#shell inlay

[blondebrainpowered]

Soapstone with shell inlay carving of a whale effigy. California, United States, Chumash culture, 1200-1600 CE

[a-queer-little-wombat]

Lovely craftsmanship and the outcome is gorgeous.

The number of sets made like this on an annual basis is likely quite small, tho. Which is just as true of similar items made in any other country.

And so, since I've been seeing a huge influx of these types of very staged, very traditional methods and items, very visually aesthetically pleasing and ASMR-generating, very minimal explanation captioning (and always in English), usually from user discoverchina, videos *all* from China and about traditional Chinese methods/items ... every time I see them, I think "this is propaganda".

Yes, they are beautiful and soothing and the items made are beautiful. But also, what is the goal? What do these videos encourage you to think about China? How much do these videos reflect modern China, their manufacturing, their culture, etc?

holy shit is this gorgeous.

[thedissociatives]

The Holy Bible Cassette Inlay

[inoxjewelry]

This contemporary Titanium Wood & Shell Inlay Ring is the ideal modern wedding band for men. Crafted from titanium and adorned with wood and shell inlays, the 8mm ring provides the perfect fit.

[arthistoryanimalia]

Whale Effigy 🐳 Chumash (California, West Coast), c.1200-1600 Steatite, shell inlay, 7.1 x 9.5 cm Montreal Museum of Fine Arts 1950.51.Ab.9

[asha-mage]

The costuming of each of Rand's ancestors is ALSO insane, each iteration of the cadin'sor a step forward towards the one we recognize on Janduin and the modern Aiel, and each reflecting the moment that ancestor lived in:

Charn has simple but well made work clothes that reflect his upbringing as someone form a culture that still practices agrarian farming in a sci fi utopia. It's simple brown that looks more rough and rustic standing in contrast to Miren's sleek white lab outfit, but still contains the hints of modern amenity: his over the shoulder cape, the buttons on his coat and shirt. This is someone who lives in a society where he could be wearing something more clearly modern, but deliberately choose something humble and simple.

Then you have Rhodric in a much sleeker and darker version: the rustic agrarian element has been traded for a straight lines. Everything is imminently practical, from the thick soled work boots, to the leather vest with it's own clip and zippers, to the trousers that allow for range of motion. Rhodric was living through a time of war and now apocalypse. Even his people, sworn to peace, have been altered by the realities of the world they live in, and what their role as servants to Aes Sedai, leaders in that war, demanded.

Centuries later, the cadin'sor has been entirely lost, and Jonai is in what we can recognize now as Tuatha'an style clothing, which makes sense since this is where the two cultures split. Gone are the sleek uniform lines Rhodric was wearing but the deliberate rustic vibe Charn had has not returned. Instead everything is clearly (and messily) hand made. Threads are hanging off a poncho that is clearly hard used. Everything is ill fitting- on Jonai and every one else in this scene. Adan's shirt hangs askew because it's to large while Sulwin's skirt drags in the skirt because it's to long. Their are all these efforts at bright colors and patterning- but their irregular and imperfect. The breaking is taking it's hold and exacting it's price.

Two generations later, Jonai's great grandson, Lewin and his fellows have something that that is first step towards modern Aiel cadin'sor. Everyone has adopted browns and grey, brighter color has been dramatically scaled back, and while stuff still isn't fitting great, it's fitting better. Practicality is back as the main focus, and we see sharp lines return as well. Lewin is the ancestor that most resembles Rhodric, because like with Rhodric he has had to make concessions in himself for the realities of a violent world. The veil appears for the first time, and the colors are now locked in: brown and grey, to match their desert environment.

Jumping forward centuries again to the pre-Clan Aiel, we get Mandein, a sept chief from right before the Aiel cultural identity starts to codify. He is wearing a leather cuirass over a simple linen shirt- the colors are consistent now. and everything is well fitted. The biggest difference is how his rank as a chief is conveyed: he is slathered status symbols, from his cloak, to his sea shell necklace, to his spear with special inlay- all things that demonstrate his singular importance in a society grappling with scarcity. Their is also no uniformity when we see the other sept chiefs during the meeting- everyone is styled differently, draped in different kinds of status symbols. The modern Aiel as a culture now exists, but a common cultural identity is still in the process of forming and getting locked in.

And then finally Janduin- post that cultural identity being codified for two thousand years. He and all the other Aiel warriors are uniform with a clear vision- and being influenced by aesthetic sensibilities that incorporate every step backwards through time. A curiass that seems heavily based on the vest of Rhodric and the others during the war period but with the clear underpinning of being real armor like what Mandein wore, a metal buckler strapped to his back right where the Aiel work hats used to hang during Charn's day, and of course, Lewin's veil but also his same basic silhouette and linens. The only one not represented here is Jonai- which makes sense since that is the lowest point in the Aiel's history, reduced to refugees being preyed upon without anything but their oath and each other to sustain them. Most strikingly to me is the complete absence of any status symbol- Janduin leads many many more people then Mandein but his spears are the same as his soldiers, and nothing marks him out as their leader even in the thick of combat...because such symbols are unnecessary. His right to lead, we know, is carved into his arm.

[electric-blue24]

Sisters Driftwood and Abyssal

Driftwood is an albino seawing with bad eyesight, she spends most of her time in costal shallow waters never venturing into the depths of the sea. She works as an artisan mostly carving wood and making shell inlays

her older sister abyssal was born and raised in the ocean floor never seeing truly sunlight she spends her time as a palace guard and when she has the time stone carving

redraw of the characters in this ~2019 thing that I can’t for the life of me remember if I posted -_-

[memories-of-ancients]

Silver ring with stone and spondylus shell inlays, Moche culture, Peru, circa 150-500 AD

from The Princeton University Art Museum

[kiss4tell]

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃, simon riley.

summary: a princess raised in a world of rules and expectations finds herself entangled with a thief who should mean nothing to her—but as stolen glances turn into stolen kisses, she realizes she’s never wanted anything more. cw: forbidden romance, makeout scene, implied danger, secret meetings, longing, angst. thief!simon, princess!user. wc: 1.1k note: thief!simon and knight!johnny were so close in the poll that i might just make a johnny one too.

The first time you meet him, you don’t know his name.

You don’t know that he’s a thief, that he’s dangerous, that he should be nowhere near the castle walls. All you know is the rough press of a gloved hand over your mouth, the sharp scent of leather and damp stone, the solid weight of a body pinning you into the shadows.

Moonlight filters through the high-arched windows of your chambers, casting silver ribbons across the polished marble floor. The distant flicker of torches in the hallway stretches long shadows beneath the ornate wooden doors, their golden inlays glowing faintly in the dim light. The guards—your father’s men—are just beyond that threshold. Close enough that if you made a sound, they would hear you.

Your heartbeat is a war drum, frantic and unforgiving. Your breathing is shallow beneath the suffocating press of his body. He’s solid, warm despite the night’s chill, and when he leans in, you feel the rasp of his voice against the shell of your ear.

“Not a sound, princess.”

He says it like he’s amused. Like this is nothing to him. A game.

The footsteps in the corridor pause, and your body tenses. If they open the door, they will see him. You will be caught in his arms. You’ll be questioned, accused—punished. The weight of expectation, of propriety, presses on you heavier than the man holding you captive.

And then, finally, the footsteps fade. The torches continue down the hall, leaving your room untouched.

His hand drops from your mouth, but before you can take in a proper breath, you’re spun around, your back hitting the cold stone wall. He cages you in, arms braced on either side of your head, and the moonlight finally reveals his face.

A mask of shadows and sharp angles.

A scar curves across his cheek, partially hidden by the fall of his hood. His eyes are dark, unreadable, gleaming with something sharp. There’s a smirk on his lips, a quiet kind of arrogance that makes your stomach twist with something you refuse to name.

“Pretty thing,” he murmurs, his voice like rough-cut velvet. “Bet you’ve never had a man in your chambers like this before.”

Your breath stutters between your lips, a mix of outrage and something else.

“Who are you?” you whisper.

His grin deepens, wicked and knowing. He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, and his next words send a shiver down your spine.

“No one you should be thinking about, love.”

And then, just like that—he’s gone.

Vanished into the night like a ghost.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

The next morning, you find a ring on your windowsill.

It’s nothing extravagant—just a simple silver band, slightly tarnished, a little worn. It’s far too plain to belong to the royal treasury, too rough for a nobleman’s taste. And yet, it sits there, glinting in the soft morning light as if waiting for you to claim it.

You don’t touch it. You shouldn’t touch it.

But that night, when you step into the royal gardens for some air, he’s waiting.

The air is thick with the scent of roses and damp earth, the evening breeze whispering through the hedgerows. The stone paths are still warm from the day’s sun, the ivy-covered trellises casting intricate shadows across the courtyard. He stands just beyond the torchlight, shrouded in darkness, leaning casually against an old stone pillar.

“You don’t like my gift?”

His voice is low, teasing, curling around you like smoke.

You turn, pulse kicking up as you spot the gleam of his eyes beneath the hood. His clothes are dark, his posture easy, as if he has every right to be here. As if he isn’t a common thief trespassing on royal grounds.

“You stole it.”

He chuckles, a rich, quiet sound. “Everything in that castle is stolen, princess. I just take from those who won’t miss it.”

Your breath catches at his audacity.

“Why are you here?”

He steps closer, and you don’t back away. His gloved fingers lift, tracing the delicate embroidery of your sleeve, the royal blues and golds woven into the fabric. His touch is light, barely there.

“Because you fascinate me,” he says simply. “You’re all locked away in your golden cage, waiting for some prince who’ll never deserve you.”

Heat flares in your cheeks.

“And you think you deserve me?”His lips curve into a smirk, head tilting slightly. He studies you for a long moment before murmuring, “No. But I think you wish I did.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

It becomes a game after that.

A reckless, dangerous, forbidden game.

He finds you in the places no one else does. The hidden alcoves of the library. The abandoned wings of the castle. The quiet halls before dawn, when the world is still asleep.

At first, it’s just words. A smirk. A tease. A stolen touch that lingers too long.

But then, one night, when he backs you against a cold stone wall and murmurs, “Tell me to stop”—and you don’t—things change.

He kisses you.

It’s nothing like the chaste, practiced pecks you’ve received from noble suitors. No, this is something else entirely.

His lips are firm, insistent, and when his teeth graze your lower lip, a shiver runs through you so violently you have to grip his cloak just to stay standing. His hands are everywhere—brushing your jaw, your waist, the curve of your hip. When he presses closer, trapping you against the wall, you feel the hard lines of his body, the tension coiled beneath his skin.

It’s dangerous. It’s intoxicating. It’s wrong.

And yet, when he pulls away, your hands chase after him, fingers curling into his shirt as if begging him to stay.

He exhales a quiet laugh against your cheek, nuzzling the spot just below your ear.

“You’re trouble, princess.”

And the worst part?You think you like it.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Time slips through your fingers like sand. Seasons change, and so do you.

You learn his name. You learn the stories behind his scars. You learn the feel of his hands on your skin, the weight of his mouth against yours in the darkness of your chambers, in the hidden corners of the castle where no one dares to look.

The kisses grow deeper. The touches hungrier. He tastes like danger, like freedom, like a life you can never have.

And then, one night, when he pulls you into his arms and murmurs, “Say the word, and I’ll take you with me”—

You don’t know how to answer.

Because running means leaving everything behind.

And staying means losing him forever.

So instead of speaking, you kiss him like it’s the last time.

Because maybe it is.

[letmeinimafairy]

Experimenting again - carved pebble and thin shell fragments as a base for painted landscape. Do I know anything about inlays? No. Will it stop me? NO. Will make a necklace with it

[cosmicanger]

Bearded Bull’s Head, 2600-2450 BC; Sumerian, Iraq, Early Dynastic III period; copper with lapis lazuli and shell inlay; 9 ¼ x 9 1/16 x 4 ¾ inches

[mathosapabeads]

Tusweca Abalone earrings, made with vintage metal connectors, metal and abalone inlay dragonfly charms, 24k gold leverback hooks, and abalone shells

[typhlonectes]

Moché, Peru, Reclining Feline Effigy Vessel, ca. 100–800, earthenware with slip and shell inlay

via: Museum of Fine Arts - Houston

[bronzeageecho]

standing dignitary | c. 600-1000 CE | wari, modern-day peru

"This rare Wari freestanding figurine is composed of intricate and densely patterned inlays of mother-of-pearl, purple and orange spondylus shell, mussel shell, turquoise, pyrite, greenstone, lapis lazuli, and silver (for the headdress) on a wood matrix. "

in the kimbell art museum collection

[arthistoryanimalia]

Japanese #Netsuke for #WorldRatDay:

1. Cluster of Rats, late 19th-20th c.

Ivory w/ inlays, D 1 1/2 in. (4.0 cm)

LACMA https://collections.lacma.org/node/189655

2. Group of Rats Nestled in an Abalone Shell, late 19th c.

Ivory, horn, H 7/8 in (2.2 cm) x W 1 5/8 in (4.1 cm)

Metropolitan Museum of Art https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/59658

[formlines]

Wasgo & Bird of the Air Panel Pipe

Christian White

from the website: This Wasgo & Bird of the Air panel pipe was hand-carved in 2002 by Haida artist Christian White. It has been carved in argillite and features 4 inlays of catline, 12 inlays of abalone shell, and 2 inlays of mother-of-pearl. It sits on a removable yew wood base.

Fully carved on all sides, the pipe incorporates several crests, including the Wasgo, Eagle, Raven, Killer Whale, and Human.

The pipe, excluding the stand, measures approximately 7 inches or 17 3/4 centimeters long, 1 3/8 inches or 3 1/2 centimeters wide, and 3 inches or 7 1/2 centimeters high. When resting on the stand, the pipe and stand together measure approximately 8 inches or 20 centimeters long, 2 1/4 inches or 5 1/2 centimeters wide, and 5 inches or 12 1/2 centimeters high.