#latvian cover

[bookcoversaroundtheworld]

Welcome to Dead House - Latvia

Amanda and Josh think the old house they have just moved into is weird. Spooky. Possibly haunted. And the town of Dark Falls is pretty strange, too. — But their parents don't believe them. You'll get used to it, they say. Go out and make some new friends. — So Amanda and Josh do. But these creepy new friends are not exactly what their parents had in mind.

Because they want to be friends...

...Forever.

[scificrows]

i made a few silly little ART phone backgrounds in the spirit of the inofficial fandom shenanigan renaissance! thank you so much for inspiring me to do this @the-yearning-astronaut!

[monkeyssalad-blog]

Atpuhta (Leisure), Dec. 16, 1932. by Halloween HJB

[blocpulp]

Michael Crichton - The Andromeda Strain (Latvian SSR, USSR, 1973)

[theaskew]

How Laima Made Three Wishes Come True, from the Tales of the Amber Sea: Fairy Tales of the Peoples of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, Anatoly Belyukin (Illustrator), Irina Zheleznova (Translator): Progress Publishers, 1974.

[dresshistorynerd]

Sewing mid-16th century Venetian dress in doll scale

My parents moved from my childhood home, so I needed to finally take all my old toys I want to keep to store myself, including my dolls. For a long while I've been thinking it might by fun to sew tiny historical clothing for dolls. I love watching doll customization videos, they are so satisfying, and I just really love it, when there's a normal sized thing and then you make it tiny. Especially if it's still functional and made from correct materials. I can't explain it better than tiny versions of bigger things just make me vibrate on higher level. Now that I have my dolls in my home and a box full of fabric scraps, I have everything I need to just start sewing. So I did. And it was extremely fun. I have already started working on a 1890s doll outfit.

This will show my age (not that it doesn't read in my bio), but my dolls are all mainly My Scenes. I was Team My Scene in the early 2000s Bratz vs. My Scene wars. I did not like the proportions of Bratzes. All my My Scenes are Madison, she was my girl.

Here's all the items I made. I tried to use as much historical methods as was possible on doll scale and hand-sewed everything. I made a shift, hose, dress, necklace, earrings, partlet and shoes. I did almost make detachable sleeves, but I wasn't happy with them and I will need to remake them. It took me so long to finish one sleeve and I was very frustrated when I wasn't happy with the result, so I will need some time to make a second attempt.

Underlayer

I have finer white cotton than linen so I used the cotton for the shift and partlet, even though cotton wasn't really used widely at the time, definitely not in underwear, but it worked better in this scale. I didn't have thin enough wool for the hose, so I used fabric from my old thin stockings. Knitted stockings were not quite yet a thing so that's not very accurate, but that's the best I got. I choose red since red hose seemed to have been pretty common based on Venetian paintings, where the hose are shown. I used tiny beads I had lying around as buttons for the sleeves.

I'm not super happy with the neckline. I couldn't come up with a good way to finish gathered neckline on this scale without making it bulky. In future I will try something else.

Overgarments

Dress

The dress itself is made from the remaining scraps of the lovely Latvian linen I bought many years ago from Riga and have already made several garments from. The skirt is cartridge pleated, though the pleats at places behave a little weirdly due to the scale. I used semi heavy linen as lining and finished the panels separately as was typical in 16th century. I didn't use any boning equivalent, but I use cording to reinforce the laced opening. I of course sewed tiny lacing holes, which was very fun. The cord for the lacing I plaited from heavy thread.

Here's couple of examples from 1550s and 1560s Venice I used as basis for the dress.

Partlet

A Venetian renaissance woman of course needs her boob window partlet. Unfortunately I didn't have any super sheer linen or silk to make the fashionable sheer look.

Shoes

The shoes are chopines, which were very fashionable in Venice at the time. They were platform slippers with wooden base, which were covered with leather or fancy fabrics, like brocade or velvet. I didn't make the heels super tall since I was going for more toned down merchant/artisan class sort of vibe, and the very tall were used by upper class women and courtesans. I carved the heels from soft wood and covered them with sateen.

For reference here's couple of 16th century Venetian chopines.

[mockingnerd]

Obsessed with these Latvian Murderbot covers by Andis Reinbergs

[silovsmenot]

Foreign Language | Artūrs Šilovs

SUMMARY: A first meeting with a certain Latvian goalie, a surprise that leaves him thinking of you ... And an unexpected reunion thanks to injury. WARNINGS: So much fluff, poor Latvian language - if you're a Latvian native, please excuse me, I'm still learning. PAIRING: Artūrs Šilov & reader (f!reader implied). NOTES: This was the very first idea that I had, and it's been a brainrot ever since. This could very easily be a multi-part, because the brainrot is real. Okay so little Latvian lesson: 'sveiki' is an informal form of hello and 'piedodiet' is sorry. WORD COUNT: 2147 FIND PART TWO HERE

New job, new city — you were beyond excited to get started with your new life in Vancouver. It was a dream come true, a sports photographer for the Vancouver Sun. You’d be covering everything from soccer to basketball, and your personal favourite, ice hockey. It couldn’t have been better.

It had only been a few weeks and you were still pretty starstruck by the whole situation. The smile had rarely left your lips for everything felt so right. As you drove to the Abbotsford Centre, your music turned to loud as you sang along to your favourite song — life was good. And today promised to be another good day. You were helping to cover a story of the Vancouver prospects in Abbotsford and how they were developing within the AHL affiliate, while your partner would be interviewing players at the rink side and in changing rooms, you’d be snapping the shots of the training session.

It promised to be a lot easier than your usual days, training sessions were a lot more relaxed than game photography. Even with their game against playoff rivals looming, you knew it would be a calmer atmosphere than the alternative.

With the heavy camera bag upon your shoulders, digits scraped back your hair as you walked, tied back as you always did while working. Nodding across to your partner who stood waiting at the large rink doors, he held out a coffee to you, which you gratefully accepted with a quiet ‘thank you’. You two were close, like siblings — natural partners and you always delivered high tier work together.

“The boss wants some focus on the goalies, see what you can do, y/n.” He muttered as you walked, both sipping quietly at the hot liquid. From where you were, you could already hear the shouts of training, the crash of the puck against glass and the slapping of sticks upon the ice. It was a sound you knew and loved.

And as your partner pushed open the door, the bright lights of the rink lit everything up. You both moved quickly with a light tapping of both coffee cups in luck, your partner immediately gravitating to the head coach who lingered beside the boards, while you would weave onto the bench and begin your setup. Lens mounted onto the camera body, fixing your settings to this particular arena until you were happy with your picture. It was simply second nature now.

You stood beside the boards, camera switching from player to player with smooth motions as the camera clicked. Turning to each goalie, your camera would linger with the rhythmic clicking — you didn’t need to know all of the story, but a focus on the goalies was always a popular one. Players being called up to the NHL happened so regularly, it was hardly a story, but goalies? Now that got people ticking.

As the session progressed, you watched your partner question each player who came to the bench for water before they’d even had a chance to breathe. You would simply smile at each person, almost sympathetically, and do your job with the clicking of the camera.

Even as the young goalie skated over, angling toward the bench where you stood with a hand outstretched for a bottle, your lips presented a small smile as you waited for your partner to pounce. But as he was too wrapped up with Tolopilo, this goalie was left in silence … for a moment at least. You knew a little about him, of course. A young guy from Latvia, drafted a few years ago now, with a bit of a rocky start to the season. His eyes met yours as the blue and green mask was raised from his face, lips curled into a smile at the first glance.

You spoke without a second thought. It had been some years now since you ended things with your ex, but you’d spent a few years learning Latvian for them — it had been years since you had any reason to use it. 

“Sveiki…” 

Artūrs blinked. The smile on his lips disappeared as confusion was etched in its place. He’d been in Canada for a while now, with only the occasional passing player conversation to give him that little piece of home. He’d never expected this woman to come out with that.

“Sveiki.” The goalie quietly replied, leaning his weight forward upon the boards beside you. “You’re Latvian?”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh slipping through your lips as the camera lowered, your body turning to almost mirror his as you leaned upon the boards.

“I’m not Latvian, but my ex was. I learned some from when we were together.” 

As you spoke, he watched you closely as the smile returned to his face. A smile that you couldn’t help but find contagious. He nodded slowly, thinking silently to himself before his blocker hand began to shake. The glove removed, his hand wiping upon his jersey before it was offered across to you with a grin.

“I’m Artūrs,” He spoke with a little more confidence, capturing your gaze beneath his dark eyes. They were easy to get lost in as you looked at him. “But this lot mostly call me Arty.” 

“Y/N, it’s nice to meet you, Arty.” You hummed as your hand came to meet his, a slight look of amusing disgust at the sweaty hand of the goaltender. Needless to say it was enough to make the young goalie laugh.

Releasing his hand with a playful swat, you too would wipe your hand upon your jumper as he laughed. You couldn’t blame him, and you too found it funny, but a sweaty hand was not  what you wanted.

“Piedodiet.” He spoke through the laughter, head cocking as he watched you. Your eyes narrowed playful in response to his apology.

“I’m not sure that I believe that you’re sorry.” You found yourself teasing in response, the camera growing heavy in your hands as it sat idle. If your partner looked over, it would look as though you were helping him with his job — but far from it. You were enjoying yourself, more than you realised at the time.

He gave no response, just the rising and falling of his brows. A cheeky grin at his lips as the hand returned the blocker, the bottle returned to it’s place on the boards.

“Will I see you around here more?” Arty called out as he took a few strides away from where you stood. He hoped, silently, that you’d say yes. That you’d be back to photograph and chat more. For whatever reason, he wasn’t quite sure yet, he wanted to see more of you.

It was your turn to stay silent, shrugging with shoulders and hands. You had no idea if your job would bring you back to the Abbotsford Centre, but you hoped that it would.

And as the training session came to end, your partner returned to you with a notepad full of notes and a voice recorder full to burst, you gave a lingering glance back to the goalie as he took his first steps from the ice, and met your eyes with a smile.

Months passed and you had often thought of the grinning Latvian goalie of the Abbotsford Canucks. Your job hadn’t taken you back to the little suburb of Vancouver, though you’d occasionally catch the games on TV. A little curiosity peaking as you’d remember the conversation with him — sometimes, you’d catch yourself smiling as you thought about it. You’d watch his games when you could and read the news in which he featured.

You couldn’t say that you missed him, you barely knew him, but you wanted to know him … You wanted to be able to miss him.

March rolled around, the end of the regular season was in sight and you’d taken the lead in photography coverage of the Vancouver Canucks for a while now — you’d become a regular at the Rogers Arena, and knew most of the faces of players, staff and partners. You’d even become friends with a number of the wives and girlfriends. You were a familiar face to all.

And you were one of the first on the scene, with your partner in tow, at the announcement of the press conference. Demko’s injury was the worst kept secret in the city, and you’d all been waiting for them to announce it. To know which lucky goalie was getting the call up from Abbotsford.

Journalists and photographers piled into the large room with whispers and nods of acknowledgement. Everyone waiting for Tocchet to make the announcement, and your heart skipped a little beat when he did … for the grinning goalie, Artūrs Šilovs would be taking up the role of back-up in Demko’s absence. 

You wasted no time in getting down to the rink following the announcement, you knew that all the reporters would be clamouring for a word with the captain and the rookie goalie. As the flood of journalists began through the arena, the players were already leaving the ice with only the two goalies remaining with Clarkie. Many left to find the captain and coaches, while a few photographers, yourself included, would snap what shots they could of the two goaltenders.

Your stomach did a spin to see him again, the grin seemingly stuck with glue upon your lips — it had been months, surely he wouldn’t not remember you, you thought. But as his eyes glanced across to the wall of photographers, his gaze did linger upon you. Beneath his mask, he did grin. He’d spent months hoping to see you in Abbotsford, at his training or his game. It was a bitter disappointment when another photographer had been sent down in your place.

And as the nod was given for both goalies to leave the ice, little else mattered to him than making a beeline to you.

“Sveiki.” Arty immediately said as the helmet was raised, drifting on his skates just in front of you. Your smile spread instantly, quietly returning the hello with a hum. “I need to change, but please don’t run off.”

With a curious look etched upon your features, you silently nodded. It was the end of your working day anyway, you needed to sort through the photos of the day, but you could do that while you waited.

So sat upon a chair in the stands, laptop open and photos running through, you edited and submitted your best to your partner who would return to the office to write his piece. Gaze would snap up at the first sound of movement up the steps, it was strange to see him out of his goalie gear and in normal, casual clothing. A pair of jeans, a jumper, and glasses? There was something unexpected about that, but they suited him well. You liked the glasses' look.

“You didn’t come down to Abbotsford again.” He quietly said, the disappointment clear in his voice and on his face. And you felt the sting — but you also felt the twist in your stomach of excitement … he’d wanted to see you again, he’d thought about you.

“They moved me solely to these guys. I’m barely away from this rink now, Arty.” You sighed, hand closing the laptop which rested in your lap. You’d hold it there, fiddling with the corner as you thought. “I watched some of your games from home. I should’ve come down for one or two … to watch.”

“Do you want to go for a coffee, y/n?” Artūrs interjected, impatiently and abruptly. It was almost like he had to get it out before he could stop himself, and he was noticeably nervous as he waited for an answer.

You took a moment, watching him fiddle with the hem of his jumper as he waited — yet his smile never wavered. It was stuck, just as yours was.

“I’d like that.” You finally spoke, returning the laptop to your bag without breaking eye contact. The weight in his chest lifted immediately, a heavy exhale parting his lips as he nodded. You rose with a struggle, the camera bag always seeming to be heavier in that first moment, and Arty was quick to assist. His hand offered out, collecting the strap from your hand as it was slung onto his back with ease.

You walked from the arena together, both grinning wide with occasional glances at the other. A comfortable silence between you, it was simply a nice feeling to walk at each other’s side.

“Es priecājos jūs atkal redzēt.” He finally spoke, breaking the silence with words you didn’t quite know. Your Latvian limited to basic phrases that you learned to speak to your ex’s family during the holidays. 

“What does that mean?” You whispered, leaning a little closer.

“I’m glad to see you again.”

And your heart skipped a little beat.

[dxliriumoftheendless]

kind of losing my mind over the latvian good omens paperback cover

their hair and their outfits are killing me 😭😭

[bookcoversaroundtheworld]

The Lost Colony - Latvia

Until recently, Artemis Fowl was the only human to have discovered that magical beings do indeed exist. But now a second juvenile genius wants to capture a demon for scientific study. Only an ancient time spell separates the demons from humankind--and Artemis must prevent it from unraveling. If he fails, the bloodthirsty tribe will relaunch their quest to wipe humans from the planet.

[noneorother]

The art director & the Good Omens book cover tier list of doom, part 3

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3

I am your resident Art Director/Good Omens enthusiast, and welcome to my completely meta-free book cover tier list. Listen, making a book cover is HARD. I should know. But while we salute these artists for their hard work and time, I think we can all admit that once in a while, the vision is just not on. And on very rare occasions, publishers seemed to have managed to commission the cover art directly from hell... here's where we left off last time:

21. Labas zīmes, Latvian cover

Our boys are back! And they are so ready to join the Dead Boy Detective agency. I would say that Latvians don't wear much tartan, so Argyle might seem like a similar print, but it just seems so... not Good Omens. Much like Crowley's flying purple people eater tail and Aziraphale's Conan the Barbarian sword, we're straying into niche AU fan fiction territory here. I mean, it's not *wrong*, but it certainly ain't right, either.

Tier: Does the Job

22. Bons Augùrios, Portuguese

Let me start by saying this cover is so close to being in the blessed category. The layout and spacing are divine, the imagery is simple and whimsical, it reflects the humour inside the gravitas to give you an idea of the *feeling* of reading Good Omens. So few of these covers have gotten this aspect of good design right. Honestly, I would slow clap if it wasn't for that random FLAME JIZZ stuck to the bottom right hand corner of the book. Who's idea was that? Dagon's?

Tier: Great

23. Semne Bune, Romanian cover

I admire two things about this cover: 1) Their utter commitment to a clean 3-colour palette and comprehensible layout. 2) Symbolic demon giving a principality head joke RIGHT ON THE FRONT COVER. This designer had balls. cotillion-sized balls. Now, does Aziraphale's sword have a sentient rooster tassel that watches said head-giving in horror? I sure hope not, but I don't see how that could be allegorical so, I'm torn. I feel like this goes in two categories for completely different reasons. And seeing as I'm in charge around here...

Tier: Great & Not so Good (Omens)

23. Semne Bune, Romanian cover cont.

Compared to the last cover's gigantic double-entendre, this feels so tame and logical. The text is centred and balanced. There's breathing room, and we have wing symbolism! I've never seen a cover try to split Terry and Neil's names like that, which is a fun twist but BY GOD that center line is not straight near the right end of the feathers and it is sending this cover straight down to Does the Job. It's grounded there forever.

Tier: Does the Job

25. HYVIÄ ENTEITÄ, Finnish cover

In this list, having something actually *relevant* to the main plot of the book and not mangling and main characters really puts you in rarefied air. All the motorcycles are book accurate which means somebody read something! Would I have ever picked the empty parking lot of Famine's restaurant as a subject worth a cover? Absolutely not. But the sick 80s lightning tips it into "fine" territory. The text is yellow. It's pretty.

Tier: Does the Job

26. Head ended, Estonian cover.

My face after staring at this cover for ten minutes and finally realizing that this is Hastur and Ligur waiting around for Crowley to pull up:

The artist's face after watching me do that:

Do I even need to rate this? It's called HEAD ENDED. I don't know how to be funnier than that.

Tier: WTF

27. Dobry Omen, Polish cover

Some good points for trying to be original with the layout of the title by drawing a custom pitchfork "Y", but the heinous kerning and the fact the whole text block is not even centred kind of makes me take all the points back. I feel like we're pretty heavy on the demonic, extremely light on the angelic in this take. Maybe it's because on his death bed the lead guitarist of White Snake will finally admit to having designed this cover in his spare time.

Tier: Not so Good (Omens)

28. Good Omens, Hungarian cover

If I told you this designer did not read the book, and instead just watched the trailer of The Omen (the movie) and vibed this heinous brown carpet swatch into existence, you would one hundred percent believe me. I can't even talk about the faux belle-époque font right now. I am irrationally angry.

Tier: WTF

29. Good Omens, Bulgarian cover

WHO. IS. DADDY. WIZARD?? Is all I can think when I look at this cover. Aziraphale & Grommet are recognizable enough, and you could make the case for telescope monkey being Adam, but I need to find this cover designer and shake them until they tell me who this deranged Gargamel is supposed to be. I must know.

Tier: Bad

30. BELAS MALDIÇÕES, Portuguese cover

After all we've been through on this list so far, this truly sucks. It's not even weird. It's just puce text layered atop text to create a great yawn of a cover. Shout out to the designer of the Diablo PC game font, I hope you got paid.

Tier: Bad

Part 3 roundup:

[hockeyboistrash]

two more years | a.s

to celebrate his contract extension, here's another artūrs fic. its a short one sorry about that. im trying to write some longer fics but work is kicking my ass at the moment.

The sun began to set, taking the heat with it. You were curled up to Artūrs's side, a blanket covering the two of you to keep the chill off. It was the summer break and you were spending it with Artūrs. The first stop was Portugal and the two of you were sitting on the rooftop having a little get together with some friends.

This break was much needed after the end of the season the Canucks had, that Artūrs had. From being called up from the AHL to starting in the Stanley Cup playoffs within the span of a month was a lot and now he could finally slow down and take in what he did for the team.

Artūrs was still holding back from fully relaxing though. He didn't want to worry you with his racing thoughts, not wanting to be a burden. He was currently in the middle of contract negotiations. He wanted to stay in Vancouver, he loved the team and he loved you but there was no guarantee he will stay. There was never a guarantee and that small slither of doubt meant he kept his worrying to himself.

Artūrs's phone rang, breaking both of your attention away from the conversation. "Sorry, I've got to take this." He mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to your head before slipping out from under you. You wrapped the blanket tighter around you, missing the warmth from your boyfriend, as you watched him find somewhere quieter to take the call.

You tried to pay attention to the group but your mind kept wandering to Artūrs. You didn't want to intrude on his call but you wanted to be there for him. These past few weeks, you could tell something was bothering him. There were times where Artūrs was quieter than usual, his smile slightly forced. Those times were usually after someone asked him about his plans next year. You wanted him to stay in Vancouver but no matter what happens you would support him.

You gave it another ten minutes before you went looking for Artūrs. The house was quiet apart from the muffled sounds of laughter from outside. You pressed your ear against the door to your shared room, checking if Artūrs was still on the phone. After not hearing anything, you softly knocked on the door, opening it when you heard 'come in'.

Artūrs was sat on the edge of the bed, his phone abandoned beside him. His expression was unreadable. "Hey, i just came to see if you're alright. You've been gone a while." You said, breaking the silence. "I can leave if you want to be alone for a bit." Artūrs shook his head at that suggestion, inviting you to join him on the bed. You sat next to him, his hand immediately finding yours.

"I'm staying." Artūrs said with a huge smile on his face. "Two years."

"Really?" You asked. Artūrs nodded and a smile matching his crept on your face. You wrapped your arms around him, not being able to contain your excitement. "That's amazing news!" You were so happy for him. Artūrs did so well in the playoffs and now he's got more chances to prove he should be a starter goalie for the team.

You pulled back from the embrace and took a good look at him. It was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders, his worries melted away. Artūrs looked at you like you hung the stars and moon. He was going to ask you the question he's been dying to ask and now that he has confirmation he's staying in Vancouver, it was his chance.

"Move in with me." Artūrs blurted out before muttering to himself in Latvian. He wanted to ask you in a more romantic way but he was nervous. Paired that with the excitement of the contract extension, he was a mess.

"Artūrs, slow down." You told him, cupping his cheek so he looked back up at you. "I would love to move in with you." You smiled, softly pressing a kiss on his lips. Artūrs couldn't wait to spend the next two years in Vancouver with you by his side. He couldn't imagine anyone else to do it with.

[skruttet]

oh I looove the 1973 latvian cover of comet

[theaskew]

Book cover illustration by Edvards Brencēns (Latvian 1885-1929), Tautas pasakas un teikas (Folk Tales and Fables), 1923.

[morbidology]

Latvian-born photographer, Philippe Halsman, lived two very different lives. On one hand, he was a celebrated photographer, most known for his work on Dali Atomicus with Salvador Dali. As a young man, however, Philippe was a victim of a horrendous miscarriage of justice.

Born in Riga, Latvia, to Jewish parents - Morduch, a dentist, and Ita, a teacher - Philippe studied engineering in Dresden. The family were well educated and well travelled. In late summer of 1928, Philippe and his father, Morduch Halsman, were hiking in the Zillertal valley in the Austrian town of Tyrol. While once a popular holidaying spot, the area had since become a centre of the Heimwehr movement.  Morduch was hiking a little behind Philippe when he tripped and fell down the steep cliff face. By the time Philippe found a safe route down to his father, he realised that Morduch had been beaten to death and robbed.

At the time of the murder, there was a series of unsolved crimes as well as a growing anti semitic movement. For reasons unknown, local police decided to arrest Philippe and charge him with his father’s murder and sent to Innsbruck to stand trial. Despite the fact that there was no evidence against Philippe, he was found guilty and sentenced to 10 years imprisonment in solitary confinement. There was an uproar across Austria and Germany and ultimately, the Supreme Court of Austria reversed the verdict and Philippe was sent to stand trial again. This time, he was found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to four years behind bars.

His case drew national attention; Albert Einstein, Sigmund Freud, Thomas Mann and other intellectuals endorsed his innocence and after two years, Philippe was released. Following his release, he became interested in photography and soon turned his hobby into a career. He developed a unique photography style and sought out well-known figures to capture; he worked with the likes of Marilyn Monroe and Alford Hitchcock.

 In November of 1940, Philippe arrived in New York City with little more than just his trusty camera. By now, he was married with children and fleeing from the Nazis in Paris where he had lived. In fact, it was Albert Einstein who had helped him flee to the United States. Within three months, he had a contract with a photography agency and within two years, his work featured on the cover of Life magazine as well as numerous others. He was known for his ability to combine glamour, sex and wholesome energy in just one shoot.

Philippe Halsman died on the 25th of June, 1979.