<br/><div class="floatleft">(http://media-cache-ec0.pinimg.com/236x/88/2b/7a/882b7a8e5773e2ce3bc7f8b7dcefca89.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Eiryn Grim<br/><br/><br/><strong>Location:</strong>At her flat<br/><br/><br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Isis<br/><br/><br/><strong>Content:</strong>Showing off<br/><br/><br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Goth/Punk jeans (http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/68/1c/08/681c0858094d0c087edb1e73e512e52f.jpg); black crop tank top (https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/shopping?q=tbn:ANd9GcSYaiGZqJSYILXmjjQg1Fy7hDCWs-dYSa8nWGbOHpa_LxjwWixt&usqp=CAE);asymmetric jacket (http://s001.osstatic.net/s/jctr/store/productimages/details/1275_pitch_black_l_z.jpg).<br/><br/><br/><hr/><br/>"Heh," Eiryn snorted, reclaiming the pipe and taking a deep puff, then washing it down with a swig of coffee. "Well, maybe<em>I</em>need to get mellow to show them off. Been livin' with them for quite a while." Setting her cup down and returning the pipe, she tossed her head.  "Come on. They're in the bedroom. Don't smirk- only place I had wall space to hang them together properly."<br/><br/>The room was small, and her bed was a mess, basically a double mattress on the floor, sheets in disarray, sketches and books and clothes here and there. The two paintings were on the wall above the bed, a surprise to anyone coming into the room without warning.<br/><br/>She was, maybe, a<em>bit</em>too modest- while neither she or her work were by any means household names, the two paintings were known, by title at least, to many in the GLBTQ community, especially those in the arts. They were the only two she ever allowed to be reproduced, and she frequently had donated signed prints for social justice fundraisers.<br/><br/>The earlier piece,<em>Passion of the Id</em>, was a parody of the traditional religious scene: In the foreground, an androgynous figure with little detail save tiny, childish breasts and a vestigial cock stood, arms spread wide, blood dripping from his/her palms, wearing a crown of thorns. Rather than a wound in the side, the figure's chest was opened, revealing a stylized heart; from the cavity, a smaller copy of the same figure was emerging. Behind the sufferer stood a diffuse army of skeletal figures, faces averted, hands held up in gestures of dismay and warding. The whole thing was rendered in sandy earth tones, reminiscent of a desert.<br/><br/>Two years later had come<em> Chrysalis</em>:  Same vague gender-complicated character, same army behind her/him. This time, the colors were more stark: grays and blacks with strong primary colors as contrast. In this version, the foreground figure was unzipping or peeling open hir own body, revealing the same heart, larger this time, in the blackness within. From further down in the 'shed' self, a swarm of bright-winged butterfly characters was taking flight, each tiny body a simulacrum of the larger figure. The mob snatched and stamped at the colorful flitting things, catching and crushing some of them, but it was far too late; across the very top of the canvas was a narrow, unbroken band of color where thousands had already escaped to fly free.<br/><br/>Between them, the pair were an intense, painful baring of a soul in the process of self-discovery; it's maybe no wonder they'd become somewhat symbolic.<br/><br/>A few paces behind Isis, Eiryn simply stood, silent, hands wrapped around her coffee mug, waiting to see what reaction might come.