Rhetoric and Logic

Points of clarification:

The strawberries are freshly washed, including the leaves. There are no pesticides or dirt on them

They are farm fresh and your preferred ripeness. None of them are moldy or rotted

There is no specific time limit, but you aren't allowed to get up and a referee will disqualify you if you go too long without eating, or eat really slowly on purpose

There is the normal amount of leaf per strawberry

How did you learn this craft?

Hey there, thank you for asking! I hope you're having a nice day, and thank you for the kind words in the tags - I really appreciate it.

It started with a project I made during my MA. Tough times, really missed my grandparents and the sense of belonging in childhood which I can't seem to find again as an adult.

Miniatures just lend itself well in this context. When it comes to materials, I'd always have a soft spot for paper and ephemeras, so it was a natural step.

Here are some photos from that project, KTTKT A9 (or, Khu Tập Thể Khương Thượng A9 - name of the block where they lived.)

This is a screenshot from image search of the area

Celeste dos Cravos

An illustration commemorating the 50 years of the Carnation Revolution that took place in Portugal on the 25th of April of 1974, and the woman, Celeste Caeiro, who gave the revolution its name with a simple gesture :)

25 de Abril sempre! Fascismo nunca mais! ✊

It is important to consider the culture of the person who created the piece, absolutely; but the different perspectives offered by the viewers is fascinating in and of itself and does not always detract from the message.

As an example, when I was younger, I watched Schindler's List. This movie is famously shot in black and white except for one section, concerning a little girl in a red coat. The camera follows her until her eventual death.

I am Turtle Island Indigenous and I was always taught that the only color spirits could see was red, because it is the color of life and blood.

So the second the girl in the red jacket came on screen, something inside me chilled with fear.

The only color in the movie was that red. At some point, I, the viewer, had died.

I remember sobbing at the sight of the burning human piles that were shown, convinced I was buried in there somewhere. The reason I had only seen red on the girl was that my death was recent. I was the ash in the air mistaken for snow. I had died before her and had followed her, helplessly, until she followed me.

The message I got for that was maybe not what the creator had intended: that there was no "being clever enough" or "good enough" or "kind enough" that would shield or protect you from such a massive tidal wave of evil.

You are not exempt from tragedy, that red jacket whispered. You are not special.

When I told some of my white friends about my experience with viewing Schindler's List, some were shocked and the rest just out-and-out mocked me for my "media illiteracy".

"it was just a filming trick to make you feel something," I remember one saying, which terrified me. How had he not felt anything even before she showed up?