If I post once per hour around the clock, assume it's queue. If I post thrice per minute, assume I'm in pain. For anything inbetween, I'm enjoying a space where I don't have to pass as a human. @sugarelemental.bsky.social
I've added subtitles to a part of this video made by the National Museum of Ceramics And Decorative Arts "González Martí"(in València, capital city of the Valencian Country) for the temporary exhibition on Valencian combs titled "From typical to stereotypical", dedicated to the Valencian ornamental comb.
The result is a piece like this:
Images from Del típic al tòpic. La pinta a la indumentària valenciana.
Ornamental hair combs have existed in many cultures. Probably the most famous ornamental combs word-wide are the Chinese combs (梳篦, shubi) and Spanish combs (peineta), though it has also been significant in other cultures such as Japan (櫛, kushi):
Historical images of Chinese women wearing a comb. Source: The New Hanfu. Modern-made Chinese hair accessories from CoolBee.
A Spanish comb from Mercería Rosi. Woman wearing a Spanish comb by Yolanda Luque.
Historical Japanese hairstyle with a comb in the front. Source: The Art Institute of Chicago.
Even though they're not as internationally-famous, the Valencian combs are beautiful pieces. Chinese and Japanese combs are generally worn in front of the bun, while the Spanish combs are worn on the back of the head. The Valencian comb is never worn in front, instead they are worn on the back of the head and smaller ones can be worn on the sides of the head.
Photo of Valencian women dressed in the fallera outfit. Photo by Martin Leitch.
These combs became popular in the 18th century in the Valencian Country. In the 18th century, decorative hair combs also existed in other parts of South-West Europe, but it went out of fashion quickly everywhere except for in the Valencian Country. Here, the combs kept being in use and they evolved in their own unique way.
Since the early 19th century, it was already recognized as one of the characteristic elements of the stereotypical Valencian woman's outfit (we know that because it became trendy for ladies in the Spanish Court to dress up as a Valencian woman for masquerades). Descriptions of the 19th century also mention how the combs were very widespread in both the city and countryside of València to be worn by women in all formal or social occasions.
Nowadays, the only occasion when women wear these combs is during holidays such as the Falles (holiday explained in this post), when some women dress in traditional outfit. There are still artisans who make the combs, following the techniques explained in the video above, since there is a pretty big industry of traditional style clothes for the Falles holidays.
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This was while William Still, one of the leaders of the Underground Railroad who helped former slaves adjust to free life, kept such detailed notes of all he helped, in an effort to possibly aid families in reuniting later on (he of course kept the notes very well hidden while slavery was still legal). He started doing this when one of his brothers, Peter, who unlike him was born enslaved, came to the Philadelphia Antislavery Society for aid after buying his freedom and initially they had no idea they were even related. William’s parents hadn’t been able to bring their two oldest sons with them when the successfully escaped with their younger children, and William was born after. None of his parents’ attempts to free his brothers had worked, and they’d lost track of them when they were sold out of Maryland.
William’s notes were turned into a book he published in 1872, in an effort to help families reunite. The book has records of over six hundred enslaved people.
PERCEVAL THE UNHAPPY, THE MISERABLE, THE UNFORTUNATE, THE FISHER KING!
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
ALRIGHT alright. so previously I did an illustration that explained the premise of all this, that it's inspired by the narrative choices that Bresson made in his film Lancelot du Lac etc
to dive in more into it (because this is something like derivative fiction. I'm putting concepts into a blender and seeing what comes out of it): the setting is haunted by the previously existing narratives that started cannibalizing each other until it regurgitates itself into the more well known narrative beats, and something else about the invasive rot of christianity and empire mythmaking into settings. it's an intertextual haunting, if you will! and this scene takes place during the grail quest narrative, but the temptation of Perceval plays out differently.
in both Chretien (and Wolfram's) Perceval narratives, what 'wakes' Perceval up (in more ways than one. desire and self actualization in one go!) is seeing knights, something his mother tried hard to keep him from. so instead of the temptation of lust & etc in the Morte narrative taking the form of a lady, it takes the form of a knight. the temptation to renounce one's faith to serve something else remains.
so Perceval still stabs himself, but instead of continuing on the grail quest in the shadow of Galahad, he becomes the narrative's Fisher King because his earlier state of being as a the grail quest hero is creeping back into his marrow. it was waiting for an opening, and stabbing yourself in the thigh is one hell of a parallel!!!
that wound isn't going to heal buddy, and the state of the setting will now be reflected on your body. sure hope that Arthur hasn't like. corrupted the justice of the land or anything. that sure would suck for your overall health.
all the red in this sequence is because in de Troyes' Perceval, Perceval takes the armor of the Red Knight and becomes known as the Knight in Red.
and now for the citations, which I will try to order in a way that makes sense!
Seeing Knights For The First Time
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
The Temptation of Perceval
Le Morte Darthur, Mallory (modernized by Baines)
The Fisher King, and Perceval The Unfortunate
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
On Perceval and Gender, etc.
Clothes Make The Man: Parzival Dressed and Undressed, Michael D. Amey
On Wounds
Wounded Masculinity: Injury and Gender in Sir Thomas Malory's Le Morte Darthur, Kenneth Hodges
The Red Knight
Perceval, de Troyes (trans. Burton Raffel)
On Arthur and the Corruption of Justice
The Failure of Justice, the Failure of Arthur, L.K. Bedwell
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I’m sure this will get buried but for the sake of answering all your FAQs
- they’re Opawz pet specific dyes. Non toxic made specifically for dogs. Once they’re set and rinsed they can groom themselves normally, they pose no danger to her in any way, no fumes, there’s no bleach involved
- my dog is trained with cooperative care skills, the process is not stressful for her, she gets paid heavily for her cooperation and looks forwards to the opportunity to earn extra snacks with the grooming
- she’s a mini American shepherd, her name is Yoshi
here's a secret: whatever you're doing, you have to root for your peers with all your heart because it forces you to root for yourself too. I've seen people in various spheres of my life (workplaces, education, art, activism) fall into the trap of envy and resentment when they see others succeed while they struggle, and it always always goes hand in hand with them pulling back and giving up and stagnating.
when you let yourself get sour grapes about shit, you tacitly give up on yourself. when you sit around hoping other people will flop and fail so you can catch up to them, you stop trying. it's a fantasy of mediocrity, the vain wish that other people would walk so you could take the gold medal at a jog. wouldn't you rather come last place at 27mph?
It's wild to watch the phrase "tumblr sexyman" morph into "man that tumblr thinks is sexy," because when I first saw the phrase come into use, I always saw it used in reference to the phenomenon of "when presented with a wide array of fictional characters, tumblr will always pick the skinny white man to obsess over, and if the fan-favorite character has no canonical human appearance, the fandom will inevitably create a popular fanon of the character as as a skinny white man."
When I hear "tumblr sexyman," I think of Cecil Night Vale being constantly depicted as a skinny white man instead of literally anything else. I think of the background character white men who get elevated over protagonists that are women, people of color, or otherwise not the white man power fantasy.
"Tumblr sexyman" is, like. An insult. I DON'T want any of my blorbos to win a "tumblr sexyman" poll. "Tumblr sexyman" is the exact opposite of what I want my own OCs to be. If any of my characters ever get called "tumblr sexyman," I will have to immediately re-evaluate myself and the art I'm making.
Oncelercest, because if there aren't two skinny white men to ship, tumblr fandom will start shipping the skinny white man with himself.
Bill Cipher inexplicably being fanon'd as a white twink despite being a fucking triangle.
Everyone fawning over Marvel Loki while shoving every woman and Black person in the MCU aside.
The way nearly every single character in Hazbin Hotel has the same "tall and skinny" body type, along with all the criticisms Black audience members have made about the issues with Alastor's design.
The way tumblr got obsessed with the white man villain in Sinners.
To the people who bring up Sans Undertale as an example of a Tumblr Sexyman who isn't skinny:
Sans has no canon human skintone to my knowledge. He is a skeleton and does not have skin. But the Undertale fandom is famous for its long list of detailed AUs and character reinterpretations. So...when was the last time you saw a Black depiction of Sans? Sans may be short and squat, and therefore not the tall and skinny sexyman archetype, but when the fandom reinterprets him as a living human man instead of a skeleton, is he commonly depicted as a man of color? Or is he typically a white man? Do you think Sans would have reached the same popularity if he was canonically a Black character?
"Tumblr sexyman," when I first saw the term rise in popularity over a decade ago, was very specifically a criticism of tumblr's whiteness. It was a critique of the intersection of racism, misogyny, and fatphobia within fandom.
I'm not saying "you're evil if you participate in a sexyman poll," but I am saying we should maybe talk about the way that any critique of fandom bigotry has been stripped away from the term in its current popular usage.
The fact that no one even seems to care makes feel like I'm going to explode, I'm tired of such a significant part of my life never being represented and often seen as less serious than monogamy.
Its not that it's less serious, it's that functional polyamory challenges the nuclear family dynamic that capitalism has weaponized against the working class. If a household is shown to function with more than only two adults in an exclusive relationship, then it opens the door to what other parts of life might thrive better under community organization.
It also inherently challenges purity culture with multiple varied casual and symbiotically supportive relationships.
Taking both of those into account challenges the Patriarchy itself, and the idea that a singular man should be in charge and rule over his own household like a petty tyrant.
It's only potrayed as unserious or rife with conflict and betrayal in media to keep it defanged and propagandized as a guaranteed failure state. In truth, it very directly challenges several foundational pillars upholding the power structures in our current western society. The status quo therefore cannot allow it to exist or be portrayed as a healthy alternative to monogamy or to the nuclear family model.
Yup—I can think of three recent examples of polyamory taken seriously in fiction off the top of my head, and all three are in works that are actively and explicitly pushing back on those exact power structures in multiple ways.
In the order that I happened to read them:
• A Half-Built Garden by Ruthanna Emrys
• Spear by Nicola Griffith
• To Shape a Dragon's Breath and To Ride a Rising Storm by @moniquill Blackgoose
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Aliens spend years laughing at humans for seeing faces in everything. Trees, coats on chairs, random shadows, the pattern on a wall. They chalk it up to an overactive imagination and a brain that desperately wants everything to have eyes.
Then humans start spotting predators, ambushes, and hidden creatures in complete darkness before any of the aliens can detect them.
Apparently, when a human says, "That shadow has a face," the correct response is no longer, "You're imagining things."
It's, "Everyone stop moving."
From then on, every expedition into the unknown includes one very confused human whose official job description is simply: See if the darkness looks like it's looking back.
”I have this artistic idea but not the skills to achieve it to the standard I want.”
congrats! Now you have a motif! A recurring theme! A focus for your art! Something to haunt you!
Seventeen still lives of dandelions? Three hundred poems about grief? A sketchbook dedicated to your grandmother’s house? Two books trying to unravel the complexities of familial relationships?
Don’t let the fear of it not being perfect on the first try stop you from being Weird About It!
Please view Hokusai's gradual working towards The Great Wave Off Kanagawa, over a period of 39 years.
An early exploration of the themes Hokusai would keep coming back to is Spring in Enoshima, done in 1793 when he was 33. The wave is small and there are no boats, but Mt Fuji is clear in the background, and Enoshima is in Kanagawa, so we are clearly beginning to work towards something here.
A second pass, eleven years later in 1803 when he was 44. The title of this one begins to get more familiar: The View of Honmoku Off Kanazawa. It has a towering wave over a smaller boat, but Mt Fuji is not present, and the boat is considerably larger and has a sail. But the feeling of danger in the wave and the smallness of the boat are here, and of course the general composition is definitely recognizable.
This is A View Of Express Delivery Boats, done in 1805, merely two years later at age 46. Here we find the wave and the boats almost exactly as we'll find them in The Great Wave Off Kanagawa, though Mt Fuji isn't present, and the location is uncertain. And it's a good picture! The wave is threatening, the boats are small -- but the feeling of "ocean" isn't really there yet, is it? It's unlikely this picture would have become a classic for the ages. But that's okay, there's still time.
And here we have it, a full 26 years later, done by Hokusai in 1831 at the age of 72. The Great Wave Off Kanagawa, one of the most recognizable pieces of art in the world. The boats are there, the mountain is there, the wave is there, and the FEELING is there. He did it! He reached the apex of his ongoing motif and theme!
Or did he? Because the whole point of a motif is not that you're striving to get to the perfect version of it, the one idealized image you carried in your head all along, and when it is done, you are also done. Hokusai is on record at the age of 73 saying he'd only just begun to feel like he was learning how to draw things properly, and that "if I keep up my efforts, I will have even a better understanding when I was 80 and by 90 will have penetrated to the heart of things. At 100, I may reach a level of divine understanding, and if I live decades beyond that, everything I paint — dot and line — will be alive." He had drawn The Great Wave, but he didn't believe he was finished -- he thought that he was still just beginning to get started.
And he wasn't finished with his ocean motif, either. Please check out his Mt Fuji At Sea, done in 1834 at the age of 75.
It's all there; Mt Fuji, the ocean, the wave. The boats are gone, but replaced with birds, flying with the wave instead of fighting against it. It's not as famous as The Great Wave Off Kanagawa, but that's not what motifs are for -- each successive work does not have to surpass the previous in terms of success, especially in terms of external success. They're there for you to keep playing with, keep remixing and re-experiencing, for as long as you think you have something to say.
I also want everybody to know that Google and most of the internet think that all of those paintings bar the last one are called "The Great Wave Off Kanagawa", so I had to do a sort of middling deep dive just to find their actual names. And then I was like "I don't think those translations are very accurate", so I went on a second quest to retranslate them, which was particularly difficult with painting three (A View Of Express Delivery Boats) because for some reason he titled that one entirely in hiragana, and it's all archaic words that were very hard to chase down without their corresponding kanji. Google suggested "the push-off is a transportation route", which wasn't particularly helpful.
All of which is to say that I probably spent a bit too much time on all of that, but it was fun; and at least I know what those paintings are called now.
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It bothers me so much that the healthcare system relies so much on the patient's ability to advocate for themselves, organize their history, and be so persistent against every medical “professional” who says there’s nothing wrong/they can do. But so many struggle with fatigue, brain fog, and face such ingrained systemic barriers, that the people who need and deserve help and support can’t access it.
I saw something recently that resonated with me: “Access shouldn't depend on who has the energy to fight for it.” And I’ve never agreed with anything more.
she is a princess and you are a dragon. she will be married tonight. do not keep standing outside of her room like that, go inside. go get her. that is what proper dragons do.
not that you have ever been a good or proper dragon. when you hatched out of your egg, your eggtooth was too smooth. the other dragons were rough with you, put little holes in your wings.
you were not bold. you were odd. you liked rippling water and the shine of chitin when bugs scuttle and of course the movement of the stars. those were all acceptable interests albeit maybe not traditional. perhaps you had inherited these through some great-great-uncle or something. certainly a dragon may be wise, or clever, if they are not bold.
yes, you have been a great deal of a puzzle to the other dragons. your body is smaller and rather more soft than it ought to be. so speed should have been yours, perhaps - your mother said it would be like fighting a shadow. if a dragon is not aggressive, it may instead be cruel, sly; a backstab. but alas your scales - so iridescent that they almost shine like the moon at night, a glow from within - you are not a shadow, you are a beacon like the flash of a knight's blade. your father has said at least you would make a fine egglayer, a nice mate to a good male. a dragon like you may still be a good mother perhaps; and that is a fine thing to be; although of course it would have been better if you'd been a trove-hoarder instead.
what a dragon must not be is kind.
you have watched her now for six moons. what a good and proper dragon would do is to go inside and to snatch her. a very proper dragon would have kidnapped her many times over, but you will be the delight of your brood to princess-snatch even at all. when you catch her in your jaws and bring her home, they will love you, then. they don't think you're capable of it, but you are, because you're a proper dragon. you can show them that. if you go in, now, right now.
you are rather too glossy to hide in the shadows, so instead you have learned how to appear flat and round, a puddle of light. (how your siblings would mock you! a dragon should be matte, to blend with the night). you dapple your flank with mud. you perch in odd angles atop of trees, scuttle like the bugs you love - hither, tither, frantic.
what you must not do is fly with your wings full-out. alight, you will be limned by the moon's corona. you will be a beacon. you must remember this when (not if) you snatch her.
____
you found her because of the lake. this lake in particular was your favorite - nestled deep in the woods, between two mountains. it is very quiet; there is nothing to horde there so no other dragon bothers you. a gentle waterfall spills over into a deep cove, and there are many mossy caves you've spent your afternoons napping in. while it is not proper for a dragon to prefer such things, you like to lay in rolling tenure just under the water. you have become excellent at holding your breath, can do it for hours. it is the easiest way to appear as a patch of sunlight.
she was not sunlight. she was the night's joy. the dark press of water. her face at first concealed by many diaphanous layers. her breathing quick and quiet.
she had pulled them back to drink from her water flask. and there she had been: a princess. your first very-real princess. right there, only the reach of a single talon from you. if you had simply lunged then, you would have been able to take her easily, in one single movement.
but you did not take her.
she had startled you a bit; you'd been daydreaming about music, which you'd just discovered, and rather liked. you'd heard it from a little house while you snuck in and stole their sheep.
but you knew the sound of fear, of being followed. you'd been chased too many times, you knew what it looked like. the rapid jolt of fear.
you smelled her then; cinnamon and onyx, and perhaps that was what had blinded you. perhaps your mouth was just watering. whatever the case, you waited until she had fled back into the forest; and then you waited a bit longer. in her wake, a garrison of men, their hands rough.
oh. so they were not knights. they were just men chasing a young woman through the woods. perhaps they did not even know a real princess had been running from them. well, that was a relief. you are not good at fighting with knights, who have swords instead of cudgels. these were just men, so you rose from the water in the quiet way you'd learned from the fish. they did not hear you coming.
and besides. proper dragons do violence so well.
___
once you had smelled her you could find her, although such things have always been easier for you than for the others. you spend a great deal of time studying things - it allows you to analyze them. you have tried to explain to the other dragons that sometimes it is best to slow down, but of course no dragon should be slow.
at first you did not understand the confusion of the people's umwelt. they relied so much on their communication (only words and actions!) and what they could see with their eyes. you and the other dragons did not use these as much; but you liked prying out the little sonic differences between hello that means "i like you" and hello that means "i don't like you."
so it took you a while to learn that you were responsible for what had happened to her. men had gone missing, and even bad men going missing makes a big fuss. (you know that if it had been girls missing, it would be okay. many proper dragons steal girls because it will not bring a knight to their door). for a while she had been trapped on the palace grounds. it was determined that it was no longer safe for her to be just a princess, she must undergo some human transformation and become a wife.
and then you saw her descending from the window of a castle, quick and agile, moving like a whisper, clad almost entirely in black. you could see her quite well of course, although you were not seeing her; but instead her heat and her smell and her sound and all the other sensory noise all humans give off.
you followed her, keeping yourself in a cloud so you appeared as if mist. she stole off into the woods. you were interested in that, and watched her scuttle - although of course you could have taken her then. she did not seem to do much in the woods, only run around cry into her little hands.
she appeared to be looking for something. she did not get far that first night; scurried back to her bed. over and over this happened - she would run as far as she could, only to go back again. it seemed rather boring to you, but of course you had been free your whole life.
and then one night - finally, she arrived at the lake. she sank to her knees then, her hands pressing into the water. her head tilted to the sky. her dark hair spilling in a caught breath behind her.
this is how you heard her voice for the first time. when she came again the next night, she did so more quickly, more assured. straight to the lake, as if it had called her.
she had skipped a pebble over the surface of the water. this action was dangerous, because it almost hit the sail of your wing. you had structured yourself very finely to look like a rockslide.
"three months." her voice was like her: it was deep and smooth and dark, a low violin string. "they want me to marry that bastard in three months."
and then she cried into her hands again, and the sound of it almost broke you.
so you followed her maybe more than a proper dragon should, then. more than back to the castle. you hid along her daily walks and watched her in the throne room and saw her out riding horses. she was good with dogs and nice to her people and very much a proper princess, although you know a proper princess ought not to slip out at night and run around barefoot through the woods.
you discovered she is terrible with directions. you have often had to make a path more clear so she could get home again. she cannot hunt better than an egg; you have had to kill fish and push them subtly up to the shore.
but she appears to love the lake as much as you do. you have seen her read by candlelight (how foolish. the entire woods saw her each time). you have seen her build little paper boats to float along the surface. you have seen her strip her many layers and dive in, have seen her lay with her belly to the sky, floating like she is suspended by the hands of darkness itself.
oh. so she loves the stars, as well, then.
__
you must go in. she will be married tonight. that is a human thing, but you have learned what it has meant. she will go to somewhere else, and you will not see her again, maybe ever. and then how will you be a proper dragon? go!
you have made yourself in the form of a gargoyle, hiding in the white stone. you can see into her room; and the tapestries that seem unlike her. everything in her room is very bright, which is bad for a proper dragon. there are many knights in the hallways and in their rooms, and their smell is itchy and repugnant to you.
her dress is white, which does not seem like her. you have only seen her wear black. she is sitting at some kind of desk, and she is crying again. she smells of cinnamon still, but moreso of grief. you can feel the heartbreak in her as if it was inside of you.
you cannot watch her cry anymore. you have watched too often without moving. that is shameful.
you nose the door open. you can move quiet, because you are not very big. she is within a cave of you, then a wingtip, and then she is standing up, looking into your eyes.
"it's you." her hand on your jaw is warm. "i thought i was imagining you, you know. i turned around that day. i saw what you did to those men. i have been looking for you since. i told everyone that i had an angel to protect me. they locked me in here anyway."
you are not an angel, you are a dragon. you have to keep your wings locked tight or you would explode the walls of this place. it makes you feel big, suddenly. you are not used to that sensation. you do not like to be locked in a tower. you believe maybe the princess does not like to be locked in a tower either.
you take her in your jaws. she is very small, and does not resist you. although you are not a strong flyer, you must take off in a single push. any other movement would be too slow. you must also hold your breath so you do not smell her, the clove and cinnamon and little bird of hope. your mouth would water and you would drop her.
against the full moon, you do the thing that is impossible. you stretch yourself out all the way, a bold and beaming arrow, and you fly. you can hear them cry about you now, loudly. a banner that would strike pride even into your father: dragon. dragon. dragon.
on the eve of her wedding, you snatch the princess from her tower.
an arrow whisks for you, and then dozens, and then hundreds. you are not afraid of pain. you have learned long ago how to fly with holes in your wings. you hold her very gently still, and you push past the smell of your blood.
in the night you are a star. someone somewhere could look up and see you and make a wish.
there will be another lake, you decide. you can find another lake. somewhere very, very far from here. however long you must fly, however long you must hold your breath: you will take her home, because you are a proper dragon.
___
sometimes they come for her, your treasure. you have built her a little castle here, deep in the forests off the map. and of course for you: a silver round lake like the shift of her iris. you bring her books and she brings you bugs to study. you let her saddle you, and together you ride through the clouds and fog banks. she is a shadow on your back; a warm and velvet thing. she makes you music and lives the way she should; free in the night like a promise.
but they do come. you have stolen a real princess, and they do not want her to be a princess. they want to make her into a brood mother, or into bait, or into prey. they always look into the caves first; into the places proper dragons stay. they are real knights, not just men with sticks. they are loud and their smell still makes you itch.
but she has made you brave now, and cunning. if a dragon is not big, it should be cunning. and since you are a proper dragon, and since your treasure is your most precious thing, you lay in wait.
let them come. you will let the light drip off of you, and then you will pour through them.
afterwards, your princess will tell you a story around the fire. she will patch your wounds as she did that first time. she will sing to you.
and in that moment, neither of you will be a title nor a story. she will just be herself, and you will just be you.
Someday I will put here a title @distracteddaintydemon - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook