marianne_fonseca: Happy birthday my best friend! I wish you the world and I’m so excited for this new year and new fase in your life!! Also couldn’t be more happy that we both life in our dream city now 🗽👅. You have been there for me since day one, you are a true rare friend that’s always honest and transparent and I'am soooooo grateful to do life with you! I’ll always be here for you forever ❤️❤️🎈🎈🎉🎉🎉
New York City offers inspiration and haven to five female artists in “Our City Dreams,” a lyrical documentary about the intersection of location and imagination.
“I did art because I didn’t want to die,” says the restless painter Ghada Amer, who responds to the repressive culture of her native Egypt with vast embroidered canvases celebrating nakedly intertwined female figures. Less erotic but equally confrontational are the arresting woodcuts of Swoon, whose expressive, full-size portraits of street people are cut laboriously from plywood on the floor of her tiny apartment.
Allotting scrupulously equal time to each of her subjects, the director, Chiara Clemente, makes smooth transitions among styles, mediums and personalities. Beatific sculptures by Kiki Smith give way to painted bloody phalluses by Nancy Spero.
Throughout, the women are encouraged to explore the pull of their adopted city, and watching the Belgrade-born artist Marina Abramovic perform selections from her grueling, gargantuan work “Seven Easy Pieces,” it’s difficult to imagine any space but the Guggenheim as hospitable.
Nevertheless, one of the movie’s liveliest sections follows the limber Ms. Abramovic (possibly the youngest-looking sexagenarian to exist outside of Hollywood) to Phuket, Thailand, to prepare for her post-tsunami piece, “God Punishing.” If I can wield a bullwhip with that degree of enthusiasm when I’m 60, I’ll be a happy woman indeed.
“Filmed over the course of two years, Our City Dreams is the story of a woman’s struggles and successes as an artist in New York City. Told through five women artists, from youngest to oldest, the film features Swoon, Ghada Amer, Kiki Smith, Marina Abramovic, and Nancy Spero. From the studio to the streets of New York, from the canals of Venice to the alleys of Cairo and the beaches of Phuket, Our City Dreams takes us deep into the artists’ worlds.”
I show my AP Art students the film Our City Dreams by Chiara Clemente. Seeing Nancy Spero speak to the anguish she feels living without her longtime love and fellow artist, Leon Golub totally makes my heart hurt.
For the Klaine Advent challenge I’m combining the word prompt with the summary for a Hallmark or Lifetime holiday movie, for maximum cheesiness.
Day 2: Broadway + An out-of-work actor returns to his quaint hometown where he wonders if the life he once left behind could be even better than Broadway.
Kurt scurries out from backstage squinting under the stage lights. “It’s Hummel,” he says, helpfully, hopefully, to the casting directors sitting in the center of the theater. Behind his back, he crosses his fingers.
“Yeah, whatever. You can go.”
“Over a year, Rachel. An entire year of audition after audition and nothing.” Instead of celebrating the role that he thought was it, finally, a shoe-in, the part he was born to play—he’s throwing himself a pity-party, sprawled face down on the couch with a bottle of wine tucked close by.
“Plenty of people struggle to make it Kurt, why Ms. Barbra Streisand herself worked as an usher—”
“Please no more Barbra stories.” Kurt slugs back a gulp of wine, a little dribbling onto his chin.
“The point is,” Rachel huffs, “We’re here in New York City. Chasing our Broadway dreams. Living in our fabulous New York City apartment.”
“Your fabulous New York City apartment,” Kurt points out.
I was just wondering if it’s possible if you could do a sammy imagine where you’re dating calum hood (from 5sos) (you’re also Australian) and sammy’s your best friend and he’s in love with you. (Sammy’s POV please) Sorry if this is confusing haha 💞
a/n: this is slightly AU but not really if that makes sense
I, Sam Wilkinson, am a horrible, overused cliché. I’m in love with my best friend. And when I think about it, it really was unavoidable. People are best friends for a reason. They click together in a way that’s indescribable. She got me in a way that not many people did. That was the beginning of it all. We were young, only 14 and confused about who we were and what we wanted. She sat next to me in science class freshman year and told me stories about London, Paris, Beijing, Rio in her Aussie accent, the only reminder of her hometown on the other side of the world. She grew up 30,000 feet above the ground in business class, drawing in her coloring books behind two high power CEOs whose names routinely littered the Wall Street Journal, CEOs that she only knew as Mom and Dad. I was born and raised in Omaha. Nebraska, and she was like a flame in a pitch-black world. In the back of our biology classroom we talked about getting out and getting up. “L.A. when we graduate Sammy boy”, she’d promise to me. Then sophomore year I discovered music and we spent countless hours pouring over chord charts as I strummed my cousin’s old guitar and she pressed against the keys of the out-of-tune piano in the practice room of school. Junior year had me dancing on the field at football games while she kissed her boyfriend behind the bleachers. That summer was the first time I noticed the funny feeling in my chest that seemed to echo her laugh, like thunder and lightning. Senior year she cried over college applications and I held her hand when we shakily opened her letter to UCLA. I hugged her as she cried, all her hard work finally paying off. We were going to the city of our dreams and it was spectacular.
By the time Y/N, Nate, and I pulled up in front of our apartment in Los Angeles, I was falling hard. Love was real and every moment we spent on our ratty, hand-me-down couch was shining gold. Nate and I got signed and suddenly there were thousands of girls worldwide who knew our names, but the only one I cared about was studying Psychology in my Omaha hoodie next to the largest iced coffee $3.75 could buy. We both cried when I left for tour and I promised her that in 3 weeks I’d be back, here to help her highlight printouts on neuropsychological methods. She kissed my cheek gently and I was tempted to say “you missed,” and press my lips to her, but best friends do not kiss each other. When I came back, sunburnt and smiling, Nate watched as I gave her a bag of presents gathered from across the country. Nate knew before I did that it was love. We moved out, leaving our ugly couch behind for marble countertops and glass windows 6 stories up. Y/N always worried about the money, refusing to be dependent on her billionaire parents, but I just laughed, as with every record we sold I was helping her to pay off student loans and buying her that dress from Urban Outfitters that was “too much Sammy! It was $80!” She wore it to our first big city party and I suppose, that’s when things got hard.
Calum Hood, bassist extraordinaire, waltzed in with his tattoos and accent so similar to hers, and she was practically swooning as he kissed her cheek and called her beautiful. She asked me to watch her drink, but instead I watched how her hips moved with Calum’s as they danced. I thought it would be okay when she came home with Nate and I later that night, but she was giddy on champagne and the scent of Calum’s cologne clinging to her skin. Then they were going on dates and kissing on sidewalks, so it was really no surprise when they became CalumAndY/N and ‘boyfriend’ was a word I heard every day.
I opened the door, aching to jump into my own day after a long day at the studio. Nate was still there, bursting with a dedication greater than anything I’d ever know.
“Hey Sammy,” Y/N said from the couch where she was cuddled next to Calum.
I couldn’t help but smile at my name on her lips. “Hey princess,” I said to her, a nickname that she’d had since I bought her a plastic crown for her Sweet Sixteen that she still has on her dresser.
Calum nodded to me and I tipped up my chin in reply. I never would like him and he would never trust me.
“Come tell me about the studio,” she said, pausing Netflix on our TV.
Calum pressed his lips to hers, and I winced behind his back. “I’ve gotta get going. Call me tomorrow Y/N.”
When the door slammed shut behind him, Y/N turned off the TV. “Tell me about the studio Sammy,” she repeated.
“I’m tired though,” I whined, pretending to my self for one second that I wouldn’t give into her.
“Then we’ll go to bed.” My mouth became dry at the ‘we’ in her statement. She looked at me questionably and- were her cheeks redder than usual?
“Bed it is then,” I forced out past the nervousness I felt. I followed her into my room. We had slept in the same bed many times before, but now, now there was something different, dangerous.
I threw off my shirt and pulled on basketball shorts instead of jeans while Y/N studied the view from my window, a faint smile on her lips. “We really made it, didn’t we Sammy?” she grinned jubilantly.
“We did it,” I replied, very much in love. She slid into my bed, in a T-Shirt she bought at a The Weeknd concert that we went to and black shorts that she must have had for years. I followed her, overly aware of her proximity and the smell of her shampoo and the fact that the only thing separating our bare legs was a thin cotton sheet.
“Tell me about the studio,” she repeats.
I slip into a play-by-play of every word said as she looks at me with an unfamiliar expression. After telling her about Nate almost breaking a soundboard, the exhaustion hits. “I’m so tired.”
She got up and my bed seemed bigger and colder than before and flicked off the light switch. Then she was back in bed, closer than before, our legs brushing and her hands curled between my bare chest and her smaller frame.
Just as I was about to fall asleep, she spoke. “You’re my best friend.”
“And you’re mine,” I replied. Before I could stop myself, I sat up. “Can I tell you something?”
She moved up to face me. “Anything Sam.”
The moonlight illuminated her face and there was a hint of something in her eyes. “I love you,” I breathed.
It felt like the world stopped spinning.
“Sammy,” my name broke on her lips. “Sammy.” She raised her hand timidly, and rested it against my cheek. I didn’t know if I was even breathing. “Do you mean it?” she said, not breaking eye contact with me.
It was too late to turn back. “Yes. I love you.”
And then she smiled, the most magnificent thing to ever happen in the history of ever. “I love you Sammy.”
And then we were hugging and she was laughing through tears and my hands were shaking as I held her tight to my chest.
“Say it again,” I demanded.
She complied. “I love you.” Her lips pressed against my chest, right above my heart.
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
That night I fell asleep with her in my arms, her words echoing in my mind. I love you.
When I woke up and she was lying next to me, looking at me. “I love you,” I said.
“I love you,” she said back. “For a very long time. Since you stayed up with me the whole night when I was writing my application to UCLA.”
“I fell in love with you when we signed the lease on the first apartment.”
We laid in silence, the rough fabric of her shirt bunched up as I traced my fingers along the small of her back, spelling out my name. S-A-M-M-Y.
Y/N spoke a minute later. “I’m breaking up with Calum this morning.” I think she felt my body tense under her because she kissed my jawline. “Don’t worry Sammy. I love you.” Every time she said that I couldn’t help myself from grinning.
I was still smiling while she showered, dressed, and kissed my cheek as she slid on her shoes. She was wearing my sweatshirt and I felt a primal, protective urge to stop her from going to see him.
5 minutes later.
Just as I was about to go out after her, the door swung open. She was back. Y/N was back home to me. “Are you mine?” I asked her.
“Yes. I broke up with him. Told him I was sorry but that it wasn’t ever going to work out because I am in love with Sam Wilkinson.”
I walked to her and hugged her tightly. I moved on hand to circle around her waist and the other to cup her face, tilting it up towards mine. “I love you,” I said.
“I love you.
And then I kissed her and maybe it was cliché, but with Y/N’s lips on mine, I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Great news that the Side Gallery are re-running John Davies ‘City State’ exhibition beginning March 22nd.
FROM THE AMBER WEBSITE:
Come along to our Urban Dreams/City State exhibition opening event and meet one of the foremost landscape photographers of our time, over complimentary snacks and drinks as he discusses his images for Newcastle and Gateshead.
There will also be an opportunity to attend a slide presentation of his wider exploration of British cities on Sunday 23rd of March, 2pm at Side Cinema. See separate event information in our events listings.
ABOUT THE EXHIBITION:
In 2001, developing Metropoli, his exploration of British cities, John Davies approached Side Gallery about his interest in documenting the public spaces of Newcastle/Gateshead, then in the throes of an ambitious programme of culture-led renewal. The Tyneside photographs came together as a body of work entitled Urban Dreams. In 2008, Amber/Side’s collaboration with the Lit & Phil and the Mining Institute led to a commission to document the legacy in Newcastle and Gateshead of the 1960s, T Dan Smith era of urban reinvention: City State. Bringing both bodies of work together for the first time, the exhibition opens up on comparisons between two periods of ambitious regeneration, the questions we should be raising in the current economic context and the role of documentary/landscape photography in a critique of public policy.
John Davies is internationally recognised as one of the foremost landscape photographers of our time. Side Gallery first showed his work in 1979 and also commissioned Cumbrian Landscapes (1981), Durham Coalfield (1983), For Druridge (1983, with Isabella Jedrzejczyk) and Signs of Coal (2005).