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the-winter-spider · 3 years

Text

Ghost of You - Part Two

Characters: Bucky x y/n, Steve x y/n (platonic)

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: This is a small chapter! Its just a filler really, next part Bucky and Steve start really looking into what happened to the reader and where she went! Enjoy

Once again this is not proof read or edited

Part One

*****

Bucky was sitting next to Sam, across from Steve on one of the couches in the tower's living room, both hands holding your photo, his leg bouncing up and down. His mind was racing, memories of you were racing through his mind, both the good and the bad.

All the seconds he didn’t get to spend with you, all the wasted minutes trying to make you jealous, all the wasted hours on other women, all the wasted time he should have been with you. He was bubbling over with emotions, you were his greatest adventure but also his biggest regret.

—

You burst through the front door “Bucky! Are we still going to see a movie tonight? There's this new one playing down at the theatre we should see, Mary said its good”

Steve rolled his eyes, smiling at you “Knock much y/n?”

Plopping beside him on the couch “Awh come on n Stevie you know id never do such a thing” You looked around “Where’s Buck?”

You watched Steve smile fall, he parted his lips to respond but was cut off by Bucky opening the bathroom door, his eyes focused on buttoning his suit “Whatdya think Steve? Just got this today for my date with - y/n what are you doing here?” His blue eyes pierced into yours.

Your heart skipped a beat, he looked so handsome and that on its own was an understatement because Bucky always looked handsome “We had plans to see a movie tonight, but I see you found other, uhm better plans” Your voice betrayed you cracking at the last words, you tried to plaster on a smile but you couldn’t help feeling the liquid welling up in your eyes. This wasn’t the first time Bucky forgot about the plans he made with you, and you knew it wasn’t gonna be the last. Your eyes trailed over to Steve seeing him in overly large suit, putting two and two together, Bucky planned them another double date. Steve could see the realization swirling over your face. “Y/n, I don't even want to go, I’ll go with you to the movies”

You shook your head, standing up smoothing your dress. You felt so stupid, you bought a new dress, spent hours doing your hair and make up, you were so excited thinking maybe, just maybe Bucky would admit his feelings for you tonight, that all those stolen kisses, cuddles and drunken words actually meant something “Stevie its fine, James and you have better plans” You offered him a sad smile, making your way to the door.

Bucky cringed when you used his first name, it broke his heart “Doll, I mixed the dates up, I am so sorry” he reached out for your hand.

You pulled it away, almost regretting it aftering watch the pain and hurt make its way on his face, your one hand on the door knob “Seems to happen a lot lately, if you don't want to spend time with me James just tell me, I feel so stupid” You whispered the last part “Have fun Stevie”

“Doll”

Shaking your head you shut the door behind you.

—-

“I can go if you want Buck?” Sam offered

Bucky shook his head “Um no, it’ll be nice to have some support”

Steve cleared his throat “God, I don’t even know where to start Buck, it's a lot” He ran his fingers through his hair, Bucky looked up at him with pleading eyes “Just start, I need to know”

Steve nodded “After your last mission, I dreaded having to tell her Buck, she was always so hopeful after I told her I was leaving, after the serum, she kept telling me she knew you were coming back to her, that you guys were finally gonna have your chance at being together, that we just had to make it through the war” Steve paused taking a deep breath “And when i knocked on her door, she had the biggest smile on her face, yknow the one she always had when she got that stupid chocolate shake from the diner”

Bucky let a small laugh escape his lips remembering how much you loved that stupid chocolate milkshake that he declared was too chocolate-y.

—

The door chime went off and your eyes shot up “Well about damn time you two showed up!” You giggled jumpin up to give Steve and Bucky a hug.

Bucky slid in beside you, his arm slung around your waist, “You just early doll”

You turned to face him, your eyes peering into his “You know how much i love this place Buck”

Bucky hummed “Is that all you love?“

You opened your mouth but were cut off by the waitress coming but with your order “Here you go sweetheart, One chocolate, one vanilla and one strawberry, enjoy!”

You instantly pulled away from your moment with Bucky taking a big sip of your shake “Mmm this is by far my favourite time of the week! Nothing better than spending time with my boys!” You reached across the table and ruffled Steve’s hair “And getting a sugar rush”

—

A tear rolled down Steve’s face, clearing his throat “The look on her face when she saw mine, it was something I'm glad you never got to see Buck, she was broken. We sat on the floor for hours, she cried till she fell asleep in my arms, i stayed with as long as I could, but i had to go back it was my duty” He paused, eyeing his friend over before continuing “She kept saying that she didn’t get the chance to tell you she loved you, that you didnt know”

“I knew” Bucky choked out

“I know, i told her” Steve offered a small smile

—

You were doing dishes when a knocking came from your front door “coming!” you yelled, taking your rubber glove’s off, fixing your apron, you opened the door and a smile broke out on your face when you seen Steve, but as soon as your eyes locked onto his you could see something in them that wasn’t there before, you started to shake your head “no no no no, no!” you screamed tears were streaming down your face, Steve took a step towards you “y/n I-“

You took a step back into your house “NO! He promised Stevie, he p-promised” You fell to the floor, you were clutching your chest as you let out a scream. Steve knelt down on the floor with you, pulling you in his arms, you cried and cried, your heart broke, everything hurt “I l-love him Stevie, i never got t-to tell him, h-he didn’t k-know”

Steve grabbed your face in his hands “He knew y/n, he knew. He loves you to, so much”

“Loved”

“What?” Steve’s eyebrows met in the middle

“He loved me, h-hes gone now”

—

Bucky readjusted himself on the couch “What happened to her? Did you find out”

Steve shook his head “I tried, it was one of the first things I did, but there was nothing on her, it's like she never existed. I asked Peggy when I found her, she didn't make much sense, said something about y/n became obsessed, she didn't say what with, said she kept saying that she knew you weren’t gone that you wouldn’t leave her, and the last time she seen or heard from her was one week after I went down. There is no death certificate, i searched the cemeteries in Brooklyn, i stopped by her old house and its gone, there’s nothing there, it's like she just disappeared”

“No, there has to be something. I need something” Bucky cried out “Steve that's not her story” He ran his fingers over your picture “We need to look again”

***

Tags: @seabass17

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

#bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfiction #1940s bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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melisa-may-taylor72 · 4 years

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Accolades such as “greatest single long-playing achievement since Sgt. Pepper” and “the most important record album ever made” fall over Queen’s latest album as easily as butter melting on a hot potato—but few realize what a hot potato the album actually was in its pre-release days. It took a bevy of high-powered attorneys, some low-life finagling, and more than the usual amount of wheelerdealing just to get the album out without its being hacked to death by defamation-of-character suits.

Guitarist Brian May explains: “I’m in real difficulty here because I’ve been threatened with libel because our old management had a good go at stopping the album coming out. They thought “Death on Two Legs’’ was about them. They wanted us to take the track off and we nearly had to, and in fact they got a load of money out of our publishing company because it supposedly was libelous, but it’s never been proven. It’s all very stupid—they wanted to sue Freddie, the band, the publishing company, and the record company.”

All very dramatic stuff, but a band like Queen survives not on operatic finesse alone, but on gut-level melo- dramatics in the business department as well. When you produce your records, write the songs, play all the instruments, and do everything yourself, chances are you’re going to have to pay some legal dues, too. But ah! the rewards—such as the single, “Bohemian Rhapsody,” hanging into the #1 spot in the British charts for seven weeks in a row!

“We’re a bit more in the public eye now, we’re starting to get recognized a lot more,” says Brian May. “We’re carrying on working just as we did before, but obviously we’re very pleased with how the record’s doing. It’s sold more than a million copies in England— can’t believe it.” But it’s true: Queen’s stature in England has risen from that of The #1 teenage hard rock band to that of the-group- that-made-the-single-that-every-house- wife-knows-by-heart”.

What propelled Queen in that direction is their Night at the Opera album, a slight departure from what Queen fans know to be the Queen sound. The hard rock screams have temporarily subsided, replaced by experimentation with different voicings of instruments and production tricks. Those who found Queen’s approach overdecibelled can relax to the quiet “ ‘39” or “Good Company” and tap their feet to “Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon” without fear of being gui- tarred to death. “It’s just what came out,” says Brian. “They’re offshoots of our main direction. There’s plenty of time for the rock.”

“The album wasn’t really supposed to go in the direction that it did, it was just the songs we had. While we were making it we were thinking, ‘Yeah, it is getting a bit light,’ but rather than fight against it we decided to do it properly and then think again afterwards. So instead of trying to heavy up the lighter things, we pressed on. We had a few things we didn’t use, but we’re getting more demanding of ourselves. There are a few heavy things kicking around, but we may use them on the next record.”

The two strongest forces in Queen have always been Brian and Freddie. With A Night at the Opera, where experimentation and branching out in new directions are the most obvious characteristics, the personalities of the band are often obscured by the newly emerging elements. “Sometimes I feel that Freddie and I are going in different directions, but then he’ll come up with something and I’ll think, ‘My God—we do think alike.’ When I’m working on one of his things I can tune in very easily to what guitar part he wants, and vice-versa. In terms of what we’re trying to do in songs, we are moving in different directions, but I think that could be a good thing.”

QUEEN II: Critical response to the band is now almost unanimously favorable in both Great Britain and the United States, which is quite phenomenal when you stop and think of how anxious many critics were to pan them two years ago.“I’m not going to take it too seriously,” Brian says, “because I remember what the critics said about Queen II. It would seem that everybody is beginning to like us. … very much. I can take it at that level, but there’s no doubt in my mind that sometime in the future there’ll come a time when we get slagged for everything. Queen II is still my favorite of the Queen albums, certainly the most daring. Especially for the time. I think we’re still finding our feet now, and the way I feel about the new album is that we’re searching for new directions and most of them are sort of half-formed. We’ve got the Queen II feel in some places, and in others we’ve got the Sheer Heart Attack polish. I don’t think we’re quite sure where we’re going”.

“This album, at the very least, negates all the comparisons to Led Zeppelin that we’ve been living with for the past three years. I think Physical Graffiti is amazing, by the way. I saw Zeppelin at Earls Court, and I met Pagey afterward, for the first time. It was great, he was very nice and gentle. I respect him a tremendous amount for “Kashmir” and “The Light,” for being able to put his brain on record—- it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t play a note.”

Economic criticism has been less favorable, however. A Night at the Opera was widely rumored to be “the most expensive album ever made” when it was released, a point which Queen’s management denies. Nevertheless, Queen has been taken to task by quite a few English journalists for spending so much money estimated at £30-40,000—making one record. Brian has a retort: “We wouldn’t have spent so much money if the studios weren’t so bloody expensive!

The album was recorded in seven of them, sometimes three at once.” We weren’t mucking about for any of it, it was four months of solid work. It came down to having the equipment available for four months, and we didn’t begrudge the amount of time spent in the studios, but it comes to a fair amount of money. There’s a lot of things that seem light, like “Good Company,” which actually took a great deal of time and care. All those trumpets and clarinets being fashioned from guitar sounds—I took it quite seriously because I wanted to do it right, even though it was a lighthearted thing. We worked too hard for our own health, we got a bit down and depressed.”

While Queen was laying about England between record and tour, a few of them got going on some independent projects. Brian and Roger produced an R&B group’s single, but there were some record company hassles and it may be some time before the record gets released. And on the eve of the American tour, Freddie Mercury went into the studios with a singer/songwriter managed by the Rocket Organization (which manages Queen as well) to try his hand at production. “Eddie Howells is the guy’s name, and he’s managed by David Mead, and they’re doing a single for Warners. I’m playing some guitar on it.” Brian restrained himself from going out on any limbs before the American tour in order to get himself physically fit. His health had been a crucial problem on an earlier American tour, and he’s not particularly anxious to spend time in hospitals when he could be onstage instead. “I actually get more tired offtour than ontour,”he admits. But I am in good health.”

HAIRY LEGS: Once the English leg of the tour did get started, word started to flow very quickly back to the States about Queen’s dramatic stage show—a stage show to end all stage shows, with Mercury donning short-shorts to add a bit of the hairy leg to Queen’s otherwise pristeen presentation. “The show is the same, but different,” Brian says confusedly. “We’ve merely developed what we did before with some new material from the new album. It’s a bit of reshuffling. Plus we do “Doing All- right” from the first album, which we’ve never done onstage before. And “Seven Seas of Rhye,” which we’d do in England but never in America before. It’s quite a lot different, actually.”

American audiences got their first chance to sample the new presentation on January 27 in Waterbury, Conn., when the first concert of Queen’s scheduled 32-date, 21-city American tour got underway in the Palace Theatre. After arriving in the States at Kennedy International on January 20 and spending a couple of days in New York for interviews, Queen began five days of rehearsals at the Palace to ready their show for American fans across the country.

After Waterbury they dove headfirst into the intensive six-week tour, which featured extended runs in New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles before its scheduled end March 12 at the San Diego Sports Arena.

Despite the novel direction of the new album, onstage Queen proved to be the same rocking outfit they’ve always been, letting loose with the same kind of guitar-bass-drums-piano barrage they’ve delivered in the past. “We don’t do “39” or “Lazing on aSunday Afternoon” in our show,“ Brian explains. He seems a bit defensive of Queen’s rock spirit, which is kept intact in the live set by “BohemianRhapsody,” “Sweet Lady,” “Prophet Song” and the deletion of the “experimental tunes” from A Night At the Opera.

By the by, those who missed Queenon earlier tours but want to see how they’ve changed now have the means. Queen bave joined the prestigious ranks of the Zeppelins, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones whereby sorne illegal entrepreneur has issued a boot leg album of one of their American concerts. “I hate those things-they rarely give an accurate picture of the group,” Brian states unequivocally, and in this case he’s right. The Queen bootleg has transistor radio fidelity, and the only truly audible members of the band are Brian and Freddie. Yet the fact that a bootleg exists confirms the fact that Queen is now well on their way to the top.

CIRCUS MAGAZINE, APRIL 1975

@natromanxoff, @mephisto92, @moviestorian, @x5vale, @39-brian, @onegoldenglance, @crosmopolitan, @an-abyss-called-life, @his-majesty-king-mercury, @i-live-for-queen, @brian-39-may, @toomuchlove-willkillyou, @brimaymay, @sail-away-sweet-sister, @drummerqueenrmt, @old-fashioned-roger-boy-deactiv, @briianmaay, @l-over-bo-y, @inui-mycroft, @deacytits, @iminlovewithrogscar, @drowseoftaylor, @brianmayislongaway, @balticlover, @astrophysicist-guitar-god, @miez-lakatz, @brianmayoucease, @jesus-in-a-life-boat, @roger-taylors-car, @silapril, @sherrifanciesfriskyfreddie, @tenderbri, @brianmydear, @thosequeenboys, @millionairewaltz-carpediem, @painandpleasure86, @bribrifrenchfry, @xlucylennonx, @a-night-at-the-abbey-road, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @madformeddowstaylor, @queenrogertaylorfan, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @queen-for-life, @rethought, @darlinginnuendo, @mymakeupmaybeflaking, @old-but-still-a-child, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @warriorteam1924, @funnydressesweirdhairanddance, @painkiller80, @thefanhuman13, @yourtieddownmother, @hgmercury39, @brimi-stardust, @thefairyfellermercury, @retroromantics, @foxmonkey, @sophiaintheskywithdiamonds, @holybrianmaywritingbear, @lydiannode, @39-yellow-daffodils , @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme, @kaykaybeachgirl, @rhysjoejoshtomfarisblog @redspecialandclogsandcurls, @briansrainbowsocks, @delilahmay39, @ohmybribri, @bless-the-queen, @infunitehearbeat, @sketchiesscketches, @everythingaboutfreddie, @doitforthevine67, @recordsoftheseventies, @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes, @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band, @beatlegirl1968, @maylorsqueen, @shearrehartatacc, @gralto, @alittlepeoplemagic, @rainbowsockbrian, @sailawaysweetbrimi

#Circus Magazine #Queen article

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sandrabatt · 6 years

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Article 605

For those of you who are new to my blog, I’m a stand-up comedian and actor based in Toronto and when I get really wound up about something I take it out on my blog. The last piece I wrote was an open letter to the Prime Minister regarding the current state of stand-up comedy in Canada. Here it is for your reference if you wanna take a dip: http://sandrabattaglini.net/just-a-little-reciprocity/

To recap! Canada is home to some of the best stand-up comedy in the world and a thriving community exists from coast to coast, yet our government does not consider it an art form so it’s not eligible to receive funding. This is truly an erroneous oversight since I can only describe the people in my community to be some of the most magnificent artists I’ve ever had the opportunity to watch create. I attended my first ever Just for Laughs Festival in Montreal this past summer and my peeps were true heroes, representing this art form and our community so elegantly and brilliantly. I’m very proud to be a part of this fellowship.

I keep hearing over and over again that comedy is Canada’s greatest legacy to the world – it certainly is its greatest export especially to the United States. As testament to this, Canada’s own Jim Carey was honoured with the Generation Award at Just for Laughs. He’s part of a glorious list of funny peeps this country has produced. I just found out Rich Little is Canadian. I don’t know why I didn’t know this. Comedians from Canada in America are ubiquitous.

I’ve never been more inspired and lit up than I was at this year’s fest. I’m still reeling. But here’s the dig. Canada hosts a world-class comedy/arts festival that receives funding from the Ministry of Heritage with stand-up being the focus and yet there’s no arts funding for stand-up comedy. What? Can you repeat that Sandra? Sure I can. We host the biggest comedy/arts festival in the world but don’t fund stand-up comedy because it’s not considered art.

So okay. No arts funding. Check! No late night shows. Check. So we say let’s go to the United States. A tonne of opportunity there and they’re not that far away. Not so easy Battasleazy. First, we’re made to endure a very expensive and arduous VISA/Green Card process that costs upwards of $10,000 and that doesn’t even guarantee entry. It’s starting to feel like something’s rotten in the state of Denmark. I know this isn’t Denmark but I’d like to take my Shakespeare moment… I’ve never had one. And Shakespeare gets more funding from the Canadian government than our own comedic voices do. When Americans come to work in Canada they encounter no such barriers. Technically if we want to perform one night of comedy in America we need a $10,000 Visa to do so and we have a ‘free trade’ agreement with these people. More on that later.

See, the thing is there’s no star system in Canada. There’s one in Quebec but not in English Canada. So we feel compelled to go south. The truth is we don’t foster our talent the way the Americans do or the British. At both the HBO and Comedy Central panels at Just For Laughs, the burning question was: What’s your mandate? What do you look for? Answer: TALENT. I can’t remember who said it but talent is their ‘north star’. I love that. Their execs go to comedy clubs to scout talent and look for comics with a strong point of view to build shows around. That doesn’t happen here. The CRTC just lowered the amount of Canadian content requirements to 5%. So naturally we wanna go stateside to be seen and get work.

The Just for Laughs Festival is the greatest celebration of comedy on earth and I love that Canada hosts it. It brings in hundreds of comedians from around the world. The talent this year was breathtaking. What a beautiful tribe to be part of. Being invited to this festival is a huge deal for Canadian comics because there are very few opportunities here for that kind of exposure so it’s very exciting when we get this gig. But the truth is Canadian comedy took a back seat at the fest.

Not one Just for Laughs Awards was handed to a Canadian comic. Jim Carey is Canadian but he’s not a Canadian comic. The bar at the Hyatt featured mini pavilions for Netflix, Funny or Die and Comedy Central that advertised their upcoming line-ups and stand-up specials. Again, not a Canadian to be seen. Why is this? CBC has so much to be proud of this year with their comedy line-up but they had no such display. The Comedy Network advertised their line-up of mostly American shows and Bell hosted a panel with some Youtube stars they’ve taken under their umbrella. It’s the equivalent of the Roman Catholic Church canonizing saints. We had nothing to do with your good deeds and miracles but we’ll bring you under our cannon to make us look holy. There’s a lot of buying of American content in Canada but not a lot of making. There’s something very sick in our collective cultural consciousness here that doesn’t have faith in our own stories or storytellers.

So here we are one year later. Mr. Trudeau has yet to respond to my letter. I’ve sent it to him several times. Tweeted at him. Called him. No dice. I get the picture bro, I’m not your main squeeze. You’re busy approving pipelines, renegotiating NAFTA, meeting popes… it’s a tight schej. I’m sure if my name was Kinder Morgan Sandra Battaglini we would’ve had steak tartare already.

So when I wasn’t getting anywhere with Heir Trudeau, I contacted Heritage Minister Melanie Jolie, my MP Julie Dabrusin (Toronto-Danforth) and the Canada Arts Council. Guess what, I had coffee with my MP and a couple of phone convos with the Canada Arts Council. Julie was cool. She let me know I was the first person from the stand-up community to ever approach her. I was pretty jazzed at first but then realized as comics we do a lot of complaining and not enough speaking up.

Julie wanted to learn more about the stand-up world because she had no awareness of us. I mean she knew we existed but that’s about it. She had some great funding ideas, ie. creative spaces grants that would help venues who support stand-up comedy to pay comics, advertise etc. The Comedy Bar, The Social Capital Theatre and The Corner Comedy Club immediately came to mind. I felt encouraged. I then had a phone conversation with a coordinator at the Canada Arts Council and he was pretty clear they fund art, not entertainment. So what do you consider entertainment I asked? He said sports and I thought I heard strip clubs but that could’ve been my inner monologue. I told him I’ve seen a lot of stuff funded by the CAC and wouldn’t consider it art. He burst out in an awkward laugh. He explained the Canada Arts Council funds comedy only if you define yourself as a theatre artist. Stand-up is the most immediate theatre there is bro. Punto e basta! (That’s Italian for period – the punctuatish not menstruaish)

In 2015 the Canada Arts Council reformulated how it funds art. It used to distribute $154 million in about 4,000 grants and payouts to artists each year through 147 different programs. This seems excessive. They thought so too. According to council director and CEO Simon Brault, for too long the federal agency reacted to any new issue/trend or artistic practice by creating a new discipline based funded program. How was stand-up comedy absent? It’s never been a trend. It’s as old as our consciousness. I can’t tell you how many stories I’ve heard from comics who were denied funding from the CAC. I applied several times and was never granted money. It pissed me off.

As of 2017, the Canada Arts Council has streamlined their arts funding and it looks promising for us. Since my discussions with them, they’ve opened a portfolio on stand-up comedy and are currently familiarizing themselves with it in Ottawa. Let me be clear though, stand-up comedy is yet to be defined as an art form by them but it is under consideration. Here’s what their new funding model looks like. http://canadacouncil.ca/funding

But let me get back to Mr. Primo Ministero, Justin Trudeau for a moment. What do I gotta do to get you to talk to me? Do I have to come down to Ottawa. Cause I’ll do it. Timing is of the essence especially because NAFTA is currently being renegotiated which is really the reason for my blog post today.

I recently learned that Washington controls Canadian oil. It’s outlined in Article 605 of the NAFTA Agreement. Something Brian Mulroney just handed over to the Americans back in 1993. I mean I guess I knew that intuitively but didn’t know it explicitly.

“For more than 20 years, Canadian politicians have largely managed to keep the focus on lumber and cows, distracting us from the truly outrageous aspects of NAFTA: the surrender of Canadian sovereignty in a couple of key areas. Now that Trump is forcing us to renegotiate NAFTA, there’s lots of talk here about how Canada must be tough, and even demand some changes we want.” (Nafta’s Dirty Little Secret: It Lets U.S. Control Canada’s Oil, Linda McQuaig, The Toronto Star)

Washington tried the same thing with Mexico and they shut it down.

“Article 605 was considered such an extreme infringement of national sovereignty that Mexico refused to accept it. Instead, Mexico demanded and was granted an exemption to that clause when it joined NAFTA in 1994.” (Nafta’s Dirty Little Secret…)

So why the hell did we just hand over our petrol like a bunch of pussies? Well we didn’t, Mulroney did and he did it without regard. A defining moment in our history and an erosion of our democracy.

This really characterizes our relationship with the United States. We just keep making more accommodations for them while they continue to impose restrictions on us. And we reward them with our motha’ flowin’ oil. Madonne! I’m losin’ it ova here!

Article 605 of NAFTA states:

(b) the Party [Canada] does not impose a higher price for exports of an energy or basic petrochemical good to that other Party [United States] than the price charged for such good when consumed domestically, by means of any measure such as licenses, fees, taxation and minimum price requirements.

In your face Canada!

When Brian Mulroney was negotiating NAFTA back in the 90s, I remember my father was not into it. He would say, ‘this free tray (he’s an abreever) is no free for us. It’s free for America but no Canada.’ And he was right. He knew the effects it would have on our economy because he worked in the mining industry. He experienced first hand the havoc the ‘free’ market wreaks in people’s everyday lives. I’m being so Marxist right now, I know, but it’s the only way I can explain it.

Marx would have been extremely opposed to ‘free tray’ deals because the further away the owners of the means of production are located, the more estranged and alienated the worker becomes to their livelihood and the citizen to their country. At times I feel an overwhelming sense of helplessness living in a nation that betrayed its citizens by giving so much power to banks, corporations and the biggest mafia of all time, Washington. This deal is so corrupt, that on top of everything I just said, it makes Canadians pay for loss of corporate profits due to stronger environmental regulations, indigenous rights, worker protections and consumer rights. Canada is the most-sued country in the developed world. Are Canadians just a bunch of whores? Maybe.

(Here’s a lovely painting of Karl Marx. Good chest on the man!)

Donald Trump has expressed he wants a better deal for Americans? How much of a better deal could he be looking for when they already have our oil? This is why Trudeau hasn’t made any serious commitments to the environment and why he keeps approving pipelines – the goons in Washington want it that way.

The current NAFTA negotiations are going so badly they’ve extended talks to 2018 largely due to outrageous U.S. demands and oil isn’t even on the table. Oil should always be on the table in case you wanna dip your bread in it. Canada’s Foreign Minister Cynthia Freeland said, “We have seen proposals that would turn back the clock on 23 years of predictability, openness, and collaboration. In some cases, these proposals run counter to World Trade Organization rules. This is troubling.”

So here’s my plea to Prime Minister Trudeau today. On behalf of stand-up comedians, please remove the unfair restrictions on us working in the United States and include us on the list of professions on the NAFTA job list: http://www.tnvisaexpert.com/overview/nafta-job-list/

If we keep allowing our precious commodities like oil and comedy to freely flow to the U.S. without demanding proper compensaish then we have no pride as a nation in what we produce. Let’s not make the same mistake with comedians as we are with oil. Comedians will outlive the fuel based economy. Let’s protect them.

There is absolutely nothing that justifies this incredibly unfair policy. If Americans claim that imposing restrictions on Canadians is necessary because we can take their jobs away, then the same is true in reverso. American comics come to Canada all the time and perform in our clubs and at our festivals. No problem. They don’t even need to produce so much as a letter at the border. Ridiculous right! And let me say it again they control our motha flowin oil. Enough!

This is the same for Canadian actors and musicians. When a Canadian band goes to the U.S., each member has to get a VISA. When American bands come to Canada, they need only one Visa for the entire band. Empire’s a bitch, eh. And Noam Chomsky agrees.

“Free trade agreements are not free at all. The trade system was reconstructed with a very explicit design of putting working people in competition with one another all over the world… [When] Alan Greenspan… testified to Congress, he explained his success in running the economy as based on what he called ‘greater worker insecurity’. Keep workers insecure they’re going to be under control. They are not going to ask for decent wages or decent working conditions, or the opportunity of free association – meaning to unionize. If you keep workers insecure they’re not going to ask for too much. They’ll just be delighted – they won’t even care if they have to have rotten jobs, and by some theory, that’s considered a healthy economy.” (In Requiem for the American Dream, Noam Chomsky)

This sums up the stand-up world in Canada. There’s so much insecurity that comics oblige some of the national clubs when they dictate to us where we can and can not perform. Most of us don’t even make a living wage. When a new club opened in Toronto over a year ago, some comics starting using pseudonyms instead of their real names for advertising purposes so as not to get in trouble with the bigger clubs. I used to be known as Sandy Bertrand for a time. No more. I’m Sandra Battaglini and my name is the only thing I got in this business. This environment of fear suffocates the very art it purports to showcase. And because we don’t have easy access to the U.S. we appease these outdated ways of doing business. When I watch I’m Dying Up Here, I think to myself is Canada 1970s L.A. but without Carson?

The same is true for actors. ACTRA tells its members where they can and cannot work. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to turn down a part in an indie web series that would’ve paid me $100 for a couple of hours because I’m an ACTRA member and it was a non-union production. How can ACTRA tell people not to accept work when they don’t have work to replace it? That is not a union. That $100 multiplied by all the times I’ve had to turn work down because I belong to a so-called union, would’ve amounted to several weeks of groceries and mortgage payments. Never mind the exposure that doing something like this does for an actor. Why do the gatekeepers in this country make it so hard for us to work? I don’t think any Canadian would stand for this. I actually called and emailed ACTRA asking them to stand with us on this issue and they never got back to me. I’m suspish!

Right now Canada is experiencing a comedy boom. We’re bursting at the seams despite our limitations. So much great content is being created online and on TV, ie. LetterKenny, Baroness Von Sketch, Terrific Women just to name a few. Every night thousands of Canadians leave their homes and their devices to watch live comedy and laugh off the hysteria of our times. We are the talent, the NORTH star. So let’s stand-up for our art and celebrate it to maximum capacity. Let’s gain the access we deserve, and the government support that’s due. Let’s take ownership and develop our north stars. Let’s create a structure to ensure Canadian comics can entertain Canadians with their art while living and working in Canada. Let’s ask our politicians to ensure greater ease for comics to tour outside of Canada so they can bring their perspectives to the world, and new perspectives of the world back to Canada. We live in a magnificent country and we can nurture and benefit from uniquely Canadian storytellers, instead of celebrating their achievements elsewhere.

This may seem trivial to people. Oh you just tell jokes, that’s not a job. It is! It’s our livelihood and a force in our economy. Never mind the force it’s been in the American economy. One of the most iconic comedy institutions, SNL, was created by a Canadian after all. Based on that alone America, don’t make it so hard for us. And Canada, the economic spin-off of comedy is huge, ie. transit, food, taxes. So many venues rely on comedy to keep their doors open. It’s a beautiful thing and what keeps our spirits buoyant.

Let’s consider for a moment the larger and more monumental economic benefit of producing content here in Canada with our own talent. Netflix, Amazon Prime, Hulu and other digital platforms are spending billions of dollars on content creation. It would be foolish for Canada not to pursue a piece of this pie domestically with our natural resources – comedians – instead of taking the less risky tactic of buying stuff for cheap from other countries. This is a serious lack of vision and faith and shall I say downright lazy. Funny people from Canada are a tried and true commodity. As slick as oil and less corrosive to the earth. If the CRTC and Canadian broadcasters can’t get their shit together when it comes to creating Canadian stories by Canadian storytellers (aside from the CBC) then shall I suggest throwing a couple of dollars to us on the front lines who do it every day. I am certain we would create content the likes of which no one could have ever imagined. SCTV and Kids and the Hall are proof positive of our legendary comedic talent.

This Visa issue facing the comedy community here has manufactured a separation between us and our peers in the U.S. and created the kind of competition Chomsky speaks of. We are one community. We create art by stringing together words in such a way that culminates in laughter. It releases so many endorphins, you could say it saves lives. It certainly saved mine.

So many of my peers have made the big move to the U.S. and are gloriously forging a formidable presence there. They’ve been doing that for decades. I just got my O1 Visa so that part really isn’t for me but my community and my country who I stand in solidarity with and who have afforded me the privilege to entertain them.

If Canadian stand-ups were allowed to perform in the U.S. with little or no restrictions, they wouldn’t have to completely up-root their lives. They could tour the U.S. while still living here, instead of leaving Canada a pro and having to start all over in the U.S. I’m not advocating not moving to the U.S., I’m just saying, it doesn’t need to be such a big deal.

EPILOGUE

So I was ready to publish what you just read and then I received a letter from Heritage Minister, Melanie Jolie, the day after returning from Just for Laughs. What timing! I’ve attached it below. While she did the government thing of explaining the wonderful things they do, she took the liberty of forwarding my letter to the Minister of International Trade, François-Phillipe Champagne and the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Chrystia Freeland. I’m blown away. Also, the Juno Awards has just announced it’s reinstating Comedy Album of the year. This is huge. I know it’s gonna take time but I feel like change is gonna come.

#canadian comedy #nafta canadian oil #blog

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skaikruswan · 7 years

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First Reunion

Summary: When Diana comes to think about it, Steve Trevor has been her first in many occasions. But she had never expected him to return to her.

Ao3

When Diana comes to think about it, Steve Trevor has been her first in many occasions.

He has been the first man she had ever seen. She still remembers the sunny day on Themyscira, when she saw his plane crash into the ocean. The decision to save him came natural, she didn’t think twice about leaping into the sea and dragging him to the shore. Thinking back, Diana realizes that she must have looked at him with an almost childish delight. She had touched him to make sure that he hadn’t been an illusion, that her mother’s stories had been true.

She knows and loves ice cream because of Steve. Nowadays, Diana gets to choose from a wonderful variety of ice cream, but it can never compare to one Steve had bought for her. In Themyscira, her sweet tooth had been satisfied by fruits and cakes. Having a cold, sugary treat had been a new experience. When Diana finds the time to relax, she eats ice cream and remembers the man who introduced it to her.

In her job, no, in her new life she has dance on several occasions. Galas are a constant in her life and she has got used to it. Sometimes Diana yearns for the simplicity of the dance she and Steve had. There had been no ulterior motives, no trying to win her favor; only a man who had wanted to teach a woman how to dance. Diana likes winter: she enjoys seeing the world covered in white, the people coming together with their loved ones, the ending and beginning of a new year. When the first snow falls she always steps outside, remembering the magic when Steve had gently swayed her that evening in Veld.

Steve had also been her heart break. When Antiope had died, Diana had felt more shocked and stupefied, and it had taken a moment to understand that her aunt would never talk to her, never train with her, and never encourage her again. But when she had seen the plane exploding and realized that she would never see Steve again, that he was gone, her heart had just hurt so much that it felt as if it had shattered. For a long time, she had only his wristwatch to remember him by. Memories are a tricky thing: no matter how hard you hold onto them, they slowly slip away. Diana has trouble imagining the sound of Steve’s voice, the fond expression in his eyes when he had looked at her, or the roughness of his hands. She can’t thank Bruce enough for returning the picture to her.

Her mother’s departing words still echo in her head: “You’ve been my greatest love, now you’re my greatest sorrow.” Since Steve’s death, she understands them than ever.

Diana is used to get weird phone calls at her work. Antiquities gone missing or mixed up, a schedule that needs to be redone, or distraught owners, she has seen it all. As curator, one should always try to remain calm. Yet, she frowns when her secretary, Sandra, bursts into her office.

“Madam, there’s someone who absolutely needs to see you. Do you know any American who plays theatre? Because his clothes look like it.”

How odd, Diana thinks, and follows her. When she arrives into the entrance hall of the Louvre and sees him, she thinks for a second that she has gone mad. No, that her mind is playing tricks on her. It had happened, especially in the years after the first war: she had seen Steve everywhere, caught glimpses of him, only for him to disappear.

“Steve.” she says and holds her breath. If it’s an illusion, he’ll disappear anyways, the sardonic part of her mind thinks.

“Diana!” he calls out and in the blink of an eye, she’s wrapped in a hug. His clothes are the ones he died in and she grabs his coat to pull him closer. How she had missed him.

“This is real.” she whispers, her mind racing and her heart bursting out of joy.

“Ehem.” Sandra clears her throat and Diana turns her face enough to look at her, but still resting on Steve’s shoulder. “Should I cancel your appointments?”

“Yes please.” Diana says with a smile, her arms still wrapped around Steve. “I am busy today.”

Driving home to her apartment had been a real experience. As a spy, Steve had been an expert at hiding his emotions and controlling his facial expression. Yet she sees astonishment and confusion flash over his face while they drive back to her apartment in Paris. Diana just sits there, staring at him while trying to burn every single detail of him into her mind. The drive doesn’t take too long and soon they arrive at her apartment. They had driven in silence, and in silence he follows her into her home.

“Wait here, please.” Diana asks him and gestures towards the coach, while she enters her room. It only takes a moment for her to return, the lasso of Hestia in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Diana says as she sits next to him, “but I have to make sure it’s really you.” She lives in a world where time travel is possible; she can’t rule out clones or worse.

“I understand.” Steve gives her nod and takes the lasso to wrap it around his hands, just like he had done once before.

“Are you Steve Trevor, the man I met on Themyscira?” Diana asks stares into his eyes. So blue you could drown in them, she had thought more than once.

“Yes.” he answers and Diana feels that he’s telling the truth. No illusion, no clone, only the love of her life who has returned to her. Diana feels a radiant smile form on her lips and leans towards him.

“But how?” The question escapes her and she really doesn’t want to ruin the moment, but she’s curious. Dead people usually don’t come back after a century.

“I don’t know.” Steve says with a shrug, a pensive expression on his face. “I remember being in a village where you could find people from every epoch. It didn’t really feel as if time passed. I existed, I was happy, but something was missing.” He pauses to take her hand, their fingers entwining. “Then three men came to me, clad in magnificent togas and radiating power. One said that I was lucky that I bathed in the sacred waters of Themyscira, where his power was still existing. The second one said that for the life I’ve lived and the lives I’ve saved, I deserved the highest of rewards. The last one grabbed my shoulder and mumbled that he wanted to see his daughter happy. Then I woke up in front of this museum, knowing somehow that you would be here.”

“Could it be that you met Poseidon, Hades and Zeus?” Diana was still processing this. Could it be that the gods weren’t as dead as she thought they were? Are they just resting?

“Maybe. I do know some Greek mythology and it would fit.”

“It doesn’t matter now.” Diana says decisively and stops Steve’s answer with a kiss. The moment their lips met, she feels a firework inside her body. The kiss starts gentle yet hesitant, as if both were still afraid. Then she feels Steve’s hands loosen the knot and bury into her locks and she pulls him closer, her hands gently cupping his face. A moan escapes him and Steve kisses her again, this time with the passion and intensity of a missed century. She closes her eyes and allows herself to get lost in the moment, to enjoy it to its fullest. When they slowly break apart she feels breathless but absolutely exhilarated.

“Do you realize what this is?” Steve asks her and she looks up, her head resting on his lap, his hands brushing though her hair. She shakes her head and feels him press a soft kiss, almost like a butterfly’s touch, on her forehead. “More time.”

Steve Trevor had been her first in many occasions. Diana had never thought that he would also be the first reunion to make her so happy that her heart almost jumped out of her chest.

#wondertrev #wondertrev fic #wondertrev fanfiction #wondertrevnetwork #wondertrev fanfic #dc #diana and steve #my writing #so i finally wrote something

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mrmichaelchadler · 6 years

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RIFF 2018: Welcome to Sodom, Over the Limit, Daughter’s Table

If there’s any lesson I plan on gleaning from my time in Iceland, it is to stop hurrying and allow life to move at a slower pace. So laid-back was the waitress at Reykjavík’s Lebowski Bar that I had to chase her down in order to pay my bill. It wasn’t that she was busy, it was that she just didn’t seem all that interested in money. A quartet of Icelandic friends passed the time by quoting “Good Burger” at their table, while Mike Judge’s “Idiocracy” played on a large screen nearby. I had never seen Judge’s 2006 dystopian satire before, and though the volume was off, I found the film’s opening moments to be laugh-out-loud funny and unnervingly prescient, even in their subtitled form. Its slapstick portrayal of a “garbage avalanche” foreshadowed the actual one that killed 17 people in Mozambique a mere decade later, and its hellish imagery isn’t all that far removed from the apocalyptic scenery on display in Christian Krönes and Florian Weigensamer’s Austrian documentary, “Welcome to Sodom.”

Ranking high among the most visually arresting achievements at the 2018 Reykjavík International Film Festival, this impeccably lensed picture takes an unflinching look at the place where our laptops and smartphones will likely end up—a sprawling waste dump in Ghana populated by 6,000 men, women and children. Strewn throughout the rubble are familiar items that had once been commonplace in American homes, such as bulky computer monitors. The sheer wastefulness of our quickly outdated machines currently cluttering a site previously comprised of untouched swampland is enough to make one’s blood boil. By creating technology built to not last but be replaced by newer, more expensive models, we have left a toxic heap of debris for people in impoverished corners of the world to clean up. Cinematographer Christian Kermer opens the picture with a 360 degree panoramic view of the vile landscape, stretching as far as the eye can see. The low hum of the brooding score is so evocative of Paul Schrader’s ode to impending environmental catastrophe, “First Reformed,” that I half-expected to see Ethan Hawke’s tormented priest floating above the mountains of discarded tires. Anonymous inhabitants speak in voice-overs juxtaposed against the footage, each providing an eye-opening perspective on how mankind manages to survive in an environment plagued with disease (at one point, a group of guys perform cathartic dance moves that cause spirals of ash to soar from the ground).

As a fiery preacher spews homophobic rhetoric, a man privately reflects on how his identity as a gay man derailed his chances for a successful career, despite being at the top of his class in medical school. With Ghana’s president voicing his desire to behead homosexuals, this scholar-turned-outcast has resigned himself to a life of self-imposed alienation. For him, the dump is a “temporary safe house” where he won’t be able to run the risk of having anyone get to know him on an intimate level. A more extroverted subject makes his living from breaking down broken appliances so that he can gather their basic properties—copper, iron, zinc—ripe for sale. He admits that the location is good for business despite being bad for humanity. The most haunting narration comes from a child who recalls how mankind’s disrespect of the land has left the gods angry—or, according to Werner Herzog, “monumentally indifferent.” As its last third grows increasingly repetitious, it’s clear “Welcome to Sodom” could’ve worked equally well as a short film. It’s not on the same level as the best documentaries screening at the festival—including Bing Liu’s “Minding the Gap,” Roger Michell’s “Tea with the Dames,” Alexandria Bombach’s “On Her Shoulders” and Mila Turajlic’s Lux Prize nominee, “The Other Side of Everything”—yet there is considerable worth in its extended length. Like the chameleon that haunts the hypnotic title sequence, the film takes its time, moving slowly enough to let us fully absorb the details of our world that we’d normally choose to overlook.

“There’s no such thing as a healthy professional athlete!” claims gymnast-turned-coach Amina Zaripova, spouting one of the numerous quotable if morally questionable lines in Polish director Marta Prus’ documentary, “Over the Limit.” Examining the relentless emotional and psychological abuse endured by Margarita “Rita” Mamun, the celebrated Russian Olympian in individual rhythmic gymnastics, this film causes one to question if her success occurred as a result of—or in spite of—her coaches’ bullying tactics. No tangible evidence is offered as to whether head coach Irina Viner’s mean-spirited demeanor punctuated by four-letter words had any discernible impact on Mamun’s performance, apart from elevating her stress level through the roof. This may be in part because Prus has little interest in the actual gymnastics, providing only fragmentary glances at the routines while keeping Mamun’s pivotal triumph at the 2016 Rio de Janeiro Olympics entirely offscreen. The director’s focus is kept primarily on the 20-year-old subject’s pained expression as she is alternately called a “silly cow” and “brave girl,” depending on how much her effort impresses the coaches. Never mincing her words for the camera, Viner approaches her job like a drill sergeant, believing that athletes cannot be truly built up unless they are broken down. Just as I began likening her in my mind to Parker Posey and Michael Hitchcock’s unstable couple in “Best in Show,” Viner exclaimed, “She’s not wound up! We need to train her like a dog.”

If anything, Mamun appears all-too frenzied in her early routines, lacking the slinky self-assurance of her peer and rival, Yana Alexeyevna Kudryavtseva, whose joy is palpable as she dances to Jessica Rabbit’s crooning rendition of “Why Don’t You Do Right?” Viner is correct in assessing that Mamun’s greatest obstacle stems from her mental state, but doesn’t seem to realize that her own schoolyard putdowns have only further damaged the athlete’s confidence. There are shades of the obsessive theatre director from “Madeline’s Madeline” in how Viner violates the young woman’s personal struggles by contorting them into her artistry. Taking advantage of the cancer diagnosis that has hospitalized Mamun’s father—whom we see the gymnast chatting with on a heartrending phone call—Viner orders her to channel the grief prompted by her “dying dad” into the performance. When Zaripova attempts to show affection for Mamun, she is immediately chastised by Viner. In an ideal world, the notion of an entire country’s well-being hinging on the medals it gains in an Olympic contest would be immediately expunged. The undue pressure it places on athletes like Mamun is criminal, and if there’s anything worth cheering about in this picture, it is the athlete’s heroic composure amidst adversity. After hearing one-too-many disparaging expletives from Viner, streamed into the practice room via a monitor, Mamun tosses her ribbon on the ground and walks out of the gym, much to the protestations of her coach. It’s in that moment, more than any other, where she appears primed to win the gold.

The coveted Golden Egg prize is awarded to the best short film at Reykjavík’s film festival, and I’ve been fortunate enough to view three of the worthy contenders. Tomas Leach’s intriguingly titled “Alba: Not Everyone Will Be Taken Into the Future,” is also about a young athlete—in this case, an aspiring dancer—though its style is more in line with “Welcome to Sodom,” allowing the recorded voice of its subject to anchor its assemblage of near-wordless footage. At age 16, the titular girl is already facing the perils of pushing her body to the limit, keeping up with her classes at Spain’s Corella Dance Academy despite a conspicuous pain in her legs. There are no tidy solutions to any of Alba’s lingering questions, as she ponders whether life is simply testing her to see how much she can take. Leach’s vignette recalls how the closure we seek in adulthood never existed in our youth, which was often consumed with a sense of discomfort as our future hung preciously in the air. Another highlight is Hakan Ünal’s Turkish submission, “Crack in the Wall,” a chillingly bleak look at a night-shift janitor’s futile pursuit of spiritual repentance. Wracked with guilt after awakening from an erotic dream, the man bathes himself as the camera stares down at him in stark judgment. Though the film initially seems to be a portrait of sexual repression, a final twist—deftly conveyed by the recurring image of red fingernails—affirms that a much darker sin has been committed.

Easily my favorite short I’ve seen in Reykjavík also happens to be the festival’s unlikeliest crowd-pleaser. South Korean director Heui Son’s 18-minute gem, “Daughter’s Table,” follows three adult sisters as they rush to their mother’s side after receiving news of her ill health. While together, they find themselves falling prone to the same sibling rivalry that characterized their upbringing. This premise would be compelling enough if handled as a straightforward drama, yet Son’s picture takes the form of an exuberant musical comedy, with the sisters breaking into song as they vie for their mother’s approval. The childlike spirit of the piece is appropriate, considering how nothing brings out a grown-up’s inner kid quite like visiting a former home marked by lines on the wall that had previously measured one’s pint-sized height. A trio of girls portraying the younger versions of the sisters are each represented by a bright color that corresponds with their teddy bears spotted in the background. The bouncy music and pleasingly unpolished choreography make this film a complete delight, carrying traces of the poignance perhaps best expressed during the finale of Isao Takahata’s masterpiece, “Only Yesterday.” How Son goes about resolving the mother’s storyline as she's surrounded by her children is an indelible example of pure cinema. Rather than treat difficult subject matter with the heavy hand of a morose dirge, Son crafts a celebration of life, encouraging us to savor the time we share with loved ones, as well as the memories destined to last for generations.

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studio77photouk · 7 years

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The Majesty of Early Photography

“South America, Atkins,” from Foreign Plants and “Cyanotypes of English and ” 1851-54. Cyanotype.

Credit PICTURE COURTESY CLARK ART START

The “Photography and Discovery” display in the Clark Art Company, in Williamstown, Boston, is little (around thirty pictures, mainly pre-1900, all in the Clark’s own incredible selections), curatorially unpretentious (no difficult artwork-historic theses are sophisticated), and really worth a trip, specifically for people, like me, whose curiosity about photography is principally participated through publications or online. Since among the issues within the display you’re rapidly hit by may be the painterliness of the pre- photographic picture. Painting was the paradigm for graphic artwork within the nineteenth-century. But it’s not just the painterly ; the tactility.

The albumen printing, the collotype, the cyanotype, the daguerreotype, the Woodburytype, gelatin silver prints, gum dichromate prints, jewelry prints, sodium prints, halftones, photogravure: each one of these reproductive systems are symbolized within the display, and each produces another visible consistency. The results could be spectacular. I looked to get a very long time at Gustave Le Gray’s “Brig around the Water” and “Mediterranean Ocean, Sète” (albumen prints from 1856 and 1857), ravishing seascapes which are about what artwork photography is mainly about, light—in these items, daylight, shown on clouds (above) and water (under).

The tag describes that to fully capture sunlight’s results on two areas in one single picture, subsequently join the disadvantages Le Gray needed to consider individual exposures of the atmosphere and also the ocean and produce the end result onto just one page. This created the single aftereffect of this style the feeling, of artwork photography that you’re viewing something which is equally organic, a genuine ocean having an actual dispatch beneath a genuine atmosphere, a notion difficult like a retinal picture, and abnormal. You can observe atmosphere and ocean, but never very such as this. As usually, mimesis isn’t replica. It’s replica having a distinction.

“The Pyramids of El-Geezdeh in the Southwest” (albumen print, circa 1860) is nearly an earlier-photography motto. Pyramids were skilled favorites (Frith herself captured several) since (a) they’re not going anyplace, and so that they endure long-exposure occasions, (w) they provide exemplary official components for distinction, such as for instance, for instance, whenever an aspect of the chart that displays gentle abuts a-side in darkness, and (d) they allow photography to complete what early images (and, later, early theatre) liked to complete, and what holiday images around the world do nowadays, that will be to create the unique home. Detail’s amount Frith could make is practically high def. Each rock that was individual could be created on a chart that must definitely be half of a kilometer in the camera.

Another thought (for me personally) may be the degree to which early photographers used nearly every possible utilization of the brand new method. They captured staged remarkable moments (as in Julia Margaret Cameron’s “illustrations” for Alfred Tennyson’s “Idylls of the King”). They captured actual individuals (Henri Béchard’s “Water Provider, Cairo,” 1875) and imposters (Roger Fenton’s “Orientalist Study,” 1858: two Western men in Turkish outfit).

Pictures were used-to maintain stock (William Henry Fox’s “Articles of China,” 1844), as well as for medical evaluation (Anna Atkins’s “Cyanotypes of English and International Flowering Plants and Ferns,” circa 1851-54). Photographers maintained the similarity of the renowned (William Notman and Son’s “Buffalo Expenses Cody,” 1885) and also the unknown (Gertrude Käsebier’s “Hermione Turner and Her Kids,” circa 1910). You will find artwork pictures and photographs. A really early home is even – Mirror from Knole Home, reflexive picture,” 1853, from the English shooter Thurston Thompson. You can observe the shooter within the reflection, ranking having a pocket-watch, timing his publicity. A selfie!

My personal favorite within the display is just an image of carrots. The tag describes that Charles Smith, the shooter, was a farmer who done properties that are main in nineteenth century England, and who’d of creating pictures of issues he increased a, organized as lifes. Their pictures were found in a luggage within an antiques marketplace in 1981. And there they’re, six carrots on the many plebeian that is plate—nature’s foodstuff searching as happy with itself. And also the greatest thing concerning the item, in the event you skip the stage, may be the name, “Potato Majestic.”

One guide that’s had an enormous impact over a long time on me is ” posted in 1981, Peter Photography. Where he was successful the renowned John Szarkowski, Galassi was the principle curator of photography in the Memorial of Contemporary Art. Within the book—really a catalog to accompany an exhibit at MOMA—Galassi noticed that the engineering had a need to create pictures was recognized well before there is photography. He recommended that it had been not until artists started producing works which were picture- moments that were like—everyday displayed from a person viewer—that’s viewpoint it dawned on people who photography had a use. a fresh visual is created by the engineering didn’t; it had been created to realize.

Correct alongside Discovery” and “Photography is of another little display, additionally of works the Clark possesses early-nineteenth century pictures that are English, several by Turner. I appeared directly into try Galassi’s dissertation out, and also you can actually begin to see the continuity between exactly what the photographers might begin doing a couple of years, and what these artists do, discovering the results of daylight on daily topics.

One sort that photographers couldn’t manipulate, but that turned the final type that is most typical in the world, may be the overview. The engineering wasn’t there. Due to that, the mimetic benefit was kept by artists, along with a large amount of nineteenth century artwork, from Constable and Turner through the Impressionists, attempts to seize the evanescent and also the temporary, the feeling of existence stopped in-motion. Fundamentally, obviously, photography and movie swept up, and artists started doing another thing.

It was my first trip to the Clark because the recent addition, created by the architect Tadao Ando, went up, and that I need to state (I understand I’m not the very first), What were they considering? The Clark rests in the base of Rock Slope, among the best places a scenery that’s attractive in most months, in England. The brand new building—basically a massive reception a typical, having a complicated entry -problem gift-shop, and, on a lawn ground, without any views a coffeehouse- large marble surfaces that strongly prevent the watch from several vantages are café—featuresed by design. The memorial has become twenty bucks per person once liberated to the general public. It’s still the lotion, and exactly the same selection, however.

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