KILLING TIME | ❝Wasting time would mean we sat and did nothing. Killing time meant we lived until there was nothing but us. Nothing around, not even time. Because we killed it, and there wasn't enough.❞
POST: DR. STRANGE | STEPHEN STRANGE
A HERO OF...
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CHANTELLE SHOULD HAVE SLEPT MORE. She yawned as she played with the rim of her coffee cup, seated at one of the outside tables of the coffee shop she was asked to meet at, sighing softly at the off-name hipster monstrosity where all the staff and patrons were at least a decade younger than herself, if not more. They gave her a strange look, but after stating her name she was met with nothing but wide stares and surrounded by whispers.
That was always something she found strange, the idea that people knew her name. Of course, it was a very niche community, but with her crossing over from gallery art to more mainstream storyboarding and concept design, there were now two communities she found herself being recognized by, some preferring only her gallery work and turning their nose at her current profession, and others only knowing her for her storyboards and fanart. She was fine with either, but it warmed her heart to no end when she found someone who respected her for both.
She felt a tap on her shoulder, glancing around to find a woman smiling at her, giving her a small wave before raising an eyebrow, spelling out her last name, "S-E-T-H-I?"
Chantelle smiled and nodded, beginning to sign as the woman took a seat before a hand was raised, the woman giving her an apologetic smile as she signed, "I am mute, not deaf. You can speak, but I will need to sign. You can sign if you want."
"Okay," Chantelle signed, smiling. Still capable of vocalizing, she had no trouble doing so, especially having grown up being forced to in order to get through school and family life, but she felt more secure while signing, so, when the opportunity arose she always preferred to sign.
"Thank you for acknowledging the offer, I know you're very set in your retreat from the gallery scene," Eliza signed, taking a moment to drink from her coffee cup, "Is there any way I can convince you to be a part of this?"
Chantelle smiled as she replied, "Usually, I have to convince galleries to keep me when I apply to them. I would like to know what you are expecting and what you are willing to pay."
Eliza nodded in understanding and reached into her bag, handing over a well manicured folder filled with a fine gloss paper, separated into sections and clipped with neat, no-nonsense black binder clips, but the folder itself was still rather flat.
"Sorry," Eliza signed, ducking her head in embarrassment, "It's easier to give out paper, if possible, we have this in braille and audio, as well, though I am more than happy to fully explain if you can't focus on text, though I find it more efficient and comprehensive this way."
Chantelle smiled and set the folder aside. "It's perfectly fine, no worries. Just to summarize, what would you say you wanted to see from me?"
"What we look for from all the artists," Eliza began, "Are pieces meant to raise awareness of stigma, whether internal or external, and how you personally feel about your own self, however that may be. Any medium, any concept, any message you want, so long as it doesn't demean or demonize your own disability or another's. Of course, if the message is made that it feels demeaning or is demeaned, that is different, but I'm sure you understand."
