Edoraslass

Look at this fucking infohazard of a piece of furniture.

Look at how fucking perfectly proportioned each and every void space is to create a subtle sense of motion and elevation, almost a landscape with just a few careful lines.

Look at how the reduction in the support pillars from left to right mirrors that ascension and proportion. How the different woods highlight each other and the near-seamless points at which they meet. How the shadowed interior boards bring out the bright highlights in the grain of the shelves and top piece.

Look at how it fits into a room, how it casts a shadow, and most importantly, how it perfectly frames and hilights every single thing placed on it.

Like. It's not some wild statement to claim that the man who defined an entire genre of woodworking and furniture making, crystalized in his book "the soul of a tree", is like. A human god of the art form. I get that i'm saying nothing revolutionary here. But this thing just. breaks me. nothing compares. i've spent years trying to find a bookshelf that can even hold the faintest candle to it. I've spent long nights up in cad modeling out my own versions based on his design, desperately wanting to take them down to the woodshop and try my hand, but like. one real, good look at this, and it's so clearly the result of decades of craftsmanship. a lifetime of the art. i love it. it ruined this type of furniture for me, and i love it so, so much.

I'll just have to stick to desks, the one thing I know Mr. Nakashima will never ruin for m-

...

Via mastodon(aka the fediverse)

The mirror replied "To whom?"

"The miller who made the flour for my bread," the queen would say, or "Whoever spun the thread my shawl was made of".

The second time, she says "To the King," and she is pleased to see herself once more.

The third time, she says "To the Royal Advisor," and is once more satisfied to see herself.

The fourth time, she says "To the scribe who takes the King's letters." She is shown the man's wife. And she seethes, but quiets herself, for it is only right that a man loves his wife.

The fifth time, she says "To the Court Wizard," and is shown the man's departed mother as he remembers her from his youth, radiant and smiling and warm and larger than life.

The tenth time, she says "To the Stable Master," and is shown the fastest horse in the stable, majestic and free as the wind even in captivity

"To the baker," she is shown the man's daughter, young and adorable and full of joy and laughter.

"To the artist who did my portrait," she is shown a painting of a woman done by the man's teacher, who he still looks up to now that he is well established himself.

"To the Royal Knight," she is surprised but not displeased to see the castle's entire guard force in the middle of doing drills.

The one hundredth time she asks the mirror, and it asks her "to whom?" she once again says, "To me." And she does the same the one hundred and second, and again and again and again.