#fäden

[ohnedichgibtskeinwir]

Manchmal scheint es, als würde das Schicksal seine Fäden im Hintergrund ziehen, um Begegnungen, Ereignisse und Wendepunkte in unserem Leben zu bringen. Es lässt uns Menschen begegnen, die unsere Welt auf den Kopf stellen, es öffnet uns Türen zu neuen Möglichkeiten und schenkt uns manchmal unerwartete Chancen.

[zickzackschere]

<when i was 23>

when i was 23, i couldn't stop thinking. Da waren Luftschlösser in mir, selbst errichtet. Da war viel. Ein unerschöpflicher Fluss an Fragen und Richtungen- meist nach vorn und hinten- selten zentral. Und eines Nachts war alles anders, nur das die Nacht nicht zu lokalisieren ist. Ich weiß nicht wann es aufgehört hat. Schleichend und unsichtbar-omnipräsent.

Irgendwie geht alles weiter, eventually.

Was tun wenn die Ziele erreicht sind? Weitermachen? Oder neue stecken? Grübeleien Jahre später, 3 um genau zu sein.

[craft2eu]

FÄDEN & ARIADNE’S NAAIKUSSEN: Mettingen ab 15.10.2023

Wer kennt ihn nicht, den Lebensfaden, den roten Faden? Wer ist nicht mit anderen verwoben? Fäden begegnen uns in Mythen, im Sprachgebrauch und auch in der Kunst, wo sie vielfach als Metapher, Modell oder Medium eingesetzt werden. Thema dieser Ausstellung sind daher die symbolischen Bedeutungen von Fäden für den Menschen und das menschliche Leben. So versammelt FÄDEN Werke zeitgenössischer…

[politikwatch]

"#Wissenschaftler haben #Hunderte #mysteriöser #kosmischer #Fäden im #Zentrum der #Milchstraße entdeckt"

[caves-crafts]

everybody look at my cat in my lap as i was spinning

he had never done that before!!!! he just sat on my lap and fell asleep!!!

Fun fact! I drove 3 hours with my mom to get this spinning wheel. I have absolutely no idea how old she is but she was hand made by someones uncle. I call her Oma since that's whats etched into the lazy Kate that I also got from the nice old lady who sold it to me.

[macoria-from-ariel-threads]

[pufferfishartblogorsth]

six fanarts uwe krögers challenge

left to right: Archbishop Colloredo (Mozart!), Count Taaffe (Rudolf: Affaire Mayerling), Cardinal Richelieu (Drei Musketiere), Death (Elisabeth), Joe Gillis (Sunset Boulevard), Inspector Javert (Les Misérables)

[fitzrove]

😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳 who's going to write this fanfic

[dummerjan]

ich geh zu bett mit kopfweh, ich wache auf mit kopfweh, ich geh zu bett mit kopfweh, ich wache auf mit kopfweh, ich geh zu bett mit kopfweh, ich wache auf mit kopfweh, ich geh zu bett mit kopfweh...

[free-piza]

speaking of geschwister, yesterday i learned dass karoline schuch (maggie in oderbruch) die schwester von albrecht schuch (mandelkern in funeral for a dog) ist

[the-cricket-chirps]

Otti Berger

Tasttafel aus Fäden

1928

[zickzackschere]

2024 Liste

-Ehrlich sein

-nicht immer alles sofort wollen aka Patience

-schöne weite Welt

-Kunst Kunst Kunst

-Therapie Therapie Therapie

-Trying to be okay with aging

-YOGA TEACHER PLEASE

-meeting people and places that are meant to be

-Getting surprised by life

-FUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[craft2eu]

Zwischen Nadel, Faden, Filz und Webstuhl: Darmstadt vom 13.08. bis 23.09.2023

Ausgewählte, zeitgenössische Positionen textiler Kunst Die neue, lange und umfangreich vorbereitete Ausstellung der Darmstädter Galerie Netuschil zu textilem Material und textiler Technik in der Kunst der Gegenwart präsentiert fünfzehn sehr unterschiedliche Positionen zeitgenössischer, künstlerischer Arbeit, die die Bedeutung und die breiten Möglichkeiten textilen Schaffens, gerade in der…

[earthly-apples]

Always happy to see my UwEnjolras propaganda working

[mrdraws]

 Little drabble of how Klara met her patron! You can also read it on AO3 :)

-

 They came to her on the night before the wedding. 

 Her wedding, to be precise, though it seemed more apt to call it The Wedding, as it seemed so colossal and final. 

 The engagement had lasted six months. Half a year of dread and misery. Her mother had told her she was lucky to have found a match at twenty-five, as she was half a spinster already, and had proved to be quite skillful at ignoring her daughter’s anguish. Klara begged and wept—at least until her father had threatened her with a stint in the asylum, and that put paid to it.

 She’d contemplated running away. She’d contemplated infidelity, to scare her fiancé off. She’d even contemplated joining a damn convent—but exchanging one pair of shackles for another sort of defeated the point of the entire venture.

 In the meantime, there were dates to visit venues, and dinners, and dress fittings. The noose wrapped ever tighter around Klara’s neck.

 She pretended, sometimes, that she could tolerate being wed to a man unlike Jonathan. A gentler man. A kinder man. A man whose hands did not stray across her body or strike her when others were not looking, whose temper did not flare and burn her like the crackle of fire. But she knew deep inside that even if she were offered this imaginary other option, she would never be content. Would never be happy.

 No one could know. That was almost the hardest part.

 And so, the night before her wedding arrived. Her dress, pale and haunting as a ghost, lay draped over her vanity in the dark of her bedroom. It was cold, as the fire had guttered out in its hearth. She’d been crying; tears streaked her cheeks and stung her eyes, and the twinkle of the street lamps outside blurred together into so many stars on broken, cresting waves of a midnight sea. She wasn’t really sure for how long she wept, but at some point, she drifted into a dazed, exhausted state of half-wakefulness.

  “Why do you cry, beloved?”

 Her heart leapt into her throat. Klara jolted to her feet and spun around.

 Her room was empty.

 The chilly breeze of the outside world made the curtains drift, played with her night shift. Goosebumps puckered across her bruised shoulders. She reached, fumbling, for a letter opener from her writing desk, never taking her eyes off the emptiness of her room. It was frigid in her grip.

 “Come, now. There is no need for that.”

 She felt a presence behind her, and whirled.

 There, standing in the moonlight, stood a pale, elegantly constructed person wearing a golden mask. They had the clean, smooth mien of a marble statue, and stood a good head taller than her—and there was something about them, some strange, masterful air of eminence that made her quail like a candle in the wind. She did not dare lift the letter opener in defense of herself, for she knew in some deep-seated, primal way that she was in the presence of something superior to her. 

 “I ask again; why do you cry?” They had no mouth, and, indeed, no features that distinguished them as one sex or the other; they were smooth and flawless, with a softly lissome body that contrasted the masculine cast of their mask. Their voice was mellifluous and bordered somewhere just between male and female, and their eyes were dark, empty sockets.

 Klara was speechless.

 “Speak,” the figure said, this time with an authoritative edge to their silvered voice. 

 “I—“ The words caught in Klara’s throat. She had to fight to bring them forth. “I’m to be married tomorrow.”

 The figure tilted their head.

 “And this distresses you.”

 Why lie? She was clearly dreaming. This was beyond reality. Klara nodded, silent. The figure hmmed.

 “As it so happens,” they said, “I have a solution.”

 Klara scarcely dared to breathe.

 “You do?” she asked, voice tremulous. It sounded thin and reedy in comparison to that of this strange individual. The figure nodded slowly.

 “I do.” They gestured, and a string appeared, stretching across the darkness, golden and gossamer and glittering. The figure hooked a finger around it. “You are bound by fate to this fiancé of yours. I happen to have quite a bit of mastery over such things. It would be an easy thing to sever this thread.”

 Klara’s heart began to beat faster. She didn’t hesitate.

 “Please. Tell me what I must do,” she begged.

 “You must trade this wedding for a marriage of another kind,” the figure said. “You must devote yourself to me in body, mind, and soul. Consecrate yourself to my service. Serve me.”

 Dread settled in Klara’s stomach, hard and chill like a block of ice—but it was nothing compared to the hope that blossomed in her chest. A smarter, less desperate woman would think twice.

 She was not that woman.

 “Of course,” she breathed. “What must I do?” 

 The figure crooked a finger under her chin and lifted her head to face it, and leaned in, until she felt as though the empty blackness of their eyes would swallow her.

 “Beloved,” they said, “You have already done it.”

 With their other hand, they snapped the thread, and it glittered into nonexistence, and, somehow, in that way that dreams always seemed to make sense, the figure was suddenly gone. 

 Klara stood there in the dark, clutching the letter opener till her hand burned and her knuckles turned white, waiting for… something. When it didn’t come, she shuffled to bed and closed her eyes.

 When she woke the next morning, she came downstairs to her mother in the dining room, whose face was pale as milk.

 “Jonathan,” she said, voice brittle, “Is dead.”

 And that was how it began.

[caves-crafts]

Have some yarn soup!

this is 100% bfl that i spun worsted style and then 2-plyed. it was my first time using wool with a longer staple length and i really liked it! i feel like it was easier to draw the fibers and spim them consistently and finely.

I'm very pleased with the result and will update this with a picture of the dry yarn tomorrow when i have better lighting!

my plan for this is to make it into a knitted lace dolly since it's the first really fine yarn i've spun and i wanna try my hand at knitted lace maybe i'll also dye it who knows!