#illsa

[fasterhaji]

Haji in Ilsa Harem Keeper of the Oil Sheiks (1976)

[humanismo-nostalgico]

Rick: Yo me quedo aquí hasta ver que el avión ha despegado.

Ilsa: ¡No, Rick! ¡No! Anoche dijiste…

Rick: Anoche dijimos muchas cosas. Dijiste que yo tenía que pensar por los dos y es lo que he hecho. Y sé que tienes que subir a ese avión con Víctor que es a quien perteneces.

Ilsa: Pero Rick, escucha.

Rick: Escúchame tú. ¿Tienes idea de lo que te espera si te quedas aquí? Créeme, los dos acabaríamos en un campo de concentración.

Ilsa: Dices eso para que me vaya.

Rick: Lo digo, porque es cierto y es cierto también que perteneces a Víctor. Eres parte de su obra, eres su vida. Si ese avión despega y no estás con él, lo lamentarás.

Ilsa: No.

Rick: Tal vez no ahora, tal vez ni hoy ni mañana, pero más tarde, toda la vida.

Ilsa: ¿Nuestro amor no importa?

Rick: Siempre tendremos París. No lo teníamos, lo habíamos perdido hasta que viniste a Casablanca, pero lo recuperamos anoche.

Ilsa: Dije que nunca te dejaría.

Rick: Y nunca me dejarás. Yo también tengo mi labor que hacer y no puedes seguirme a donde voy. En lo que tengo que hacer no puedes tomar parte. Yo no valgo mucho, pero es fácil comprender que los problemas de tres pequeños seres no cuentan nada en este loco mundo. Algún día lo comprenderás. Vamos, Vamos. Ve con él Ilsa.(…)

[backyard-pilgrim]

Day 2 @impracticallabor North Mountain Residency. Spent part of the morning walking through the former apple orchard and created a weaving with grasses, ferns and a leaf. . . . . #northmountainresidency #illsa #impracticallabor #weaving #landart #westvirginia https://www.instagram.com/p/B0rIIP-F7HB/?igshid=1ro3pvdrl2bk2

[backyard-pilgrim]

Day 1 @impracticallabor North Mountain residency. Mini plant weaving from plants aside the house. . . . . #illsa #impracticallabor #weavingwithplants #westvirginia #fiberart https://www.instagram.com/p/B0oRLTYFbR-/?igshid=518cycud9b6d

[backyard-pilgrim]

Perambulate Show Closing on Sunday 7 July, 2019 from 12 to 3pm. Join @feliseluchansky and Carol Maurer for the exhibition’s closing reception. The exhibition documents extended multi/mile walks traversing places that have special meaning. We will also be celebrating “The Festival to Plead for Skills” and we will have postcards and floss available so you can play with paper embroidery (https://impractical-labors.org/projects). Food and drink are available for purchase on the Pier and the views are amazing! . . . #cherrystreetpier #impracticallabor #illsa #walkingart #fiberart #philly (at Cherry Street Pier) https://www.instagram.com/p/BzYOuD2FjNx/?igshid=ve5pom441qsf

[korisalt]

Here is a thing that I wrote.

I've been sort of "working" on this one for a while and have finally accepted it shall probably be no more finished than it already is. In any case, here is thing. It is the beginning of a longer story which I have not written. (Illsa is actually Rachael's character, by the way.) In any case, I DEMAND GENERAL IMPRESSIONS. 

...please?

*****

“What about these berries, Granny?” the girl asked, her hand hovering over a cluster of red berries. She cast an unsettling silver gaze over towards the old woman standing next to her, awaiting reassurance before she dared touch the plant. “Are these ones good?”

                The other woman was not unsettled. “Perhaps if you described them, I would be better able to answer your question," Illsa replied patiently, twining the fingers of her hands together over the smooth knot at the top of her walking stick.

"Hmm…” The girl gave the berries an appraising look, still not quite touching them. “They're...red?"

 "Many things are red, Chanlyeya. Do they grow on a bush or a tree? What shape are they?  What do the leaves look like?"

“Well, it’s not a tree, but I don’t know if I’d call it a bush, exactly…More, li’l shoots outta the ground, not really clustered together like a bush. And the shape…”  She cocked her head to the side, frowning at the berries. “Pretty much just round, I guess. Spherical,” she added in hopes of sounding more technical. “The leaves are kind of long and rounded at the tips, and the edges…are…smooth…”

“Chanlyeya?” Illsa inquired when it became obvious the girl was not going to continue. She snapped her fingers, trying to regain her granddaughter’s attention. “Chanlyeya, the berries?” Chan offered no response. She sighed. “What is it this time?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry,” the girl said, not a hint of remorse in her voice. “It’s just there’s a person out in the trees behind you. He’s waving; I think he’s trying to get our attention.”

“What are you talking about?” There was nothing behind her but trees and a few small animals; Illsa could sense that much. “There’s no –”

“Hello!” a voice called out. Illsa whirled, her heart skidding to a halt. “Pardon, but would you happen to be from the nearby Quar’yupei camp?” The voice sounded young. Male…most likely.  A strong accent, but not one she’d heard before. Clear, and somehow fluid, like water slipping over the stones of a stream. But none of that mattered.

What mattered was that there was still, insistently, no one there.

Illsa brushed away the buzzing of her thoughts and focused on what she could sense from the direction of the voice. Trees and animals, yes, but where the man should have been…there was nothing. Not the thrumming twinge of life she felt from plant and animal, nor the scattered pull of the spirit-beings. Not even the dull echo of steady existence that emanated from things as lifeless as water and rock. There was simply nothing there.

“If so,” the young man continued in blithe disregard of his persistent nonexistence, “might I ask a favor?”

Subtly, Illsa shifted position to place herself more squarely between her grandchild and this….whatever it was.

“Ooooo, you speak Quar’yupei?” Chan crooned, ducking out from behind Illsa to better see the stranger. “Your accent’s kinda weird, though,” she informed him critically.

“Chanlyeya,” Illsa scolded, grabbing a fistful of the rough pelt the girl wore. “Don’t be rude.”

“Oh, no, she’s quite right,” the voice said, a trickle of laughter brushing its tones. “I haven’t had the opportunity to use it for years, so I’m more than a little out of practice. No doubt my accent has taken quite a blow.” 

“You mentioned a favor?” Illsa prompted, nudging Chan back with one elbow.

“Ah, yes. I’m in the area on…business, I suppose— ”

“You ‘suppose’? Shouldn’t you know?”

“A family obligation,” he explained.  “In any case, I thought I’d stop by and see an old friend. I was hoping you might know where I could find her. Name of Inatluk?”

“You know Mama?” This time Illsa swung out an arm to bar the girl from sneaking around her.

“ Inatluk’s your mother?”  Mild surprise bloomed in his voice with all the delicate precision of a seasoned actor’s delivery. Illsa pursed her lips; he’d already known. “Are you sure it’s the same Inatluk? About ye high? Wears a wolf’s fur and two feathers in her hair?”

“Yep,” Chan said. “That’s Mama. C’mon, we’ll take you to—”

“No.” Chan turned, her face falling at her grandmother’s brusque interruption. Illsa shook her head. Perhaps this young man was a friend of her daughter’s and simply possessed of unusual magics that hid his presence. Or perhaps he meant Inatluk harm and deliberately cloaked himself for different reasons altogether. Either way, she was not prepared to lead him to her family without knowing more. “I will go tell Inatluk she has a guest. What name should I give her?”

There was a brief pause. “Kirit.”

Just Kirit? “Any other message?”

He shrugged. “Just the name should be enough.”

She nodded. “Very well. We’ll be going, then. Come with me, Chanlyeya.” She trudged off into the trees, gripping Chanlyeya’s arm to make certain she followed. “You wait here,” she called to the empty air.

“Of course,” it replied in that same clear voice, even and placid as the stilled surface of a pond. “Thank you for your assistance.”

She would ask Inatluk about a friend named “Kirit”. Before returning to this spot, she would make sure that if such a friend existed, he both matched whatever description Chenlyeya was able to give and that this friend, as Ina knew him, would be reasonably able to mask himself as thoroughly as had the individual they’d just encountered. And if he followed them in the meantime…

She would worry about that if it happened.