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it's 1pm at the marsh! come on down, we've got
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Two Women Teaching a Child to walk by Rembrandt.
Circa 1640, sketch
British Museum, London
Thereâs a drawing by Rembrandt, I think itâs the greatest drawing ever done. Itâs in the British Museum and itâs of a family teaching a child to walk, so itâs a universal thing, everybody has experienced this or seen it happen. Everybody. I used to print out Rembrandt drawings big and give them to people and say: âIf you find a better drawing send it to me. But if you find a better one it will be by Goya or Michelangelo perhaps.â But I donât think there is one actually. Itâs a magnificent drawing, magnificent.
(David Hockney)
The head donut is the baby proofing. We put rubber over sharp corners, they put a donut on the babyâs head.
The one below is from the Met and is from the early 19th century. As you can see in the drawing, the design didnât change much from Rembrandtâs time. According to the Met, they were called bumpers or pudding caps.
on nostalgia
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Babysitting a toddler is a lot like being the narration in a point-and-click adventure game. Watching him knock on the doors of empty rooms and saying "hmm. I don't think anyone's in there". Watching him attempt to use [spoon] on [cat] and saying "I don't think those things go together". Watching him throw a cup of water onto the floor and just commenting "the floor is wet now" when he looks up at me to see if I approve.
It kind of fucks with me that somebody killed Ăśtzi the iceman because Ăśtzi himself is like whatever but the silent presence of human hands that drew back the string of the bow that shot the arrow that killed him is crazy. the idea that there were various people involved in that situation and while one of them has had his last hours painstakingly reconstructed and studied to no end, the others now only exist insofar that an arrowhead had to get into his shoulder somehow. imagine killing someone and then suddenly your entire existence is only a vague shadow implied by the fact that you killed them. much to consider
Testing the mummified bone marrow of Ăśtzi to figure out his ancestry whole time thereâs definitely another person, maybe more than one, standing in the room with us but I can never see or speak to them because I only know them through the assurance that they were there too in the form of one single arrowhead. I hate prehistory so much itâs unreal
I hate it too tbh
"Millefleur," a 78" x 68" wholecloth quilt by Jan Hutchinson of Newton, KS. Longarm quilted.
"Wholecloth" in this case means that she started with one piece of mottled teal fabric and all color and definition in the finished piece comes from thread quilted atop.
Seen at the Pacific International Quilt Festival yesterday
Stunning although Iâm pretty sure a lot of the gorgeous flowers are appliquĂŠd fabric not âquilting threadâ.
Nope! You may be able to see the stitches making up the flowers if you click on the second picture and zoom in.
file -> phrases that are going to shift something in me forever
i want to do a painting of a tiger taking a bath to put in a bathroom (bathroom-themed bathroom) and to this end i made a little maquette out of clay and i suspect this will scope creep into having both a painting and sculpture of a tiger or perhaps only a sculpture of a tiger. if i do both should they be displayed together or separately
Tiger maquette by the way đ
Working on cutting out a large piece of wood to do the painting on, which is a constraint that will either be really fun or really annoying. Maybe both
Wood primed and underpainted and sketch transferred mostly by cutting it out in different chunks and tracing around them. Stripes to be determined. Nobody let me work on this again for at least two weeks
The finished Ms. Tigers
Hi, I think your work accidentally inspired me because I painted this on my bathroom wall not long ago!
i LOVE the DRIPS and the JOYOUSNESS!!

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embarrassment has good bones
Girls Overheard While Assembling a Puzzle
by Mary Szybist
Are you sure this blue is the same as the blue over there? This wallâs like the bottom of a pool, its color I mean. I need a darker two-piece this summer, the kind with elastic at the waist so it actually fits. I canât find her hands. Where does this gold go? Itâs like the angelâs giving her a little piece of honeycomb to eat. I donât see why God doesnât just come down and kiss her himself. This is the red of that lipstick we saw at the mall. This piece of her neck could fit into the light part of the sky. I think this is a piece of water. What kind of queen? You mean right here? And are we supposed to believe she can suddenly talk angel? Who thought this stuff up? I wish I had a velvet bikini. That flowerâs the color of the veins in my grandmotherâs hands. I wish we could walk into that garden and pick an X-ray to float on. Yeah. I do too. Iâd say a zillion yeses to anyone for that.
Batmanâs Aff His Nut by Rab Florence
[image description: a poem titled âBatmanâs Aff His Nutâ by Rab Florence:
Batmanâs aff his nut
Have you seen the way he cuts aboot
Dressed up as a mad fuckin bat
Batterin guys
I was lit at:
âMate, Iâm worried aboot ye
I know your ma and da died
But everybodyâs ma and da dies
And weâre no aw runnin aboot
Hookin muggers and
Kicking psychopaths in the baws.â
And that was when Batman went
âAye, but do ye ever feel like it?
Do you ever look at the world and feel like it?
Like having a big mad base under your hoose?
Do you ever feel like drivin a big mad motor that turns intae a tank?
And leatherin fuck oot of guys aw night?
Scarin the fuckin shite oot of them?â
And that was when I was lit at:
âAye. Fuck it. Ah dae.â
And thatâs the Secret Origin of Robin and everybody else.
/end id]
I fucking LOVE this
There used to be a lot of activities that took place around a populated area like a village or town, which you would encounter before you reached the town itself. Most of those crafts have either been eliminated in the developed world or now take place out of view on private land, and so modern authors don't think of them when creating fantasy worlds or writing historical fiction. I think that sprinkling those in could both enrich the worlds you're writing in and, potentially, add useful plot devices.
For example, your travelers might know that they're near civilization when they start finding trees in the woods that have been tapped, for pitch or for sap. They might find a forester's trap line and trace it back to his hut to get medical care. Maybe they retrace the passage of a peasant and his pig out hunting for truffles. If they're coming along a coast, maybe your travelers come across the pools where sea water is dried down to salt, or the furnaces where bog iron ore is smelted.
Maybe they see a column of smoke and follow it to the house-sized kilns of a potter's yard where men work making bricks or roof tiles. From miles away they could smell the unmistakeable odor of pine sap being rendered down into pitch, and follow that to a village. Or they hear the flute playing of a shepherd boy whiling away the hours in the high pasture.
They could find the clearing where the charcoal burners recently broke down an earth kiln, and follow the hoof prints and drag marks of their horse and sledge as they hauled the charcoal back to civilization. Or follow the sound of metal on stone to a quarry or gravel pit. Maybe they know they're nearly to town when they come across a clay bank with signs of recent clay gathering.
Of course around every town and city there will be farms, more densely packed the closer you are. But don't just think of fields of grains or vegetables. Think of managed woodlands, like maybe trees coppiced-- cut and then regrown--to customize the shape or size of the branches. Cows being grazed in a communal green. Waiting as a huge flock of ducks is driven across the road. Orchards in bloom.
If they're approaching by road, there will be things best done out of town. The threshing floor where grain is beaten with flails or run through crushing wheels to separate the grain from its casing, and then winnowed, using the wind to carry away the chaff. Laundresses working in the river, their linens bleaching on the grass at the drying yard. The stench of the tanners, barred from town for stinking so badly. The rushing wheel-race and great creaking wheel of the flour mill.
If it's a larger town, there might be a livestock market outside the gates, with goats milling in woven willow pens or chickens in wooden cages. Or a line of horses for the wealthier buyer or your desperate travelers. There might be a red light district, escaping the regulations of the city proper, or plain old slums. More industrial yards, like the yards where fabric is dyed (these might also smell quite bad, like rotting plant material, or urine).
There are so many things that preindustrial people did and would find familiar that we just don't know about now. So much of life was lived out in the open for anyone to see. Make your world busy and loud and colorful!
You mentioned coppicing:
The coppice and pollard systems are one of my favorite pre-modern things, it's just so visually unique and sensible, but most people haven't heard about it.
When you coppice, you cut the tree close to the ground, so only the trunk is left, then the tree puts out fairly straight shoots that are great for firewood. They would typically have these trees harvested on rotation so new trees would be ready every year.
This is a coppiced tree:
When you pollard, you cut the tree to the trunk, but higher, and let the branches grow for longer. They'll be be nice and straight (depending on species) with fewer knots, and suitable to various crafts without much need to work the wood. Sadly seems to be etymologically unrelated to "pole", though the branches from these trees were used to make poles. Part of why you do this instead of coppicing is that the shoots are out of reach of animals.
This is a pollarded tree:
It's very likely that you'd see something like this as a sign of civilization as you came toward a town or village, depending on the species of tree that they have available, though note that this is something you do when you have a timeline of many years, rather than something you set up for the year after.
Murphy Grindset
The default state of everything is "not working"
A system at rest will develop glitches
No plan survives contact with reality
There are infinitely more ways to fail than to succeed
Nonetheless, we went to the moon

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Art Nouveau revival-style custom bathroom sink & mirror design by glass artist Lyn Hovey & woodworker Jamie Robertson (1980s)
Scanned from the book, 'Contemporary Crafts for the Home' (1990)
okay what are some excellent recent poems
A. E. Stalling's vilanelle "Burned"
You cannot unburn what is burned. Although you scrape the ruined toast, You canât go back. Itâs time you learned The butter cannot be unchurned, You canât unmail the morning post, You cannot unburn what is burnedâ The lovers in your youth you spurned, The bridges charred you needed most. You canât go back. Itâs time you learned Smokeâs reputation is well earned, Not just as an acrid, empty boastâ You cannot unburn what is burned. You longed for home, but while you yearned, The black ships smoldered on the coast; You canât go back. Itâs time you learned That even if you had returned, Youâd only be a kind of ghost, You canât go back. Itâs time you learned That what is burned is burned is burned.