coloured-plaster

//ok guys legit ok listen

please figure out the difference between me and @shenpaidoodles

Like im not mad or anything but ive been getting some inboxes and messages complimenting me on comics that i haven’t done, shenpai’s done them :^)

anyway

So, it’s no joke that @alainaprana has inspired me to start sewing again since getting her commissions and since then I have made the collection of colourful plasters that I submitted already.

This is probably the biggest thing I have made from scratch and I am very happy with it. I mostly made this because I really liked the small painted bead that @dc-the-traveler made and thought “I could plushify that.”

Its 7inches tall from the bottom to the tip of the soul and is like a lil cushion. (based off this here image)

Thank you @furgemancs for inspiring my piece of felt craft I did here! it was fun to make.

(EDIT) tumblr squashed the pic, click it to see it properly.

4

Plant of the Day

Wednesday 15 June 2016

The front of Pashley Manor, Sussex, is covered in the climbing Rosa ‘Gloire de Dijon’ (old glory rose). This climbing tea rose will grow up to 5m, with glossy, dark foliage and very fragrant, fully double, quartered, creamy-buff flowers. This cultivar will flower in the summer with another display of blooms in the autumn. I really like the subtle way the plaster colour of the building and the rose flowers are so well matched.

Jill Raggett

In her own darkened cottage, Granny Weatherwax sat and watched the fire die. It was a grey-walled room, the colour that old plaster gets not so much from dirt as from age. There was not a thing in it that wasn’t useful, utilitarian, earned its keep. Every flat surface in Nanny Ogg’s cottage had been pressed into service as a holder for ornaments and potted plants. People gave Nanny Ogg things. Cheap fairground tat, Granny always called it. At least, in public. What she thought of it in the privacy of her own head, she never said. She rocked gently as the last ember winked out. It’s hard to contemplate, in the grey hours of the night, that probably the only reason people would come to your funeral would be to make sure you’re dead.
—  Terry Pratchett, “The Sea and Little Fishes”