ink and pen anatomy

Rachel, adult-ish, Chesapeake Bay //

Spanish and Anthropology student, writer, lover of music and puns and good stories. Vincent van Gogh. Open for discussions about lost souls, stunning beauty, war narratives, science fiction, and hopeless loves.
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neat folks

artandcetera:

Gaia

We live in an age marked by starlight so let there be light!

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hagridscabin:

myladyfire:

Ghost rolled in some sidewalk chalk.

This always makes me really happy.

(via serbranflakes)

Jeneil Williams photographed by Txema Yeste for Numéro #150 February 2014.

(via msbecket)

dduane:

A tour of the British Isles in accents: for those who would be tempted to mention “A British accent” and leave it at that.

…Smart to remember, too, that all these regions will have microregional variants. The Dublin accent referenced here, for example, is only one of at least five or six that I can identify, and I bet there are a lot more I’ve never heard or can’t tell from one another. Ditto for other regions in Ireland. The “Irish accent” as normally heard in US TV and film until quite recently has never been much more than an overstated, artficial “Dublin Stage” accent.

Equally, what most people in the US think of as “the British accent” beloved of movie villains everywhere is usually the so-called Received Pronunciation or RP, a kind of by-blow of the BBC’s refusal for a long time to allow its announcers to use anything but an approved version of the Home Counties “posh” accent. (This dialectic “glass wall” has finally started cracking in the last decade.)

(via serbranflakes)

medievalpoc:

dynamicafrica:

"The Untold Renaissance": Ikire Jones Spring/Summer 2014 Lookbook.

It’s all dapper hommes, suave strides and bold prints and patterns in Nigerian designer Wale Oyejide’s Spring/Summer 2014 lookbook for his brand Ikire Jones.

“This collection pays homage to 18th century textiles and tapestries while exploring the absence of persons of color in Medieval and Renaissance-era European art.  Borrowing from the sampling method employed in hip hop culture, each reinvented piece tells an original narrative from the perspective of Africans who have been placed in an alien context.  Through this reverse lens to the past, the present circumstances of individuals who feel displaced and alienated may also be considered.”

Contemporary Art Week!

I absolutely love the concept behind this. Especially: “reverse lens to the past”.

official website

(via caterinasforzas)

ART HISTORY MEME || [1/4] colors: Blue

(via thewritersramblings)

ancientart:

The Poulnabrone Dolmen, County Clare, Ireland. Classified as a portal tomb, this structure dates to the Neolithic period, radiocarbon dates place its use between 3,800 - 3,600 BCE.

During excavations the skeletal remains of up to 22 prehistoric individual were found, which included both adults and children, as well as one newborn. Extensive specialist analysis has been done on these remains, offering us a rare insight into the lives of these Neolithic people. 

[…] A variety of artefacts, presumably representing grave goods, were also recovered from the burial chamber. These included a polished stone axe, two stone beads, a decorated bone pendant, a fragment of a mushroom-headed bone pin, two quartz crystals, several sherds of coarse pottery, three chert arrowheads and three chert/flint scrapers.

The burial evidence from Poulnabrone has given us rare glimpse into the lives of our early ancestors. It appears that they endured a relatively tough existence, that involved hard physical labour, childhood illnesses, occasional violent attacks and early deaths. Although only a small section of the community were deemed worthy of burial in the tomb, there is little evidence for gender or age discrimination, with both male and female remains present as well as young and old. Prior to interment their bones appear to have been stored elsewhere and this may indicate that they were venerated as ancestor relics. Why certain individuals were chosen to be buried in the seemingly exalted location of a megalithic tomb, however, remains a mystery. 

-Irish Archaeology

Photo courtesy of & taken by Nicolas Raymond.

atlasobscura:

Fordlândia - Aviero, Brazil

During the 1920s Henry Ford was benefiting from a major boom in the automobile industry. His company was selling thousands upon thousands of cars and needed massive amounts of rubber to make tires. Unfortunately, rubber manufacturers in East Asia were running a virtual monopoly that drove up the price of raw materials. Ford’s idea: Create the world’s largest rubber plantation in the middle of the Amazon forest, which after all is the native habitat of rubber trees. He bought over six million acres and named his Americanized colony Fordlândia. Ford went so far as to build a modern hospital, a power plant, a library, a golf course, a hotel, and thousands of little white clapboard houses for the employees to live in. Eventually, as the community grew, other businesses such as bakeries, butcher shops, restaurants, and shoemakers were established.

Ford employees from America were relocated to this little piece of America along the Amazon River where they - along with the native Brazilian workers who moved into the settlement to work at the factory - were forced to live the mandatory “healthy lifestyle.” This included attending poetry readings, square dances, and English-language-only sing-alongs, and abstaining from alcohol, which was prohibited in Fordlândia.

Unfortunately Fordlândia proved to be wildly unsuccessful. The rubber saplings that Ford had planted (without the help of a botanist) were barely growing, and those that did grow were soon hit by a leaf blight, which ruined the remaining trees. By the end of the 1920s malaria became a serious problem. In December 1930 agitated workers rioted, breaking windows and overturning vehicles in the road. After the riots, which lasted less than three days, work continued, but there was almost no product to show for the millions of dollars Ford had poured into the jungle.

For the full history of Fordlândia, keep reading on Atlas Obscura…

givemeinternet:

The closer to the end the more satisfying it gets…

givemeinternet:

The closer to the end the more satisfying it gets…

(via arineat)

necropolice:

MYTHS SERIES || Tezcatlipoca

"Night and wind, the referee, who thinks and governed by its own will"
Tezcatlipoca is the Smoking Mirror.
He is the god of the nocturnal sky, god of the ancestral memory, god of time and the Lord of the North, the embodiment of change through conflict. Tezcatlipoca, had the ability to know the thoughts and feelings, as well as being ubiquitous. Is northern warrior, represents the night sky, the moon and stars. Lord of the north side of the universe, which was identified with the Mictlan, the rest region, and is called Mictlampa, head of the dead. 
Tezcatlipoca is usually depicted with a black and yellow stripe painted across his face. He is often shown with his right foot replaced with an obsidian mirror or a snake. One of his Naguals is the Jaguar. Another Nagual of Tezcatlipoca is Chalchihuihtotolin, the (blood-) Jewelled Fowl. Chalchihuihtotolin is a symbol of powerful sorcery. 
He can tempt humans into self-destruction, but when he can also cleanse them of contamination, absolve them of guilt, and overcome their fate. He is the god of night and temptation. One of its most important features is to have eternal youth, so it was called Telpochtli (the forever young). He also attributed the name Yaotl (the enemy), and the creation of the air and the music (arrows in one hand, in the other a flute). It is the God who gives and takes away the wealth, is the protector of slaves. 

necropolice:

MYTHS SERIES || Tezcatlipoca

"Night and wind, the referee, who thinks and governed by its own will"

Tezcatlipoca is the Smoking Mirror.

He is the god of the nocturnal sky, god of the ancestral memory, god of time and the Lord of the North, the embodiment of change through conflict. Tezcatlipoca, had the ability to know the thoughts and feelings, as well as being ubiquitous. Is northern warrior, represents the night sky, the moon and stars. Lord of the north side of the universe, which was identified with the Mictlan, the rest region, and is called Mictlampa, head of the dead. 

Tezcatlipoca is usually depicted with a black and yellow stripe painted across his face. He is often shown with his right foot replaced with an obsidian mirror or a snake. One of his Naguals is the Jaguar. Another Nagual of Tezcatlipoca is Chalchihuihtotolin, the (blood-) Jewelled Fowl. Chalchihuihtotolin is a symbol of powerful sorcery. 

He can tempt humans into self-destruction, but when he can also cleanse them of contamination, absolve them of guilt, and overcome their fate. He is the god of night and temptation. One of its most important features is to have eternal youth, so it was called Telpochtli (the forever young). He also attributed the name Yaotl (the enemy), and the creation of the air and the music (arrows in one hand, in the other a flute). It is the God who gives and takes away the wealth, is the protector of slaves. 

(via thewritersramblings)

portersnotebook:

That Stubborn Plank
The skies above the city had wept the streets into a swamp.
People smoked twice as much to clean the smell of the rot and damp from their nostrils, to have something that burned and was dry. They carried their cigarettes under their hats. Wagon wheels rusted, horses hooves were cleaned and dried with extra care, still many came up lame with cramps and fungus, hair and flesh soft as if stewed. For those forced to walk, which was much of the city, there were walkways. Unemployed men took a city wage to maintain and install them and blacksmiths made fortunes in nails. Artists joked that nobody bought their work anymore because who could afford to hang paintings?
Martin had been unemployed, played at laborer, at boxer and thief.
Now he built and kept up cheap and tiny bridges.
There was one stubborn plank that refused to sit right, often falling into the water. Martin told people forced to wait that he had no idea why that infernal board would not listen to the nails he put through it.
There. It is fixed. Good day, sir, madam, miss.
She may have been a courtesan, traveling home at those hours. Perhaps she was a rich man’s mistress or a wealthy eccentric’s daughter who insisted on walking because it was what the people were forced to do. He would see her a few blocks away, tottering on the boards under that magnificent hat, and hop down from his dry perch and wade to the stubborn board. He’d look around for witnesses before he gave it a sharp rap with his hammer, knocking it into the water.
She waited while Martin hammered and thought of something to say. He looked at his rough hands and wondered if they would scrape the smooth skin of her thighs, her neck. He wanted to say good morning, but remembered the persistant rot and itch of his skin below his knees, between his toes.
Thank you, sir, she would say as he fixed the plank. He could only tip his hat in answer.
Martin prayed for courage. He prayed for rain.
Credit: Crue de la Seine. Paris, janvier 1910, Roger-Viollet

portersnotebook:

That Stubborn Plank

The skies above the city had wept the streets into a swamp.

People smoked twice as much to clean the smell of the rot and damp from their nostrils, to have something that burned and was dry. They carried their cigarettes under their hats. Wagon wheels rusted, horses hooves were cleaned and dried with extra care, still many came up lame with cramps and fungus, hair and flesh soft as if stewed. For those forced to walk, which was much of the city, there were walkways. Unemployed men took a city wage to maintain and install them and blacksmiths made fortunes in nails. Artists joked that nobody bought their work anymore because who could afford to hang paintings?

Martin had been unemployed, played at laborer, at boxer and thief.

Now he built and kept up cheap and tiny bridges.

There was one stubborn plank that refused to sit right, often falling into the water. Martin told people forced to wait that he had no idea why that infernal board would not listen to the nails he put through it.

There. It is fixed. Good day, sir, madam, miss.

She may have been a courtesan, traveling home at those hours. Perhaps she was a rich man’s mistress or a wealthy eccentric’s daughter who insisted on walking because it was what the people were forced to do. He would see her a few blocks away, tottering on the boards under that magnificent hat, and hop down from his dry perch and wade to the stubborn board. He’d look around for witnesses before he gave it a sharp rap with his hammer, knocking it into the water.

She waited while Martin hammered and thought of something to say. He looked at his rough hands and wondered if they would scrape the smooth skin of her thighs, her neck. He wanted to say good morning, but remembered the persistant rot and itch of his skin below his knees, between his toes.

Thank you, sir, she would say as he fixed the plank. He could only tip his hat in answer.

Martin prayed for courage. He prayed for rain.


Credit: Crue de la Seine. Paris, janvier 1910, Roger-Viollet

(via tumblrfiction)

moniquill:

naamahdarling:

wrath-fire-ice:

Bury me in this.

*SCREAMS*

Get buried in this, get found by archeologists ten thousand years later, get presumed some kind of monarch or holy figure.

(via thewritersramblings)

lesbianathogwarts:

akapearlofagirl:

madmothmiko:

Beautiful Graphic Art Made With Rolls of Packing Tape by Mark Khaisman

wow

GOD DAMN IT

(via captainofalltheships)