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Synopsis: Autophobia is about Louis, an anxiety-ridden teenager who is constantly trying to make his somewhat neglectful father proud. After he befriends his classmate, Daniel, the two find themselves in a secret love affair and Louis struggles to find acceptance from his father, peers, and ultimately, his self.
Okay, I just learned we got the worlds first nonverbal voice actor, and as a semi verbal person who has wanted to see more AAC users in media FRIGGIN FINALLY. Seriously, I’m just happy people understand that the statement ‘nonverbal voice actor’ is not an oxymoron.
The caption reads: “Defeated by roses. Near Turin’s Lingotto station, along a lonely path, Miss Guida Concetta Rinino, 28 years old, who was bringing a nice bunch of roses to a relative, was accosted by an unknown young man. The young woman, rather than losing heart, defended herself with extraordinary energy, using the bunch of flowers as a weapon. So it was that the scoundrel, his face all scratched up, had to flee. (Drawing by Walter Molino.)”
Incredible. At a distance I understand how the woman might appear to be the abuser and the man the sympathetic victim, but the second you zoom into the man’s face the pink-cheeked rage- not remorse, or rejection, or embarrassment- not heartbreak or despair- but RAGE- the deeper story speaks itself into your suspicions.
And the bit where they’re HER roses? Almost a relief, but also sadder, as she will arrive at whatever event without them, or with them destroyed.
Do you think when the righteous anger and anxiety and annoyance fade, when she arrives at her destination- will her loved ones applaud her? Will she be proud? Will her hands shake? Will she walk home with company from then out, and for how long?
In this moment, she is provoked into anger. Anger is good- it appears strong. But look at his face. Would you put it past him to linger there after dark, in case she returns alone?
What story will HE tell, of ‘I was perfectly polite, but she didn’t even give me a chance- women like that, they’d swoon for a jerk in a heartbeat, but kind and flattering men like me?…”
I love this piece. It paints both stories while illustrating the power dynamics and struggles at play. This should be shown in art classes
“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”
The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and the kind of question she tried to avoid.
Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.
“You a cop?”
The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”
A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.
Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”
A nod.
“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”
A nod.
“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”
A tiny, miserable nod.
“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’
“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”
Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.
The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.
“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”
The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.
i just remembered people trying to raise the torches against one of the authors of Oh Joy Sex Toy because she, a cis woman, wrote about wearing prosthetic penises (aka packers) sometimes during normal daily routines, and commented that it made her feel sexy to have a penis. and how her cis husband also thought it was sexy for her to have a penis.
people inexplicably found this transphobic. celebrating a woman having a penis or wanting a penis while still being a woman. was transphobic. and this being leveled against a loudly pro queer sex educator.
it made me realize how little people actually unpack about sex, kink, and gender, even ostensibly liberal people. i dont know if that was THE first time i realized it but it certainly crystalized the meaning for me.
Just a place to say my thoughts, post cool pictures, and just be weird
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