#I LOVE NETSUKE

[azvolrien]

I had a quick look around the V&A once I was done at the NHM. I've been there before, but it's not one I've spent a lot of time in. They have a pretty good Japan gallery.

[mice-rats-daily]

Today's mouse is this mouse netsuke!

[aarlone]

image credit: Netsuke of Two Cats, The Metropolitan Museum Online Collection

[screambirdscreaming]

I swear I've been down this rabbit hole before

It goes like:

Some nice looking models on etsy/etc, but none of them are articulated which is sort of unsatisfying -> cool articulated prints on thingiverse/et al, but they are all vague in their crab details or stupidly cartoonish -> if I get my search terms just right, image search starts to show me BEAUTIFUL things, but they are all, to a one, listings in high-end online auction houses for 19th century netsuke.

Actually re: previous reblog I could get so into ball jointed dolls if people made dolls of crabs. Or other arthropods for that matter. Why is this not a thing.

[darth-mortem]

A lil fic where Ghost and Soap eat taiyaki. A lot of fluff and a little angst, mention of Ghost's family. 870 words.

“Our plane will be in five hours.” Soap said, looking at Ghost, who was lying on the bed in their hotel room, mindlessly flipping through TV channels. 

The lieutenant didn’t respond. He was hellishly tired from the mission and only dreamed of spending the time before the flight in silence and peace. 

“Price and Gaz went for a walk.” Soap continued, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing his hand on Simon’s chest. 

Actually, that was not a very accurate way to put it. It would be more correct to say that Garrick had pulled Price out for a walk, and the captain wasn’t putting up much of a fight. 

“Come on, let’s go too.” Soap urged, making puppy eyes. “Please, Si! When else will we be in Los Angeles?” 

The strict and unyielding Lieutenant Riley could never resist the power of those charming blue eyes of his beloved, and Johnny knew it very well. So, with a heavy sigh, Simon turned off the TV and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. 

Ghost and Soap were out of the hotel in no more than five minutes. The noisy, neon-lit street overwhelmed the lieutenant, and he pulled the hood of his hoodie tighter, trying to avoid the gazes of passing people. He wasn’t looking around, so he didn’t immediately notice that after a few turns they had found themselves in a completely different place. But Soap noticed. He had frozen in awe, admiring the bright decorations of the city’s Japanese district. It seemed that there was some kind of festival, as crowds of people in colorful attire wandered through the streets, and booths with food, souvenirs, and other trinkets lined both sides. 

“Oh, Si, just look at this!” Johnny exclaimed excitedly, then grabbed Ghost by the hand and pulled him towards the market stalls. 

Simon had a terrible headache. He trudged behind his energetic sergeant, trying to look at everything that Johnny pointed out and share his enthusiasm. Without waiting for additional prompts, he bought Johnny a bracelet with hieroglyphs, a few netsuke figurines of cats and dogs, and an absolutely terrible quality tanto with a bright handle, which would probably will be confiscated at the airport. Johnny was happy, and that was the most important thing for Simon. 

“Lt.! Lt.!” Soap managed to run ahead to the food stalls while Ghost clumsily maneuvered past a flock of teenagers laughing loudly and taking selfies. “Let’s get something to eat, Lt.!” 

The sergeant was curiously examining the different yakitori and onigiri when Simon suddenly stopped by a nearby stall, where on paper plates lay rows of golden and brown fish-shaped pastries—taiyaki. He stared at them, but different images filled his mind. 

Warm yellow lanterns in a clear evening sky. Soft, pleasant music. Happy couples dancing on the wooden dance floor. Beth’s bright curly hair. Tommy’s cheerful smile. Joseph’s tiny hand squeezing his fingers and pulling him away from the dance floor towards sweets stalls, among which the fish-shaped pastries stood out particularly brightly... 

The vendor’s persistent voice was asking something of Ghost, and he barely managed to pull himself out of his memories, randomly poking at one of the pastries. In a minute he had wandered off to the side, holding a fresh and still warm taiyaki wrapped in a napkin. He barely had time to lower the simple black medical mask he wore in the city onto his chin and bite his sweet fish when a Scottish whirlwind flew towards him and grabbed him by the free hand. 

“What is this, Si?” Soap asked, looking curiously at his fragrant fish-shaped pastry. “Is it sweet? Can I have a bite? It smells so good!” 

Riley involuntarily smiled, forcing himself to push the pain and sadness deeper, and brought the pastry to Johnny’s lips. 

“This is called taiyaki.” He said as his restless sergeant chewed on the sweet fish, having bitten off nearly half of it. “Joseph… loved them very much.” 

Soap froze, and the joy in his eyes changed to a mix of concern and sympathy. He struggled to swallow such a delicious treat and tenderly placed his hands on Ghost’s waist. It was clear that he was confused and didn’t know how to react or what to say. Simon sighed quietly, ran his fingers along Johnny’s cheek, and finished the rest of the taiyaki. 

“Do you want another one?” He asked, smiling a little sadly.

“Aye!” Soap perked up. “Do they have them with chocolate? Or caramel? Are there bigger ones?” 

The ghosts of the past retreated under the powerful onslaught of energy and happiness radiating from Johnny. Simon’s smile became genuine and cheerful, and he led his sergeant back to the stall with the fish-shaped pastries, thinking about how his beloved man often acted like a child. 

“Johnny.” He called out when they sat on a bench nearby, and Soap began devouring the taiyaki that his lieutenant had bought him. “Thank you for bringing me out here. This is really so much better than lying in the hotel and watching that bloody TV.” 

Soap just smiled, quickly kissing Ghost with his lips sweetened by chocolate and anko, and popped another pastry into his Scottish mouth.

[nonasuch]

TRICK OR TREAT!

omg I love him. Happy Halloween to this possum specifically!

I hope you both like this very round netsuke.

[pngblog]

love what you do <3 may i request some animal netsuke?

[neutrallibrarian]

Ribcage Cold And Empty (I Need Your Heart Next To Mine)

Written for @madatobiweek 2024 Day 7: Free Day

Fandom: Naruto

Chapter 1 of ?

Word Count: 548

People are born with the ability to draw their hearts from their chests and, if they so wish, exchange them with each other. To give another your heart has always meant a profound depth of love, even if it's just pieces of it given away.

When Madara is given a peace gift from Tobirama, it sets him on a path to rediscovering what it means to give someone your heart.

"Do with it as you please."

With that, Tobirama turns on his heel and strides out of the office without another word. Madara stares at the spot in space he occupied for perhaps fifteen seconds at most, speechless. Then, mechanically, he tips his head down to look at the object Tobirama placed on his desk.

An inro with matching netsuke of exquisite craftsmanship. It depicts a lone koi, pure white with ruby red spots, in a tranquil koi pond. The netsuke is of a dragon, pure white jade with ruby inlay for the red eyes and stripes on its body, coiled around a genuine pearl, soft milk white glistening iridescent. Even the ojime bead is pearl and the cord is braided silk. Defining lines in the pattern on the inro made with maki-e sparkle silver, the thin keshifun lines outlining the intricate details whitish and dull from years of handling contrasting the bright and flashy blue marufun of the pond water. Near the top of the container is a torii gate in gold radan, a beacon to which the little koi is facing from the lip of the pond, heedless of the enamel trees separating pond and gate.

“Oh, that bastard,” he hisses through his teeth, feeling a headache coming on.

It’s been three months since the village was named. Three months after that meeting with Hashirama on the mountain where he and Tobirama came face to face for the first time outside of the initial negotiations. Three months since Hashirama got it into his head to try to get his best friend and little brother to be less antagonistic toward each other.

It’s wonderful to know he wasn’t the one to break first under Hashirama’s well-meaning meddling, and so quickly at that. But irritating now that a peace offering has been given he has to reciprocate in kind or face Hashirama’s suffocating disappointment.

Madara scowls down at the inro, rubbing his sternum. Thinking of Hashirama disappointed reminds him too much of that final battle before his downward spiral, the look on Hashirama’s face when Madara reached for the smoke bombs instead of ignoring the furiously beating heart next to his, the demands to not trust him from Izu—

Madara sets his ink brush down with an aggravated sigh and gulps down his tea, reheated almost to boiling with a liberal application of chakra. Thinking of him just reminds him how cold and empty his chest has become, accustomed to two fire-natured hearts beating within, and how his lone heart freezes over from the absence of his brother's. To distract himself from it, he picks up the inro, turning it this and that way in the light.

It’s pretty, he’ll give Tobirama that. Something that fits his style more than Madara’s, but it’s an acceptable gift. He’s been meaning to get one to hold his identity and clan seals anyway so this is fortunate timing.

He brushes his thumb over the koi, feeling it warmer yet cooler than any other spot on the inro. It must be his imagination associating the koi with Tobirama and tricking him into thinking up the strange temperature difference. He sets it down and picks up the ink brush to go back to work even as his mind spins ideas about reciprocation gifts.

[leotide]

I love wooden netsuke, but I am not very skilled in carving yet (I'm trying though!). So this way using 3D modelling can get me closer to visualizing my ideal designs 😊

木製根付がだいすきけど、下手です (頑張ります!)。3Dモデリングは私を手伝います😊

[megafaunatic]

hi lore ^__^ i just picked up the dear prudence collection after seeing you talk about it in a tag and it interesting me, and i’m really enjoying it so far. i was curious if you have any other book reccs, or favorite books you have read this year? it can be any and unrelated to this one. thanks and hope you’re well!

HI ABIBI I LOVE U !!!!!!!!

THANK YOU FOR ASKING I HAVE LOTS OF BOOK RECS

for readers at home abi is referring to dear prudence by daniel lavery in which lavery goes on a lengthy aside about how "love languages" are bullshit. daniel lavery is hysterical and correct as always

some other books i've read and enjoyed in the last year or so (excluding older books like discworld and jeeves+wooster stories, both of which i have been tearing through and really enjoying; also excluding the super popular (gideon the ninth) (you should read gideon the ninth)):

OBVIOUSLY, WHEN THE ANGELS LEFT THE OLD COUNTRY BY SACHA LAMB. READ WHEN THE ANGELS LEFT THE OLD COUNTRY BY SACHA LAMB. see further lore yelling about this book here [literary ya fantasy]

our wives under the sea by julia armfield for a deeply sad lesbian eldritch horror take on submarine disasters. this book will ruin your day (honorific) [literary horror]

the singing hills cycle by nghi vo for a series of novellas you can read in any order! all about storytelling and what storytelling is and does and does to the teller and the listener. also has a super cool jianghu badass side character [fantasy]

y/n by esther yi for an absurdist story about how kpop fandom makes you insane and worse and grad school also makes you insane and worse and GOD FORBID you combine the two [absurdist literature]

witch king by martha wells for book 1 of what has GOT to be I KNOW IT'S A DUOLOGY i KNOW it is the sequel has just not been officially announced yet. but i think she said something at a con about how there's one in the works. THERE MUST BE. anyway really fun and interesting worldbuilding here [fantasy]

beyond ridiculous by kenneth elliot for a look into the world of DIY gay theater in NYC at the height of the aids crisis. REALLY artistically inspiring and also super fascinating just as a history of a scene and a friend group [nonfiction/theater history]

ok this one's both backlist and was very popular when it came out but probably most 25 year old tumblr users have not read it. well they should read the hare with amber eyes by edmund de waal for a deep DEEP dive into the complicated world of rich jewish art collectors + socialites in odesa, vienna, and paris in the 1800s through the early 1900s by tracing the object history of a collection of netsuke from the opening of japan through the changing landscape of central + western europe and then back to japan [nonfiction/art history]

currently i'm reading cancipin by priest which is a space opera danmei that seeks to answer the questions "could it ever be ethical to do genetic engineering" "how do you build a just society" "is it ever worth it to give up your freedom in exchange for safety and convenience" "how do you keep going after the destruction of your entire planet" "what if data star trek were a beautiful young man and part time robot arm who was best friends with the worst gay people in the entire world" [sci fi/romance]

[xinxiaogato]

— live to tell the tail

summary. you unfortunately lived in a universe where general gorou had found out ms. hina was… himself. and just your luck: gorou’s first impression of you was a crazed devotee of the ms. hina fan club, but you had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time. will you live to tell the tail?

love interests. gn!reader x a watatsumi general, an inazuman vagrant, the balladeer, and the kreideprinz.

warnings. infinite pet puns, referenced character death, weapons, swearing, blood, alcohol, harassment, and mentions of war.

word count. 892

chapter twenty-two ⌇ are you shih tzuing me

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yae miko was the bane of gorou’s existence…

…so he was a little irked to see you falling over yourself to admire her in front of netsuke no gen crafts.

“guuji yae, i never thought i would have the chance to meet you like this!” you bunched up your shoulders and entwined your fingers behind your back. gorou had only seen a crumb of this strange behavior whenever kazuha swung by, but now... it was in full force.

okay, gorou recognized that, as an editor, you would obviously be thrilled to shake hands with the editor-in-chief of inazuma’s publishing house, but this same editor-in-chief had subjected gorou to a legion of teasing, pet names, and schemes. if the multiverse existed, gorou doubted there was a universe in which he trusted yae miko because in every single one, she would have most definitely created ms. hina without his consent.

“what a cute disciple i have,” yae cooed, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “i actually have something i mean to discuss with you, reader, but there’s a more pressing matter i must tackle with your furry friend first.”

you slowly nodded. “oh… do you want me to leave and then come back?”

yae detected gorou squirming beside you. “...i think he would want you to stay,” she concurred, which only exacerbated your confusion.

“d-don’t waste reader’s time!” gorou yapped, getting more riled up than usual. every bone in his body was screaming for him to flee, but he didn’t want to show a cowardly side of him with you there. “what do you need to talk to them about?”

how strange. when did gorou and reader come to know each other? “well, if you insist. i’m certainly not short on time myself.” arms cradling her stomach, yae looked at you with a more solemn frame of mind. “reader, i assume you are out here because you saw a discrepancy between what you know and the report you received today.”

“yes…” you scratched your cheek. “...on the off chance, are you aware of what happened to the book that went missing?”

“...your author should be,” she returned, “but i suppose things were lost in communication. a year ago, mr. yamamoto had contacted an illustrator from abroad by letter to see if he’ll draw art for tickled pink.

“a copy of that book was sent along with the letter… but i have an inkling the illustrator couldn’t respond in time before the sakoku decree was put into effect.”

so this all happened before i arrived at inazuma, you confirmed, eyebrows springing upward. no wonder i was never told anything about this. “who’s the illustrator?”

a thoughtful pause later, yae answered, “hmm… you’ll chance upon him eventually, reader. the yae publishing house commissioned him for the irodori festival, so… we’ll see if he accommodates for mr. yamamoto’s commission as well.”

that response made your nose scrunch up. was it too much for yae to apprise you of this guy’s identity? especially if he was so reputable to the point that the publishing house called for his artistic expertise… you racked your brain for names hotaru dropped in the past, but, to your understanding, none of them were illustrators.

gorou studied your dismay, his tail swishing speedily behind him. this formed a disquieting smile on the kitsune's face.

“hehe… reader, care to see what sort of face gorou is making?”

“pardon?”

with a gentle finger under your chin, yae redirected your attention to gorou’s cheeks that had blossomed into a rosy color once he realized this was another one of yae’s ploys.

“what… about his face…?” your voice grew faint.

it was that feeling again. caterpillars breaking out of their chrysalises in your stomach. nerves being set on fire. an acrobat performing a ropewalk.

and yae was getting a real kick out of watching you two act like students about to confess their crushes on each other behind the school building. it was time for her to play as the angel "cupid" (in her own devilish way). “fascinating. never would i have predicted for someone other than the traveler to get under your armor, dear gorou.”

“under my armor!?” gorou screeched.

yae lazily lolled her head toward him. “not literally, but i know you, general. you keep words lodged in your throat while letting other people vent to their heart’s content, but it’s a different story around the traveler, is it not?”

gorou rubbed a distressed hand over his face to suppress the urge to cry before wildly gesturing in your direction. “reader, don’t be fooled by her cunning words! there's nothing going on between the traveler and me!”

your eyes widened by the slightest bit. right, the traveler. why aren’t they the one in my shoes right now?

“um… oh,” you uttered absentmindedly.

yae and gorou stared at you.

…oh?

…

…could you not care less about gorou and the traveler being an item?

yae pursed her lips, feeling a bit sorry.

and gorou willingly chose to speak with yae—his most formidable foe—to escape this painfully awkward conundrum. “s-so what was it that you had to tell me, yae miko?”

“...oh, yes. the publishing house declined in sales since the disappearance of its foremost columnist, so i need you dressed up as our precious ms. hina for a magazine signing event.”

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[grandhotelabyss]

What’s your overall judgement on Nabokov?

I withhold an overall judgment until I've read The Gift and Ada, the ones your real Nab-heads seem to consider the magnum opuses. For now: I admire him, I reprehend him. Who is more eloquent, who more clever? Who has more convincingly created novels that are perfect, precious worlds of their own, snow-globes or netsuke, things of beauty and a joy forever? And yet, who is more hectoring and annoying a commentator? A heartless formalist moonlighting as a self-congratulatory moralist, just as his novels' cruelly intricate sangfroid is (badly) offset by the occasional ethical effusion or the showily "subtle" evocation of buried horror. The chess, the butterflies. Ending a short story with an acrostic! "This is not art!" I want to cry. "Art is not a puzzle!" (I have never actually read the short story in question, for the simple reason that I know it ends with an acrostic.) And who has been honored with a more credulous criticism, taking his moral pronouncements as canon, as license to dispense (as surely as any reductive Freudian criticism) with the novels' manifest content? Lolita is a dirty French novel, not a sentimental English novel, not a God-haunted Russian or American novel, and I've never been convinced that a genuine and inflamed eros amorally legitimated by the refulgence of art is not the final turn of its screw. "Oh, but it has such a moral intention," simpers Richard Rorty—and so every pornographer has claimed since the dawn of time. I make no blanket prohibition on pornography, but I am irritated at the double game, the tricks and the chess-moves, the "aren't I clever?," the maddening irrelevance of Quilty, the hijinks instead of just patiently thinking all the way through the problem the way his loathed Mann does so staggeringly in Death in Venice, a novel no less ironic, a novel much more profoundly ironic for being less laboriously ludic. He probably did like little girls, Martin Amis surmised, from a survey of his corpus more extensive than I have made. Largely a bad influence, and inferior, except as a sheer stylist, to some of those he condescended to: Dostoevsky, Faulkner, and, yes, Mann. But to say this feels unfair or wrong somehow to the magician, to the enchanter. Is it not just envy on my part of his world-making power, not just a petty ressentiment? I never come to a final judgment. I always have to go back to be sure. What it is, you see, is that I have a lifelong quarrel with Nabokov, which is not the same as a negative verdict, and is finally, after its fashion, a kind of love.

[space-blue]

Today's doodles

Na'vi statuette, carved from wood.

We see a LOT of Na'vi craft, but it mostly relies of weaving, bead making, and non figurative wood carving. Even children's dolls are made out of weaved grasses. A na'vi artist discovered the work of an Avatar scientist who was a dedicated wood carver and fell in love with the Na'vi she detailed. The Dream Walker's small, human made carvings were particularly prized as they were impossibly delicate and tiny to the Na'vi. Several Na'vi have such woodcarvings pierced as beads like netsuke and added to their songcord.

The one above was recorded as "Sitting self portrait as I learn" made by the Na'vi artist who popularized the practice.

Those are sketches of Tsawtem. He named himself after the words 'big' and 'change' and embellished it. He's an Ash clan native, hence his enlarged ears and nostrils, as well as a strong, hairless tail. (The notch in it is from a misadventure). A cultural hint of his origins lies in the vertebraes he uses to cover his queue, a common practice among his clan of origin.

Tsawtem doesn't live with that clan however. He left to join a traveling clan of traders. Nomadic Na'vi making their way through Pandora hopping from one clan to another and offering trade of far-away goods, but also, crucially, news, information, stories and songs.

That's what Tsawtem is, a Songcord Singer, a very skilled and specific craft. He replicates songcords taught to him, whether part of a clan's songcord, or that of individuals, alive or dead, and collects them. He learns the songs by heart and shares them as trade knowledge or simply for entertainment.

He has three stooges who play percussions and a duduk-like wind instrument for his more colourful performances. Tsawtem is obviously extremely popular with children.

He had a rough life. He was adopted as a child into a new clan after his was wiped out in a territorial war. Finding he couldn't fit in, he left with a trader clan and renamed himself.

The original sketch for Tsawtem had him dressed with songcords as a shaggy outfit he sways as he dances to his more adventurous songs. I need to work on him further! I love him, he's my first bard ever.

[elsalouisa]

"One evening a notice was posted up begging the guests not to pursue, persecute, or mob the Tzar of Russia, who was staying at Friedberg, three miles off, and who came in every day with the Tzaritza and her children. Poor Alix of Hesse, mortally ill, had turned as a last resource to the healing waters of her native province and her husband had complained that the Nauheimers followed him and her about and stared. This would, if continued, prevent him from coming to that place. It must be stopped. It was.

There was more than fear of mobbing ; there was the fear of the bomb. He went in danger of his life so obvious and so imminent that the craven and businesslike municipality of Friedberg had insisted on his insuring the public monuments of that place at his own expense! It was his chamberlain's duty to disseminate fallacious announcements of his movements. When he was supposed to be going to the baths it was at the Kursaal you would find him ; when it was the riding school it was much more likely to be the lake. I have seen him there, a disconsolate figure, encouraging his boy to sail his tiny boat or being rowed about in one. I certainly never mobbed him. In the same accidental way I often saw the Tzaritza, in black with pearls, going in and out of the baths, her face a tragic mask, stupid, incompetent, haughty, dejected. She looked a lovely fool ; nay, hardly lovely now — the morbid shadow of a queen. And once I saw him through the windows, like glass walls, of a shop full of Venetian glass, Japanese netsuke, and plaques of green jade. The shopman was showing him some objet d'art or other, and the Tzarewitch, whose head did not come up to the counter, was with him. No one else. The door of the shop had been left open, and some sensible German passer-by had shut it. Nicholas II looked up and out — he thought he was trapped ! I saw his face through the beautiful clear glass ; it did not exhibit mere terror, for he was a brave man, but all at once it seemed implicit with a summing-up, a resume of the composite agony of all this race of kings consciously marked down for destruction. His grandfather before him — his uncle — and only the little son with his head below the counter to carry on the monstrous imposthume of Russian Royalty!"

Violet Hunt "The flurried years"

[vintagefashionplates]

The chatelaine.

The concept of waist-hung items is almost universal across all cultures. For example, the Japanese wore netsuke and inro or the Chinese wore embroidered purses and pouches. Though purses and pouches preceded the chatelaine—they are mentioned in Chaucer—later purses were very small and dainty. The chatelaine was a more useful addition to an outfit.

Some items, like toiletries or precious possessions, were placed in fitted containers called étuis, made of base or precious metals, and when worn on a cord would be called “equipages.” From the introduction of the watch, circa 1510, watches were worn by women on such watch equipages, or on a long chain with watch at one end and keys seal etc at the other end. These chains were worn looped over the waistband or draped across the body.

However, the word “chatelaine” was not used until 1828 when a London magazine called The World of Fashion reported a new accessory, called “la chatelaine.” The medieval chatelaine had worn the keys to the castle, so these new accessories included a symbolic key, as the ladies were wearing them as a symbol of their status as “The Lady Chatelaine” of their chateau.

The next year the same magazine published three fashion plates of ladies wearing chatelaines. The word is now used for earlier examples, though technically these should really be called equipages. During the 19th century, the popularity of chatelaines varied, but it was still a major fashion accessory.

All members of society, from mistresses to maids, wore them. Royalty wore them, though these were more likely to be a watch, purse, or fan example, and nurses carried their necessary medical implements on their chatelaines. The quality of the items and its variety would carry status; each would have a variety appropriate for their needs.

There was also a lot of symbolism used in these accessories, like pansies for thoughts, etc. I have one that’s got crosses, anchors, hearts, and stars on it, as a faith, hope, and charity symbol. I think the anchors were a symbol of hope.

I think this particular one might have even been a mourning chatelaine, because after I bought the item, I put my finger in the thimble bucket and out came this tiny piece of paper with a quotation from Longfellow: “Oppression, and sickness, and sorrow, and pain Shall be to our true love as links to the chain.” It really had quite a punch. (...)

Text by: Hunter Oatman-Stanford Source: https://www.collectorsweekly.com/articles/the-killer-mobile-device-for-victorian-women/

[fishthegenderwitch]

Saw some netsuke animals and was like, "Man I'd love to have some tiny creechurs to carry in my pocket.." I CAN MAKE LITTLE GUYS. I HAVE CLAY.

hooohoooheeeheehooohooooo