Artist Telmo Pieper Repaints His Own Childhood Drawings
Previously: Everyday Objects Turned Into Creative Illustrations
The stadium is full and the noise is deafening. We await the arrival of both team’s mascots, who will put on a pre-match show. The Bulgarians, of course, bring their celebrated dancing troupe of Veelas, which constitutes a major reason for the team’s popularity, at least with men. Brazil’s Curupiras have already caused a great deal of mischief so far this tournament but are similarly popular, mostly with children. Security wizards stand by all around the perimeter in case of trouble.
While we wait for the opening performance, let’s remind ourselves what these teams look like and compare some key statistics.
The VIP boxes are now full. Chairman of the ICWQC, Mentor Metaxas, chats to the President of the Argentinian Council of Magic, Valentina Vázquez, but all eyes are on Box Two, where Dumbledore’s Army sit under close guard, to prevent mobbing by an overexcited crowd. The Potter family – minus Mother, Ginny Potter, who of course is here in the journalists’ enclosure with me – have been given prime places in the front row. All are wearing the red of Bulgaria except middle child Albus, who is sporting Brazilian green. This will undoubtedly send the gossips into overdrive – what message is young Albus sending us all by choosing to support a team other than his father’s? A team, lest we forget, that is competing against his father’s ex-rival, now friend, Viktor Krum. Are we witnessing a very public, very ugly display of father-son rivalry? My colleague, Ginny Potter, who is sitting close enough to read everything my Quick-Quotes Quill is scribbling, informs me that Albus is a great fan of Brazilian Chaser Gonçalo Flores. That, of course, would be one possible explanation for this oddly public parade of familial dissent.
The crowd roar as the gates open and the mascot troupes assemble! First, the Bulgarian Veela, dressed in diaphanous gowns and dancing to the haunting strains of harp music. Several men’s jaws have dropped here in the journalists’ enclosure and, judging by the number of dropped notebooks, many also appear to have lost sensation in their fingers.
Up in VIP Box Two, Ronald Weasley appears to have become catatonic. Did I just see wife Hermione Granger administer a sharp elbow to the ribs?
And here come the Curupiras with their bright red hair and back-to-front feet. Tumbling, performing acrobatics, stealing hats from fans and generally creating mayhem, the stadium is greatly enjoying their antics.
It is always enchanting to observe young people enjoying the culture of other wizarding nations. Unfortunately, Master Teddy Lupin and Ms Victoire Weasley appear to be far more interested in what they are saying to each other than – I take that back. In what some may see as a somewhat belated show of parental authority, Mr Bill Weasley has swapped places with his now very sulky-looking daughter and is directing her attention to the pitch. It is indeed a terrible waste not to drink in the magnificent spectacle now unfolding before us, with the colours and dancing and whatnot.
The opening ceremony concludes with an interesting Veela/Curupira pyramid formation. If several back to front feet found themselves in the Veela’s eyes, the latter have resisted the temptation to transform into the terrifying Harpy-like form that gave many children – myself included – nightmares after their 1994 display.
And here come the two teams – Brazil in green, Bulgaria in red!
Almost all of the Weasley family are supporting Brazil. Certainly nobody can have expected Ronald to cheer on his wife’s ex-boyfriend. Both his children – Rose, who appears to have inherited her father’s unfortunate hair, and Hugo, who has his mother’s bushy locks – are decked out in green, but Hermione Granger is not wearing anything to indicate which team she is supporting. Does she secretly hope to see Krum take the trophy at last? Or is this the kind of diplomatic neutrality one might expect of a ruthless careerist whose long-term ambition is undoubtedly to be Minister for Magic?
And they’re off! Fourteen players rise into the air for the 427th Quidditch World Cup final!
Neville Longbottom is already on his feet cheering, even though nothing has really happened yet. Is he drunk?
The Quaffle is in Brazil’s possession but slick defence from Draganov and Vulchanov has so far prevented them from scoring. Flores, Diaz and Alonso are relentless, ducking and weaving as they try to find a way past the Bulgarian Beaters.
Luna Lovegood appears to be passing out some kind of snack to her friends in the VIP box. Some might hesitate to accept baked goods from Lovegood, whose schoolgirl nickname, I am reliably informed, was ‘Loony’.
An excellent intercept by Bulgarian Chaser Levski and Bulgaria are streaking towards the goal – thrown to Vassileva – ouch! Even the Brazilians groaned in sympathy there as a Bludger hit Vassileva hard in the throat. She drops the Quaffle, which is caught by Flores. Brazil are back in possession!
Neville Longbottom is laughing hard at something that Harry Potter has leaned across and whispered to him. What is so amusing? Why such an open display of humour in full view of the public? Surely Potter is aware that everybody in the stadium can see him? Is it not rather elitist to enjoy ‘private’ jokes with fellow celebrities when people in the cheap seats cannot hear them?
And it’s first blood to Brazil with a spectacular goal from Flores!
Albus Potter has almost toppled out of the VIP box cheering his Quidditch hero. His uncle Ronald seized the back of his robes and saved him from what would surely have been a death of international significance, spawning news stories across the wizarding world. Brother James is laughing heartily (did he push his brother?). Harry Potter appears completely unconcerned, merely handing his second son one of ‘Loony’ Lovegood’s treats.
Draganov and Vulchanov are successfully disrupting the Brazilian Chasers, preventing the formidable trio from scoring a second goal, but Bulgaria is relying far too much on their defence and their last touch of the Quaffle resulted in a drop and fumble by Grozda. No sign of the Snitch so far.
Harry Potter is cheering every well-hit Bulgarian Bludger, whereas his supposed best friend Ronald Weasley appears to be gnashing his teeth in chagrin. Hermione Granger is yawning. Whether she intends to convey boredom, or is merely exhausted after Dumbledore’s Army’s long night of noisy revelry in the VIP section of the campsite, her Argentinian hosts can only be offended by such blatant rudeness.
Bogomil Levski breaks through the Brazilian defence and equalises! Ten all!
Head of the Department of Magical Transportation Percy Weasley is frowning as he follows the match. Greying and balding, he has aged considerably since the Battle of Hogwarts (where, of course, he became the unfortunate embodiment of the phrase ‘better late than never’). Unkind political opponents may call him a ‘nit-picking bureaucrat’, but others go as far as to say that he is ‘not that bad once you get to know him’.
A sudden burst of quick-fire Quaffle passes has resulted in a brace of goals for Brazil, whose Chasers are tearing up and down the pitch. Gonçalo Flores has scored twice more and Fernando Diaz once, taking the score to 40-10. Bulgaria are making too many careless mistakes and need to take the offensive. Brazil looking far the stronger team at this point.
Charlie Weasley – or ‘The Unmarried Weasley’ as he is often known - is a burly chap carrying several burns due to his work with dragons. Like his sister-in-law Hermione ‘Bored Yawn’ Granger, he is paying little attention to the match, preferring what seems to be a most interesting talk with Rolf Scamander, husband of ‘Loony’ Lovegood. How difficult it has been to marry ‘into’ Dumbledore’s Army we can only speculate. Nobody who witnessed it will ever forget the shock on Scamander’s face when he saw Lovegood’s wedding dress – rainbows, spangles and a tiara of silver unicorn horns, voted ‘Most Hideous Outfit of the Year’ by readers of my regular Daily Prophet column. While Lovegood and Scamander appear to be holding hands in the VIP box, this might well be because Rolf is trying to prevent his wife from putting on one of her famous Special Event Hats.
THE SNITCH HAS BEEN SIGHTED! With the score standing at 50-20 (following goals one minute apart from Alonso and Vassileva) a flash of gold near the Brazilian hoops leads Silva and Krum into a breakneck chase – Beaters and Chasers scatter – Krum is ahead but narrowly misses a capture – as the Snitch soars upwards, both Seekers appear to be dazzled by the brilliant Argentinian sun – the Snitch has disappeared again.
George Weasley, wealthy co-owner of joke shop Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, has only one ear. This disability did not prevent him from marrying his dead brother’s ex-girlfriend Angelina Johnson, or from fathering two children with her: Fred and Roxanne. They are putting on a show of family togetherness up in the box. However, few will forget the recent rumours that – in spite of the plentiful gold brought in by such inventions as Puking Pastilles – Angelina has grown restless in her marriage and recently left the marital home to – my colleague, Ginny Potter, has just informed me that Angelina left the marital home to care for her sick father. Many will think that a likely story. Meanwhile, Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley have taken advantage of their elders’ inattention to find their way back into adjacent seats.
Moments after Diaz lengthens Brazil’s lead – 60-20 – Beater Santos hits Viktor Krum hard over the head with his bat. The referee is examining Omniocular footage to determine whether a foul has been committed. The game has been paused.
A great groan has issued from the crowd, undoubtedly in response to Ronald Weasley flagrantly and openly kissing his wife on the cheek. This piece of disgusting exhibitionism appears to have disgusted spectators – my colleague, Ginny Potter, has just informed me that the crowd groaned because one of the players has sustained an injury.
No foul! German referee Herman Junker concludes that Rafael Santos did not mean to hit Viktor Krum around the back of the skull with his Beater’s bat. Krum signals that he is fit to continue and play resumes!
Cold-hearted Hermione Granger did not notice her ex-boyfriend’s injury immediately, due to the ill-judged public display of affection instigated by her husband, but she swiftly put on a display of concern. The same cannot be said for Neville Longbottom, who appears to be spiritedly describing the precise manner in which Krum sustained his nosebleed for the benefit of his godson, Albus Potter. An oddly callous display from the popular Herbology teacher.
Mere minutes after play resumes, Krum and Silva are rocketing suddenly upwards – five thousand Omnioculars follow the pair into the dazzling Argentinian sun –
Dumbledore’s Army seem agitated and tense. Has one of them grievously offended the others? Have bitter wounds been reopened here, in front of thousands of people, where everybody hoped merely to enjoy a unique sporting occasion? Ought Dumbledore’s Army draw such flagrant attention to themselves when – apparently – something exciting is happening on the pitch? Or are they using this as a cover to air old grievances?
Krum and Silva are in a breakneck dash for the Snitch, which Silva sighted first – he is four feet ahead of Krum as both rise almost vertically –
Everyone is on their feet, including the denizens of the VIP boxes – Harry Potter is shouting – if my lip-reading is accurate, Ronald Weasley is swearing –
Krum is gaining on Silva but will it be enough…?
Teddy Lupin has accidentally punched his girlfriend on the nose as he gesticulates – are we about to witness a breakup, live at the Quidditch World Cup?
Krum and Silva neck and neck –
Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley snuggled up together again – don’t they care about Quidditch at all? Should they be taking up valuable space in this stadium, when all eyes ought to be glued on the pitch? When so many poor witches or wizards would simply love to be here?
KRUM’S GOT THE SNITCH! BULGARIA HAVE WON!
I can’t see the VIP boxes – everyone is jumping up and down –
The crowds are going crazy – after two and three-quarter hours in the blazing Argentinian sun, Bulgaria has won the Quidditch World Cup and Krum has achieved his life’s ambition on the third attempt – it looks like he might fall off his broom – tears are streaming down his face – a hugely popular win here in the Patagonian Desert – but hearty commiserations to Brazil - they led almost all the way, and in the end, it was Krum the Seeker who defeated them. A stunning display of sportsmanship here, as Silva and Krum embrace –
Ah, that’s better – people are calming down, I can now see the VIP boxes – well, Dumbledore’s Army seems to approve of the victory, Harry Potter in particular seems emotional – with a determined grin on his face, Ronald Weasley conceals his inevitable annoyance that his wife’s ex-love is being feted by the Quidditch world – young Albus is applauding, doubtless at the prompting of his publicity hungry father – my colleague, Ginny Potter, is approaching me, no doubt with another tedious correc
Rita Skeeter has been taken unaccountably ill with what some are calling a jinx to the solar plexus. As celebrations continue here in the Patagonian Desert, we at the Daily Prophet sincerely hope that you have enjoyed our World Cup coverage from Argentina. Next week, the National Gobstones League comes to Birmingham! But in all honesty… don’t bother.
The Imitation Game - UK teaser trailer
it’s not queer fetishization if you think Sherlock would suck a dick with a lot of emotion behind it
that’d be some
*puts sunglasses on*
"You can’t just change the race of cultural icons like Captain America! It’s an important part of their identity and message!"
Jesus: Ah yes.
Jesus: Can’t imagine who would do that.
Jesus: What a shame.
I love my mom.
I am risking nothing
I AM SORRY FOLLOWERS, I LOVE MY MOMMY
Will not risk.
sorry followers :(
omg im so glad to se so many people love their mummy
Why’re you being mean to my mum?
Nope. Googled it. 15 minuets. Nope. Not taking any chances
This has 1.2 million reblogs …
Ps not riskin it
ps not risking it
If you haven’t stayed up until the early hours of the morning reading with your eyes itching and burning with tiredness and your vision blurred as you fight to stay awake to finish the book, you haven’t lived at all
If you haven’t stayed up until the early hours of the morning reading with your eyes itching and burning with tiredness and your vision blurred as you fight to stay awake to finish the book, you haven’t lived at all
Ida B. Wells: Princess of the Press (1862-1931)
(this is a long post, so click here for easier side-by-side reading of text and image)
This week we switch gears from warriors and murderers, and focus on one of the luminaries of the early Civil Rights Movement: Ida B. Wells, who refused to vacate her train seat 71 years before Rosa Parks, and who led the charge to end lynching in the United States.
Ida was a tough one from the get-go. When, at age 16, her parents died from a Yellow Fever epidemic, she rolled up her sleeves, got a job, and worked to keep her siblings out of foster care. Kind of like a Reconstruction-era version of Party of Five. At age 21, the conductor on a train on which she was a passenger ordered her to vacate her seat – so that a white woman could use it. Ida refused. When the conductor tried forcibly removing her, she hooked her feet into the chair and refused to budge. When he tore her sleeve in the attempt, she scratched at him and bit him. When a gang of men finally removed her from the car, she sued the entire train company, and won. (although it was later overturned via legal shenanigans)
But by far her most significant achievements were in her anti-lynching journalism.
So let’s talk about lynching. I’d wager that mostly what it conjures up is an image of someone being hung by a tree. The reality was usually far, FAR worse than that. We’re talking torture that would make Elisabeth Bathory or Wu Zetian shudder. If you have a weak stomach, you’re forewarned — but try to stick with it. It’s important you understand what this woman devoted her life to stopping. During my childhood, and I’m betting during yours too, these descriptions were constantly censored. Well, I’m not going to do that.
Here’s summaries of just a few lynchings that Ida would report on:
- Tommie Moss, Henry Stewart, and Calvin McDowell, who were shot to pieces (McDowell had literally fist-size holes in him). Moss died pleading for them to spare him for the sake of his pregnant wife. The thing that started this all off was, in all seriousness, a kids’ game of marbles. More on this in a bit.
- Henry Smith, whose clothes were torn off and kept as mementos by the 10,000-man crowd; who had red-hot iron brands placed all over his body for 50 minutes, until they finally burnt out his eyes and thrust irons down his throat; who was then set on fire, and when he managed to jump out (he was still alive!), was pushed back in. Someone made a watch charm from his kneecap. Photographers sold postcards of the event. His screams were recorded and sold on gramophone, like the world’s most fucked-up ringtone.
- Frazier Baker, whose only “crime” was being appointed a postmaster in a small South Carolina town. His house was set on fire, and when he and his family fled, they were all shot — everyone was wounded, with Frazier and his one-year-old baby killed. Their charred bodies were found near the wreckage of the house the next day.
- Sam Hose, for whose mob execution they arranged a special train so that more people could attend. He was first tied to a tree, stripped naked, and then mutilated: they severed his left ear, then his right. Then his fingers were lopped off and his penis sliced off. Then he was set on fire. As his body burnt, the crowd of 2,000 people cut off pieces of him as souvenirs. Bone bits were twenty-five cents and slices of liver, ten. Even the tree to which he was tied was chopped up and sold.
- Luther Holbert and a woman (presumed to be his wife), who were forced to hold out their arms as their fingers were chopped off. Their ears were cut off, their eyes poked out, and a large corkscrew was used to bore spirals of “raw, quivering flesh” out of their arms, legs, and bodies. Finally, they were burned to death.
- Will Porter, who was taken to an opera house, tied to the stage, and shot by people who bought tickets for the privilege.
If you need to go look at pictures of kittens for a second, I understand. I’ll still be here.
Back? Good. Now, remember the Moss incident, the one with the marbles? It’s important for a couple reasons: it’s the first lynching that really grabbed Ida’s journalistic attention (Moss was a friend of hers); it caused a mass exodus of blacks from Memphis (Ida bought a gun and stayed); and it’s a useful microcosm to examine lynchings as a whole. Now, while it’s true that the inciting incident was a kid’s game of marbles, the real story was that the three men killed were associated with a thriving black-owned grocery store that was taking away business from a nearby white-owned one. The white grocery’s owner was the ringleader behind the mob that ended their lives. He orchestrated the horrifying murder of three people for… basically, a better financial quarter.
So Ida got to work. The end result: Southern Horrors, a seminal pamphlet that blew the lid off of lynching myths. Prior to that, the widely-believed stereotype was that black men were out-of-control brutes who were constantly a hair’s breadth from assaulting white women – and somehow this was believable to a large swath of the population. I don’t know, man, they were still doing trepanning in those days.
Anyway, the common wisdom about lynching was that it was in response to black men raping white women. Except that was unadulterated horseshit, and Southern Horrors proved it. By analyzing a huge number of cases and laying them out in an academic manner, Ida showed that rape had nothing to do with a majority of lynchings, and that most of the time the reason was either political, economic, or plain ol’ racist violence against loving interracial relationships.
As you could imagine, this did not win her a lot of admirers in certain circles.
A week after she first reported on this, while she was away on business, a mob broke into the offices of her newspaper, the Free Speech, and burnt it to the ground (yes, they were literally eradicating Free Speech). The mob threatened to lynch her if she ever returned to Memphis. In response, she looked into returning to Memphis – only to be informed that a group of black men were organizing to protect her, should she return. Wanting to avoid a race riot, she stayed away, but kept writing, madder than the devil and twice as eloquent.
Her keeping away from Memphis is understandable – race riots were a recurrent problem of her era, and she didn’t want to be party to another one. Even calling them race riots doesn’t quite get at it, because it was usually more of a one-sided assault. A sampling of just a couple that occurred during her life (try and imagine any of this happening nowadays):
- The city of Wilmington, North Carolina had its newly-elected biracial city government overthrown by white supremacists in a coup d’etat. President McKinley and the federal government just looked the other way. The white insurrectionists won, gunning down a great number of blacks in the process. That’s right, there was never any happy ending here: the black people of Wilmington just packed up and moved away.
- In Springfield, Illinois, a 5,000-10,000 man mob of would-be lynchers, stymied from killing their intended targets by the county sheriff, rioted in black neighborhoods. They burnt down churches, business, and homes, killing many black citizens.
- In St. Louis, after a confusing early back-and-forth that resulted in some black citizens accidentally killing a police detective, a mob of white people stormed the black part of town, cut the water lines, set black peoples’ houses on fire, and shot at anyone who exited the buildings. Between 40-200 people were killed.
- In Chicago, 5 days of riots ended with 38 people dead, 537 injured, and over 1000 newly homeless. Arsonists took aim at black businesses and homes, laying steel cables across the street so the fire trucks could not pass.
Despite all this, and the ever-present death threats, Ida continued putting herself in danger for the next forty years (!) by investigating and writing about lynchings. On more than one occasion, she passed herself off as a widow or a relative of the deceased in order to gain better journalistic access — an act which earned one of her contemporaries, who tried the same trick, his own lynch mob (thankfully, he escaped).
And she would not tone herself down.
Although people wanted her to! Oh, how they wanted her to! Early on, papers that championed her would slip in statements saying she’d “never get a husband so long as she lets those editors make her so hideous.” Even other activists asked her to quiet her fiery rhetoric. She never did.
For a good thirteen years, she was practically the only person doing investigatory journalism into lynching. Once others gained interest in the subject – in no small part due to her herculean efforts, which included speaking tours abroad, the establishment of a great many civil rights organizations, and endless reams of articles and pamphlets – she was relegated to a footnote. Despite her massive contributions to the cause, she was almost left off the NAACP’s founders list, due in no small part to some wanting to distance themselves from her forceful language.
In the end, she did have a family, marrying a man who supported and advocated for her. Together they had four children, with Ida bearing the first at age 34 and the last at 42. She would even bring her children with her on her speaking tours, declaring herself the only woman in US history to travel with a nursing baby to make political speeches. Her entire family got into the activism, too – once, while Ida was feeling despondent about going out to investigate yet another lynching, her son demanded she do so. “If you don’t,” he asked, “who will?” When she came around on the subject, the entire family was waiting, their things packed, to join her on her travels.
I don’t know about you, but that gives me the cutest mental image.
She died at age 68, almost done with her autobiography. The last chapter ended mid-sentence, mid-word.
The inspiration for this post came a long time ago, from this Hark! A Vagrant comic. I started reading more about her, and I couldn’t stop.
Thanks go to my activist/feminist/socialist/rad-as-fuck friend Peta Lindsay. She, being far more knowledgeable about these matters than I, helped provide the proper context for this entry by (rightly) insisting on establishing the background of what Ida was up against. You can find her work here or follow her on twitter here!
- She is depicted here being tossed off a moving train car, although it was definitely stopped when they forced her off. I wanted the image of her speeding towards the future, into the light (while the conductor is in the shadows).
- She is, of course, striking a very animated princess kind of pose. I imagine a musical number happening at that very moment.
- The train cars and outfit are period-accurate.
- The flying papers represent her reams of writing, with the nearest one to camera being the actual cover for Southern Horrors.
- Underneath the tree is a cut rope, being slowly blanketed by her work. I didn’t want to illustrate an actual lynching, or even a noose. I thought this was more poetically accurate to the spirit of her work, without being overly graphic.
- The opossum in the tree is a callback to a Loyal League parade float, which featured a black man against a tree with a bunch of dead opossums (which I take were meant to symbolize lynchers). She was never directly involved with the Loyal League as far as I know, but they traveled in the same circles, and I liked the image as a euphemism.
- The title “Princess of the Press” was an actual title applied to her during her life. The name was partly a reference to Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Princess Ida”, a comic opera about a feminist teacher.
I consulted the great-grandaddy of all Ida B Wells books, Ida: A Sword Among Lions. It’s 800 pages long, 150 of which are dedicated to bibliography, glossary, and assorted notes. It was a very long read.
In case you missed it, I instituted an official “you are smarter than I am” certificate! Giving them out for awesome corrections, questions, or for whoever can first correctly identify all the references in the certificate. Give it a shot!
NEXT WEEK ON REJECTED PRINCESSES
The last of her kind, she found her enemies and made them eat Crow.