Cats out of the bag, and this image is out so I can share it with you! This is my illustration for Star Wars Celebration 2019. I decided to do one of my all time favorite scenes. As a long time Star Wars fan, seeing these two together again was beautiful. And, after Carrie died (sob), I felt like Mark Hamill was saying goodbye to her for all of us, though she will not ever really be gone. <3

It is a limited edition, there will only be 250 sold, and pre-orders will go up on Wednesday at noon. https://www.darkinkart.com/…/star-wars-celebration-chicago-… You have to pick it up at Celebration, or have someone pick it up for you. If there are any extras after the show, I will put them up for sale in my Etsy store.

Blythe Baird, from If My Body Could Speak 

National Gallery East Wing

They have nine beverages between the two of them

i have that painting ai app on my phone so i went ahead and took the liberty…

What they have are five beverages and four waters. Water, by definition, cannot be a beverage.

The fuck do you mean water cant be a beverage?

The way this post progressed is the reason I come on Tumblr

Vivienne Mok

~ Future Me

Acorn Street, Beacon Hill, Boston | kimmyn_

From Guante’s book, A LOVE SONG, A DEATH RATTLE, A BATTLE CRY.

not to be Fleabag on main again but it did SUCH a good job communicating the idea that women’s identities are tied to performance, even when we’re alone. she talks to the camera as a way to distance herself from reality, but by doing this she’s also crafting a performance for us, the audience- she always has to entertain us, even during some of her most vulnerable moments (in the therapist’s office, etc). she meets the Priest and her 4th wall breaks don’t occur as often, as she slowly arrives at the realization that she doesn’t need to perform for anybody, not even the imaginary audience she (and a lot of women irl) are so concerned with entertaining ! she can just be a person without relying on validation from a made-up audience

When characters are primarily oriented to the camera, not to one another or themselves, it alters not only the rhythm of the scenes but the very aspects of the characters we are allowed to see. We don’t see private lives, not really. We see characters with their volume turned up, performing with the avid, slightly brittle affect of people at a party, people who know they are being watched and who take an active, carnivorous interest in watching one another. Certainly we take a carnivorous interest in them. Fandom and television are tightly entwined; showrunners play to viewers and to the internet’s appetite for dissection.

“Fleabag” cleverly holds up a mirror to the way we watch now. The protagonist is at first a creature of pure performance: “I’m not obsessed with sex,” she says to us, in the very first episode, while sitting on the toilet. “I just can’t stop thinking about it — the performance of it, the awkwardness of it, the drama of it — the moment you realize someone wants your body, not so much the feeling of it.”

[…]

In 12 episodes, we don’t see a character being built up through scenes in the conventional way. We see the opposite. We see her dismantled, speaking less, becoming more opaque, pushing the camera away until the final scene, when she walks away from it and forbids us to follow. The happier she is, we come to realize, the more the show must come to an end; she must extricate herself from an audience, from performance. 

— Parul Seghal. (Source)