a Hellboy piece I made for Multiversity Comics’ 31 days of hellboy celebration for 20 years of hellboy.
drew a thing. not sure if good, but it’s a thing. now to draw another thing.
“Eyes as Big as Plates started out as a play on characters and protagonists from Norwegian folklore with the Norwegian photographer Karoline Hjorth. The series has since moved on to exploring the mental landscape of the neighborly and pragmatic Finns. In June 2012 Finnish senior citizens modelled in the wilderness of south and eastern Finland.
Eyes as Big as Plates- exhibition opened at the The Finnish-Norwegian Culture Institute in Oslo, Norway on January 12th -25th February 2012. A selection of the series was exhibited at the Museum of Contemporary Art Kiasma in Helsinki. ‘Camouflage’ show is part of the World Design Capital Helsinki 2012 events. 15th June –7th October 2012.”
Keep up to date with here: http://eyesasbigasplates.wordpress.com/
Distinguished sociologist Erving Goffman noted that women in photographs are often portrayed in compromising or submissive situations such as having the head turned upwards to expose the neck or in a contorted stances often with light self-touching. Such poses invite the gaze of the viewer and make the subject of the photograph seem vulnerable and exposed to sexualization.
as highlighted by the image, Erving Goffman made it known that these poses were problematic because if we saw any reversal of the gender roles, we perceive it as weird or strange. this image shows a man posing in a feminine fashion… men are very rarely posing like this in professional photography.
essentially, if our instincts tell us something is strange about a person in a photograph, it is representative of the demand of gender display in advertisements.
This kind of thing is super interesting to me. Other ways women are photographed but men rarely are include;
Standing on one leg/legs crossed and weight all on one leg/leaning on someone or something - The woman is vulnerable and incapable. She literally can’t stand (exist) alone.
With their head cropped out of the image or with their eyes down - This goes back to Madonna and Child and is totally entwined with the whole subject/object problem. The (male) viewer is the active subject, the woman is the passive object. You’re allowed to look because she sure as hell isn’t going to do anything, her body exists for you. (Hello rape culture.)
Not dressed - This isn’t such a big deal if the woman is photographed alone but often photos will depict naked women and fully dressed men, often in suits. The implications of this are pretty obvious.
Cut/Bruised - Vulnerability again. To be honest I’ve seen these kinds of images more on tumblr than I have anywhere else, they don’t seem to have made it into mainstream photography quite as much. But Tumblr is super fond of headless semi-dressed women with grazed knees. I guess in some way you could agrue that these photos show the strength of women, but I personally don’t buy that. For the same reason I don’t like this theme used domestic violence ads, I think it only serves to re-victimise the women.
Obviously there are also some really great photographs of women that don’t do any of these things, and some photographs that use these themes for legitimate reasons.
In Finnish mythology Otso, Ohto, Kontio, metsän kuningas (the king of the forest), and mesikämmen (honeypaws) are some of the many rarely uttered circumlocutory epithets for the spirit that was never directly named. Generally, the spirit of the bear was referred to as friend, brother,uncle, or forestcousin, or ways were thought up that would bypass the need to refer to the spirit at all, even indirectly.
Some sub-traditions considered the bear to be a relative who had fled the community and been transmogrified by the power of the forest.
If a bear had to be killed, a sacred ritual of Peijainen (which some consider the source of the Odin and Wotan myths) was held, and the bear’s spirit in the form of its skull remained in a sacred clearing which was upkept, and people would bring expiatory and tributory gifts to it.
In Finland, Peijainen is the ritual burial of a bear that has been communally brought down and has died. A bear was never “hunted”; it was merely brought down. A single man could claim to have hunted and killed a bear, but in a community effort, the bear simply died. The ceremony was always a much more elaborate affair than the most influential member of the community would have merited. In eastern Finland it would have copious mourners and wailers, and the people would address the bear as a relative or as the son of a god. Its flesh was not eaten — that would have been cannibalism — or, if it was, an elaborate show was made to symbolically render the meat into that of another animal, e.g. venison. The bear’s head was usually mounted on the top of a young tree, or on a pike. Carrion-eaters would then eat it, leaving only the skull, which would then become an object of veneration. A courtyard would also be cleared around the skull. Traditionally, only bears were sanctified thus.
Sometimes the ceremony was held as a sacred marriage rather than a burial. In such cases the bear was either propped up inside a frame or strapped to a cross. With all due ceremony, the chosen bride would marry the bear.
Reblogging because it’s so nice when your friends’ work randomly shows up on your dash. :D The Bear is the Forest by my dearest Jenni, who has prints of it available on etsy.
The truth is, I was bored.
My mother blissing ahead of me, rosebuds rising in her footsteps,
And I skulking behind, thinking,
Oh look. She walks in beauty.
Her power could boil rivers, if she chose.
She doesn’t choose. She scatters
Heliotrope behind her.
And me, I’ve no powers. I think she’d like
A decorative daughter. A link to the humans
She feeds with her scattered wheat.
A daughter wed to a swineherd’s just the thing
To show that Demeter’s a down-to-earth
Kind of goddess.
Do you know what swineherds talk about?
Diseases of, ways to cook;
“That ‘un’s got no milk for ‘er shoats;
Him, there, he’s got boggy trotters.”
And when he leaned in, smiling,
While we sat in a bower sagged with Mother’s honeysuckle,
When he said, “Now,
My herd’s growing and I’m thinking I could feed a wife—”
That’s when I snapped, I howled, I ran.
And when a hole opened up, a beautiful black, in all the pastels of my mother’s sowing.
Let me fix the lie: Nobody grabbed, nobody pulled.
I thought it was a tiny earthquake,
Thought I was killing myself,
Starting a long journey to Hades.
It was a more direct trip
Then I’d imagined—
I landed in his lap.
He just looked at me, said “Well,”
And kept driving his chariot down,
Flicked his leather reins near my face.
He did not give me flowers.
He never spoke of pigs.
Didn’t speak much at all. Just took me down in darkness
And did dark things.
I liked them.
I stumbled through his grey gardens, after,
Sore and smiling.
And the gardener said, “Little girl,
Little sunlit flower,
You belong in the world above.
Trust that they’ll come for nyou,
But while you wait
Don’t eat the food of the dead, for it will trap you here.”
And I said give me the fucking fruit.
But when I ate I could hear her howling,
See her spreading winter on the world.
My poor mother, who missed me after all;
My poor swineherd, starving.
Huddled up for warmth with the few he hadn’t eaten.
I spat out half the seeds.
So now I suffer through the summers,
Smile at the swineherd who tells me
Which shoat is off its feed.
Smile at my mother and walk behind her.
My powers have come to me now, and in her candy-colored wake I scatter
Sundew and flytrap, nettles and belladonna.
I smile and wait for November,
For when I come back to you.
Your clever cold hands and your hard black boots.
I don’t ask what the leather is made from.
I don’t think I want to know.
Tracked it back down to a post that had the attribution.
this is. so. good.