Editorial Fashion Photographs Are Transformed Into Hauntingly Beautiful GIFSs by Legally Blind Artist
George Redhawk has found an outlook that reflects his inner frustrations perfectly - the endlessly looping series of GIFS integrates computer technology with an aesthetic approach, letting the legally blind artist produce deeply emotional content. Science and technology have advanced so far as to make the most improbable circumstances be realized. This visually impaired artist can now create artwork based on high-quality graphics and transform them into stunning GIFS - which many years ago people would have thought impossible.
Oh, my god, Sam's fingertips juuuust grazing Dean's cuff in that middle gif.... I hadn't quite noticed that until just now and now I need to lie down and ponder quietly for a while. Hmmm. Yes. Good.
oh hello anon you seem to be referring to:
The way he races over, crashes down to one knee–eyes locked on Dean’s face to make sure he’s all right, that hand reaching out–like he would’ve seized his arm, wrapped those long fingers around his wrist–but he just traces the shape of it, grazes the sleeve and then puts his hand down to balance (bare centimeters from Dean’s fingers, their skin almost touching–)
Its been a weird year! Lots of ups + downs but still feeling grateful
and blessed for the relationships built and oppurtunities that came my
way. Here’s a playlist of my 2015
favorites. I loved each song to death and endlessly looped them on my
iphone. I hope you like them too! Happy holidays and ill see you guys
next year! ILY
I studied Flamenco Alegrias costumes as part of my course, and I remember finding this film and watching it on loop endlessly. I was fascinated with the long trains and layers upon layers of ruffles that fluttered as they danced.
He’s a skipping record, he’s stuck in time, looping back endlessly on that moment when he’d had to walk up onto a stage in front of the people he’d mostly hoped to walk invisibly among, and accept an award. Knowing that all eyes were on him.
He kind of thought he’d been going to puke.
He’s wearing it now, the thin metal disc he’d been presented with. His fingers are wrapped around it, holding it slightly off of his chest like he doesn’t want it to get too comfortable there, like he’s uncomfortable with it. But, at the same, he’s holding on tightly, like now that he has it he’s afraid someone’s going to take it from him. Tell him it was a mistake.
He knows he’s a good hunter. He knows that he’s a good shot, he knows that he sets excellent traps. He’d just
— never been given an award before.
He’s never been to a party like this, either.
Parties at Wyatt’s had meant something very specific. It had meant that Wyatt was out of town and Ian was in charge, which were always horrible times. Wyatt liked rules more than he liked hurting them, he only hurt them if they broke the rules. Ian didn’t care about rules. And Ian’s parties had been cups placed in front of him until he lost count, obeying every demand that he drink because if he said no they’d just sit on him, pinch his nose shut until he opened his mouth.
This isn’t like that. His hands are empty, save for the medal, and no one’s making him do anything at all. And he feels
— comfortable, almost. With the strap around his neck and in the presence of so many people, something that would have sent him panicking and running to fresh air and open sky only a few months before. He’s
— almost happy.
But the place is still crowded, and when he steps back to let someone cross his path, he steps into someone else, face coloring as he spins around to delivery his apology.] Sorry
— I’m, yeah, sorry.