I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.
What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.
What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.
What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.
The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.
And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.
But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.
I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.
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I AM SO LATE FUCK FUCK FU
Anyways, cringetober days 7 and 8, hell is not strong enough to hold me
Pinterest base used here
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can't stop thinking about how tamsyn muir regularly includes foreshadowing in the most bizarre and mundane places (like harrow threatening to make bone meal explode out of gideon, and then she does do that to a Different Gideon).
anyway on a totally unrelated note, remember how they're fighting in GTN and harrow says "when I release you from my service, Nav, you will know about it"? and remember what harrow knows now about the meaning of lyctorhood and cavalierhood, and the fact that she likely no longer wants gideon to just be her cavalier? and remember that there's almost no way they won't have at least one blowup fight in Alecto the Ninth?
yeah. thinking about it.
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do you ever think about how Michael probably hated being compared to his father, yet in both Watsonian and Doylist terms, that's all he ever was
like in watsonian ways, all the animatronics targeted him and attacked him because he looked so similar to his father that they were the same people to the children.
and in doylist ways, the only thing that defined him was his quest to defeat his father.
like, what in canon has clued us in about Mike's personality? That has nothing to do with his family or animatronics? it's that he likes a show called the immortal and the restless.
that's it.
everything else we have given him in fanon.
he spent his whole life trying to deal with his father to prove he wasn't him, yet he's entirely defined by his father.
and without him, he's barely a character.
it adds a sort of horror to his death in pizza sim. like when he attempted to lay his father to rest permanently, the universe laid him as well, because it had no purpose for him outside of his father.
it also kinda makes glammike a little fucked up if you think about it this way, even if he either moved on or his spirit lingered in the pizzeria. his father rose again and the universe either dragged him out of the afterlife or kept him in the basement because what else is he if not his father's watcher
do you ever think about that despite his best efforts to not be his father, he's entirely defined by the man
do you ever think about that
or are you normal.
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Sethos: *seeing Alhaitham and Kaveh interacting and immediately clocking them as a couple*
Me: one of us. One of us. One of us. One oF US. ONE OF US
Bless Sethos’s entire existence and every one of his voice lines (I see the Wanderer potential too, happy pride guys??? Ignore that I’m posting this like 2 days before June ends shhhhhhhhhhhh)
Alright, I now need Sethos to show up in every patch in every region and immediately clock every gay ship.
He steps into Liyue, sees Ningguang and Beidou do their weird flirting, and immediately thinks they're married.
As soon as he gets to Inazuma and has one convo with Yae Miko about how the war ended and her part in it, he just hits her with the “So glad you saved your wife!” and leaves while Miko just gets the weirdest feeling that she was played.
Gets to Fontaine, hears everyone say that Neuvillette is very cold and has no personal relationships, then just hears Neuvillette say he has a personal relationship with Wriothesley and goes “You’re kidding me right??”
He hears about Clorinde and Navia playing DnD together as well as that whole drama and gives Navia his condolences, saying “So glad to see you’ve worked it all out with your girlfriend” and Navia just freezing because what?? She hasn’t gotten to that point fully yet!
No hesitation, no beating around, he just congratulates everyone on their amazing relationships, no one is able to tell him they aren’t together, and so instead Sethos accidentally kickstarts every gay ship in every region just by calling everyone out. We love a fellow fudanshi, hail Sethos
Can’t wait for Sethos’ life-changing field trip to Natlan XD
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