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Post by Emma Dacey on Feb 24, 2013 21:10:32 GMT -5
Emma had only been admitted to Ravenwood the evening before; after her first institution had lost all hope for her. Apparently Ravenwood was the place where they sent their more difficult cases for the sake of the other patients. Something about quality of living and safety. Apparently they weren't quite prepared to deal with a case so severe.
Not that she'd paid any attention at all to the idiots that ran that slum.
Ravenwood was different, it had a different feel and her room, although it didn't surprise her, was a lot more barren than she had expected. It wasn't quite padded walls, but they'd done a pretty good job depriving her of anything she could hurt herself or any of the orderlies with.
Smart asses. [/color] It wasn't important, though. She had stayed in bed the entire night, staring at the ceiling. It had been a solid six years since she'd actually gotten a full night of sleep. The puffy bags beneath her eyes should have been a dead giveaway to this, not that it was anything different from any of the other patients here. She seemed to blend right in. In front of Emma, there was a sketch, the beginnings of yet another self portrait. More hazy self recollections and portraits of people that didn't exist. She worked almost exclusively with charcoal and drawing pencils, with the occasional red tint thrown in. All of her works were rather surreal, and this one featured her, sewn together at the spine with one of her favourite hallucinations; Emmalee. Emmalee was an anthropomorphic rabbit. Well, a little less anthropomorphic as a human with attributes shared similar to a rabbit. She was a shapely woman with rabbit ears, and a tail, whiskers and elongated feet. In a weird way, she was almost kind of sexy. This hallucination had been with Emma since the beginning. The picture that Emma was currently drawing looked more like conjoined twins, sewn together in the middle; a person with two heads and slightly differing features from the other side. The background was dark, full of foggy mirrors, or what were supposed to be. They looked more like cracked and dirty teeth. Emma was intent on her drawing, not caring in the least about the two orderlies that stood over her, watching her every move. They hadn't time enough with her yet to realize that the only thing she wouldn't turn into a weapon was a pencil. She had too much respect for them to bathe them in human blood. Heaving a deep sigh, Emma lifted her head for just a moment from her drawing and looked around the room, smiling oddly at whoever else was there. She wondered if here would house any friendships for her like the one she had with Meaghan.[/blockquote] |
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Post by Kyne Clavell on Feb 28, 2013 2:02:36 GMT -5
Visits to the studio were far and few in between for Kyne - art, along with the music room, were lost in his hands. His over precision and lack of relating to what he created quickly frustrated him, accomplishing the opposite of a therapeutic experience. Yet, it was still encouraged for him to bring to life what was in his mind onto paper or canvas, and when he felt like a rare day of aimlessness, his feet often wandered here.
Visibly, Kyne was uncomfortable. His grip on a paintbrush was painful to watch, his movement slow to make a perfect line. He was unable to let go and make light, fluid movements or sketch an object. Furthermore, he felt as if everyone, including staff and guards, expected something out of his work. All his canvas showed was overly wet, dark colored lines paired alongside light green blob circles. They meant nothing. They represented nothing of what he felt. He began marking them over with an "x", knowing he was utilizing the art equipment in a shameful way to everyone.
Kyne set everything down extra carefully, shoved his fists into his jean pockets, and took a step back. He contemplated turning it into a sky scene, or possibly connecting all the dots to make something that appeared abstract. Either way, he determined his efforts here were futile. Increasingly more uncomfortable, he tugged on his dark hood, draping it over his head.
Now was about the time Kyne would begin noticing everyone else in the room, and how their work was coming along, which was usually far above anything he would ever accomplish. On the other hand, it was a horrible reminder of the wariness he felt in this place. Some patients used only blood red materials, others depicted their dark nightmares and hallucinations. It was difficult for him to grasp.
Kyne took in a rabbit figure that he realized was some deformed conjoined twin with a surreal feel and a background that made his stomach drop, several stands away. He stared a few moments too long, particularly because he did not recognize Emma. She was new, clearly, and therefore piqued a prolonged observance. That wasn't safe here, he knew that, and he drew himself back to his own art - or lack thereof. Just in time, for he caught the girl smiling wildly about through his peripheral, and any eye contact would have been invite for conversation he never sought out. |
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Post by Emma Dacey on Mar 1, 2013 4:16:37 GMT -5
While Emma's style might have been surrealistic and strange, such was the nature of her disorder. She often painted Emmalee and several of her other hallucinations though most of her works featured her, mostly faceless and bound. It made sense, considering. How many times had she been restrained for safety and for medication? She hated it and more often than not painted things that she feared.
She had moved on, however, starting fresh with a new canvas. Or she would have, had Kyne not caught her eye. It wasn't that he had been looking at her, she hadn't even noticed that, it was more his incredibly geometric and ordered painting. That was a strange thing to see in such a place. The people she'd most often seen in here for any extent of time, much like herself, painted the things that plagued them.
Emma believed that the soul purpose of art was always to spark debate, to look upon something in which some would find beauty and others, vulgarity. She was quite fond of the works of Salvador Dali, Marcel DuChamp, Jackson Pollock and there was something more modern she'd seen, simply three panels of the primary colours she'd been quite fond of as well. Very ordered, straight lines between them. Thinking back she was pretty sure they'd been ordered alphabetically as well.
No matter.
Kyne's work caught her attention and she couldn't help but to wander over to it and stare at, not him, but the work itself for several long moments of silence. She dared to reach out and trace the lines from a short distance, looking completely entranced by the very sheen of the paint as it glistened, reveling in the very essence of the artwork itself. She didn't know how Kyne felt about his work or what he thought others expected from it, but she liked it regardless.
"In this sea of convoluted meanings and twisted, broken minds, it is fascinating to see artwork of such organized nature," Emma said quietly, not bothering to look at Kyne as her hand fell back to her side. It took her a moment to continue on, but as she did she turned to look at his face. "It speaks volumes to the artist with the brush."
She didn't want to press, she didn't care how he felt about what she had said or why he had painted what he had, she just liked the artwork itself.
Emma shifted her weight back onto her right foot, rocking herself away from the work just slightly as she did so. "Reminiscent slightly of Kazimir Malevich. I'm fond of your style."
The invitation for the conversation that he did not want was not necessary; the art itself was cause enough for Emma to walk over and open her big fat mouth. Though, simply for the style of his art amongst all the darkly drawn figures here was enough for Emma to take a liking to him immediately. An ordered mind amongst all this chaos was an interesting thing. Though, depending on his reaction to her complete and utter invasion of his space, they could easily become enemies. |
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