For this week’s post, I went through almost all my folders and picked the 12 spookiest photos I could find in the spirit of the Halloween season! Make sure to choose your favorite and then vote at the bottom of the post. The photo that will be voted as the spookiest will be reposted here with the description and settings I used and also posted on my Instagram!
Tungsten clouds flattened as they scraped along the dome of the stadium, the residual howl of their wind battling the sonic boom of the multitude for dominance. Within the confines of the band section, instruments bellowed and slammed into the rattled air, stunning anyone unfortunate enough not to have earplugs, and shot their notes toward the field. Cymbals smashed a vicious beat over the intricate, layered rhythms of the drums. Fierce, dark waves from the trombones blasted forth in ominous fronts that seized the hollow wind and regurgitated it as menacing music.
And the TV station, as per usual, completely ignored them.
Hal chopped his arm back and forth to the explosive cymbal crashes, throwing his shoulder forth and thrusting his upper body toward the football players as though they would acknowledge him. They were too far from the band, crouched as they were at the 45 yard line, and their backs were to the north end zone where the band gathered. Of course, the chant wasn’t directed at the Michigan football players; rather, it was meant for the opposing team, who had just fumbled the ball in the most spectacular fashion.
Hal and the other drumline reserves were not allowed to chant along with the student section for a very specific reason, but nothing prevented him from singing along in his head. The mantra was an adrenaline rush, a ferocious vocal tacked over an exhilarating spew of domineering energy and sound.
He unleashed his fury in the form of a scream that flooded his ears but was easily trounced by the band. Primal, feral, in perfect time, it blended with the shout of the rest of the cymbal line, his one sheer thrill forgotten in the chaos.
He wished he was able to play along with the rest of the band, but the cheer was the closest approximation he could get this season. A freshman in the cymbal line, he’d never really stood a chance to make the performance block this year, and he had only a small chance to make it next year. He’d practiced incessantly, but he was inexperienced and not as strong as the upperclassmen, who performed advanced visuals with seemingly little effort.
Hal loved marching band immensely, loved the cymbal section (it was objectively the best instrument), the people in it. Loved screaming and dancing in the stands every Saturday with his band friends. But there was a tickle in his mind, a gnawing, nagging sensation at the back of his throat, the tiny demon that numbed his arms and chipped away his resolve.
At the moment, with his arm gouging the wind and his intense glare fixated on the football players pooling around the 45 yard line, he was a machine. A maize and blue warrior launching an offensive against the wind and against silence, smushed between two of his fellow reserves who pummeled the air with similar malevolence. All thoughts silenced except the two-word mantra and the swell of the trombones. Tension building, building until it climaxed in a minor duo of notes, a final crash, and then–
Uproar.
“We’re scared of what we do not know,”
This week’s Scribble is based on the song What Are You So Scared Of? by Australian band Tonight Alive. One of the themes throughout the album (of the same name as the track) is the difficult necessity of letting go of things you cannot control in order to move through life without being paralyzed by fear. With only a few days until Halloween, I figured I should write a blog that deals with something spooky, and what is scarier than fear itself?
“No matter where we want to go.”
I’m scared of feeling like I did not do my best and therefore was unable to reach my full potential. I’m scared of bad things happening to the people I love. I’m scared to open up to others and show vulnerability and expose my weaknesses. I’m scared of letting myself and my loved ones down. I’m scared of spending my whole life looking forward to the future until I realize, too late, that I forgot to live in the now.
“Wait for it to find you, to find you,”
The thing about these fears is that some are within my control while others aren’t. For the things that are within my control, I do my best to control them. I try my hardest most of the time, but I’ve been working on accepting the truth that it is impossible to do everything right and it is okay (and natural) to be imperfect. I have been practicing vulnerability (one way is by writing these blogs!) which is helping me get closer to my friends and form deeper and more honest relationships than I ever thought I could. Doing what scares me, in this case being more vulnerable, helps me realize that there is, in fact, nothing to fear. I still catch myself focusing on the future more than the present from time to time, and in those moments, it is important for me to take a moment to reflect on what makes me happy today. As for fearing things that I can’t control, the best thing I can do for now is accept the fact that some things are simply out of my hands. For me, like communicated throughout What Are You So Scared Of?, a vital part of facing my own fears is allowing myself to let go.
“But the truth is far behind you now.”
This Halloween, after you are done scaring yourself on haunted hayrides and watching horror films, I encourage you to do some healthy reflection. Now that the candy-filled distractions are gone, what are you so scared of? Challenge yourself not to run from your fears. What can (or can’t) you do about them? Sometimes, being brave means confronting what you are scared of. Other times, the courage lies in letting go. You might realize that there is far less to fear than you thought.
“Time to say it out loud: What are you so scared of?”
Listen to What Are You So Scared Of? here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qvN2LxsFjA
In starting this new weekly piece for arts, ink, I am aware that this topic may not appeal to everyone. It also may not be something that everyone even knows anything about– or perhaps, if you do know what the word “drag” refers to, perhaps its only from Rupaul’s Drag Race or a class on men dressing as women for Shakespeare. So, to properly discuss drag and the culture and world surrounding it, we first need to define drag.
Drag is not dressing as a different gender. It is not putting on makeup, or gluing down your eyebrows. Doing drag does not make you trans. It is not something that can only be done by men.
Drag is an art.
That’s it. That’s the definition. More specifically, it is a visual and performance art inherently (but not necessarily) linked to queerness and often including makeup, hair, outfits, and live (or digital, in the pandemic age) performance. There are different subsets of drag, such as drag queens, kings, and things. Not all drag queens are men dressed as women, some are cis women, or trans women, or nonbinary AFAB and AMAB people. Same goes for kings, and things don’t really have much of a gender to even be connected to in the first place. For someone to be a drag queen or king or thing or simply a drag artist, they simply have to say “I’m a drag queen. This is my drag.” And that’s it! All forms of drag, no matter what they are or in what capacity they appear in, are valid.
Not all of them are good, but hey. We all did bad drag at some point. How else are we supposed to become good drag artists?
For this weekly column, you’ll mainly be following drag done by one specific artist: me, Pinball McQueen (see image above). The name is a pun on a Pinball Machine (try saying it out loud). I consider myself a drag nuisance (rather than a king or queen) and I often straddle the line of horror, clown, and theatre kid. I’ve been doing drag for about a year now, changing as time goes on, and creating digital performances and looks for a variety of different shows online.
You will not be stuck with me for the entire duration of this column. I will reference, include photos of, and talk about other drag artists that you may or may not know throughout the course of this blog.
This first week, as we focus on defining drag and introducing my drag, I’ve chosen the featured image for the week to be one of my favorite looks from last year. There’s not as much as a clear story or reference I can add to this image other than the fact that it was one of my favorites I’ve ever done. Every week I’ll focus on a more specific topic within my drag or queer culture, such as horror and queerness, dungeons and dragons / fantasy tropes, the met gala, trans representation in theatre… You get the gist.
Hopefully, this introduction and opening weren’t too boring– and I promise next week will pick up a lot more. Until then, Pin out!
Hi everybody!! I hope that you are all doing well! Personally, I have quite a difficult week to look forward to with four exams but I am taking this time to forget about it and tell you all a special story. The time from October 21st to November 19th is known as Karthic month, a very auspicious time in Hindu culture. It is considered the holiest month in the calendar year as it is said that any worship will be returned a hundredfold. All sins from thousands of lifetimes are said to be erased and forgiven. Kartic Month, also known as Damodhar Month, is associated with a beautiful story that I look forward to sharing with you all today! Enjoy!
Mother Yashoda churned butter while singing a beautiful tune. Her son, Krishna then appeared, hungry and asking to be fed. Mother Yashoda took her son on her lap and started feeding Him. Suddenly, the milk which was on the stove began to boil over, and to stop the milk from spilling, mother Yashoda at once put Krishna aside and went to the stove. Left alone by his mother, Krishna became very angry and upset. He decided to retaliate and broke a clay pot of butter. He then proceeded to take the butter out of the pot and eat it with his cute little chubby hands.
When Mother Yashoda returned, she saw the broken pot in which the churning yogurt had been kept. Since she could not find her baby boy and concluded that the broken pot was his work. After she looked all over, she found her son sitting on a big wooden grinding mortar taking butter from a pot that was hanging from the ceiling on a swing and feeding it to the monkeys.
After seeing her son so engaged, she very silently approached Him from behind. Krishna, however, saw her coming toward him, and immediately got down from the grinding mortar and began to flee in fear. Mother Yashoda chased him to all corners. She eventually reached her naughty child and captured him.
Mother Yashoda could understand that Krishna was unnecessarily afraid and wanted to allay his fears. In order to punish Krishna, she thought to bind him with some ropes. She did not know it, but it was actually impossible for her to bind Krishna, the Supreme Personality of Godhead. Mother Yashoda was thinking that Krishna was her tiny child; she did not know that the child had no limitation. Still, though, she endeavored to bind Him to a wooden grinding mortar. But when she tried to bind Him, she found that the rope she was using was too short—by two inches. She gathered more ropes from the house and added to it, but still, she found the same shortage. In this way, she connected all the ropes available at home, but when the final knot was added, she saw that the rope was still two inches too short.
In attempting to bind her son, she became tired. Krishna understood the labor that his mother was going through and decided to give in. He allowed himself to be tied up (as shown in the inserted picture). After being tied up, Krishna could see a pair of trees which were known as arjuna trees. He thought of pulling down the two very tall arjuna trees.
There is a very interesting history behind the pair of arjuna trees. In their previous lives, the trees were born as the human brothers who were cursed by the great sage to become trees until they were liberated by Krishna. This was bestowed upon them when Krishna inserted himself between the trees and with his godly power was able to bring them down and free the two boys.
I hope you all enjoyed the story and were able to learn something about this auspicious and holy month!! As always, if anything that I discussed in this post stands out, or if any questions arise please feel free to comment and share your thoughts!
Looking forward to next Monday!
~ Riya
Personal website: https://riyarts.weebly.com/
Hello folks! My name is Calin, and this semester I’m going to be taking you all with me on the wild ride that is my Senior Independent Project (IP). As the title of this series suggests, every Monday I will be uploading Polaroid photos that show my process, and writing about how my work for the week is progressing! This capstone project means a lot to me, and it is a staple experience of many Stamps Students who feel the same way. We get to choose our own topics, research and projects, so they become very personal to us. Let’s dive right into the work that I’ve been doing this semester!
As of now, my capstone project for IP is centered around the experience of being a woman with ADHD. I was just diagnosed a few short months ago, and I am interested in the causes — and devastating effects — of the diagnostic gap between men and women. I’m also exploring how to visually represent the lesser-known symptoms of ADHD; many people think of ADHD as a “quirky” disorder that makes people flighty, forgetful, hyperactive and unable to focus. However, ADHD is much more than that, and it doesn’t even have to fall into any of those categories. Most women, specifically, do not fall into any of those categories, which is a piece of the puzzle as to why they are less frequently diagnosed and usually diagnosed later in life. I am excited to learn more about this disorder that has been ruling my life for so long, as well as he vulnerable about my own experience in hopes of bringing awareness to all of the things that ADHD can be.
In recent weeks, I’ve been heavily focused on experimenting with different mediums and techniques for visual storytelling. In one such experiment, I wanted to see what it would look like to paint on plexiglass. The effect was pretty cool; I like the ability to partially see through the unpainted areas, while still leaving parts of the piece opaque with paint. There could be a lot of possibility within layering painted glass to create depth, which is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. From my lack of depth perception, to my psycho-somatic symptoms such as ocular migraines, to the often hidden layers of ADHD, the concept of depth holds a lot of meaning in my work. Painting on plexiglass is just one of the many ways that I could convey this! Now, back to the drawing board of endless possibilities…
