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— ANNA “SWIR” ŚWIRSZCZYŃSKA, trans. Czesław Miłosz.

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The Veil of Death by P. J. Lynch

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I finished my moorish rose chainmail dice bag! This took me 30+ hours over the span of a few weeks and was a really fun challenge. I had never made three dimensional moorish rose before.

In total the bag has 1,452 brass and copper rings, all of which I made myself out of 1mm wire. It can fit up to three sets of dice and weighs 260 grams, which is slightly impractical for a dice bag but I'm fine with carrying a bit of extra weight around.

The second pic is a close up look at the design—moorish rose is a 9-in-1 weave, so every ring goes through 9 other rings—and the last pic is of the inside of the bag, which I just thought made a cool picture

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Card from a fortune-telling deck.

Grand jeu de la main. 19th century.

Gallica

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Sick and tired

(Disclaimer: trans is at the head for a reason, but all else is random. Getting distracted by what should go where is exactly the petty distraction they want.)

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Illustrations from Padraic Colum's The Children of Odin by Willy Pogany (1920)

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still being on tumblr is like being part of a resistance movement everywhere else you have to look at pregnant people or newborns or nursery reveals daily and can only say things like omg congrats i love the name whimsy rumble loo yassss girl paint all your kid's toys beige to make them fit your aesthetic otherwise you get arrested by the social media police while on tumblr you can say abort that thang and everyone is like yeah

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Village House - Fons Roggeman   , 2023.

Belgian, 1939 - 2024

Painting on canvas,   150 x 150 cm. 

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little freaks 🐛 drawn traditionally in ink + a white posca pen

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Abanico

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There was this guy in the 1800s - I can't remember his name, but his name is recorded somewhere - who honestly argued that if given the choice between a beautiful woman and a heron, deep down in their most earnest true heart, every man would rather fuck the heron. And he got mad when people denied this, continuing to deny this what he had decided must be an universal truth, instead of praising him for being the only one who was brave enough to finally say it out loud. Like he really thought that every single person telling him "Jesse what the hell are you talking about" was not only denying him, but denying themselves their true desires and perpetuating the apparently massive cultural lie that herons aren't fuckable.

Anyway what I'm saying here is that every once in a while whenever you find yourself in a situation where nobody else is willing to agree with something that you consider the most obvious truth, take a moment to meditate on the possibility that perhaps they do mean what they say, and perhaps they are right. Maybe nobody else but you wants to fuck the heron.