The title of the work is identical to a series of photographs by Huseyin shot in Odessa, showing curtains blowing in the wind. These images inspired an installation of hardened lace curtains, frozen in time and space. The work refers to the gesture of opening the windows to set free the soul of the deceased, as well as the idea of a spirit present in a room, mysteriously lifting the curtains to reveal its presence.
Gabriel Lester,Melancholia in Arcadia (2011)
All rights are reserved. Photography by Peter Cox. Rabo Art Collection
this was tangentially inspired by naked ambiton, is my first “fic” in approx 47593 years, is both my first ever check please fic and bitty/jack fic so here we go, also i’m always on mobile so i can’t do a read more sorry
At first, Jack is a little weird about his body.
He’s not ashamed of it, per se; it’s more that his relationship with his body is complicated. Jack works really hard. He needs his body to be strong and fast. He’s constantly naked around other people whose bodies are also strong and fast.
He just, you know, doesn’t really want people to look at him.
All Bitty does is look at him.
The first few times they have sex, it’s rushed in the dark. It’s always been a while since they’ve seen each other, Jack reasons. It’s always a lot of pent up longing and only a little time for romance. Jack likes the feeling of Bitty’s body againt his. They fit. He just doesn’t necessarily want Bitty to see it.
But Bitty’s always looking.
It’s mid-morning and Jack is trying to sleep in on a very rare day off. His curtains are a gauzy medium grey and they let in a gauzy medium light. Jack’s on his back, sheets pulled up to his navel. Bitty’s eyes are closed and his hand is tracing circles across Jack’s ribs.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Bitty murmurs, almost to himself. Jack feels his face warm. “Truly a masterpiece.”
Bitty trails his hand trails down Jack’s stomach, sliding the sheets out of the way. Jack tenses, a small thing, and Bitty’s fingers still.
“Hey, Jack,” Bitty says softly, eyes still closed. “Hey.”
Jack swallows. Says, “I, uh.” Stops.
Bitty’s fingers start moving again, slowly. He hums, waits for Jack to continue.
“I just don’t really.” Pauses. “Ah, I don’t.”
Gently, Bitty curls in a little closer to Jack, rests his forehead on Jack’s ribs.
“I don’t like the stretch marks,” Jack whispers, eyes squeezed shut. “They’re ugly”
Bitty hums again, softer this time. His fingers trip over the worst of them, right on Jack’s hips. They’re a faded silver now but Jack will always remember the angry red they were, stretched tight and deep. He tries very hard not to twitch away from Bitty’s fingers but God he wishes, fiercely that it was night again. He thinks Bitty’s eyes are open now, looking, and he wishes it was too dark to see.
“Jack,” Bitty whispers, “Honey, you’re perfect.”
Jack’s breath catches in his throat.
“You’re so perfect,” he says again. “Strong, because you need to be. You’re so strong and so capable and your body is everything but–but ugly.”
Bitty sounds almost offended on Jack’s body’s behalf and Jack can feel a small tear roll down his cheek. Both of Bitty’s hands are on him now, smoothing over Jack’s skin as he places tiny kisses across Jack’s ribs.
“You’re everything, Jack. You’re everything good in this world. No part of you is ugly.”
Jack can feel tears caught in his throat and he tries to swallow them down, drown them with big, steady gulps of air. One of Bitty’s arms is tucked under Jack’s back, the other across his stomach in a soft sideways hug. Jack snakes a hand down to hug Bitty closer to him. Takes another steadying breath.
“Now turn over so I can objectify you from a different angle.”
Jack snorts, caught a little off guard, and doesn’t let Bitty go as he flops over onto his stomach. Bitty is laughing, tangled under the mess of blankets and the heat of Jack’s body. When Bitty finally emerges, pink-faced from struggling, laughing and bright-eyed, Jack is grateful for the soft golden light filtering through the curtains.