, of course it would be, a fang and the brother who… No, he won’t go there. Not with how little time he’s got left.
“...I’d burn the rest here,” he says. “Give you their ashes, like you told me about, once. But I’m expected before tomorrow.” He smiles, shakily. “I’m not expected tomorrow at all,” he muses. “...but I’ll burn them. There must be some fire, right?”
Unsaid forever goes: if I was anything like you I would be the pyre.
“...Well.” He’s almost tempted to touch the porcelain below centuries’ worth of ash. But he doesn’t; he closes the lid, carefully; he places the box and the candle and the sticks on the floor, and he lifts the chest’s lid and stores them, safely, and looks at them one last time and closes the lid, and then softly he says —
“Goodnight, brother. Stay safe, wherever you are. And I’ll see you soon.”
He stands up, and it’s not two seconds before he hears someone knock at his door, outside the small chamber. Through multiple sheets of thick metal he hears, muffled, a questioning my lord Sanguinius?
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he hums, almost under his breath, and leaves behind the tomb.
#well here's to hoping i don't get roasted to hell and back for this fic#horus heresy#warhammer 40k#wh40k#wrote this back in january#on my phone notes#while stuck somewhere without wifi#listening to a lemon demon spirit phone extra#on loop#through the course of multiple nights#staying up late#writing my own fanfiction#it's one of the things i'm proudest of#that i've written#because i tried a new style#shorter sentences#more sort of. avoiding?#showing not telling better#i like it#i haven't been able to fully replicate it#but whatever#words
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Carstian Luyckx (1623 Antwerp circa 1677), Memento Mori still life with musical instruments, books, sheet music, skeleton, skull and armour. Oil on canvas.
The full-figure representation of Death as a skeleton snuffs a candle (as a symbol of life) with its left hand, and in its right holds a sheet of parchment with the inscription: "Statutum est omnibus hominibus semel mori" (“It is appointed unto men once to die”). This stands as a reminder of the inevitability of death for all men, starkly underlined by the presence of three skulls. The book at the skeleton’s feet admonishes us with fiery scenes of hell and purgatory. In the centre of the composition is a stone pedestal which bears the inscription: "Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas regumque turres" (“Pale death strikes in similar fashion in the huts of the poor and in the palaces of kings”).
Further Latin phrases on the pedestal belong to the same vanitas theme, and point to the deeper meaning of this still life, supported by various attributes of war and other symbols of the military might of Louis XIV. On top of the pedestal lies a French royal crown adorned with the fleur-de-lys, as well as a sceptre. Above hangs a French cavalry standard from a royal guard unit, with the royal double coat of arms of Bourbon-Navarre framed by the orders of Saint Michel and the Saint Esprit, and the motto "Homo natus de muliere brevis vivens" (“Man that is born of woman is of few days”). The military trumpet with banner depicted in the lower centre of the painting also belongs to the equipment of a French royal horse guard. The officer’s suit of armour placed to the right of the composition is accurately depicted, and was likely painted from an existing model. The armour, trumpet, crown and standard all refer to the French invasion of 1667/68, as do the three prominently displayed skulls, presumably representing the victims of the war.
Vanitas paintings of this type depicting an hourglass as well as a luxurious carriage clock with key are rather rare. These symbols are meant to remind the viewer of the fleeting nature of time. The artist also includes various other symbolic objects which refer to different classes of people, but which in the end all point to their common fate of suffering during wartime. A flail, a shepherd’s crook and a wooden bowl stand not so much for the peasantry, but in a wider sense, the general population. The bishop’s mitre and crozier are there as reminders that in times of war, even the church can be in distress. Finally, musical instruments such as a lute, a violin and flute, as well as sheet music and playing cards, are a reminder of the earthly pleasures which are swept away by the war, ultimately ending in death.
Courtesy Alain Truong
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In a local witches group on my personal FB page, an admin I look up to asked us what our current altars looked like at the moment to spark up a discussion. I had an offhand picture of recently showing and explaining my faith to a friend of mine, but as I began to reflect on the items, my reply grew longer and longer until Facebook just gave up on allowing me to post it. Still wanting to share, I figured I would host my answer here.
This is my current set-up. Please excuse some of the mess, I'm currently in the process of clearing out the old for the new calender year. I don't work at my altar very often at the moment as life has been a little hectic, but it's right above my fireplace in my living room! ♡
PHOTO DESCRIPTION WITH DETAILS AND PERSONAL HISTORIES BEHIND THE OBJECTS PICTURED: On white shelf above the fireplace in my living room is my altar, lit by a ceiling light that brings the eye to the center of the image where a wall-hanging of the elemental symbols I hand-crafted in branches and black twine covers a large portion of the white wall in the back. In the middle on the top of the hanging decor is a clear hand-crafted witch ball I made several years back when my coven was still meeting and I was teaching some of the history behind them and what they are today filled with many different herbs and a large cinnamon stick. Several natural pieces of twine hang from some of the twigs that make up the elemental symbols, used for tying and drying herb bunches above my altar, currently sitting empty. On both sides framing the mantle on the wall, there two metallic swirling candle holders, one of which has a recently gifted antique bell from my once-ignorant and oppressive grandmother about what my faith truly had meant to me on twine hanging from it. In the dead center of the altar, a large glass candle holder sits containing a layered orange and red candle, burned most of the way down with ash on the insise of the glass as it hasn't been in use for some time. Currently displayed on top of the candle is my own hand-crafted wand that sits perfectly balanced in my hand with the natural curve of the branch. It felt made for my hand as I whittled the top down and used copper and quartz to charge it, wrapping the handle and charging the energy forward with the small point I've had for years until I found why I had clung to it.
Two alabaster statuette busts of the Greek deities Artemis (to the left), and Apollo (to the right) also frame the large glass candleholder. The statues are of the deities who I worked faithfully worked with to recieve my service dog Andromeda, and thank constantly trying to honor, as everything in my life had said I couldn't receive her from time to money to circumstance to lack of outside help, even though everything else about it was said that it was truly meant for me, and I believe to this day it was due to them watching me working tirelessly to do everything on my end including my rituals and asking for their assistance that they granted me a medically healing (Apollo's side) & faithful canine (Artemis's side). I had the statues shipped to me from Greece, and the golden accents on the alabaster textiles and laurel on them are probably my favorite part of them. They're one of my most prized possessions. The two godly siblings face each other with their heads cast in different directions. Behind Artemis, slightly to her right is a black and white painting I did of the forested coast and night sky with a prominent moon bouncing off the waves and a comet in the stars above (Ironically, my dog Andromeda (Andi) was listed as Comit in the breeders list as well, something I hadn't even considered when painting and adding it to my altar). To Artemis' left is a small antler chew we took from my service dog when she was too big to use it safely any longer, as well as a small clay torso of the human form I crafted some time ago. In front of the mini painting is where I currently sit a chakra bracelet gifted to me years ago, and sitting in front of those not too far from the edge is an incense holder depicting a skeleton with roses around it as a memento mori, a circle of life as the ash falls and the incense is burned. To the left of that are some pieces of geodes and petrified woods I have that my grandmother also gifted me, two unused candles in front of those, and a petrified wood piece laying flat that holds two tiny pinecones connected by a stem and two coins for abundance beside a ceramic acorn bowl holding many gemstones collected through the years, including the labradorite my grandmother also gifted me when I was a small child and found myself connecting to the stone as I connected to the faith alone on my own. To the left of that is a tall decorative triple goddess wooden box box my dad's girlfriend bought for me, a small black and white moon phase & elemental symbol zentangle art piece sitting above it that I drew in pen in high school, and in front of them on the altar is an antique taxidermied dog-paw letter opener made of Mother of Pearl, dating the beloved Print's death as Sept 15th, 1867 that I use for directing energy, connecting to the love we hold for those in our lives, and also with connecting to the centuries past in my own hands.
To Apollo's right sits a massive pinecone, and behind him somewhat obscured is a small wax burner currently holding the remnants of the ritual work I had been using to call forth my service dog to me as a variety of herbs, green wax for abundance and coins. To the right of that are a variety of candles, currently perching a bird's nest that had fallen out of and was sitting abandoned from the tree in front of my apartments two years ago that would have been tossed by maintainence or mowed over but found a renewed life in my practice after it sat abandoned for some time. Beside that is a squared lantern of black metal framinh with frosted glass and metallic fir tree silhouettes. Also the right of that, leaning over the edge of the mantle from a small end table not pictured is a twig broom with the bristles up. (On the very edge of the mantle also sits a large bottle of hand-sanitizer constantly in use as I live with a hospital worker, and both cleanliness and healthcare are just as important in our faith, lest we forget to take care of ourselves with the modern knowledge passed down to us now, nor forget to do our part wherever we go.)
— I haven't had the mind to do much traditional work, even here, and this doesn't include the dresser I plan on doing a fuller altar for so I can have a place to be alone, in my space, and wholly enter the circle once more as I haven't been able to do that in a very, very long time, but this one houses most of my items of power, is displayed prominently, and is curated to allow me to remember to honor my faith more and never stop working on it, taking time to stand in front of it and reflect on me, my faith, where I came from and where I'm going as well as spending a moment with the deities I honor. After my birthday later this year growing up in a household of agnostics and the faith and discomfort of my oppressive grandparents, I'll actually have been in the faith for more than half my life as I was only 11 when I stumbled into it alone, celebrated my first Imbolc all by myself by making crafts out of ribbons and buying and lighting candles, meditating reading books. I ran around with my bell wand shaking it at nature to reawaken it for spring, and I knew I would always be in the faith, and want to raise a future family in it, and grow a community of like-minded folks. I'm still always learning, and it makes me equally immensely proud and insanely humbled when I can teach others what I've learned since the faith found me. I can actually remember crying to my grandma about whether or not magic(k) could truly exist in the world and she told me if I believed in it, it DID at that age, and the feelings of finding power in my faith after growing up so alone have been unlike any other. Finding other witches was one of the most impactful moments of my life, especially growing up in a heavily Christian town of just over 1,000. Nothing has made me ever feel more fulfilled than people who know me and know I have been in the faith since childhood coming up to me to timidly ask them to teach them some things and where they could start to learn more, asking questions and finding me with a million resources for them, only to come back at a later date and truly thank me for helping them find their path to deity, to nature, to being one with the energies around us and finding power in their experiences and newfound budding faith and community. I've since found a true passion for anthropology and folklore, and I never feel more whole than working with others who share that with me. I think that my coven was one of the best things I experienced in high school, a mix of young witches learning and finding our paths and bringing our passions to life with each other and what we knew over good food, good friends and good faith wasn't something I got to experience often until then.
I'm still hoping to one day build an establishment where witches and aspiring witches can come, talk, read, ask for recommendations, be taught by local witches, take community crafting classes with history lessons, and be able to continue to provide that feeling to other folks. One of the people I ended up mentoring after they were asking me questions and for book recommendations, for clarifications and good conversation, also reaffirmed my childhood last name of faith that came to me by expressing their gratitude of my mentorship referring to me as "a willow tree I was providing wisdom, knowledge and needed shade to the growing saplings around them," and I actually broke down crying as Willow was the last name I ended up with as child, and Willowtree was the last name I had settled on after my transition. I hate the feeling of buying myself mass-produced items used for making a quick buck off a community rather than fostering the Craft, and the power that's within our tools created by hand or when they're gifted by people who impacted us with the knowledge of what they mean and the things they hold are just so much different than not knowing the ethical conditions of who made the materials, or the companies behind them pandering for money, and it's a bit of a passion project as my physical health keeps me from being able to work much on my own. I often wish I could go back and tell a young me how much I would learn and do, how many amazing people I would meet, and communities I would find, even in the areas directly around me. I think I would have been amazed. After writing all of this, I looked back and realized that my current set-up is actually doing it's EXACT job right now. As I described the objects and what they meant to me when I got them, I got caught up in it the same way I do IRL when I pass by and take a moment to think about what my faith holds for me, where I'm coming from and where I really want to take things from here. I guess it's REALLY just that effective on me that even trying to answer a question about it off-hand in a post really ends up in me really taking a minute to address who I am and the power it all holds to me, especially standing where I stand today.
Blessed Be! I hope everyone has a wonderful week.
— 12.9.2020
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Hi! I like your new post. What does your caption mean when it says 'alpha and omega' and "in ictu oculi memento mori"? Thank you!
‘alpha and omega’ refers to the greek letters alpha (α / ἄλφα ) and omega ( Ω / ω ); alpha being the beginning and omega being the end. essentially it is an idiom meaning ‘beginning and end’, similar to ‘womb to tomb’.
‘in ictu oculi’ is latin for ‘in the blink of an eye’ (it is also one of my favourite paintings). ‘memento mori’ is latin for ‘remember death’ and was said to be used to humble roman generals after battle and Epictetus, a Greek Stoic philosopher, told his students that when with their loved ones they should remind themselves that they are mortal. it also refers to certain niche art movement that includes symbols and reminders of death such as skulls, hourglasses, and blown out candles
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