Mirit Ben Nun: Shortness of breath 'Shortness of breath' is not only a sign of physical weakness, it is a metaphor for a mental state of strong desire that knows no repletion; more and more, an unbearable glut, without repose. Mirit Ben Nun's type of work on the other hand requires an abundance of patience. This is a Sisyphean work (requiring hard labor) of marking lines and dots, filling every empty millimeter with brilliant blots. Therefore we are facing a paradox or a logical conflict. A patient and effortful work that stems from an urgent need to cover and fill, to adorn and coat. Her craft of layering reaches a state of a continuous ceremonial ritual. This ritual digests every object into itself - useful or discarded -- available and ordinary or rare and exceptional -- they submit and devote to the overlay work. Mirit BN gathers scrap off the streets -- cardboard rolls of fabric, assortments of wooden boards and pieces, plates and planks -- and constructs a new link, her own syntax, which she alone is fully responsible for. The new combination -- a type of a sculptural construction -- goes through a process of patching by the act of painting. In fact Mirit regards her three dimensional objects as a platform for painting, with a uniform continuity, even if it has obstacles, mounds and valleys. These objects beg her to paint, to lay down colors, to set in motion an intricate weave of abstract patterns that at times finds itself wandering the contours of human images and sometimes -- not. In those cases what is left is the monotonous activity of running the patterns, inch by inch, till their absolute coverage, till a short and passing instant of respite and than on again to a new onset. Next to this assembly of garbage and it's recycling into 'painted sculptures' Mirit offers a surprising reunion between her illustrated objects and so called cheap African sculpture; popular artifacts or articles that are classified in the standard culture as 'primitive'. This combination emphasizes the difference between her individualistic performance and the collective creation which is translated into cultural clichés. The wood carved image creates a moment of peace within the crowded bustle; an introverted image, without repetitiveness and reverberation. This meeting of strangers testifies that Mirit' work could not be labeled under the ´outsiders art´ category. She is a one woman school who is compelled to do the art work she picked out to perform. Therefore she isn't creating ´an image´ such as the carved wooden statues, but she produces breathless ´emotional jam' whose highest values are color, motion, beauty and plenitude. May it never lack, neither diluted, nor dull for even an instant

 

Tali Tamir

Mirit Ben Nun: Shortness of breath

'Shortness of breath' is not only a sign of physical weakness, it is a metaphor for a mental state of strong desire that knows no repletion; more and more, an unbearable glut, without repose. Mirit Ben Nun's type of work on the other hand requires an abundance of patience. This is a Sisyphean work (requiring hard labor) of marking lines and dots, filling every empty millimeter with brilliant blots. Therefore we are facing a paradox or a logical conflict. A patient and effortful work that stems from an urgent need to cover and fill, to adorn and coat. Her craft of layering reaches a state of a continuous ceremonial ritual.

This ritual digests every object into itself - useful or discarded -- available and ordinary or rare and exceptional -- they submit and devote to the overlay work. Mirit BN gathers scrap off the streets -- cardboard rolls of fabric, assortments of wooden boards and pieces, plates and planks -- and constructs a new link, her own syntax, which she alone is fully responsible for. The new combination -- a type of a sculptural construction -- goes through a process of patching by the act of painting.

In fact Mirit regards her three dimensional objects as a platform for painting, with a uniform continuity, even if it has obstacles, mounds and valleys. These objects beg her to paint, to lay down colors, to set in motion an intricate weave of abstract patterns that at times finds itself wandering the contours of human images and sometimes -- not. In those cases what is left is the monotonous activity of running the patterns, inch by inch, till their absolute coverage, till a short and passing instant of respite and than on again to a new onset.

Next to this assembly of garbage and it's recycling into 'painted sculptures' Mirit offers a surprising reunion between her illustrated objects and so called cheap African sculpture; popular artifacts or articles that are classified in the standard culture as 'primitive'.

This combination emphasizes the difference between her individualistic performance and the collective creation which is translated into cultural clichés. The wood carved image creates a moment of peace within the crowded bustle; an introverted image, without repetitiveness and reverberation. This meeting of strangers testifies that Mirit' work could not be labeled under the ´outsiders art´ category. She is a one woman school who is compelled to do the art work she picked out to perform. Therefore she isn't creating ´an image´ such as the carved wooden statues, but she produces breathless ´emotional jam' whose highest values are color, motion, beauty and plenitude. May it never lack, neither diluted, nor dull for even an instant

 

Tali Tamir

The Ice dragon is one of the most loathed dragons throughout Europe and Northwestern Asia. It is known to terrorize villages and livestock. Its main weakness is fire. They are extremely hard to tame, but a few have been tamed.

Poison Lips, Vitalic

  

Well look what is back, eh?

Warm up for the contest you could say, I still cannot decide if I want to use 0.6 or 0.7 for it, that'll probably heavily depend on what weapon I'm given to make. The weakness and strengths of each version mean that I generally use them for different types of weapons, or different specific styles.

    

(Comments and notes, on the story and the gun, are very welcome.)

(Warning, this may be a really long bit. In the bast some people have not been fond of how long this may make the description, if you don't want to read it, skip it. And for goodness sake, and the love of everything cute, fluffy, and/or lethal, don't post "TL:DR" or bad things may very well happen. If it is too long to read, then don't, but you don't have to tell me about it)

(Also, sorry about it being a big of an info dump, but this'll help things get back into swing again with minimal halt-ups from where I broke off, and it allows me to skip over one of the parts that had my brain locked)

        

Salem clicked off his datalog. Why did he bother to write down the first time he met Matt Anvil? It wasn't for sentiment. The situation was unique, but more importantly it explained the truth Salem now had to come to terms with. Matt Anvil was born under a different name. Born within Greenwall, that barrier which none but a priviledged few can pass into Green Corp's massive mysterious citadel.

The official public statement was that Green Corp's headquarter city had been put under sanction, quarantined off to keep Green Corp's reputedly dangerous work practices from spreading or harming other corporations or the public. Unofficial rumor in the mouths of gossips was that Green Corp held some secret, and walled itself off to keep others from finding it. Salem now knew the truth lay in between. The walling and quarantine of Green Corp's base of operations, now known as the Green Zone, is that Green Corp had long been an established power when the first of the megacorporations grew. These new corporations profited and grew through deciet, lies, covered brutality, and corruption. Green Corp wouldn't stand for any of it, holding tight to a rigid clean policy of putting humans first. Corporations like Tokushima and Skynet pushed for more cybernetics, more machines, more computers, more artificial intelligences. Green focused on the enhancement of the human. Work environments, schedules, systems designed to provide the best situation for the human mind. Tools, vehicles, external enhancements to aid, but not override, the human worker. Green's policy was that of humanity. A man's dreams were to be held in highest regard, and Green Corp made it's money by providing products and services that were stepping stools to dreams. Dreams worked for and hard earned, but dreams within grasp nonetheless.

This doctrine placed Green against the other corporations. Green Corp was a danger, because as long as the other megacorporations dealt through under the table deals, bribes, and mercenary hitmen, Green would gain in the public eye. Corporations like Skynet could manipulate the public eye, but they found difficulty in obscuring the attractiveness of Green's policies.

Green Corporation, sensing the growth of hostilities, and watching smaller governments and companies of a similar mind to theirs destroyed under the wheels of newer, bigger, and more powerful corporations, knew the only way to survice was to avoid a corporate war. The wall was agree on, built, and a press embargo went into place. Green Corporation was allowed, by indirect means, to still market some goods, but the majority of Green Corp's products remained within the Green Zone. The exception was in Green Corp's speciality: produce. The Green zone, taking up a good chunk of the midwest of what was the United States back when governments actually mattered, had the strongest hold on the agricultural market. This was deemed an acceptable loss by other corporations, a cost for keeping Green away from the people, and a far lesser cost than attempting war against Green Corporation's formidable edge on most technological fronts. This edge would be another reason for quarantine.

It was out of all of this that Matt Anvil appeared, clueless, wandering about an outside world. Until an incedent at Tokushima found him employment with Salem as Package Retrieval agents. Armed Corporate theives, if you want to be honest. At first Salem suspected nothing behind Anvil, but in time Anvil let him in on his secret, where he was from, and why he ventured out. Originally it was to get away from Green Corp's limited world, but then Anvil saw the technological advancements of corporations like SKYNET, and their weapon projects like EXCS White Out, which in addition to being a high powered armor piercing rifle contained a device capable of high electronic interference.

These dangers, Anvil decided, needed to be known to Green Corp.

So no Salem sat here, pushing himself away from his computer's holotop, thinking wearily to himself. Great, so now what do I do with the corporate spy who happens to be my partner in business, friend, and guy who refuses to get his own damn place to sleep.

        

(While I'm not so sure I'll try and compile this into an actualy story at some point, for now I'll definitely keep posting it along with weapons because it has been a lot of fun to write, and even if THIS doesn't ever get finished and polished, it is good practice.)

(And with this post finished, I go to shower, sleep, and dress up fancy for a wedding. Not mine. No, this one doesn't have much luck with the ladies. Someone else's wedding.)

Polaroid 600SE with Fuji FP-100C.

Double exposure.

 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=t7qTYObjr_s (Mother of Pearl, Roxy Music)

Oh btw this one is dark, so don't read if you're squeamish! Sorry XD

 

Alter Ego: Jigsaw

Name: Henry Hacksaw

Allegiance: Villain

Powers:

* Can deteriorate organic matter into tiny fragments and shapes then reconstruct it back together using telekinesis

Weapons: None

Key Weakness: When his vision is even slightly covered it nullifies his abilities. Which is why he is forced to wear a mask when he has company and a straight jacket to stop him taking it off.

 

Origin:

Henry was pretty much destined to become a villain with his ability he discovered when he was a child. It didn't help his father was a drinker and heavily abused his mother in front of Henry who was reminded about how weak he was. His mother used to just tell him to smile and it would all be okay, not to worry, just smile. Which is what he did, no matter what he endured over the years. However, when his mother died after an "accidental" fall down the stairs. Henry paid his father a visit in his study. He said that, "Life is like a jigsaw, It is never finished until all the pieces are put together." Henry then proceeded to tear his father apart into tiny pieces with his powers, his flesh, bone and muscle then combined them all together to resemble a jigsaw. He then told his dead father that his life was finished, all the pieces had been put together. The police did not suspect the young boy of such a violent act and with no other family he was put in an orphanage. This is where his twisted sociopathic tendencies would develop as he grew older after months of being in the orphanage, he began to seek out those who had wronged others and made it his mission to dispose of them. Henry seen it as a persons life was completed when they ended that of someone who was innocent and proceeded to kill them with his power. The police investigating the series of murders called the serial killer, Jigsaw, due to the resemblance of his victims. Jigsaw would then become a notorious serial killer who'd kill those that harmed the innocent but be considered a villain by the public when he would be later caught by the City's beloved heroes, The Kingston's, who portrayed him as a crazed killer who's actions were not justified.

Sorry, but it's a weakness of mine. I just can't stand to go very long without changing my hair. So despite Daisy's assertion that she prefers the natural color I've been sporting for a while now, I went for it. And sure enough...it made me feel better. Isn't that what it's all about? 😁

The setting sun is my weakness. Besides my house is located in such a way that I can only observe sunsets. The reddish orange disc of the setting sun is very romantic and appealing to me.

The two sun spots on the sun are in fact the hot spots. These are caused by intense magnetic fields emerging from the interior of the sun. These appear to be dark since the background is lighter and are easily visible when the sun is setting and losing its light. Right now, the sunspots are seen rotating clockwise from right to left (which in fact means towards west, as seen from the Earth), as it gradually changes appearance.

Cavendish Mews is a smart set of flats in Mayfair where flapper and modern woman, the Honourable Lettice Chetwynd has set up home after coming of age and gaining her allowance. To supplement her already generous allowance, and to break away from dependence upon her family, Lettice has established herself as a society interior designer, so her flat is decorated with a mixture of elegant antique Georgian pieces and modern Art Deco furnishings, using it as a showroom for what she can offer to her well heeled clients.

 

Tonight however, we are far from Cavendish Mews. We are not even in England as we follow Lettice, her fiancée, Sir John Nettleford Hughes, and her widowed future sister-in-law, Clementine (known preferably now by the more cosmopolitan Clemance) Pontefract on their adventures on their visit to Paris.

 

Old enough to be Lettice’s father, wealthy Sir John was until recently still a bachelor, and according to London society gossip intended to remain so, so that he might continue to enjoy his dalliances with a string of pretty chorus girls of Lettice’s age and younger. After an abrupt ending to her understanding with Selwyn Spencely, son and heir to the title Duke of Walmsford, Lettice in a moment of both weakness and resolve, agreed to the proposal of marriage proffered to her by Sir John. More like a business arrangement than a marriage proposal, Sir John offered Lettice the opportunity to enjoy the benefits of his large fortune, be chatelain of all his estates and continue to have her interior design business, under the conditions that she agree to provide him with an heir, and that he be allowed to discreetly carry on his affairs in spite of their marriage vows. He even suggested that Lettice might be afforded the opportunity to have her own extra marital liaisons if she were discreet about them.

 

The trio have travelled to Paris so that Lettice may attend the ‘Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes’* which is highlighting and showcasing the new modern style of architecture and interior design known as Art Deco of which Lettice is an exponent. Now that Lettice has finished her commission for a feature wall at the Essex country retreat of the world famous British concert pianist Sylvia Fordyce, Lettice is moving on to her next project: a series of principal rooms in the Queen Anne’s Gate** home for Dolly Hatchett, the wife of Labour MP for Towers Hamlets*** Charles Hatchett, for whom she has done work before. Mrs. Hatchett wants a series of stylish formal rooms in which to entertain her husband’s and her own influential friends in style and elegance, and has given Lettice carte-blanche to decorate as she sees fit to provide the perfect interior for her. Lettice hopes to beat the vanguard of modernity and be a leader in the promotion of the sleek and uncluttered lines of the new Style Moderne**** which has arisen as a dynamic new movement at the exhibition.

 

Tonight we are in Saint-Germain, the fashionable 6th Arronissement of Paris, which is between the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame de Paris***** and the Pantheon****** in the elegantly appointed apartment Madeline Flanton, the glamorous silent film star actress employed at Cinégraphic*******. Madeline is an old flame of Sir John’s, and a woman that judging by his subtle, yet not subtle enough for Lettice not to notice, overtures indicate, still has Sir John in her thrall in spite of the fact that she is much older than his usual conquests. When Lettice had first mentioned that she wanted to visit the Exposition Internationale des Arts Décoratifs et Industriels Modernes in Paris to Sir John and asked him to accompany her, his counter proposal involved him attending the exhibition in the mornings, before slipping away and meeting up with Madeline Flanton in the afternoon. Determined not to lose face over this idwea, Lettice suggested that perhaps she could meet Mademoiselle Flanton as well. Rather than balk at the idea, as she had in her heart-of-hearts hoped he might, Sir John warmed quickly to Lettice’s idea, suggesting that if they both went to Mademoiselle Flanton’s apartment for cocktails, the Parisian media wouldn’t question Sir John visiting her, and any whiff of scandal would thus be avoided. He suggested that after a few polite social cocktails with Mademoiselle Flanton, she and Sir John could escort Lettice out via the back entrance to her apartment into a waiting taxi to return her to the hotel that she, Sir John and Clemance have arranged to stay at, leaving Sir John to spend the rest of the night with Mademoiselle Flanton.

 

Thus, we find ourselves in Madeline Flanton’s very smart and select Parisian apartment. Built in a round tower, the flat has a large and spacious central salon, tastefully decorated in the uncluttered Art Deco style Lettice so appreciates, off which are a series of rooms, including a small kitchen which is the domain of her distinguished and unflappable maître d'hôtel********, who is the equivalent of an English butler, an intimate dining room, Mademoiselle Flanton’s boudoir, dressing room and a bathroom. The main salon has large French doors opening up onto a balcony, from which can be seen the Eiffel Tower and is decorated with elegant furnishings and hung with fashionably geometric patterned wallpaper. Overhead a chandelier shimmers and sparkles, its light adding to the diffused golden light of lamps around the room. From a mirror topped demilune table********* overseen by a portrait of the mistress of the house in a thick gilded frame, Madeline Flanton’s maître d'hôtel expertly mixes cocktails from a selection of bottles set out on its surface to a small selection of guests, mostly fellow actors, actresses or staff from the Cinégraphic studio who have been invited to join Madeline as she welcomes Lettice to Paris, and reacquaints herself further with Sir John after beginning the task at a pleasant picnic hosted by Clemance a few days ago.

 

“How appropriate that in Paris, you should request a Parisian********** to drink, mademoiselle Chetwynd.” Mademoiselle Flanton laughs as she tosses her peroxided tresses playfully.

 

Lettice smiles and thanks the maître d'hôtel as she accepts the delicate faceted crystal Marie Antoinette glass*********** from him.

 

“I prefer something à la Américaine, myself,” the French actress goes on, as her maître d'hôtel hands her a soixante quinze************ in a tall highball glass. “I have gathered from mon cher Jean, Mademoiselle Chetwynd, that you have had a very fine classical education.”

 

“Yes, Mademoiselle Flanton.” Lettice replies a little stiffly. “My father the Viscount recognised my thirst for knowledge and my aptitude for learning. His younger sister, my Aunt Eglantyne was also well educated, and he wished me to be able to reach my full potential as a young woman, and not settle for a mediocre marriage because I had no other options.”

 

“Were languages part of your education, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?”

 

“Indeed they were, Mademoiselle Flanton. I can speak fluently in German, partially thanks to my Aunt’s Swiss-German household staff, I can read and speak classical Greek, my Italian is passable,” Lettice pauses. “Oh and of course I speak fluent French. Would you prefer to converse in French, Mademoiselle?”

 

Mademoiselle Flanton smiles gratefully, her expertly painted lips turning upwards at the edges. “How perceptive you are, Mademoiselle Chetwynd. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it.”

 

“It’s understandable,” Lettice replies, reverting to French immediately with ease. “Speaking one’s native tongue is always easier.”

 

“Oh it isn’t that, Mademoiselle,” Mademoiselle Flanton elucidates with a serious look. “It’s just that I would like you and I to have a little tête a tête without Jean overhearing what we say. Unlike your progressive father, poor Jean’s father, and mother, were really only interested in hunting, and were from all accounts distrustful of all foreigners, so they never learned to speak anything other than English, and Jean is the same as a result.”

 

“Yes they sent his sister to be finished off in Germany, and she does speak French and Greman.”

 

“In their eyes, it made her a more attractive jeune fille à marier*************. Such linguistic qualities are less attractive in the male heir of a rather boorish and terribly English family.” Mademoiselle Flanton smiles with pity at Sir John as he chats politely with another of her animated male guests dressed in black tie. “Shall we?” Mademoiselle Flanton indicates to a high backed red and gold Oriental brocade upholstered sofa, which like everything else in her salon, is smart and select.

 

Clutching her cocktail, Lettice sinks into the soft upholstery, snuggling into a corner of the sofa, whilst her hostess sits at the opposite end, cradling her own cocktail, a thoughtful expression on her face.

 

“So, you are marrying Jean, then.” Mademoiselle Flanton remarks as she stirs her drink with an agate knobbed silver cocktail pick**************.

 

“You know I am Mademoiselle.” Lettice replies, a hint of frustration in her voice.

 

“Are you enjoying your little sojourn to Paris, Mademoiselle Chetwynd? How did you find the Exposition internationale des arts décoratifs et industriels modernes? I believe you were there this morning.”

 

“I was. It was very interesting, and has given me many wonderful new ideas that I can use in my interior designs for my newest client. However, Mademoiselle Flanton,” Lettice says stiffly with a sigh. “What is this little tête a tête you wish to have, about? It’s not to discuss the Exposition internationale des arts décoratifs et industriels modernes, surely?

 

The French woman doesn’t speak for a moment, continuing to stir her cocktail thoughtfully, not engaging Lettice’s bright blue eyes with her own dark one. Finally she breaks her silence. “You know Jean asked me to marry him once, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.”

 

Lettice’s eyes grow wide in surprise, and her cocktail remains held midway to her lips where she was about to take a sip of it. “No, Mademoiselle Flanton, I didn’t know.” Lettice replies in shock.

 

“Oh yes!” the French actress chuckles. “It was all foolish youthful impetuousness of course. Jean and I met, probably before you were born. Back then, there were no moving pictures, and I certainly wasn’t an actress, at least of that sort.” She adds wistfully.

 

“Yes, John told me that he met you when you were an actress at the Follies Bergère***************.”

 

Mademoiselle Flanton snorts derisively. “If you can call it that. Jean and I were introduced at the Palais de Glace**************** in 1893 by my then lover: a fatal mistake for him, as it spelled the end of our little romantic liaison.” When Lettice doesn’t attempt a reply, she takes a deep draught her cocktail and winces as the feeling and taste of strong alcohol hits her in a wave. “I hate to use the word love, which is a term I think best reserved for the world of the moving picture screen.” She thinks for a moment as she considers how best to describe she and Sir John’s relationship in those early days. “We were besotted with one another, and in his impetuousness he asked me to be his wife two years later. He lowered himself on one knee in a café one night and held up a pretty velvet lined box containing a sparkling diamond ring from Maison Chaumet*****************.”

 

“But you turned him down?” Lettice ventures.

 

“I did, Mademoiselle.”

 

“Why, Mademoiselle? John is a wealthy and influential man.”

 

“I know, Mademoiselle Chetwynd, and he was handsome then.” She looks fondly over at Sir John, her eyes sparkling. “He his handsome still, but perhaps more dignified as an older man. When he was young, oh,” She sighs deeply. “He was so very, very handsome and dashing! And as I said, we were besotted with one another.”

 

“It seems that perhaps there is still an element of that in John now, if not both of you, judging by your flirtations at Clemance’s picnic in the Tuileries******************.”

 

“Oh,” Mademoiselle Flanton mutters. “You noticed that did you?”

 

“You are perhaps not as discreet as you think, Mademoiselle.” Lettice opines flatly.

 

The French actress offers no apology to Lettice, and after another sip of her cocktail, she simply goes on with her story. “I could near have married Jean. We were both too young then, and besides, his parents would never have accepted me. I am French, so a foreigner to begin with, I was dancer at the Follies Bergère, I have no father and my mother was a laundress, so all in all, hardly a dignified or ideal match for the eldest son of such a noble and wealthy family. Besides, even then, Jean had a wandering eye, and wandering hands. I knew he was never going to change his ways, even if I married him. Perhaps,” She considers. “He might have been enamoured enough for a little while to be devoted to me, but it didn’t take him long to claim a new conquest when he returned to England.” She takes another mouthful of her cocktail, gulping loudly. “And that, Mademoiselle Chetwynd is why I wanted to have this little tête a tête with you.”

 

Lettice skins back in her seat with an exasperated sigh. “Surely, you aren’t going to try and talk me out of this marriage to Sir John as well, Mademoiselle?” she asks peevishly. “I have plenty of people back home in London trying to dissuade me.”

 

“Not at all, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” the Frenchwoman replies, holding up her elegant and heavily bejewelled hands, the golden banded backs of her rings gleaming in the electric lamps illuminating the room. “You are free to do what you wish, and Jean has told me that you are already appraised of his la bougeotte*******************.”

 

“Yes, I go into this marriage fully appraised, Mademoiselle Flanton. John has been very forthright and honest about that facet of his life, and I know he won’t stop his liaisons.”

 

“Well, if that is so, then I am puzzled Mademoiselle Chetwynd. What benefits can you possibly reap from such a match?”

 

“That’s very forthright of you, Mademoiselle!” Lettice gasps, surprised at being asked the question outright, her face flushing with embarrassment.

 

Not apologising again for her behaviour, the French actress simply says, “We French are known for our directness, Mademoiselle.” She smiles at Lettice, a look of impatience subtlety changing the features of her face as she awaits a reply.

 

“Our engagement is complex. John doesn’t want jealousy in his relationships. He certainly doesn’t want a jealous wife. He told me from the start that he has no intention of desisting from his dalliances, and that if I said yes to his proposal, I must accept him on those terms. In return I will be allowed freedoms a married woman like Lady Nettleford-Hughes would not usually receive in British society. I can continue to run my own business, which most husbands would never countenance from their wives, taking her working as a slight towards them as the main financial support and head of the family. If a husband cannot provide for his wife, the British male upper-class ego is usually wounded.”

 

“And you would not have received the same courtesy through Monsieur Spencely, the Duke of Walmsford’s son?” Mademoiselle Flanton queries with her head cocked to the side, engaging Lettice’s gaze intently.

 

Lettice gasps at the mention of Selwyn Spencely’s name, the colour quickly draining from her face as quickly as it had flushed it.

 

“What do you know, Mademoiselle?” Lettice asks hostilely.

 

“When Jean told me that he was coming to Paris with his pretty new fiancée, a woman I never thought would, or could exist, he told me that your understanding with Monsieur Spencely came to an abrupt end, and that you took up the proposal of marriage Jean had made to you in passing some weeks before.”

 

“Then you don’t need an explanation from me, Mademoiselle.” Lettice says hotly. “That is the truth of the matter. Selwyn Spencely and I did have an understanding, but it is over now.”

 

“Jean tells me that le Duchesse de Walmsford sent her son off to the Dark Continent******************* with some kind of promise that he wasn’t to contact you, but when he came back, he could marry you if he still loved you.”

 

“That’s right, Mademoiselle. John has appraised you of the crux of Lady Zinnia’s demands. She gave Selwyn an ultimatum after he made his intentions regarding our relationship clear. She made a pact with Selwyn: if he went away for a year, a year during which he agreed neither to see, nor correspond with me, if he came back to England and didn’t feel the same way about me as he did when he left, he agreed that he would marry a woman that Lady Zinnia deemed suitable. If however, he still felt the same way about me when he returned, she agreed that she would concede and will allow Selwyn to marry me.”

 

“And he came back and broke your understanding?”

 

Lettice sighs. “Not exactly. Whilst he was in Durban on his enforced year of exile, he met the daughter and heiress of a Kenyan diamond mine owner, and they became engaged.”

 

Mademoiselle Flanton notices the pain not only in Lettice’s voice, but in her face as it twists and contorts as she shares the details of the sad story. “I’m sorry, Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” she murmurs quietly. “That I am making you relive this most awful situation.”

 

“It was a rather bloody********************* situation.” Lettice replies, reverting to English in her pain.

 

“Bloody?” the French woman queries. “I’m sorry Mademoiselle Chetwynd? I do not understand.”

 

“Oh!” Lettice replies before returning to speaking French. “Beastly. A horrible situation! To be confronted about his engagement like that.”

 

“And who told you about Monsieur Spencely’s engagement, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?” Mademoiselle Flanton asks kindly.

 

“I don’t see what business that is of yours, Mademoiselle.” Lettice retorts in shock.

 

“Please pardon the intrusion,” Mademoiselle Flanton says in a conciliatory way, looking kindly at Lettice with her warm eyes. “I mean no disrespect. The only reason why I ask,” She looks down at her now drained cocktail glass which she fumbles and plays with in her hands as she holds it in her lap. “And I have a confession to make.”

 

“A confession, Mademoiselle Flanton?”

 

“Oui. Jean, he… he did tell me what transpired – a slightly abridged version of your tale, but enough of it to know – and I asked my secretary, Louise,” She nods in the direction of a pretty brunette with stylishly marcelled waves********************** and translucent skin dressed in a smart beaded chartreuse satin evening frock, chatting with a redheaded gentleman in black tie wearing tortoiseshell rimmed spectacles. “To find out more about Monsieur Spencely and Mademoiselle Avendale’s engagement.”

 

“Why?” Lettice asks in shocked surprise.

 

“Well, when Jean became engaged to you, and it was announced in the British papers, I saw your photograph.” She pauses. “I get some of your London papers, you see,” she adds by way of explanation. “I like to keep up my practice of English, reading, writing and speech, because I have been contracted out by Cinégraphic to British film companies, like your Gainsborough Studios*********************** in London. So, I looked in the social pages to see who it was that had snared my unattainable Jean. When I read how well connected you are, and saw how pretty you are, I was intrigued to know what this Mademoiselle Avendale was like since she stole Monsieur Spencely from you.”

 

Lettice blushes at the French woman’s compliments about her looks and connections.

 

“And I can’t say I could find out very much about her.”

 

“Well, there wouldn’t be anything reported about her in the British papers. This all took place in Durban. I was shown photographs of Miss Avendale and Selwyn together from the Durban newspapers, Mademoiselle Flanton.”

 

“Again, I ask you, by whom, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?” Mademoiselle Flanton urges. “Who showed them to you?”

 

“Well, Selwyn’s mother, Lady Zinnia.” Lettice admits.

 

“Ahh.” Mademoiselle Flanton says knowingly, her expertly plucked and shaped eyebrows arch high over her eyes.

 

“Lady Zinnia summoned me to her Park Lane mansion.” Lettice goes on. “She showed me a whole cache of articles. It announced they were engaged.”

 

“Did they, Mademoiselle?” the actress asks, looking Lettice directly in the eye. “Did they really say that?”

 

“Yes, they did.”

 

Lettice casts her mind back to that horrible day when she arrived at Lady Zinnia’s palatial Park Lane mansion and was shown into her grand white drawing room where every surface was covered in exquisite and expensive antiques and objets d'art. She remembers Lady Zinnia’s haughty and cruel spectre: the thin streak of red on her lips, the pale powder on her cheeks, the single streak of silvery grey through her waved, almost raven black hair, the piercing stare from her cold and mirthless eyes. Lettice recalls the pink cardigan of Lady Zinnia’s secretary as she handed her mistress a buff envelope, but she cannot recall her name. She can picture Lady Zinnia opening the folder and presenting a selection of articles showing a smiling Selwyn with Kitty Avendale at dances, riding together and in fancy dress to Lettice, a smug smile on her face. She recalls the word engaged printed beneath some of them. After that, her memory becomes very blurred and unreliable, and to this day, Lettice still does not know how she managed to get the short distance between Park Lane and her home at Cavendish Mews.

 

“Yes…” Lettice falters. “They did. They did.”

 

“You see, from what Louise has gleaned, this Kitty Avendale only arrived in Durban last year after Monsieur Spencely did. No-one had ever heard of her before. For the heiress to a diamond mine, that seems a little odd, don’t you think, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?”

 

“Perhaps her father the Australian only recently made his fortune.” Lettice offers in explanation.

 

“There is no mention of Mr. Avendale anywhere at all. The closest Louise could find was an Australian jockey called Dickie Avendale who was banned from racing horses in Durban after some kind of scandal involving race fixing************************, when he deliberately lost the Durban Handicap*************************, and it was found that he was paid a great deal of money for not winning riding one of the favourites in the race. And try as she might, to date Louise has found no announcement of the engagement of Mademoiselle Avendale and Monsiuer Spencely, in either the Durban, or the London papers. There are reports of Monsieur Spencely choosing to stay on in Durban to see a few of his architectural projects through to fruition, but there is nothing about his engagement. Not one printed word. Indeed, coincidentally, Mademoiselle Avendale seems to disappear from the newspapers in Durban altogether after the announcement of your engagement to Jean being published in The Times in London. Don’t you think that a little strange too? Perhaps more than a little odd?”

 

Lettice feels a curdling in her stomach as she listens to the French actress speak, all the while trying to recall the exact wording printed underneath the photographs of Selwyn and Kitty Avendale. It’s so hard. Her mind is addled; her heart is racing. Her breathing is becoming shallow and more laboured.

 

“No, I distinctly remember ‘Mr. Selwyn Spencely and Miss Kitty Avendale, engaged’ on the bottom of one photograph.” Lettice says, remembering now.

 

“What was in the rest of the article, Mademoiselle Chetwynd? Do you remember?” Mademoiselle Flanton asks.

 

“I… I…” Lettice stammers. She tried to recall the articles. As far as she can recall, she only saw the photographs of Selwyn and Kitty with the caption for the photo beneath it. “I’m sure there was another caption that mentioned Kitty’s father being a diamond mine owner.”

 

“Yes, but what about the rest of the article, Mademoiselle Chetwynd?” Mademoiselle Flanton persists. “What did it say?”

 

“I… I… I don’t think there was any more of the article.” Lettice shakes her head. “No. There were just the photographs from the newspapers and the caption below.”

 

“So, no articles then?”

 

“No, but that’s hardly unusual in the society pages of a newspaper. Usually there are only two or three lines captioning it.”

 

“But you only saw the first lines?”

 

“I did.” Lettice begins to feel nauseous. She hasn’t felt this ill since that afternoon at Lady Zinnia’s Park Lane mansion.

 

“So, please correct me if I am wrong, Mademoiselle Chetwynd, but from what you are telling me, the information you received came directly from the woman who did not want you to marry her son, and all you have been shown are a selection of social page photographs with what may possibly be only part of a caption on it.” When Lettice nods shallowly, her face riddled with guilt, the French woman continues. “Then if I were you, I would return home post haste and do a bit of your own research.”

 

“Why mademoiselle Flanton?”

 

“Well, the fact that the engagement hasn’t been announced in the London papers strikes me as particularly odd, Mademoiselle Chetwynd. The son of a Duke, and such a fine match! Le Duchesse would surely announce it with pride! Could it be that you were fed lies, or only a half-truth by le Duchesse de Walmsford? I would not trust her to tell you the whole truth.”

 

Lettice doesn’t answer immediately, as bile rises and roils in her stomach. When she does finally speak it is to ask her hostess the direction to bathroom. Once inside the bright pink tiled room with its frieze of black and white alternate tiles, Lettice locks the door behind her and barely makes it to the toilet before she throws up the selection of savories and oysters that her hostess has been feeding her guests throughout the soirée into the bowl. She retches, and retches until there is nothing left to vomit, thinking all the while of what Mademoiselle Flanton has revealed to her, and she wonders whether what she says is true. Lettice doesn’t read the list of engagements in The Times. It could be there, and Mademoiselle Flanton’s secretary, Louise, may simply have missed it. As she sits down in a crumpled heap of bespangled midnight blue************************** satin next to the toilet bowl that matches its pink surroundings, kohl*************************** stained tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, she ponders the French actress’ other suggestion. Could she have been lied to? Would Lady Zinnia stoop that low to claw her son away from Lettice? Feeling the flutter of heartbeats in her chest, Lettice knows the answer to that. She must go home, to London, and as quickly as possible to investigate Lady Zinna’s claims more thoroughly for herself.

 

Scrambling up off the floor, Lettice shakily walks the few paces to the pink vanity and looks in horror at her smeared face and red eyes reflected in the mirror. Turning on the taps, she washes her face, leaving Kohl, rouge and lipstick traces on the luxuriantly fluffy white towel, but she doesn’t care. She carefully withdraws her lipstick and eyeshadow cases from her small black and silver beaded reticule**************************** and reapplies just enough makeup to avoid raised eyebrows from John, her hostess or any of the other guests.

 

Taking a few deep and calming breaths, she unlocks the door and walks back out into Mademosielle Flanton’s central salon and walks with as much composure as she can muster, up to Sir John who is still in the midst of the small coterie of actors, actresses and film making guests.

 

“John dear,” she interrupts him as he talks about the London Stock Exchange’s latest results with a father bookish looking man in black tie with slicked down dark hair that is parted sharply and precisely down the middle.

 

He turns and looks at his fiancée, his eyes widening a little with concern as he sees her rather wan face. “Are you alright, Lettice my dear?”

 

“John, I think I might just take myself back to hotel, if you don’t mind.”

 

Sir John leans down and whispers in her ear, “But it isn’t time yet, Lettice my dear.”, thinking this is all part of the ruse that he and Lettice have agreed to that they will arrive together at Madeline Flanton’s, but then Lettice will discreetly slip away through the back entrance of the apartment into a waiting taxi, allowing him to remain with Mademoiselle Flanton and spend the evening with her, rekindling their former liaison.

 

“No, John,” Lettice whispers back. “I genuinely do feel ill. I think I’d like to go back to the hotel now, please. If you could get Mademoiselle Flanton to have her butler flag me a taxi, I’d be most grateful.” She squeezes his arm. “I’ll leave you here.”

 

“Will you be alright, my dear?” Sir John asks as concern clouds his face. “I can come back to the hotel with you.”

 

“No. No.” she assures him with a dismissive wave. “I’m sure it is probably just something that I had for luncheon disagreeing with me. I will only go home to sleep. I think that’s what I require. I don’t wish to spoil your plans. You stay here and enjoy yourself.”

 

A short while later, her fiancée and her hostess escort Lettice into a waiting taxi, flagged by Mademoiselle Flanton’s maître d'hôtel.

 

“Bon chance, mon cher Mademoiselle Chetwynd.” Mademoiselle Flanton whispers in Lettice’s ear.

 

“Merci, Mademoiselle Flanton.” Lettice replies quickly in a returned whisper, before the maître d'hôtel closes the door and instructs the driver of the name of the hotel where Lettice is staying.

 

*International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts was a specialized exhibition held in Paris, from April the 29th (the day after it was inaugurated in a private ceremony by the President of France) to October the 25th, 1925. It was designed by the French government to highlight the new modern style of architecture, interior decoration, furniture, glass, jewellery and other decorative arts in Europe and throughout the world. Many ideas of the international avant-garde in the fields of architecture and applied arts were presented for the first time at the exposition. The event took place between the esplanade of Les Invalides and the entrances of the Grand Palais and Petit Palais, and on both banks of the Seine. There were fifteen thousand exhibitors from twenty different countries, and it was visited by sixteen million people during its seven-month run. The modern style presented at the exposition later became known as “Art Deco”, after the exposition's name.

 

**Queen Anne’s Gate is a street in Westminster, London. Many of the buildings are Grade I listed, known for their Queen Anne architecture. Simon Bradley and Nikolaus Pevsner described the Gate’s early Eighteenth Century houses as “the best of their kind in London.” The street’s proximity to the Palace of Westminster made it a popular residential area for politicians.

 

***The London constituency of Tower Hamlets includes such areas and historic towns as (roughly from west to east) Spitalfields, Whitechapel, Bethnal Green, Wapping, Shadwell, Mile End, Stepney, Limehouse, Old Ford, Bow, Bromley, Poplar, and the Isle of Dogs (with Millwall, the West India Docks, and Cubitt Town), making it a majority working class constituency in 1925 when this story is set. Tower Hamlets included some of the worst slums and societal issues of inequality and poverty in England at that time.

 

****"Style Moderne," often used interchangeably with "Streamline Moderne" or "Art Moderne," is a design style that emerged in the 1930s, characterized by aerodynamic forms, horizontal lines, and smooth, rounded surfaces, often inspired by transportation and industrial design. It represents a streamlined, less ornate version of Art Deco, emphasizing functionality and sleekness. It was first shown at the Paris International Exhibition of Modern Decorative and Industrial Arts of 1925.

 

*****Notre-Dame de Paris, often referred to simply as Notre-Dame, is a medieval Catholic cathedral on the Île de la Cité, in the 4th Arrondissement of Paris. It is the cathedral church of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Paris.

 

******The Paris Pantheon is a neoclassical monument in the city's Latin Quarter, originally commissioned as a church but now serving as a secular mausoleum for prominent French citizens. Built between 1758 and 1790 by architect Jacques-Germain Soufflot, it holds the tombs of figures like Voltaire, Marie Curie, Victor Hugo, and Alexandre Dumas. Following the French Revolution, the building was repurposed to honour national heroes, a role it continues to hold today.

 

*******Cinégraphic was a French film production company founded by director Marcel L'Herbier in the 1920s. It was established following a disagreement between L'Herbier and the Gaumont Company, a major film distributor, over the film "Don Juan et Faust". Cinégraphic was involved in the production of several films, including "Don Juan et Faust" itself. Cinégraphic focused on more experimental and artistic films.

 

********The maître d'hôtel title is usually associated head waiter, host, waiter captain, or maître d' manages the public part, or "front of the house", of a formal restaurant. However, it is also the term used to describe the English equivalent of a butler. The position of "butler" in a household was comparable to the English role, but with different terminology. The French term maître d'hôtel referred to the senior servant in charge of a household. The duties of a domestic maître d'hôtel included overseeing other servants, managing finances, and ensuring the smooth running of the home.

 

*********A demilune table is a console table or accent table with a half-moon or semi-circular top, designed to sit flush against a wall. The name "demilune" is French for "half-moon" and refers to the table's defining curved shape. These tables are often slender and feature a flat back, making them a practical choice for entryways, hallways, or tight spaces where a traditional rectangular table would be cumbersome.

 

**********The Parisian cocktail dates from the 1920s and consists of one third French Vermouth, one third Crème de Cassis and one third gin, shaken well and strained into wide cocktail glass. It falls into a category of drinks that often feature French ingredients or have Parisian connections. Several notable cocktails have gained recognition for their ties to Paris or French culture.

 

***********A "Marie Antoinette glass" typically refers to a champagne coupe, a shallow, bowl-shaped glass with a short stem. While the shape has been linked to Marie Antoinette's breast in popular culture, historical records debunk this claim. The coupe was popular during Marie Antoinette's reign due to the sweeter champagne produced at the time, and its shape was also favoured for its ability to dip cakes in the beverage.

 

************A soixante quinze, more commonly known as a French 75 is a cocktail made from gin, champagne, lemon juice, and sugar. It is also called a 75 cocktail, or in French simply known as a soixante quinze. The drink dates to World War I, when in 1915 an early form was created at the New York Bar in Paris — later Harry's New York Bar — by barman Harry MacElhone.

 

*************A jeune fille à marier was a marriageable young woman, the French term used in fashionable circles and the upper-classes of Edwardian society before the Second World War.

 

**************A cocktail pick is a small, often pointed utensil, typically made of stainless steel or bamboo, used to skewer and hold garnishes like olives, cherries, or fruit for cocktails and appetisers. These reusable picks elevate drink presentation, secure ingredients, and offer a more convenient and stylish alternative to simply dropping garnishes into a drink. They also come in various designs and sizes to match different glasses and events.

 

***************The Follies Bergère is a cabaret music hall in Paris, France. Located at 32 Rue Richer in the 9th Arrondissement, the Folies Bergère was built as an opera house by the architect Plumeret. It opened in May 1869 as the Folies Trévise, with light entertainment including operettas, comic opera, popular songs, and gymnastics. It became the Folies Bergère in September 1872, named after nearby Rue Bergère. The house was at the height of its fame and popularity from the 1890s Belle Époque through the 1920s. Revues featured extravagant costumes, sets and effects, and often nude women. In 1926, Josephine Baker, an African-American expatriate singer, dancer and entertainer, caused a sensation at the Folies Bergère by dancing in a costume consisting of a skirt made of a string of artificial bananas and little else. The institution is still in business, and is still a strong symbol of French and Parisian life.

 

****************The Palais de Glace was a prominent ice-skating rink located on the Champs-Élysées in Paris during the Belle Époque era. Designed by architect Gabriel Davioud, it was known as the “Rotonde du Panorama National” before being converted into the “Palais de Glace” in 1893. The building later became "”he Palace of Nero” during the Universal Exhibition of 1900.

 

*****************Maison Chaumet's history began in Paris in 1780 with jeweller Marie-Étienne Nitot, who became a favourite of Empress Joséphine. The business grew under his successors, eventually being named Chaumet by Joseph Chaumet in the late Nineteenth Century and moving to its iconic Place Vendôme address in 1907. The 1890s saw the continuation of the Maison's legacy, embodying elegance and high-craftsmanship in a period of significant history for the brand. The workshop of the Maison was a hub of activity, with fourteen artisans under the direction of their foreman, continuing the tradition of exquisite jewellery-making. The firm, which still operates from this location, was acquired by the LVMH luxury group in 1999 and continues to pass down its high jewellery expertise through generations of artisans.

 

******************The Tuileries Garden is a public garden between the Louvre and the Place de la Concorde in the first arrondissement of Paris. Created by Catherine de' Medici as the garden of the Tuileries Palace in 1564, it was opened to the public in 1667 and became a public park after the French Revolution. Since the Nineteenth Century, it has been a place for Parisians to celebrate, meet, stroll and relax.

  

*******************The French term “la bougeotte” means restlessness, with a need to move. Although usually used to refer to travel, it can also be used when someone has a desire to seek alternatives elsewhere in their lives and move on from current situations.

 

********************"The Dark Continent" is an outdated term historically used to refer to Africa, particularly Sub-Saharan Africa, due to its perceived mystique and lack of exploration by Europeans in the Nineteenth Century.

 

*********************The old fashioned British term “looking bloody” was a way of indicating how dour or serious a person or occasion looks.

 

**********************Marcelling is a hair styling technique in which hot curling tongs are used to induce a curl into the hair. Its appearance was similar to that of a finger wave but it is created using a different method. Marcelled hair was a popular style for women's hair in the 1920s, often in conjunction with a bob cut. For those women who had longer hair, it was common to tie the hair at the nape of the neck and pin it above the ear with a stylish hair pin or flower. One famous wearer was American entertainer, Josephine Baker.

 

***********************Islington Studios, often known as Gainsborough Studios, were a British film studio located on the south bank of the Regent's Canal, in Poole Street, Hoxton in Shoreditch, London which began operation in 1919. By 1920 they had a two stage studio. It is here that Alfred Hitchcock made his entrée into films.

 

************************We usually think of match or race fixing as a modern day thing, but one of the earliest examples of this sort of match fixing in the modern era occurred in 1898 when Stoke City and Burnley intentionally drew in that year's final "test match" so as to ensure they were both in the First Division the next season. In response, the Football League expanded the divisions to eighteen teams that year, thus permitting the intended victims of the fix (Newcastle United and Blackburn Rovers) to remain in the First Division. The "test match" system was abandoned and replaced with automatic relegation. Match fixing quickly spread to other spots that involved high amounts of gambling, including horse racing.

 

*************************The Durban July Handicap is a South African Thoroughbred horse race held annually on the first Saturday of July since 1897 at Greyville Racecourse in Durban, KwaZulu-Natal. Raced on turf, the Durban July Handicap is open to horses of all ages. It is South Africa's premier horse racing event. When first held in July 1897, the race was at a distance of one mile. The distance was modified several times until 1970 when it was changed to its current eleven furlongs.

 

**************************Midnight blue is darker than navy blue and is generally considered to be the deepest shade of blue, one so dark that it might be mistaken for black. Navy blue is a comparatively lighter hue.

 

***************************Kohl is a cosmetic product, specifically an eyeliner, traditionally made from crushed stibnite (antimony sulfide). Modern formulations often include galena (lead sulfide) or other pigments like charcoal. Kohl is known for its ability to darken the edges of the eyelids, creating a striking, eye-enhancing effect. Kohl has a long history, with ancient Egyptians using it to define their eyes and protect them from the sun and dust, however there was a resurgence in its use in the 1920s and 1930s. In the 1920s, kohl eyeliner was a popular makeup trend, particularly among women embracing the "flapper" aesthetic. It was used to create a dramatic, "smoky eye" look by smudging it onto the lash line and even the inner and outer corners of the eyes. This contrasted with the more demure, natural looks favoured in the pre-war era.

 

****************************A reticule also known as a ridicule or indispensable, was a type of small handbag or purse, typically having a drawstring and decorated with embroidery or beading, similar to a modern evening bag, used mainly from 1795 to before the Great War.

 

This rather elegant scene, showing a corner of Mademoiselle Flanton’s smart and select Parisian flat with its up-to-date Art Deco styling may look real to you, but it is in fact made up entirely of 1:12 size miniatures from my collection.

 

Fun things to look for in this tableau include:

 

The glass topped demilune table in the background is a hand made miniature artisan piece, which sadly is unsigned.

 

The bottles covering Mademoiselle Flanton’s mirrored glass bar surface are all 1:12 of Gordon’s Dry Gin, the bottle of Crème de Menthe, Cinzano, Campari and Martini are also 1:12 artisan miniatures, made of real glass. Most came from Little Things Dollhouse Miniatures in Lancashire, who are well known for the detail and correctness of their labelling, which they pay close attention to. The bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin came from a specialist stockist in Sydney.

 

Gordon's London Dry Gin was developed by Alexander Gordon, a Londoner of Scots descent. He opened a distillery in the Southwark area in 1769, later moving in 1786 to Clerkenwell. The Special London Dry Gin he developed proved successful, and its recipe remains unchanged to this day. The top markets for Gordon's are (in descending order) the United Kingdom, the United States and Greece. Gordon's has been the United Kingdom’s number one gin since the late Nineteenth century. It is the world's best-selling London dry gin.

 

Crème de menthe (French for "mint cream") is a sweet, mint-flavored alcoholic beverage. Crème de menthe is an ingredient in several cocktails popular in the 1920s, such as the Grasshopper and the Stinger. It is also served as a digestif.

 

Cinzano vermouths date back to 1757 and the Turin herbal shop of two brothers, Giovanni Giacomo and Carlo Stefano Cinzano, who created a new "vermouth rosso" (red vermouth) using "aromatic plants from the Italian Alps in a recipe which is still secret to this day.

 

Campari is an Italian alcoholic liqueur, considered an apéritif. It is obtained from the infusion of herbs and fruit (including chinotto and cascarilla) in alcohol and water. It is a bitters, characterised by its dark red colour.

 

Made from hand blown ruby glass, the soda syphon was made by Beautifully Handmade Miniatures in Kettering. The clear glass soda syphon and the porcelain ice bucket and tongs was made by M.W. Reutter Porzellanfabrik in Germany, who specialise in making high quality porcelain miniatures. The glass featuring sparkling gin and tonic water with a slice of lemon on it is also a 1:12 miniature which came, along with the silver cocktail shaker behind it from an online stockist of dollhouse miniatures on E-Bay. The other glasses, the silver basket of roses and the portrait of Mademoiselle Flanton come from Kathleen Knight’s Doll’s House Shop in the United Kingdom.

 

The Art Deco pattern on the wall behind the demilune table, I created myself.

An abstract photo, without representing anything identifiable, can communicate a feeling to the viewer. If I am being honest, I don't know if my abstract photos achieve that goal. Typically, my intent in making the photo is to memorialize and share something cool I found out in nature. Maybe it's a weakness in my work, that I don't start out intending to convey a larger message. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe in the digital age, communicating excitement about the natural world is the message itself. It's a big topic and I will leave it for another day.

 

Rather, today I want to talk about another aspect of abstract nature photography: the detective game. When I see an abstract photo, one of the first things that comes to mind is "what is it?" Is the subject really big, like braided rivers photographed from a plane? Or really tiny, like a marco image of lichen on a rock? Could it be upside down? I think we all do this. It's one of the fun parts of looking at an abstract photo and it can be really satisfying when you solve the puzzle.

 

It's like breaking a code. The difficulty for the photographer is making a puzzle that is solvable, but not so obvious that it isn't challenging. I remember listening to a podcast where a photographer described all images as falling on a spectrum between obvious and cryptic. After that, I looked at my own photos and placed them on that spectrum. I determined that I like photos that are cryptic, but ultimately decipherable with some effort. I'm not sure there's a golden rule of how long it should take, but if it takes you 5 or 10 seconds to figure it out, I think that's pretty good.

 

I made this photo here the day I hiked Black Mountain and Blueberry Mountain. I did them as two separate hikes, but the trailheads are so close together they pair very nicely. I call the combo a "Black and Blue". Maybe someone already came up with that. Everyone has walked past a scene like this. It's a photo of direct sunlight dancing on the surface of a little stream. It's a 1/30 second exposure, which allows the twinkling light on the surface enough time to travel and leave a trail. I dropped the black point and darkened the shadow to eliminate any distraction below the surface water. Not sure if it conveys a larger feeling, but I liked it and felt compelled to make an image.

 

--

 

I was definitely inspired by the work of T.J. Thorne and James Rodewald when I made this image; I wouldn't have even looked for a photo like this had I not seen their work. Also, the podcast I reference is an episode of the F-Stop Collaborate and Listen podcast with guest Michael Rubin.

Mirit Ben Nun: Shortness of breath

'Shortness of breath' is not only a sign of physical weakness, it is a metaphor for a mental state of strong desire that knows no repletion; more and more, an unbearable glut, without repose. Mirit Ben Nun's type of work on the other hand requires an abundance of patience. This is a Sisyphean work (requiring hard labor) of marking lines and dots, filling every empty millimeter with brilliant blots. Therefore we are facing a paradox or a logical conflict. A patient and effortful work that stems from an urgent need to cover and fill, to adorn and coat. Her craft of layering reaches a state of a continuous ceremonial ritual.

This ritual digests every object into itself - useful or discarded -- available and ordinary or rare and exceptional -- they submit and devote to the overlay work. Mirit BN gathers scrap off the streets -- cardboard rolls of fabric, assortments of wooden boards and pieces, plates and planks -- and constructs a new link, her own syntax, which she alone is fully responsible for. The new combination -- a type of a sculptural construction -- goes through a process of patching by the act of painting.

In fact Mirit regards her three dimensional objects as a platform for painting, with a uniform continuity, even if it has obstacles, mounds and valleys. These objects beg her to paint, to lay down colors, to set in motion an intricate weave of abstract patterns that at times finds itself wandering the contours of human images and sometimes -- not. In those cases what is left is the monotonous activity of running the patterns, inch by inch, till their absolute coverage, till a short and passing instant of respite and than on again to a new onset.

Next to this assembly of garbage and it's recycling into 'painted sculptures' Mirit offers a surprising reunion between her illustrated objects and so called cheap African sculpture; popular artifacts or articles that are classified in the standard culture as 'primitive'.

This combination emphasizes the difference between her individualistic performance and the collective creation which is translated into cultural clichés. The wood carved image creates a moment of peace within the crowded bustle; an introverted image, without repetitiveness and reverberation. This meeting of strangers testifies that Mirit' work could not be labeled under the ´outsiders art´ category. She is a one woman school who is compelled to do the art work she picked out to perform. Therefore she isn't creating ´an image´ such as the carved wooden statues, but she produces breathless ´emotional jam' whose highest values are color, motion, beauty and plenitude. May it never lack, neither diluted, nor dull for even an instant

 

Tali Tamir

  

Name: Deathwar

 

Powers: super human strength and agility, fire resistant.

 

Weakness: when his nemesis dies - he dies. blood lust - rage like behaviour controlled by his creator which he can learn to resist.

 

Deathwar was born long ago when time was young and live his life as a fearless leader and a skilled fighter who was loved by his people. Little he knew that his true challenge lies many moons after his passing.

 

In a freak accident on a spell casting experiment, Djurig the conjurer pulled his soul from the afterlife and tied it to body he created for Hellmaster to lead his army.

 

Distraught by the event, he tried to take his own life only to learn that he can not die while Djurig and Hellmaster still lives. and only when both of them dies with his own hands he can return to the afterlife.

 

Unwilling to do his new masters bidding, Deathwar escaped from Djurig and Hellmaster clutches barley escaping from the horde of doom that was unleashed to capture him.

 

Now he vows to fight evil and will not stop until Djurig and Hellmaster's plan ends in failure and kill them both with his vengeance.

 

________________________________________________

 

My first entry for LoH character! let me know what you think.

 

Well not much of a writer, but i guess you get what i mean for his back story.

 

 

Mirit Ben Nun: Shortness of breath

'Shortness of breath' is not only a sign of physical weakness, it is a metaphor for a mental state of strong desire that knows no repletion; more and more, an unbearable glut, without repose. Mirit Ben Nun's type of work on the other hand requires an abundance of patience. This is a Sisyphean work (requiring hard labor) of marking lines and dots, filling every empty millimeter with brilliant blots. Therefore we are facing a paradox or a logical conflict. A patient and effortful work that stems from an urgent need to cover and fill, to adorn and coat. Her craft of layering reaches a state of a continuous ceremonial ritual.

This ritual digests every object into itself - useful or discarded -- available and ordinary or rare and exceptional -- they submit and devote to the overlay work. Mirit BN gathers scrap off the streets -- cardboard rolls of fabric, assortments of wooden boards and pieces, plates and planks -- and constructs a new link, her own syntax, which she alone is fully responsible for. The new combination -- a type of a sculptural construction -- goes through a process of patching by the act of painting.

In fact Mirit regards her three dimensional objects as a platform for painting, with a uniform continuity, even if it has obstacles, mounds and valleys. These objects beg her to paint, to lay down colors, to set in motion an intricate weave of abstract patterns that at times finds itself wandering the contours of human images and sometimes -- not. In those cases what is left is the monotonous activity of running the patterns, inch by inch, till their absolute coverage, till a short and passing instant of respite and than on again to a new onset.

Next to this assembly of garbage and it's recycling into 'painted sculptures' Mirit offers a surprising reunion between her illustrated objects and so called cheap African sculpture; popular artifacts or articles that are classified in the standard culture as 'primitive'.

This combination emphasizes the difference between her individualistic performance and the collective creation which is translated into cultural clichés. The wood carved image creates a moment of peace within the crowded bustle; an introverted image, without repetitiveness and reverberation. This meeting of strangers testifies that Mirit' work could not be labeled under the ´outsiders art´ category. She is a one woman school who is compelled to do the art work she picked out to perform. Therefore she isn't creating ´an image´ such as the carved wooden statues, but she produces breathless ´emotional jam' whose highest values are color, motion, beauty and plenitude. May it never lack, neither diluted, nor dull for even an instant

 

Tali Tamir

Children in Bora Bora Lagoon...

 

French Polynesia

 

♫♪♫ My Weakness ♫♪♫ (ma faiblesse)

 

Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without

my explicit permission. © All rights reserved.

From the moment I understood the weakness of my flesh, it disgusted me. I craved the strength and certainty of plastic. I aspired to the purity of the Blessed Brick. Your kind cling to your flesh, as though it will not decay and fail you. One day the crude biomass you call the temple will wither, and you will beg my kind to save you. But I am already saved, for the Brick is immortal… Even in death I serve Denmark.

Our greatest weakness lies in giving up. The most certain way to succeed is always to try just one more time.

 

-Thomas A. Edison

 

FLICKR:

Connect with me: JasonGambone.com * Instagram * Facebook * Twitter * Purchase Prints

 

I have a weakness for walnut Victorian furniture and wanted something with a smaller footprint than the big oak desk I have been using for decades. I found this on Facebook Marketplace, about 70 miles from home. The oak desk is going to go live with my oldest grandson.

You are the light in my darkness

You are the strength in my weakness

You are the joy in my sadness

You are the strength in my weakness

 

What fool am I that I would love someone who brings me pain?

But given chance I’d follow heart and seek you out again

The days of light are worth the darkest depths of our despair

How can I show you, really show you, just how much I care?

** (Not written by me) **

These are OCs. I have either updated the design/story or made entirely new characters. Most of these are brand new characters.

 

From Left-Right:

 

Liberator:

 

Real Name: Marcus Sawyer

 

Equipment: Uniform

 

Powers/Abilities: Flight, Super-Strength, Superhuman Durability, and Speed (Speed only when he flies).

 

Weaknesses: More powerful beings.

 

Backstory: (this is improved, kinda)

 

The Origin Story: (skip this stuff if you want to see something new)

 

As a child, Marcus always wanted to be a soldier. When Marcus was 16, he dropped out of school with his friend Oscar (Overkill) and joined the U.S. Army. Marcus was one of the best soldiers through this strengths and his abilities. Sadly, Oscar was dishonorably discharged. Marcus was tempted to leave the army, but he didn't. In order to get over the fact that Oscar was discharged, he joined the U.S. Experimentation Program. Marcus and a few other colleagues gained superhuman powers, most of which were the standard increased strength, speed, endurance, and agility. However, Marcus got lucky with his dose of the experimental serum, Marcus got the highest score out of his group along with the ability to fly. Soon after Marcus gained his powers, the U.S. Government asked Marcus and his colleagues to be superheroes. Most declined, the only 3 that accepted were Marcus, Dutch Garret and Richard Moss. Those three men would go off as Superheroes to the public with Marcus becoming the American Hero, Dutch becoming the Super-Soldier, and Richard becoming the Mossberg. Unfortunately, Marcus had a problem with other people so the team never worked out with all of them leaving Marcus alone. Marcus would soon realize his problems and try to fix them. He donned a new suit and called himself the Liberator.

 

The New Stuff: (Read this new stuff)

 

As the Liberator, he gained tons of attention. He was everyone's favorite superhero. The Liberator soon tracked down Oscar Kilroy, one of Marcus's friends during his Army service. They regained their friendship until Marcus realized what Oscar was doing. Marcus was then shot at by Kilroy, forcing Marcus to knock him out. Marcus flew away to stop more bigger crimes. Due to Marcus's popularity he gained interest by other superhero, Nightshift. Nightshift stalked Marcus, until Marcus grabbed the hero by the neck. Nightshift told him what he was doing (See Nightshift's page for more info), and Marcus let go, apologizing for his actions. After realizing that the US Government was keeping secrets from him, was caught and attacked by the Superhero team, the Saints. The Liberator was brutally beat up and nearly killed by the Saints. It was only when the team, Saviors chimed in to the fight and saved Liberator. Liberator finally accepted the offer to join the Saviors and the Liberator's problem with people soon disappeared.

______________________________________________

 

Freezer:

 

Real Name: Unknown, goes by the name Fridge or by his Superhero name.

 

Aliases: Fridge, Freezer

 

Equipment: Uniform with Built in Heater.

 

Powers/Abilities: Can change the temperature of water vapor, commonly freezes vapor, but sometimes heats it up to make steam.

 

Weaknesses: Fridge isn't actually resistant to his powers, meaning he can die from frostbite or burn up.

 

Backstory:

 

Fridge was born in an unstable household. He always moved schools and he was used to change. However, when he met a new friend right before moving day. Fridge ended up deciding to stay, so he deserted his family and moved in with his new friend, Choi. Fridge then found a questionable lab in a room underneath Choi's bed. He took a pill he found thinking it was a piece of candy and gained super powers. Then, Choi walked in. They got into an argument and soon a fight, Choi quickly realized the pills he gave Chandler (Titan) gave people super powers. Choi quickly gobbled one down and he too now has super powers. Fridge and Choi soon joined the Saints, until leaving realizing their true goal.

_____________________________________________

 

Red Volcano:

 

Real Name: Daniel Choi

 

Aliases: Red, and Red Volcano

 

Powers/Abilities: Can turn into solid Magma, Increased Endurance and Increased Strength when in his rock form.

 

Weaknesses: More stronger beings, hates Titan

 

Backstory:

 

Daniel was just your average student, a punching bag, decent grades, but he and several kids had enough. They made pills for the school bully, Chandler. The pills accidentally gave Chandler powers and he became Titan. Daniel also became great friends with Fridge. Together, they discovered that the pills gave super powers. He and Fridge took the supplements and joined the Saints. After realizing the Saints’ true plan, they left and joined the Saviors.

______________________________________________

 

Radiohead:

 

Real Name: William “Willy” Woods

 

Alias: Radiohead

 

Powers/Abilities: Technopathy (Control over electronic devices), can understand any language, and can learn any martial art/hand to hand combat technique.

 

Weaknesses: Willy isn’t flexible and doing certain kicks can exhaust him.

 

Backstory: Willy was the type of kid who didn’t plan ahead, he would quit school sometimes and play video games during his free time. His family was quite poor, so he had to take the left overs of old consoles. He reconstructed an NES and found a mysterious game. He inserted the game into the slot and started playing. The game was secretly coded by a suicidal man and it was meant to kill whoever played the game. Instead, Willy found this out and quickly destroyed the NES. Unfortunately, Willy took some of the game’s powers and he became a super villain wreaking havoc across the city. The Saviors apprehended him, and have since lifted the curse within the game. Willy is now in the Saviors as a reserve member as well as being their eyes in the sky.

 

Venom Issue #1 "Love - Pilot"

 

Love is the feeling you endure, not by choice, but by nature. Love hurts it burns, it can be a weakness that makes you want to end it all. It can consume you and make you do things that you can regret but, Love can be strength that you need to survive, without Love what are we, what are you? You're nothing without it. Love is symbiotic, it's sweet poison that fills your veins, it's Venom.

  

The heavy rain pelts the concrete without remorse, the dark alley in which I lurk is cold and unforgiving. My once thick rubbery skin has wilted away and began to flake as I waste away, without a host I am nothing. My body begs for a companion just someone to bind to, to feel the heat of another, it's in my nature. Although there is this niggling in the back of my mind that reminds me that I cannot overcome another separation, I may have been with many companions but when you're constantly hurt you begin to form a shield of your own. Wade Willson was a soul I could much relate to at the beginning. He was lonely but overtime I began to understand why, he had a scar in his head that nothing could hea, not even me. Like an infection it spread and soon corrupted my own thoughts, made us both do bad things that we regretted but what hurt more was the separation. I could not take the pain any longer, when I was hurt and vulnerable I suck out another to be with. I'll never forget Peter, he was complicated as an individual but more so as Spider-Man. I felt like the two of us made a difference to the city but he disagreed with the killing, I didn't understand killing was normal with Wade, doesn't matter though I never got a chance to explain. He hurt me that day and we were divided once more, two halves waiting to be merged through the hands of fate but fate had a different path for me, a different someone. Eddie Brock.

 

Just reminiscing about the emotions felt when me and Eddie were one were something none of the others came close to. Hate, Regret, Acceptance and Peace were the bonds we shared together for years. Like many there were days we would fight and days we would grieve there were even days we saved the world, those were the best. Not a day goes by where I don't ache for Eddie but he made me leave when he got sick. Brain Cancer is something not even I can prevent. It was then Eddie forced us to split, didn't want me to be weak like him. However now just like Eddie I sit awaiting death. I do not trust to be with another not after the wounds I have already bared through but like Eddie, I will not give up. He will get better, he will want me again, if I am strong we can be one again, we can be Venom.

 

My body crawls with excitement at the thought of bonding with Eddie again but right now I must leech off another to get stronger. I seep through the cracks of the alley foundation sensing a strong presence nearby and sluggishly inch closer towards the one I lust for. The man walks briskly down the bustling streets, his long soaking black hair cascades down over his grim face and I peel back my lips in a smile waiting hungrily for him to approach counting down the seconds until I lunge at him. 3...2....1

 

Alias: Flyra

Real Name: Ceana Gilios

Gender: Female

Weakness: Since her powers come from her suit, if she doesn't have her suit on, she's at a very huge disadvantage.

Backstory: Growing up, Ceana couldn't really find her purpose in life. From academics, to athletics, nothing really piqued her interest. Because of this, she didn't really fit in with any of her fellow peers. So she would sit alone most of the time, with her earbuds in, listening to music. She is envious of her peers that have a set goal in mind.. After she got through high-school, she would end up getting a job at a typical retail store as a cashier. One day, she was caught stealing money from the register, and was fired instantly. That night, she decided to start drinking at McQuinn's Pub & Grub, where she would meet Ian Rathais, who is also known as the Supervillain Jetstream. He saw something in her that night, and managed to convince her to come with him. He would show her a prototype armour he made years ago before he came up with the Jetstream costume. The prototype didn't really contain the power he wanted, so it's just been there waiting. It would allow the wearer of the armour to create and manipulate force fields. He offered her a purpose, and as she's been searching one for her whole life, how could she refuse? This led to them robbing many different stores, starting small, and going bigger with each attempt. They would never go after McQuinn's Pub & Grub, as they respect the work that goes into that establishment, and they already have enough trouble with the mob asking for protection money. She found for the first time in her life, she was actually having fun. This would eventually lead to them falling in love. Calling herself Flyra (as reference of sorts to flyrokinesis, which is the technical term for her powers.), she fights alongside Jetstream, stealing whatever they can.

 

Status: Alive and well. Works with her boyfriend, Jetstream, trying to earn a living in Cardinal City.

For most of my life the gym was my sanctuary, my escape, my addiction, my strength, my weakness...my prison.

 

As a young child I would find refuge in a book. Whenever I began to notice being different and feeling confused about my gender, I would turn to a book, always reading. As I grew into a teenager and understood my dilemma of being transgender, I was determined to fight it. I purchased a weight set and bench without my parents knowing. When it arrived, my Dad asked “Where are you going to put it?” We lived in a small house and space was a luxury. He then said jokingly, “What are you going to do? Take out your bed?”. Thankful for his suggestion, I said, “That’s exactly what I am going to do.” The fight was on.

 

Within a year, I was a new person. Suddenly, the nerdy guy who liked to read was now the muscular dude. I was accepted by all everywhere but, secretly, I was fighting a losing battle and thus the love/hate relationship began. I would work so hard to win the public’s opinion and loathe what I would see in the mirror. I was in constant battle with myself. When pondering transitioning, I hated what I saw in the mirror, what I had done. All those muscles were my battle scars. Years of fighting against who I was. I’m glad that the war is over and I have finally won.

 

With that said, the gym is a part of my life, it always will be. I enjoy going now and look forward to starting each morning there...it’s my cup of coffee, so to speak. Now I strive to find the balance that will produce a healthy, fit and feminine appearance.

Not all ideas are good ideas and even the powerful and experimented Kuat Drive Yards (KDY) engineers can fail utterly. The AT-AC or All Terrain Armored Crawler is a perfect example of one of these false good ideas.

While the supremacy of the AT-AT on the field was not to be demonstrated anymore, particularly after the crushing imperial victory on Hoth, the Imperial Army still complained about the AT-AT expensive cost per unit and its highly demanding maintenance.

KDY engineered went back to their plans and after a few months, they proposed the AT-AC. The concept was quite simple, starting from the successful AT-AT, they replaced the costly maintenance-intensive articulated legs by continuous track systems.

When presenting the AT-AC to the Imperial Army, KDY was proud to claim that it was significantly less expensive than the original AT-AT, that it required only one third of the AT-AT maintenance time, while still retaining the same firepower and robust protection.

Unfortunately, the first field deployments quickly demonstrated all weaknesses of the AT-AC. Because of its great armor and protection, it was heavy and because it was heavy, it was really slow when crawling, its speed approaching ridiculous levels when the landscape was not ideal. The second issue comes from the change of height. While crawling on the ground, the AT-AC was no more inspiring fear but also found itself very limited in its fire coverage ability.

As consequence, the limited number of assembled prototypes have been assigned to 3rd class garrisons on planets with limited local technological civilizations. Surprisingly, the troopers reported only positive feedback about their AT-AC. These were offering comfortable, reliable and well protected transportation and the lack of agility was not a real issue when battling primitive tribes and species. It is even rumored that some COMPNOR officers would have confessed that with AT-AC on Endor instead of AT-ST, the rebellion (not to mention the despised Ewoks) would never had won.

One last remark about the AT-AC. According to several concurring sources, it would have been nicknamed Crawling Armored Transport (C.A.T.) among the troops. COMPNOR supposes that it may related to some kind of resemblance to an animal on one of the remote planets where the AT-AC operates.

Disclaimer: the above is 100% fiction.

 

"Creo en el poder de la debilidad"

Pat Buckley

 

---

 

Blog I Facebookr I Twitter I Instagram

"Why you act frightened

I am enlightened

Your weakness builds me

So someday you'll see

 

I stay away"

 

Alice In Chains_I Stay Away

 

Sometimes, great timing happens and everything connects for one short moment in life and makes you feel present in the universe.

 

As I was turning from a corner, I saw these delightful autumnal colours around the red brick wall and there walked a lovely young person dressed in perfect matching colours with Nature.

At that very moment, she had the same thoughts--as I learned a minute later--and that's when I stopped her for a portrait.

 

It was easy to talk to Riina, 23y/o, almost 24, in a fortnight. She acted naturally in front of my camera and my camera loved her. She become one with this delightful autumnal tableau.

 

Riina is a student of philosophy; her reflections upon my questions emphasised her philosophical education. I would have loved to discuss longer with her, but there wasn't enough time. She was on her way to support the Extinction Rebellion, the global environmental movement's manifestation in town. She did, however, promise to answer my questions by returning email.

 

I sent her the photos and was so glad to receive her answers within a few hours.

The floor is yours, Riina.

 

"When one is asked about "The Meaning of Life" I like to paraphrase whomever it was--I don't remember where I heard this and whether I'm remembering it right--who said that life does not have a meaning per se, but things within life have meanings, which I think, gets formed through specific subject's experiences and that same subjects relations to things they bump into within these experiences.

I'm talking about the meanings of life since those things that have a meaning or meanings to this specific subject, are the things that inspire me and are connected, I think, to all the your questions. So, at this moment in time I'm rather into--which means deeply in love with--books, philosophy, dancing, nature, especially forests, humour, especially satire, animals, especially dolphins, art, history, solitude, walking, writing and, I guess, thinking. These are the things I do in life, that I like to do in my spare time and that inspire me.

 

"What I love about myself is that I'm insanely curious--it brings a lot of meaning to my existence and keeps me, most of the time, rather satisfied, by which I mean excited and joyful. Interestingly, it seems that the more curious you are, the more curious you get; and the more curious you get, the more you get the learn. And I've had some amazing luck with ending up being this almost strangely inquisitive person. I really dig it!

 

"The Younger-Me question was to me definitely the easiest to answer; I would advice her to not be so deeply afraid of feelings, to not think of them as something one should wish to get rid of or worse, hide them and imagine them non-existent. It would have made things a lot easier, I suppose, if I'd understood feelings as mentionable, understandable, acceptable and manageable and not as some kind of demonic and horrible signs-of-weaknesses.

 

"And I thought a lot about what I would say to the world, but I suppose I can't imagine myself being a worthy advice-giver, since I'm myself actively trying to find a way to flourish. However, there's this one thought-provoker I like, which often helps me to answer a question of what it is that I "ought" to do in any specific situation; that is, "Imagine a person who would be in your opinion morally 'perfectly good'. How would they act in this situation?" I like this since it leaves us to imagine our own kind of goodness and own kind of perfection--which in my case means a person who definitely is not "perfect" in all kinds of situations, not even in most situations--and I don't have to end up implying that I'd know better about living a flourishing life than I do. It's kind of a version of "What would [...] do?" but a more imaginative one."

 

Thank you, Riina, I was happy to run into you so totally randomly, a second later and we would have missed each other. You were a breath of fresh air.

 

"It was really great to meet you, Ann, this was a lot of fun! I've never experienced anything like this and I appreciate you and all this!"

Riina

  

This is my 858th submission to The Human Family group.

Visit the group here to see more portraits and stories: The Human Family

I have thought quite a long time what this picture and posing might suggest. I came to a conclusion. Kai looks rather exhausted and weak here. I thought he is as red as an autumn leaf that is also to exhausted to stay on its tree. It falls down. Kai should symbolise that leaf.

 

Gods strength IS made perfect in my weakness. I am finding this out daily. Many of you know i am going through some difficult times with sickness. They are doing some biopsies today on my throat and i have some swollen lymph nodes that may have to be looked at also. But all this said.. I am strong because I know that my God is already there! He is already planning for the moment they tell me what is wrong! I have no reason to worry..his plans are greater than me. I can be assured of His strength when i am weak!

 

Explored

Lumen print

Mirit Ben Nun: Shortness of breath

'Shortness of breath' is not only a sign of physical weakness, it is a metaphor for a mental state of strong desire that knows no repletion; more and more, an unbearable glut, without repose. Mirit Ben Nun's type of work on the other hand requires an abundance of patience. This is a Sisyphean work (requiring hard labor) of marking lines and dots, filling every empty millimeter with brilliant blots. Therefore we are facing a paradox or a logical conflict. A patient and effortful work that stems from an urgent need to cover and fill, to adorn and coat. Her craft of layering reaches a state of a continuous ceremonial ritual.

This ritual digests every object into itself - useful or discarded -- available and ordinary or rare and exceptional -- they submit and devote to the overlay work. Mirit BN gathers scrap off the streets -- cardboard rolls of fabric, assortments of wooden boards and pieces, plates and planks -- and constructs a new link, her own syntax, which she alone is fully responsible for. The new combination -- a type of a sculptural construction -- goes through a process of patching by the act of painting.

In fact Mirit regards her three dimensional objects as a platform for painting, with a uniform continuity, even if it has obstacles, mounds and valleys. These objects beg her to paint, to lay down colors, to set in motion an intricate weave of abstract patterns that at times finds itself wandering the contours of human images and sometimes -- not. In those cases what is left is the monotonous activity of running the patterns, inch by inch, till their absolute coverage, till a short and passing instant of respite and than on again to a new onset.

Next to this assembly of garbage and it's recycling into 'painted sculptures' Mirit offers a surprising reunion between her illustrated objects and so called cheap African sculpture; popular artifacts or articles that are classified in the standard culture as 'primitive'.

This combination emphasizes the difference between her individualistic performance and the collective creation which is translated into cultural clichés. The wood carved image creates a moment of peace within the crowded bustle; an introverted image, without repetitiveness and reverberation. This meeting of strangers testifies that Mirit' work could not be labeled under the ´outsiders art´ category. She is a one woman school who is compelled to do the art work she picked out to perform. Therefore she isn't creating ´an image´ such as the carved wooden statues, but she produces breathless ´emotional jam' whose highest values are color, motion, beauty and plenitude. May it never lack, neither diluted, nor dull for even an instant

 

Tali Tamir

"Moby - My Weakness"

www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lrq5oGHdrY

Mirit Ben Nun: Shortness of breath

'Shortness of breath' is not only a sign of physical weakness, it is a metaphor for a mental state of strong desire that knows no repletion; more and more, an unbearable glut, without repose. Mirit Ben Nun's type of work on the other hand requires an abundance of patience. This is a Sisyphean work (requiring hard labor) of marking lines and dots, filling every empty millimeter with brilliant blots. Therefore we are facing a paradox or a logical conflict. A patient and effortful work that stems from an urgent need to cover and fill, to adorn and coat. Her craft of layering reaches a state of a continuous ceremonial ritual.

This ritual digests every object into itself - useful or discarded -- available and ordinary or rare and exceptional -- they submit and devote to the overlay work. Mirit BN gathers scrap off the streets -- cardboard rolls of fabric, assortments of wooden boards and pieces, plates and planks -- and constructs a new link, her own syntax, which she alone is fully responsible for. The new combination -- a type of a sculptural construction -- goes through a process of patching by the act of painting.

In fact Mirit regards her three dimensional objects as a platform for painting, with a uniform continuity, even if it has obstacles, mounds and valleys. These objects beg her to paint, to lay down colors, to set in motion an intricate weave of abstract patterns that at times finds itself wandering the contours of human images and sometimes -- not. In those cases what is left is the monotonous activity of running the patterns, inch by inch, till their absolute coverage, till a short and passing instant of respite and than on again to a new onset.

Next to this assembly of garbage and it's recycling into 'painted sculptures' Mirit offers a surprising reunion between her illustrated objects and so called cheap African sculpture; popular artifacts or articles that are classified in the standard culture as 'primitive'.

This combination emphasizes the difference between her individualistic performance and the collective creation which is translated into cultural clichés. The wood carved image creates a moment of peace within the crowded bustle; an introverted image, without repetitiveness and reverberation. This meeting of strangers testifies that Mirit' work could not be labeled under the ´outsiders art´ category. She is a one woman school who is compelled to do the art work she picked out to perform. Therefore she isn't creating ´an image´ such as the carved wooden statues, but she produces breathless ´emotional jam' whose highest values are color, motion, beauty and plenitude. May it never lack, neither diluted, nor dull for even an instant

 

Tali Tamir

I am going to talk about a topic most would consider to be very sensitive and that is pornography. So if you don’t feel comfortable reading about it please stop whenever you like to. Of course I will talk about it from my personal experience. I will try not to focus on porn or talk about it in details, as my goal is not to assist others to indulge in sin but to glorify God for the freedom He has given me. I will start by talking about the photo first.

 

First of all I want to say that talking about being addicted to porn is not easy. I had considered talking about for some time but didn’t really want to do so. So I decided, like I do often, is to lie down and talk to God and think about why I didn’t want to write about it. The reason was simple: I didn’t want people to have a bad idea about me. The final point was: I wanted to keep my image “clean” like so many of us Christians like to do. However, after some thought I came to this conclusion:

 

1) I was born a sinner and I am as sinful in my nature as anybody else ever lived on earth, so there is no point in acting like I am better than anybody else.

 

2) I am who I am because of who I am in Christ, and that’s because of His perfect and finished work on the Cross: His death for my sins. Not because of anything good in me or about me.

 

3) When I accepted Jesus I basically gave Him ownership over me. In other words, there is no more “my reputation”, “my name”, “my this” and “my that”. Everything belongs to Him now. Of course I thought that I could simply avoid talking about this topic and “act” as if there is something special about me. But the truth is that He is special and I am special only because the Holy Spirit, who is special, lives in me.

 

4) For Christ to be lifted through me I must be lowered. For Him to be glorified I must tell the world about who I was before Christ.

 

5) I didn’t want to be a hypocrite! Of course, as we all know, being a hypocrite is much easier than a lot of things in life. (And believe me it is much easier to be a hypocrite than to live the Christian life, but only through living the Christian life we can find true fulfillment in Jesus.) But if I claim that I belong to Christ and that my identity is wrapped up in who I am in Him, a prince and a child of the living and holy One, then I have to act upon this claim. Otherwise I am simply being a hypocrite. I cannot say that my value and worth are in Him, when I value myself in how others see me.

 

So I will start my story now…

 

When I was in my teens back home, and I would be taking the bus in the evening sometimes I would look at my hand and be completely amazed by the orange sun light reflecting off of it, especially the amount of details God has put in the skin! And because I like to draw, shadows have always amazed me. Until now I try to emphasize shadows and contrast in my photos. So a couple of days ago I was studying when it was sunset and I looked at my hand and again I loved the amount of details in the skin. So I took few photos and after some editing, I realized this photo can be very fitting to talk about Jesus Christ’s favour in setting us free from sin. So here is my final product. I hope you like it. (Special thanks to Gimp!)

 

I didn’t soak the hand with orange colour and dark shadows because I want to talk about a light that’s brighter than the sun’s: the light of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. That’s why I kept the light white.

 

I was not familiar with pornography until I came to Canada, and especially after I bought my first computer. Like so many others I started watching porn because of curiosity. I accepted Jesus in my life before I came to Canada though. Being still an immature Christian, spiritually like a few days old infant, I was an easy prey to Satan’s lies.

 

Then porn turned to more than just curiosity—it became a habit. Then from a habit it became an addiction. It pretty much consumed hours of my daily life, and all my energy. It cost me a lot in school as my marks dropped dramatically. My relationship with God was reduced to “hi” and “bye”!

 

I tried to quit many times but I couldn’t. I knew it was wrong but by then it was too strong of an addiction to break free from. I hated it and loved it at the same time. I hated it because it ruined every aspect of my life. I loved it because I was emotionally dependent on it: it was my idol. (For more on Idols you might be interested in reading: www.flickr.com/photos/001fj/2334638980/

 

Pornography was a very strange affair. I mean, when I went out I tried not to lust after women but when I came home I entertained the worst thoughts for hours! One of the worst things about porn is that it gets worse overtime. You never start at a low level and stay there; you stoop to lower levels because after a while those materials are not satisfying anymore. Can you imagine the helplessness people who are addicted to porn feel? Can you imagine the feeling of entrapment? Can you imagine not only seeing yourself in a very bad situation but also seeing yourself heading toward a worse situation and you are going by your own will simply because you couldn’t resist doing the thing that is hurting you and eventually will destroy you!

 

It is like standing in a hole and digging it to make it deeper and deeper and deeper.

 

One summer break I spent it pretty much editing photos using Photoshop and listening to Dr. Charles Stanley. In one sermon he was talking about how God sets us free and the bottom line was that we have to:

1) Realize and admit our situation and helplessness

2) Trust that God can free us

3) Surrender ourselves, lives and hearts to Him

 

So I tried it. I went to pray and told God all those three points and I meant them—I truly believed and knew that I couldn’t free myself from this sin, and I knew that God was a good God who loved me and cared about me….but, I didn’t know how to surrender! I mean if I was in a war then I could take a piece of white cloth and put it on a stick, raise it up and walk toward the enemy. They would see the white piece of cloth and would know that I am surrendering, but how do you do that spiritually? I mean, it is more than words just as in the scenario of the battlefield above: I have to raise (action word) the stick, and walk (another action word) toward the enemy. But how do you surrender spiritually?

 

Needless to say after that prayer I went back to pornography as if I had not even prayed it! I knew Dr. Stanley is a godly man so I knew he wouldn’t teach something false, but I simply didn’t know how to apply it. So I kept trying to break free from pornography using all methods I knew from self-control (emphasis on the word “self”; I am not talking about the self-control we have by focusing on Christ and putting Him first in our lives), to using filters to always keeping the windows and door open, etc…nothing worked.

 

God wasn’t completely silent in those couple of years when I was addicted to porn. I can recall some other time when God completely cut all communication with me until I obeyed Him in a certain matter (thank God He did that!), but that was not the case in those two years. I think God knew that I was helpless against breaking free from porn. He knew I was too young spiritually to abandon me completely to my weakness and leave me completely at Satan’s mercy (as if he has any!)

 

A particular scary moment was when one night after indulging in sin for hours I stood and planned to go carry out a sinful act. After a couple steps it was as if God slapped me so hard that He woke me up from a nightmare; the only thing is that I was not dreaming--it was real life! I had so foolishly bought Satan’s lies to the degree that I was going to carry them out! I froze and couldn’t move for few seconds because it was as if God had blocked my way. Then I realized that I was basically a slave of Satan if I kept believing what he told me. I was like a zombie having all sense sucked out of me and so dead in my sins.

 

Nothing can explain God's intervention in that moment better than this song:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z_SjhKJgqGg

 

I also realized that I was not so different from Ted Bundy or any other serial killer and rapist. I was a step away from going that road if it wasn’t for God mercy, grace, love and compassion. I can never be thankful enough for Him for intervening in that moment. We were all born sinners, and according to God holiness that demands divine justice we all deserve the death penalty. That’s why our Lord had to die for our sins to be forgiven. So please, next time you hear about a criminal so “evil” ask yourself those two questions: 1) Can Jesus’ blood forgive all his sin? Yes, or no? 2) Can God change him? Yes, or no? The answer is yes to both questions. (Check this man’s testimony if you like to: www.youtube.com/watch?v=sIfQ-aBham4

 

One time I managed to stay away from pornography for 18 days! I was so happy but when I fell to sin again I was more miserable than ever before! I knew that I couldn’t do better than that. That was about half a year after listening to Dr. Stanley’s message.

 

So sometime in March of 2003 I went to pray at night. And I basically told God that I had enough and that I wasn’t going to pray anymore. I was ending my relationship with Him! I didn’t know better at the time that He paid a high price to adopt me into His family and He wasn’t just going to let me go! I was so tired of pretending that my religion works when it didn’t! I became a Christian not looking for a religion, but because the God of the Bible was so real I wanted to know Him…I wanted to experience what He did and said He would do. But it was not working! It was also so repulsive to me to come pray to God when I had so disgustingly disobeyed Him! It was like lusting after women all day long then going home and kissing my wife and pretending that everything is “fine”, (by the way, it is NOT “fine” with God and His opinion is the only opinion that matters if not now then later!). I simply couldn’t carry a relationship with a Holy God when I was so steeped into sin. I was crying when I told Him “good-by” because I had really wanted Christianity to work since it was the only faith that held its own claims and its God was so real that it would require more faith for me not to believe in Him than to believe in Him! (How much faith does it take to believe in gravity? None, because we know it exists! That’s the same case with our God.) So I told Him that I don’t care anymore. I give up. I can’t break free from pornography’s hold on me, and He isn’t helping me. So I give up and won’t try to resist porn anymore. I was too tired to try to please a God who wasn’t willing to help me with my burdens.

 

I don’t remember exactly what day it was that I prayed that prayer but I know it was in the last 10 days of March, 2003. So I stood up and thought that was the end…that all those prayers I had prayed and He answered, the peace He has given me, the joy, and the awesome awareness of His presence I had experienced before…were all things I had imagined.

 

Next day I didn’t watch porn, and I thought because I was busy with school work. The day after I didn’t watch porn either and I thought because the whole week was a busy week with school work! After a week I realized that I didn’t watch porn for the last week nor did I think about it or desired to watch it! That’s when it hit me: I was free! Hallelujah, Jesus set me free! Christianity works! My wonderful God is real! Everything He did before was real! So I went to pray again, and asked Him what I should do now! He put on my heart to go to www.settingcaptivesfree.com/home/our_courses.php and register! So I did, and went through the online program for 2 months. And I have been free from pornography since that March night until today. I had a friend in high school was struggling with pornography too. He was from Pakistan and when I told him that I was free he didn’t understand how. I couldn’t explain it more to my friend than the blind man, whom our Lord Jesus healed, answered in John 9:25:

 

He replied, "…One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!"

 

It took me a while to realize that the Biblical principle in Dr. Stanley’s sermon works! What I did in that prayer is simply I gave up: surrendered. I stopped trying to do it in my own strength. I stopped trying to fight God’s war for Him. I stopped trying to earn His favour. I stopped trying to win my way according to my timing. I ceased striving.

 

If you read Gideon’s story, the story Dr. Stanley based his sermon outlines on, you will realize God did the same thing with Gideon and His army. I truly encourage you to read it. You can find it in the book of Judges.

 

Why did God free me this way? Well there are many reasons, here are some:

 

1) He wants to bring Himself the glory. If we do it on our own and succeed what does that tell the world about Him? Nothing. Then I could’ve written this whole story without a mention of Him. But the fact is I couldn’t break free from pornography on my own in a million years. It was all His work.

 

2) He desires to grow our faith. My faith wouldn’t have grown in a God that stands idle while I did everything myself. But now I know He is more than able to do everything He said will do.

 

3) God wants us to trust Him and know that He can handle His own affairs and wars. It is good to defend God and fight for Him, but we must let Him fight His own battles so the world to know that He is a mighty and powerful God, and that He is real.

 

Let me ask you some questions: if you are always fighting for your god, protecting it, speaking on its behave, defending it, what makes you think it is a real god? If your god can’t speak, what makes you so convinced it could create your mouth? If your god can’t fight its own battles against evil, what makes you think it can give you victory? If your god can’t defend itself, what makes you think it can protect you?

 

4) For others to see, hear, believe and come to know Him. If I was able to free myself from porn by myself, how would that draw people to Him?

 

You can say whatever you want about God. You can say that you don’t like Him. That you don’t believe in Him. You can say that you would rather live your life without Him, and spend eternity in Hell than in Heaven with Him. But you can’t tell me that I was not addicted beyond human hope to pornography and He freed me from it. You can’t tell me that my God isn’t real or that He is dead. You can’t tell me that my God is not powerful, or that He doesn’t love me and cares about me.

 

I remember a couple of years ago I was waiting for the bus (isn’t it strange how I realize a lot of things while waiting for the bus!), and thought to myself, “What is so horrible about pornography anyway?” (That was a couple of years after God freed me from it!) Then suddenly I had this very empty feeling in my chest when I remembered how spiritually thirsty I was when I was addicted to porn. I remember how horrible it felt to chase after something that does not satisfy and that it leads to more chasing…but it still does not satisfy! Ever since then until now, I would like to think that I have a healthy fear of pornography, and sin in general. (Remember, God created fear to protect us, just like pain. But how we view fear and respond to is what makes the difference between a protective fear and an enslaving fear.) Of course, porn’s destruction is much more than the chasing after something that does not satisfy. But I won’t go into how much it has actually ruined countless lives, because many websites and statistics are available for those who are truly seeking to know the truth about porn’s destructive power.

 

1 John 4:4 says:

 

“You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world.”

 

It is sad how many Christians have opinions about sin that are not based on God Word. I read things such as, “It is my motives that count…so even though I do this and that, I do them without lusting…” Really? Where does the Bible teaches that? When our Lord talked about motives he was talking about fasting, praying, and giving to the poor not about sin! You can’t sin with pure motives! It doesn’t make sense! You can fool me, and you can fool your church congregation! But how can you live with yourself knowing that you are lying to yourself! And how are you going to fool God? Rather, how are you going to face Him?

 

And some Christians even say “it is natural to do so and so”. Yes, you are correct, but since when does the Bible talk about our nature as if it is holy! Our nature is corrupt and sinful, so why do we say “natural” as if it is a good thing! It is natural to get angry and want to get revenge; it is natural to lie when accused of something; it is natural to cheat when we want to get our way…but what does the Bible teach about all those examples of “natural behaviour”? They are all sin and do not fit us as sons and daughters of the living God!

 

No, I am not talking about people who are addicted to drugs, porn, alcohol, and so on. I am not even talking to the unbelieving world here. I am talking to us, Christians. I truly believe that there is a huge difference between someone who is sinning—because he or she are addicted to a certain sin, regardless of how they got themselves into this mess—but they absolutely hate that sin and want to be free from it, and between someone who knows he is sinning but has no problem with it--welcomes sin in his life.

 

I am going to say something here that I think will make a lot of people dislike me, but I am going to say it anyway and hope that you take it with an attitude knowing that I am not judging anybody here:

 

If you are a woman who has Christ in her life, please re-consider the way you dress. Not according to my standards, or the church you attend. Certainly not according to the standards of the latest fashion or to “that is the only thing available in stores nowadays”. Don’t go to someone else asking their opinion or read an article about it. Go directly to God’s Word and ask God directly, and if you are honestly seeking to follow Him He will show you His way. But I must warn you: once He makes His will clear you won’t have peace until you obey Him.

 

You might be wondering why I am talking about women’s dressing in a topic about porn! Well, men are very visual so they sin by lusting (even women do that, but I am not sure they do so as much as men do) and so porn is a naturally attractive sin to them. Women desire to feel beautiful, desired, wanted and so she tries to meet those need by dressing in a way that attracts men’s attention. And that’s how she gets her momentarily (short-lived: like all the promises Satan makes in regard to sin) emotional high by noticing a man looking at her. But what I want to ask you is this: if you go home and you are all by yourself and have nothing to do, how do you feel: empty, far from your heavenly Father; or peaceful and your heart is flowing with love and adoration for Him?

 

Causing to Sin, Mark 9:42-50:

 

"And if anyone causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to be thrown into the sea with a large millstone tied around his neck. If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life maimed than with two hands to go into hell, where the fire never goes out. And if your foot causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life crippled than to have two feet and be thrown into hell. And if your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out. It is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than to have two eyes and be thrown into hell, where

" 'their worm does not die,

and the fire is not quenched.' Everyone will be salted with fire.

"Salt is good, but if it loses its saltiness, how can you make it salty again? Have salt in yourselves, and be at peace with each other."

 

If you are a man who has Christ in his life, please take some time, be quiet with God, and think about where you were yesterday spiritually, where you are today, and where you are heading tomorrow! Evaluate your life. Evaluate your ways. Seek to know God better. Make decisions, daily decisions, to live for Him. Live a pure life starting with your heart and mind. Think about your future wife (or present wife), think about your kids. You are going to be the leader of the house who represents Christ to the whole household! Will they see Him through you? Or will your daughters grow up thinking that they have to look beautiful, sexy, and act in certain ways to get a man’s attention and love? Think about God’s awesome and wonderful purpose that He desires to accomplish through you. Think about God’s reputation among the people who know you. Please don’t settle for less. We are not going to be given another chance after this life!

 

“Just as man is destined to die once, and after that to face judgment” (Hebrews 9:27)

 

If you realize you are sinning against God while you are on your way home then repent right away and seek to follow Him! It is never too late to make a decision to live for Him, even if you just realized that at the end of the day. Daily surrender yourself to Him if that’s what it takes for you to live a pure and blameless life.

 

I will stop here. All I ask is that if you claim to believe something about God put it into practice. Whether in regard to your identity in Him, your personal agendas vs. His plans and purposes, or if you claim to believe that Christ died for someone else’s sin then why not forgive them? Remember, John 13:17:

 

“Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.”

 

What things? The things that are written in God’s Word, and the Holy Spirit reveals to you.

 

And don't ever lose focus of this fact: all things are done through His goodness, grace and mercy—it, life here on earth and eternal life, is all about Him. However, for Him: it is all about you. It is the "Lord's favour" and not our own works whether in being saved or the power to live for Him: it is all about His grace.

 

Nothing But the Blood

www.youtube.com/watch?v=wej1jHtiH-M

 

(Toronot, ON; winter 2008.)

 

Mirit Ben Nun: Shortness of breath

'Shortness of breath' is not only a sign of physical weakness, it is a metaphor for a mental state of strong desire that knows no repletion; more and more, an unbearable glut, without repose. Mirit Ben Nun's type of work on the other hand requires an abundance of patience. This is a Sisyphean work (requiring hard labor) of marking lines and dots, filling every empty millimeter with brilliant blots. Therefore we are facing a paradox or a logical conflict. A patient and effortful work that stems from an urgent need to cover and fill, to adorn and coat. Her craft of layering reaches a state of a continuous ceremonial ritual.

This ritual digests every object into itself - useful or discarded -- available and ordinary or rare and exceptional -- they submit and devote to the overlay work. Mirit BN gathers scrap off the streets -- cardboard rolls of fabric, assortments of wooden boards and pieces, plates and planks -- and constructs a new link, her own syntax, which she alone is fully responsible for. The new combination -- a type of a sculptural construction -- goes through a process of patching by the act of painting.

In fact Mirit regards her three dimensional objects as a platform for painting, with a uniform continuity, even if it has obstacles, mounds and valleys. These objects beg her to paint, to lay down colors, to set in motion an intricate weave of abstract patterns that at times finds itself wandering the contours of human images and sometimes -- not. In those cases what is left is the monotonous activity of running the patterns, inch by inch, till their absolute coverage, till a short and passing instant of respite and than on again to a new onset.

Next to this assembly of garbage and it's recycling into 'painted sculptures' Mirit offers a surprising reunion between her illustrated objects and so called cheap African sculpture; popular artifacts or articles that are classified in the standard culture as 'primitive'.

This combination emphasizes the difference between her individualistic performance and the collective creation which is translated into cultural clichés. The wood carved image creates a moment of peace within the crowded bustle; an introverted image, without repetitiveness and reverberation. This meeting of strangers testifies that Mirit' work could not be labeled under the ´outsiders art´ category. She is a one woman school who is compelled to do the art work she picked out to perform. Therefore she isn't creating ´an image´ such as the carved wooden statues, but she produces breathless ´emotional jam' whose highest values are color, motion, beauty and plenitude. May it never lack, neither diluted, nor dull for even an instant

 

Tali Tamir

 

Processed with VSCO with a6 preset

The ultimate weakness of violence is that it is a descending spiral, causing the very thing it seeks to destroy. Instead of weakening evil, it multiplies it. Using violence, you can kill the liar, but you can not kill the lie, nor establish the truth. Using violence, you may murder the hater, but you can not kill hatred. In fact, violence is simply growing hatred. And it continues ... Making hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night without stars. Darkness can not drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate can not drive out hate: only love can do that.

Martin Luther King

 

L'ultime faiblesse de la violence est que c'est une spirale descendante, engendrant la chose même qu'elle cherche à détruire. Au lieu d'affaiblir le mal, elle le multiplie. En utilisant la violence, vous pouvez tuer le menteur, mais vous ne pouvez pas tuer le mensonge, ni rétablir la vérité. En utilisant la violence, vous pouvez assassiner le haineux, mais vous ne pouvez pas tuer la haine. En fait, la violence fait simplement grandir la haine. Et cela continue… Rendre la haine pour la haine multiplie la haine, ajoutant une obscurité plus profonde à une nuit sans étoiles. L'obscurité ne peut pas chasser l'obscurité : seule la lumière peut faire cela. La haine ne peut pas chasser la haine : seul l'amour peut faire cela.

Martin Luther King

  

I have a weakness for american muscle cars, even if they are "pony cars"...

  

Check out my photoblog on Zenfolio, or look me up on Google+.

SO MANY OCs! Also, this will be a really long post, so just sit tight and relax.

 

Left-Right:

 

Goop:

 

Real Name: Unknown

 

Powers/Abilities, Can shapeshift into any shape at will and power absorption.

 

Weaknesses: Weighs one pound and a small gust of wind can easily blow him away.

 

Equipment: Rainboots

 

Backstory: A cosmic rock hit Earth's surface causing a hunk of goop to explode out. The goop would soon get into a school and mutated into a child's art project making Goop. Goop would soon go into the Saviors' Headquarters by accident and gets recruited by showing his powers.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Botanist:

 

Real Name: Jerry Cruz

 

Powers/Abilities: Plant Empowerment (gives strength and durability after getting some life force from plants.) and Plant Growth

 

Weaknesses: Has a soft side for animals.

 

Equipment: Uniform and fertilizer.

 

Backstory: Jerry's parents were botanists. They converted their garage and backyard to plant research facilities and Jerry was tired of unable to be in certain rooms, so he decided to start destroying the plants. However, he accidentally broke a shelf and an experimental plant fell and hit his head causing a concussion. A few years later, Jerry learned about his powers and joined the Saviors. Soon after the Saviors hired Goop, Jerry took care of Goop and even decided to adopt it.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Firestarter:

 

Real Name: Robby Hildebrant

 

Powers/Abilities: Fire Generation, Temperature Manipulation, and is Fireproof

 

Weaknesses: Water can extinguish his fires, needs to drink water in order to stay hydrated in the heat, and is heavy due to his Flamethrower.

 

Equipment: Flamethrower, uniform, grapple hook, and foldable hatchet

 

Backstory: Robby had an average childhood and life. Nothing really happened until his family’s home started burning with flames. Robby was the only one home and he knew he had to do something to stop it. He tried all of the things expected to stop a fire, but it kept burning. It was only until he stepped in the fire that he learnt that he had superpowers. After turning 18, he set out to become the superhero he thought of as Firestarter.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Blackhawk

 

Real Name: Frank Willis

 

Powers/Abilities: Smart Engineer with Superhuman Strength and Durability.

 

Weaknesses: Frank is an alcoholic.

 

Equipment: A specially designed pistol (Taser and grapple-hook), a lasso, and a variety of grenades.

 

Backstory: A former professional pilot and actor that needed to have some fun. Life was boring for him so Frank decided to start stopping small crimes. Apparently he got praise from it and decided to fight more. The people also agreed, so Frank started the Saviors group. After a few superheroes joined, Frank bought out a small area of an office building and converted it into a tourist attraction and the Saviors' Headquarters. Sadly, during the first phases of the Saviors Group, the superheroes that joined were killed during a mission causing Willis to become an alcoholic. He would have the same charm during a mission, but he ain't what he was after. A few years later, he reopened the Saviors group and he hired 6 heroes, Firestarter, Phaser, Streak, Titan, Botanist and Goop.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Titan:

 

Real Name: Chandler Timberland

 

Powers/Abilities: Size Manipulation (Strength and Durability when he grows)

 

Weaknesses: Slower the bigger he gets, also, Chad has a tendency of not planning ahead.

 

Equipment: Uniform

 

Backstory: Chandler used to be a bully at school. He would get people to do his homework until one day, the bully victims decided to teach him a lesson. They made him a pill that would supposedly make him fat, instead it made Chandler grow in size. Realizing what happened, Chandler tried to say sorry, instead he crushed 5 people. He ran off into an alleyway and got help from a fellow student, Autumn Hendricks. Chandler soon joined the Saviors with his new girlfriend, Autumn Hendricks and they are known as Titan and Streak.

 

-----------------------------------

 

Streak:

 

Real Name: Autumn Hendricks

 

Powers/Abilities: Super-Human Speed and Durability

 

Weaknesses: Motion Sickness while running at fast speeds

 

Equipment: Uniform

 

Backstory: Autumn who was born in a family with lots of health issues. She was the only lucky one with an issue that would be useful. She was born with superhuman speed. Autumn would grow up always knowing that she had powers and she is extremely skilled with them. During her high-school years, she met someone in an alleyway. His name was Chandler (Titan). She taught him how to use his powers for good. Chandler and Autumn soon joined the Saviors as Titan and Streak.

  

-----------------------------------

 

Phaser:

 

Real Name: Clark Jenkins

 

Powers/Abilities: Can phase through any object

 

Weaknesses: Often works alone and has no super-human strength whatsoever.

 

Equipment: Uniform and Pepper-Spray

 

Backstory: Clark has been lifelong friends to another hero, Firestarter (Robby Hildebrante). When Clark was a little boy, his parents were desperate for money and needed to feed Clark. They got a job from a scientist and Clark’s parents were supposed to make a formula that would grant the powers of Jesus Christ. Unfortunately, Clark as a young child accidentally drank the formula. Clark had no idea that he had powers until a fight happened at school where Clark phased through a bully’s punch and threw him (Buckshot) through a window injuring his arm and messing up his face. Clark would soon be expelled from school and spend some time in jail. After being released, he realized he needed to use his powers for good. Clark would go back to his parents’ home and ask them to make a costume for him that was made of unstable molecules so he can stay in his costume and phase through objects at the same time (his parents lost the science job and got money from buying stocks.) Clark finally knowing his powers would go out into the world fighting small crimes as Phaser.

 

-----------------------------------