art imitates life

Seth Burton Graves. 50. Fine Arts Professor & Forger.

[sbgraves]

revelaare​:

location: the art institute of chicago status: open @crimsonstarters​

catriona runs her hand over the tweed chanel jacket that wraps tightly around her frame. the platinum white thread weaved between the pale blue hue match the dyed colour of her short hair, god forbid a hint of grey was ever to be found. she’s finished ordering a young worker of the institute in french, sending him off with a flick of her hand. in the corner of her eye the matriarch catches the grey sheens of construction framework, remnants of the explosion from the vasile masquerade her family had been blamed for. but that’s the least of the womans concern today. her associates mumble to one an other in the background, and the o’shea woman stands inert amongst the artworks hung in ornate golden frames. her long nail traces over lines scrawled within her book. “they send me the trainees…” catriona mumbles to the figure beside, with a role of her eyes. 

-

“Not a trainee, Mrs. O’Shea,” Seth lets her know upon approach. He no longer works here, no — but by a strike of faith (or if you ask the Institute employees, luck), he’d been at a visit back into the studio when an intern came with a request. Lady looks angry, was all the kid let them know of what she wanted. And so, work-hours or no, Seth steps in; the familiarity with the family equal parts an advantage and hindrance now. He offers a hand, “Seth Burton Graves. I’m a restorer and have been Richie’s teacher for some years now.” Not to mention, your family’s go-to forger. That goes unsaid. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Did you have any questions about the artwork?” 

[sbgraves]

emelprideaux​:

“As a surgeon I’m inclined to disagree with you…especially the whole dead part. There is no art in that, one minute you’re alive and then your body say’s it won’t fight anymore. It’s just ugly.” At least the death she saw was, there was nothing pretty about the people she treated in trauma. 

“Normally I just contemplate my own life up here, make sure I’m doing the right thing, that I’ve made the right calls on my shifts….that I didn’t eat too much sugar that day. Contemplating everyone else? This whole city? Well that’s a lot more than I ever achieve up here on my own.” And she was thankful for that because if she started letting her own head spiral, well that would be an interesting night. 

“I have another few hours of my shift to go yet or I’d volunteer to help you out with that.” 

Seth smiles and lets his head drop between his shoulders. “Fair enough,” he says. “I stand corrected.” 

“It’s a dangerous place for contemplation,” he points out, but it’s done with laughter — surely, she knows this already. The picture they draw now isn’t an all too concerning one; two people sat on a ledge at night is a hangout, a friendly talk, much of which can pass as normal. Just one, and you’re one 911 call away from having your night ruined. Another laugh. “I guess if you’re still here, it means those were mostly good decisions, then.”

 He nods, “I won’t keep you anymore, then. I heard life contemplations are much harder to get through if there’s a strange man babbling away at your ear.” 

[sbgraves]

copyrigght​:

“Mansion? That’s pretentious,” Lux furrowed her brow. “I thought you’d know me a little better than that by now.”

Though she was only teasing, the thought of expanding beyond the loft on her own was an intimidating thought. Lux had been so used to being on her own but the moment she had given into sharing with someone else, she hadn’t been able to transition back so easily. The loft used to be too small for everything she wanted and the moment he had left her, it was too big. She stuffed so many people inside of it after gallery nights just to convince herself the opposite sometimes and that moving past it to bigger and better things was still possible for her, and wouldn’t make her feel so small. 

“I guess I’ll have to check the one at the Institute first since I have better access to it,” She decided. “Rule out what I can my hands on easily first before I invest in something that could be fake.”

Seth lets out a dry laugh. He would like to think that he knows her better than a wrong guess, yes, but the stakes are severely higher when the matter is money — and just how a person changes in possession or in lack of it. Although he believes he knows Lux now, there’s no real prediction here. He’d been wrong about himself, after all.

“That’s probably best,” Seth agrees, then bumps his shoulder to hers. “You be careful. And let me know if you need help.” 

[manny-jacinto]

[sbgraves]

ewan-mcgregor​:

Happy 49th Birthday Ewan Gordon McGregor (b. March 31 1971)

“I’m naked a lot of the time, and they don’t try to frame planted pots in front of my dick like they do in most other films. It’s all part of the story, but they don’t zoom in on it or anything and go, “Cock shot!”. I’ve been naked in almost everything I’ve been in, really. I have it written into my contract.”

[sbgraves]

emelkaya​:

“Maybe next time.” She repeated with a small nod. That would be something. She couldn’t quite remember the last time she had been that drunk, yes she had a glass of wine every now and then, and she and Josie had given it their best shot the last time they had been drinking. But the kind of drunk where you confessed your secrets to strangers? Well that was a whole different level and she wasn’t sure if she never wanted to experience that again, or if she quite missed it. 

“You see art…all I have the pleasure of seeing is alive or dead…with the occasional person who seems to hang back and forth.” When it came to the beauty side of things, sure Emel could see where the artists came from. But really it was the complexity of it all she found a marvel, the detail behind what made a human, just that, human. “And it makes it painfully obvious how much none of them actually know how fragile they are.” 

“I didn’t quite think I’d be having such an in depth conversation this high up - makes it all seem a little more serious doesn’t it?” 

“Maybe there is art in being alive or dead,” he comments, “but perhaps the problem is the viewer. Of course, I’m guilty as well.” 

Seth laughs then, shaking his head. “I don’t think one can have a conversation this high up and not have it be serious. Seeing it from an objective point of view, we’re sort of... doing that. We’re right on that line between living and not, depending to which side we lean to.” Forwards, the street. Backwards, the rooftop.

“...Hell, I can’t believe I’m not drunk, either.” 

[sbgraves]

rosesjustdie​:

“Why do I feel like I won’t be prepared for it no matter how long I have to prepare for it?” Because that would probably be the case. His daughter would grow up so quickly and Wyatt would do his best to love every minute of it, even during the inevitable fights. As long as she knew that she was growing up loved and with everything she could need, he would be happy. Or as happy as he could be.

“Yeah. I don’t know how I would be doing this without help from my family.” Sure it would have been easier if he had chosen to stay married but Wyatt had made his decisions and now he was living with them. He had done what was best for Bella, even if that meant everyone he knew and cared for thought he was a lying cheating piece of shit. “Oh I wouldn’t go that far. But you definitely can, makes me sound less full of myself.” He joked, nodding with a smile, “I will keep that in mind. Though I will try to keep needing help to waking hours.”

“Well, you were married to him for as long as you were,” Seth comments, “that’s a feat in and of itself.” 

He lets out a laughter, and finally succumbs to Bella’s out-stretching arms, asking for attention. He grabs the baby and allows her to find her own preferred spot on his lap, which just so happens to be facing Wyatt; her small hand finds the sleeve of Seth’s shirt however, and that seems to be enough entertainment for now. 

“I’m an artist, Wyatt. And I wouldn’t be a very good one if I didn’t stay up through the night. I’m pretty sure it’s a requirement.” Bella reaches up, taking interest in Seth’s beard. “Did you find a new place alright?”

[whysoserious]

[sbgraves]

copyrigght​:

“And be in possession of stolen art? Seth, what kind of girl do you take me for?” Lux said, a smirk pressing into the corners of her mouth. “Hmm, is it so bad to want them to fuck up, though? Just a little bit? I heard rumors that we have a couple fakes on display without the real ones in protective storage. I believe it, too. They’re obsessed with their image. I bet it goes beyond integrity.”

She looked back at the screen. If it was an apprentice piece, she could sell it as such with ease. It would even be safer than claiming it was the real piece, though she was dying to know who was truly in possession of it. There was only one way to find out and that was getting her hands on the one she could, specifically the one on the computer before her. 

“Let’s say I test it, and at the very least the paint is old enough for it to be some-what real. Let’s say it’s real. Should I sell it to someone else, or should I give it to the Institute with a price?”

“You’re gonna tell me it’s not tempting?” He asks, his voice dropping a touch lower, theorizing. “If you could have, say, an authentic Vermeer in your house, just for yourself to enjoy — wouldn’t you want that? It would otherwise go up in a museum,” Seth does scoot over now, claiming a small corner of the bed, “where it’ll mostly be seen by tourists who won’t even bother looking at the details. Was there a glint in The Girl with the Pearl Earring’s eyes? You can ask any of them that and just after turning over, they won’t remember.” He shrugs. “I bet you know the answer even now.” Seth pauses, letting out a sigh as he re-considers every word just voiced. “I don’t know what I’m saying. But there’s probably something to be said about what type of appreciation a piece really deserves.” 

Display pieces are well and real, and Seth had come in first-hand contact with them throughout the years, even big names participating in the game. He’d helped, too, once or twice. He nods — she’s onto something.

“Now, that’s up to your morals.” Beat. “And probably an investigation, too. Was it stolen from the Institute? We didn’t considered it. Maybe it did pass their tests, but was substituted later on. Or, did they simply overlook it and accept a forged piece? In that case, you’d just be some girl who got lucky with her purchase. It’d make you a billionaire overnight.” A smile slowly forms, and Seth laughs off his own words. “Just don’t forget your favorite professor when you move into a mansion, yeah?” 

[sbgraves]

have you ever been caught forging? (yes or no)

“...No.”

YES OR NO QUESTIONS — RAHI / SETH / LEE

[sbgraves]

🎨

[sbgraves]

copyrigght​:

 With pieces like this where she had to pick them up so far and on her town, she was taking bigger risks with her time because she would have to inspect them in person. Lux would then use her connections and her own position at the Institute to confirm what she had, but that was proving difficult with how many people were in and out with the pending gallery opening. 

When he had finally stopped putting things away and gave into her antics, she anchored him to her side by leaning against him. The loft was cleaned up for the most part and she wouldn’t have him do anymore when she had no intention of helping. 

“I would like to think the Institute knows better,” She admitted. “But with how freakin’ stressed everyone was with the opening, I wouldn’t put it past someone to accidentally get a fake or even get one temporarily. What do you think?”

She had deliberately avoided the question to keep to herself any hint that she knew any better. She wanted some faith in the Institute, even if she did work against them. 

Against all signals Seth’s brain sends to his own body, his muscles tense as she draws him close, anchoring him in. He’d given into this once, twice, far enough times too many — but it’d been long enough that he assumed himself to be stronger as to endure an entire evening with Lux inhabiting the same room. She’d have all the spotlight on her, anyway — a line of men (and women) waiting for their turn at impressing her. He’d had his fair share also, a number or two hidden away in his pocket; this is his element as well as hers, after all — if his knowledge is ever something to be intrigued by, it’s here. 

“Me too,” he says then. But you’d be surprised at how clueless they are. “I think it’d take an absurd amount of talent to successfully get a fake through them.” That is to say, Whoever it is, they didn’t do it. Pride boils up to the back of his throat. They couldn’t. Only I can. Unlike the way his body had beckoned to Lux’s closeness, this time the pretense comes easy. He shrugs, “What I think is that the one this person has is probably the fake one. Maybe even an apprentice piece, like with da Vinci.” 

He turns his head then, a faint brow arched up as Seth eyes her closely. “...I also think maybe you want the Institute to not know better.” A brief nod to the screen. “That way, you have your way to the pot of gold, not them.” 

[sbgraves]

emelkaya​:

“Well fine it would be the seconds and that’s the gods honest truth.” She wasn’t counting the whole joining a gang thing, not yet, given she hadn’t done anything that was illegal and it hadn’t exactly been a willing choice for her to make. “But that’s a story I would have to be far, far, far drunker to tell you…not that I’m at all drunk right now. That would be bad.” 

Very bad given she was at work. 

“It’s ok, I’ve worked in medicine long enough to not believe in a greater meaning of anything I just…they’re still a wonder to me y’know?” Emel mumbled but this time there was a smile that she offered to the male that had joined her on the roof. “People I mean, people and their resilience to….the others.” To her she now supposed. “I’m Doctor Kaya by the way…or you could call me Emel.” 

“The second,” Seth nods. As for the drunkenness: “Maybe next time.” 

He listens, not entirely knowledgeable of her field — perhaps, the least fitting person to contribute to this conversation, if Emel had ever been looking for one — thinking about everything it might mean. There’s something to be said about the universe Seth finds himself in, all the gore and all the dubious ways he’d inevitably engaged in, but the outside perspective brings the wonder forward yet again. “You said it yourself, you’re a doctor. If there’s anyone to question their ways, it’s you. I’m an artist,” he adds in, “it’s not my place. Because you see, in art, there’s beauty in nearly everything. Rapp’s Deterioration of Mind over Matter, or Caruso, Dalí, Bouguereau, or Gericault who used human remains from the morgue as subject for his work.” He shrugs. “Maybe it’s partially our fault — we, who have praised it for its gruesome brilliance, perhaps giving way to the things that might inspire it. But to you — doctors, and policemen, and the detectives, it’s the why, the how. It’s probably just fitting.” 

And much like a painting, they’re stuck in their very own chiaroscuro. The darkness of night, the stark highlights of the city below. He offers a hand, “Seth.” Beat. “Burton Graves, if we’re being formal. But we’re both an inch away from a free fall, so I assume we aren’t.” 

[sbgraves]

stringpulled​:

OPEN: @ anyone! / @crimsonstarters​ LOCATION: Anywhere neutral

A reach into her bag, and the offer of an embroidered napkin is handed to them without the stall of reluctance, “Are you…alright?” 

This is a mistake he’s made before. Walked right out of the studio without thinking, mindset already onto the next task — most of which were set at home, or elsewhere. Anywhere besides a ten-by-then room with fluorescent lights where he must work at a pace. 

Perhaps Seth had relied far too heavily on his assumption to be undetectable that he’s ever so surprised at the stranger who manages to single him out, worry spread all across her pale face. 

“Oh.” Seth looks down at himself, and the one large stain — blood red — that expands across his pant-leg. He’d always hated aprons. Seth waves off the napkin, “I’m alright. It’s just oils.” Nod. Explanation incoming: “I’m a professor. I’m sorry to have startled you.” But you really should know your bodily fluids apart from paint. 

[sbgraves]

copyrigght​:

Maybe showing him wouldn’t hurt. After all, the painting was clearly obtained by someone. It was now a matter who had the real one it seemed. To have it in her possession to resell was an opportunity she wasn’t willing to let go off lightly, though it was also a mistake she was weary of making. She needed eyed trained better than hers to ensure it.

“Not yet,” Lux said. She was suppose to pick it up that night after the gallery opening, but the sight of it on the wall before her had been enough for her to demand more proof of its authenticity before she drove out to Michigan to get it. She was doing transactions like this on her own now and going out for a piece that was questionable hadn’t been exactly thrilling anymore without someone else with her. Even if she knew that her seller was reputable, it didn’t mean things didn’t have the potential unfold different. Her ex-boyfriend had made that very clear. 

“They sent me some photos, which of course won’t provide any information the lab at the University or the Institute can, but it’s something. They’ve got a certification but those aren’t too hard to fake,” She continued before clarifying quickly. “Or so I’ve been told.”

She moved so he could see the screen, the images displayed to his disposal. Different aspects of the painting were in full view, from the slight discoloration in the varnishing to the absence of any linings on the canvas.

Seth nods, “They’re not.” Paintings, however, are much more complicated to fake — convincingly. To one such ones like their own. The average viewer would buy into almost anything, but few could stand the test against a trained eye — and even fewer against modern testing. His very own could conquer the latter, and such pride must remain buried deep. 

Seth leans over just so, arm across Lux’s shoulder, taking the liberty to scroll through, to zoom the image intimately closer to their view. 

“Yeah... It looks normal,” he says. “...You’d have to test it. The paint, the canvas, the stretcher. I have a friend who could help, but if not, the Institute surely has some people who have the equipment. But my guess is, they did test the one they have and it passed as a real one.” Beat. Seth’s gaze moves from the screen and he eyes her then, the various shades of crimson and terracotta shining against the side of Lux’s face. He should step back. He doesn’t. “But if this one also passes, then you’ve got a real problem.” 

Again, Seth’s eyes draw back to her — his face warming up to a smile just then. “But this is exciting.” Not many artists would think such a way. But in Seth’s own view, the field was ever but one of discovery. “What’s your bet?” 

[sbgraves]

copyrigght​:

@sbgraves​

“You know, I could have sworn that Robert Henri portrait had been stolen last year,” Lux said as she sat up, heels dangling off her feet from her position on the bed. She was tricking herself as though she would only be on her computer for a moment, but she hadn’t been much help cleaning up the loft at all after the party. She seemed to have been distracted all night at the opening of the American Realism exhibition at the Institute.

“Blond Bridget Lavelle, I almost bought it from some collector in Dallas but they told me that it had been stolen along with a bunch of other pieces by one of their employees,” She continued. “How the hell did the Institute get its hands on it so fast?”

Lux had been on her computer all night since everyone left, opening and closing it and moving around tabs. She clicked around on it, expanding the images she had been sent of the very same piece the Institute swore they now owned from someone who claimed they had stolen it themselves. She wasn’t very good with realism, and even if she had seen the piece in her person, Lux was now questioning if she would have been able to confirm its authenticity.

Much like any party, Seth had gotten a fair amount of alcohol in him — and it’d been about fifty guests gone past him ordering himself a cab home. But Lux had been talking to him, and God, he can’t resist to indulge in her musings and deviations. It’d been a problem then, and it’s a problem now. Sure enough, it almost brought him back to older times, of shared classrooms and workspaces, where such discussions were a part of it all. Could one be nostalgic for something that hadn’t happened all that far into the past?

Seth is putting champagne flutes away, not out of duty but simply a way to keep his hands busy. Her voice the soundtrack to the scene. “...Stolen?” He asks, absent-minded. 

Seth rolls up the sleeves on his shirt then, black fabric settling against the pale skin, and walks closer to where Lux sits — close yet far enough to glance over the screen. A reminder of what Blond Bridget Lavelle looked like was well overdue. 

“Private collector, I’m guessing. They’re selfish.” Words thrown to the wind, certainly. Although Seth could damn their ways loudly and publicly, it’s hard to say whether or not he too would claim famous artworks for himself did he have the power to do so. As far as the money goes, it’s on its way in. “But that’s odd. Did you get a look at it in person?” 

[sbgraves]

emelkaya​:

A rule breaker. It wasn’t often the words had ever been used to describe her in life before, she was always so structured, so well behaved, so thoughtful. “Well maybe I am. It would be the first time in my life.” A lie. There had been one other time that she had broken the rules, the one and only time in her life she had ever done something against the norm and her whole life had been turned up side down so she had been back on the straight and narrow since then. 

This was nothing compared to that first rule break though. Sleeping with a married attending was always a big no no. Sitting up on a roof top? That wasn’t so bad. As he joined her closer to the edge Emel let herself look back at the crowds, the masses as they moved. 

“What was I thinking?” She repeated, it was a simple enough question and she knew the answer, but did she really want to share it. “None of it matters.” Her voice was quieter now than it had been the last time she had spoke. “Everyone in this city acts like the things they do, the moves they make are all a part of some grand plan and yet no matter what this place has thrown at it. it carries on. The people rally, day to day life carries on….none of it matters to them they just pick themselves back up.” 

“The first time?” He laughs now, not a great believer of her claim. Even Seth, proper as he looks now, had his fair share of mistakes splattered all across his youth. And he wasn’t the one originally sitting on a building’s edge. “Now, why do I feel like that’s not true?” 

Try as he might to not see the truth behind the strangers words, it’s hard not to. All his thoughts from previous nights ago, she’s translating them now word for word, all things he didn’t think anyone living outside his mind could understand. 

“...That they do.” He says. “God. I wish I could tell you something great, something like ‘we do matter’, but I don’t know if that’d be right. I almost think that if you want to matter here, you have to make yourself matter.” Beat. “But that means...” Seth shrugs. No words fit, but still, he tries: “Becoming like them.” 

[sbgraves]

emelkaya​:

“Still shouldn’t be up here, even staff aren’t supposed to be hanging around on the roof.” How she hadn’t been caught yet was beyond her, after all she could be fairly certain she wasn’t the only one that used this space to escape, and the needed for air? God she could relate to that. This place could suffocate you if you let it. 

“The edge isn’t all that scary, not if you don’t let it scare you.” Given the things she had seen on the boat? She was pretty sure being up here would never be enough to shake her nerves again. “I mean I’d never recommend on a windy night, but what it’s calm like this?” Looking over her shoulder this time she shot the male a smile. “Well it’s not so bad.”  

People probably thought she was nuts, she could have done if she had come across herself. “You should try it..” 

Seth buries his hands in his pockets, letting his hands rest there against the cold. It’s not windy, no — but every rooftop has its own atmosphere somehow, the notion of being exposed on all ends, at the same time as you’re above it all. He listens, mostly watching the way the stranger’s hair flows in the night. 

“All I’m hearing is you’re a rule-breaker,” he teases, a small smile on his lips — of course, only spotted by the back of her head. But just then, the stranger dares look back. Right on her elaboration of the perfect nights for this type of mischief, which tonight just coincided with his. 

He considers, then takes a step forward. “Okay.” Another then, and all those leading up to the edge. Seth takes his hands off his pockets and uses it for support, anchoring himself some inches away, but otherwise next to her. For a long moment, he simply stares ahead, all those city lights, the stars that were few and far between. Only after a long moment, does Seth dare look at her and ask: “What were you looking at?” Beat. “Before I came in. Or, what were you thinking — I don’t know. Must be pretty important, if you’re risking getting caught.”