#Illustration #JacobEveland #Homesick #MixedMedia #Drawing #Art
Birds of a Feather
Hayley VanDeCasteele is an illustrative designer and a soon to be a graduate of VCUarts with a major in Communication Arts. She is influenced by the beauty of nature, especially by birds and their astounding details. Through her black and white illustrations, she aims to evoke the true simplicity and emotion of our everyday surroundings.
#Birds #BirdIllustration #PutABirdOnIt #Sorrow #Peace #Fracture #PenAndInk #BlackAndWhite #Illustration
Meredith rushed into the menagerie with a stack of plates grazing her chin. Cocktail hour always bloated the hotel with older patrons who did not worry about the tab. Tonight a company meeting of some sort was taking place. Everyone wore seersucker suits. Southern businessmen? Meredith wondered as she stood observing them. Then Gus, her beefy manager, bumped into her.
“Cunt,” Gus spat and wedged past her and into the kitchen. Meredith sighed and grabbed the broom to sweep up the ten thousand pieces of porcelain. Those plates were probably as old as the American Revolution. Meredith imagined Martha Washington rolling over in her grave. But how do you roll over in a grave wearing petticoats?
Meredith took a new stack of plates to the meeting room and placed them on a long table piled high with fruit, cheese, and seafood. When she looked up, a face she had not seen in months looked back at her.
The one-time literature classmates hugged. Dressed like a cover girl, Iris was her usual tall and blonde self.
“How are you? I though you graduated last year,” Iris said, biting into a shrimp.
“Oh, yeah, but...” Meredith trailed off and shrugged. “So much for studying anthropology!”
“Well, you should be working at Anthropologie instead. Food service is gross.”
“Ha. Right. Yeah, so, what about you?”
Iris flicked her wrist, grinned, and then brought her hand to Meredith's face. “I'm getting married! And I just landed a book contract. You know that house behind the campus library? It's haunted, so it's time somebody finally write about it. The first draft of my novel was picked up by a small press in Brooklyn last week.”
Meredith smiled faintly and said, “Congratulations. A book, huh? And Scott? That's great. Let me guess—no debt either, right?”
Iris shook her head. “Of course not. Scholarships. And this book advance is going to—”
“My manager's calling me,” Meredith lied and stormed past Iris toward the kitchen. She rammed into Gus as he burst out the door. A steak dinner flew out of his hands and crashed against the marble floor. Gus' face collapsed like a tomato rotting at one-hundred times regular speed.
“Gus, go marry my sympathy and then kiss it good-bye because it's going off to war. I quit! And I'm going to write about you—a whole book—and, trust me, it won't be flattering.”
Meredith threw her apron in the man's face. Then she walked out onto the noisy street, her mind shrouded in silence.
#FlashFiction #CreativeWriting #Engagement #Marriage #Writing #Post-grad #Competition
By Ryan Carson
turnpike glazing, liquid that once was structure
licking stained sleep palms an array, take lumbering
horizons as pink milk walks lightly to my
drunken mornings, wasting this blood in burning
is the lulling. cracking this is my whirring
worry. cracking back watch what my eyes see here
somewhere rests the light where the crushing particles
of the cities past. desiring poems for every
light that language languishes humans to see
seeking new wavelengths.
beading sleep that quivers behind abstract
technicolor flickering eyelids lament.
I’ve become porous exposing my bones’
#Poem #Poetry #CreativeWriting #InvisibledCities
We Shall Drink Black Tea
By Deniz Zeynep
and leave the dredges to tell us
fortunes of a bottomless Paradise
where the Priestess rules the rim
and the Hermit roams the saucer.
We shall not escape our porcelain paradise.
We will etch ourselves into the walls
along with sinews of vines
and gauzy veils scripting
stories of fluttering mevlana
who cast a breeze
onto our silent lips.
Pray for our kohl-soaked sockets,
where our closed eyes leave us
of shrouded sisters.
Pray for our scrubbed hands,
that become constellations guiding
shunned suns searching
for their twilight nuns.
Deniz is an over-20-something writer who believes a good quote and a solid pair of boots will get you far, or at least give you enough sole till tomorrow. She was a poetry student at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, where she began to combine her love of word play with her Turkish background. You will find her roaming around Richmond with a pen hidden behind her ear, ready to splice a verse Hattori Hanzō-style.
Franklin Avenue Apologia
By Amelia Parkison Edelman
Holding your small slim-fingered
hand was an honor I'd never known
to attach me to you in daylight like
taming a unicorn born
Come, let's beach our expectations
together like whales
In the writer's words: "I'm a writer/editor/ghostwriter from NYC. I was recently selected for the Emerging Writers Workshop at the Center for Book Arts, and my work has appeared in/on a motley assortment of publications, including Qu.ee/r Magazine, So To Speak Journal, The Arts Politic Magazine, First Time Magazine, xoJane, Elephant Journal, NPR, MindBodyGreen, Thought Catalog, MTV Act, and others."
#Poem #Poetry #CreativeWriting #AmeliaParkisonEdelman #FranklinAvenue #Apology #Sail
By Emma Von Der Linn
"A dark somewhat non-fiction comedy looking at the processes my mind goes through while dealing with generalized anxiety disorder and panic attacks."
#Distraction #Film #ShortFilm #Comedy #PanicDisorder #Anxiety #PanicAttacks
The Twelve Handsome Princes
By Sandra Scholes
A princess was said to have lived within the confines of the palace and, for all the palace's riches, the girl had only one room, a bed, a jug of water, a plate for food and a mirror, but no one to keep her company. This is not to say that she was bad. Her mother wanted to punish her for being beautiful and gifted as was her way. She had always been a good girl, but now that she was reaching maturity and had begun her menses, the queen felt it time she thought of taking a prince, though it would be one she had picked out for her.
The queen knew her daughter had blossomed into a comely young girl, though she lacked the charms of a practised woman used to attracting men. While reflecting on this, the queen thought of a cruel plan.
"Felicity," the queen said, "As you have no doubt realized, you are the one who will take over my role of queen in the years to come. As my husband has long since gone, and I am in my twilight years, you must take a prince to marry and rule the kingdom in my stead."
Felicity could feel her hands shake at the mention of such responsibility. As a child she had learned to sew, sketch and ride horses, but marry and rule the kingdom, well, it felt too much of a challenge for her. "Marry, Mother? What have you in mind?" she asked, hands still trembling.
"Twelve princes have I gathered in the throne room. You must hear each of their credentials and pick one whom you like."
Once Felicity had nodded, the queen took her into the throne room and left her there, though she did not close the door.
What Felicity did not know was that the queen had no intention of ever letting her daughter take the throne, for she was really an enchantress who had killed both her real mother and father and assumed her mother's place as monarch. The princes she had brought for Felicity were fantastic creatures disguised as princes—apart from one who was a true human prince. The queen laughed to herself at the thought of which man she would choose and the disappointment on Felicity's face when she discovered his true form.
Alone with all these handsome men, Felicity could hardly contain herself. What would she do? She had never been alone with one man, let alone twelve, then she thought of what she had seen her mother do when a man had come to the kingdom when her (fourth) lover was away. This had only happened the other year, the year she had turned eighteen and she could hear the moans coming from her room. She sneaked out, creeping to the door which had been left ajar, glanced through the crack in the door and saw everything.
Sometimes It's All About the Hair
Writer: Shannon Minor
Producers: Sidney Shuman, Shannon Minor, Amy Gatewood and Lindsey Story
Photographer: Jasmine Thompson
Models: Tracey Chau and Anamarie Diaz
Makeup: Deniz Ataman
Hair: Joshua Cruz-Magee
The clothes, the makeup; a look is complete with that perfect updo.
Whether long, short, or no hair,
Colored, cut, or styled,
Hair makes a statement.
Geometric patterns catch your eye.
All about the little details;
Your gaze upon me, I look back at you.
Wanting what the other one has, but still loving no matter what.
Embrace me, don’t stray.
I need your love; for it fosters and blooms inspiration.
I crave what you have yet want
Your happiness. Are you happy?
Look me in the eye and know that I love you.
Love your beauty and your strength.
We lust for what we can’t have, yet know
It’ll be alright because I’m happy.
I’m happy for your beauty and I feel no pain.
We fit together like geometric shapes, even though our colors clash.
It’s ok because while I’m a square and you’re a circle,
We make an image of our own.
Sparking jealously and yet, love for each other.
#Poem #Fashion #Models #Photoshoot #Hair #HairModels #Makeup