daubes

2

Work Doodle: Explody Cat Man Creature Thing

I draw the least intimidating Killer Queen(not including the doofy screencap), boo me. Don’t mind me I’m just toying with Daub Dry Media Brush and Fluid Ink sets for CSP. I don’t know If I’m using the tools right. I like the fluid ink set a lot. It has all the looseness of brush inking without the mess! No more doing the damn ink dishes, and ACCIDENTALLY DRINKING THE DIRTY INK WATER.

i kinda wish we had more like, Sets Of Three genes, like we always get a primary to match a secondary but tertiaries just seem to be doing w/e and it often ends up clashing with the primaries/secondaries, so liek

i want a gene that matches things like bar/daub, cherub/seraph, clown/eyespots, tiger/stripes…………etc. i think it’s a Design Space that hasn’t been fucked w/ yet, and itd be interesting to see

So I finally read The Hobbit and I realized very important stuff:

-Fili is actually the youngest. Not Kili or Ori.

-Ori is nearly 50 years older than Fili and Kili (it is stated that Kili and Fili were the youngest dwarves by 50 years)

-Thorin does not hate elves

-Not much fighting in the Hobbit

-Elves are not vegetarian

-Thorin is actually a sarcastic little shit

-Eagles actually talk and so do thrushes and ravens.

-Crows are evil according to Balin

-Azog is actually dead and it’s Bolg who leads the orcs

-Dain slew Azog

-Elves like to sing. Like a lot

-Thorin was actually compared to a dog in a small kennel. Twice.

-Bard is practically nonexsistent till the dragon comes out. He is also a very suspicious man.“


-No mention of Bain

-Thorin is actually decent towards Bilbo

-Thranduil is not that cold

-Alfrid does not exist.

-Bilbo actually gets tired of Thorin’s shit (actually he gets tired of Thorin’s rambling on. He’s a very important dwarf apparently)

-Thorin plays the harp

-Trolls are not THAT daft; they hid in the dark and waited for the Company members to pop up and one by one shoved them in a bag

-They looked to Bilbo quite a lot

-Fili and Kili died protecting their Uncle *mind flashes to Dain protecting Brands body*

-Bilbo passed tf out during the battle lol

-Dwalin gave Bilbo his green cloak to which Bilbo kept till the end of his days.

anonymous asked:

IDK if you saw the post about how, before the Death Star plans were captured, the asset Bail was sending was *Leia herself* to Obi-Wan. But I'd like an AU based on that. No Death Star Plans, only a 19-year-old-girl strong in the Force, trying to beat the Empire.

She didn’t—

Luke cocked his head, watching the girl in white move through the marketplace. He couldn’t figure out what it was about her, why one minute he had been engrossed in Waing’s new shipment of power converters and the next he was staring at her, totally unable to tear his eyes away. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gone from one to the other, except he had, and now he was watching her. It was important he watch her, he knew it was important, though he couldn’t figure out how he knew that, or why.

It wasn’t that she stood out—sure, no one wore robes of that clean white, not unless they had a lot of slaves or droids to do the laundry for them, and yeah, she was the sort of pale you generally only saw in traders, who spent more time in artificial grav than sunslight. But she could be a water merchant’s daughter slumming it in Toshe, or an off-worlder, taking in the sights. (Not that they had many sights to see in Toshe, Luke thought with a snort.) And nobody else seemed to notice her; she stopped at Kinqua’s stall and dipped her fingers into the bowl Kinqua left out for tasting, and lifted it to her lips, licked the droplets away.

Luke had seen Kinqua casually lop off a child’s hand for that.

Skywalker,” Waing said, startling Luke out of his thoughts. “You made a decision? Or are you just going to keep feeling up my tech until it agrees to go home with you?”

“Cool your drives, Waing,” Luke said mildly, but he was still staring at the girl in white. She had two droids trundling after her, he realized belatedly—an astromech and a protocol droid, though he couldn’t make out what they were saying at this distance. Their lights were flashing, though, and he wished he could read visual binary.

“Oh, I see,” Waing said after a minute, and Luke could hear them smirking. “My tech isn’t all you’re hoping to take back to the Whitesun-Lars homestead.”

Luke felt his face go hot, and he forced himself to look back at Waing. They were smirking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said coolly, but he couldn’t focus on the power converters anymore. The girl in white, had she—

“Pardon me.”

This close it was abundantly obvious that she wasn’t from Tatooine—no one from this planet carried that air of interestingness with them, like they had a secret that might change the whole course of your life. She must be an off-worlder. “I’m looking for Obi-Wan Kenobi. Do you know where I might find him? I was told he lives near here—”

“Old Ben?” Luke cut in, before Waing could answer. “Do you mean Old Ben?”

The girl in white looked at him for a long moment, and Luke felt the back of his neck heating up. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Is he near here?”

“Oh, sure,” Luke laughed, more out of relief than anything else. “Old Ben’s just a few klicks from here, he lives near the western gorge—I could take you, if you want,” Luke said quickly, because she looked increasingly put-out, and he felt something in his chest twinge in answer to it.

But she shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but this is a personal matter.”

“It’ll cost you serious credits if you charter a speeder,” Luke said. “I’m headed that way anyway, let me take you. And your droids. Really,” he said, because she still looked uncertain. “It’s no trouble.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and her dark eyes were very serious. (He liked her eyes, for no particular reason he could figure out.) “My name is Leia,” she finally said, sticking her hand out. 

“Luke,” Luke laughed, taking it and shaking it. It was cool and smooth, and if he’d needed any confirmation she was from off-world, that was it. “Skywalker. My uncle owns a moisture farm in the eastern hemisphere.”

“I’m—not from around here,” she said, and Luke almost laughed because—well, obviously.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Luke said, and something of her tiredness and tightness (why did he know she was tired, down to her bones?) eased. She smiled back, a small smile. Luke counted it as a victory.

“I am C-3PO,” the protocol droid cut in, sticking his head between them as though it would stop them from looking at one another. He was burnished gold, and in the high sunslight it hurt to look at him. “And this is my companion, R2-D2.”

The astromech whistled a greeting, and Luke laughed. “Pleasure to meet—all of you. My speeder’s docked by the Ithorian, if you want…?”

“Hey, Skywalker, aren’t you going to buy anything?” Waing interrupted, and Luke winced, barely managing to tear his eyes away from Leia, who was still smiling, very slightly.

“Sorry, uh—maybe next week?” Luke offered lamely, but he was already ushering Leia and her droids away, and he could hear her laugh, very softly. (His chest fell too full, hearing it.)

It felt strange, formal and right, to help her into the speeder. Her hand in his was a kind of symmetry, inexplicable, the way he knew how a speeder was supposed to fit together, how a full tank of moisture sounded when you rapped it with a knuckle. Organic and totally without reason, their hands fitting together. She still hadn’t told him her surname, if she had a surname. Where she was from. What she was doing here. What her droids were doing here.

Luke couldn’t help but trust her utterly. Otherwise, why did her hand feel like that, resting in his?

What do you need to see Old Ben for?” Luke shouted over the rush of air around the speeder.

I told you,” Leia shouted back. The white hood she wore had fallen back, and her hair was dark. Even carefully styled, those loops over her ears, strands came loose, whipping around her face. “It’s personal!”

They stopped at the farm first, just to refuel and drop off the handful of things Luke did buy—rations, holonews downloads, some sucrose-candies for Aunt Beru. But when they touched down, Owen went white beneath his sunsburn, staring at Leia like she was a creature from another galaxy. “Your Highness,” he breathed, and Luke had to correct him, just an off-worlder looking for Old Ben; don’t pay her any mind. Look, Uncle Owen, I brought you your Almanac—

Leia was silent; picking at a loose thread in her white, white robes.

(Afterwards, she was silent, her arms crossed over her waist. They sped across the desert, which was gathering dark by the armful. “Sorry,” Luke said, trying to keep himself from shivering, “I know it gets cold at night.”

“It’s all right,” Leia said. “On—my planet, it snowed. We had mountains, and we would build whole castles out if it, out of snow. It was beautiful.”

“I’d like to see snow,” Luke said, but he thought it was lost in the sound of the speeder, because she didn’t reply.)

By the time they reached Old Ben’s place, it was dark enough for a lamp to be burning, the light spilling beneath the door and out the window. Luke watched as Leia knocked on the daub doorframe, shivering.

Still, it was worth staying just to watch the flicker of Old Ben’s expression from surprise to shock when he greeted her. He called her by a name that was definitely not ‘leia’ and Luke watched her shoulders hitch. “No,” Leia said finally. “I am Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan. I am the daughter of Queen Breha Organa and Viceroy Bail Organa, and I am—I am here to beg your aid for the rebellion.”

Luke wasn’t so surprised that he didn’t notice Ben’s eyes cut to him, and then away.

“Princess,” Ben said finally, with an awful heaviness. Luke had brought him ration packs and listened to his stories he had never sounded like that before, like it was something awful and deep beyond saying. “If they sent you to find me, they must be very desperate.”

“No,” she said quickly, and Luke knew she was lying. “No, but—we need Jedi. We cannot go forward, we cannot fight, if the Force is not with us.”

This time, Old Ben’s stare lingered on Leia, then on Luke. He seemed to be making up his mind about something, though Luke couldn’t say what. Old Ben had always struck him as a sort of harmless religious sort; in another world he might have been a Jedi like in the stories, but instead he was a desert madman, talking to the air and clutching at a bit of carbon tubing like it was a lightsaber.

There was nothing harmless about the way he was looking at them now.

“I’ve been happy here,” Old Ben muttered, quietly, like an apology.

“Fine,” Leia said, almost a snarl. Luke could only see her in silhouette, against the light from Old Ben’s hut. He thought suddenly of a predator, something that could leap on the unsuspecting. “But no one ever promised us happiness.”

Luke could see Old Ben’s throat work. “Come in,” he said at last. His gaze darted to Luke, and Luke caught his breath. “What I have to say is—for both of you, now.”

Luke shut off the speeder.

(He had followed Leia into Old Ben’s hut, and didn’t come out the same man. No, not the same man at all.)

8

Kylo Ren + locations: Tuanul

One of Jakku’s sacred villages, Tuanul is little more than a few wattle-and-daub huts clustered around a large vaporator cistern. Here, worshippers guided by the Force live simple, self-reliant lives in isolation. That isolation came to an abrupt and brutal end when First Order stormtroopers arrived seeking the retired explorer and spiritual seeker Lor San Tekka.

5

Abandoned Playboy House

These are the sinister photos of an abandoned swingers mansion, covered in broken glass and daubed in graffiti. The house, in Chattanooga, Tenn., was the former home of strip club owner Billy Hull, who was jailed for murder in the ’70s. In 1972, nearly 10,000 people visited the mansion, which was famous for the bunny-shaped pool that took up nearly half the house. (Caters)

Photography by Abandoned Southeast/Caters News

See more photos of abandoned mansion and our other slideshows on Yahoo News.

albaharuland  asked:

Hi! I wanted to ask about fantasy world building based on a mix of cultures, even if those cultures are totally different. For example, a country that has an architecture based on egyptian and arab art, or one that is a mix between indian and russian architecture. I dont know if that would be appropiation or offensive, or how to avoid it or doing it in a respectful way. Also if there is a problem only using the art part and having a different made up traditions/lore (thanks for your time!)

On Combining Cultures Respectfully, Art, and Architecture

“Does it make sense within the world”

Avatar: the Last Airbender mixes Inuit and Japanese culture. Is this any form of sensical in the modern world? Sort of, with how there’s a language link between Siberia and the Canadian Arctic. Does it make sense within the confines of A:tLA? Absolutely yes.

I’m not against the concept of cultural blending. It just has to be sensical within the world itself. They might not be neighbours in the real world, but if you end up with a culture that’s “ocean-heavy Arctic on top of Asia”, then Inuit+ Japan makes tons of sense. But had it been even “continental Arctic”, then the Inuit influence would’ve barely made any sense at all, because they’re really not a continental people.

-Mod Lesya

Like mixed-race characters, blending real-world cultures in fantasy isn’t prima facie a problem, but you’d better make sure it makes sense within the world you’re constructing.  Lots of times authors fall prey to the “Rule of Cool” and just throw in things they think are neat without thinking about how they could have reasonably got there.

In the cases you mentioned, there are some historiocultural overlaps between Indian and Russian cultures (for instance, similar building materials, similar types of timbers in temperate parts of India and southern Russia, very deep cultural roots shared between Slavic and certain Indic cultures, etc.) that would give you a foundation to build on.  Other times shared cultural aspects have a common but non-native root—for instance the Russian onion dome and characteristic Indian Taj Mahal-style dome may have a shared origin in Islamic and Middle Eastern architecture.  Islamic culture is native to neither India nor Russia, but it touched and influenced both areas extensively.

Similar constraints hold for Egyptian and Arab art and architecture.  They used similar building materials but produced different results because the culture and artistic preferences were historically different, but we know that Arab culture strongly influenced Egyptian art and architecture in the Islamic period (think going from pyramids to Graeco-Roman amphitheaters to mosques and minarets, but all made out of limestone, mud brick, and very little wood).  Saladin Ahmed’s fantasy novel(s) feature an Islamic/Middle Eastern-influenced culture built on top of a dead Ancient Egypt-analogue [Nikhil’s note: I’m reading this right now and it’s awesome and you should too].

But regardless of the cultural influence, the material culture stays similar in place—in some Indo-Russian hybrid you might be looking at imported marble and precious stones for those buildings whose patrons could afford it, provided they have access to those materials either through production or trade, but for poorer constructions you’re looking at local building materials—so maybe thatch and half-timber framing and wattle-and-daub in Indo-Russia, or stone and mud brick in a desert environment like Arabegypt.  Art and architecture are functions of culture, and culture as a primitive exercise arises from the local environment, since it’s only once you get to the level of at least an organized economic community that outside trade starts to be a significant factor, which would facilitate creating art and architecture that would be exotic to the local environment.

-Mod Nikhil

mirandatam  asked:

Hm... something about Rey and the ghost of Shmi Skywalker?

Rey is 273 days on Jakku when the woman with the dark eyes and the faint lines around her eyes bends down, and helps her wash the dust and debris from a hyperspace drive port. (Two and a half portions, never let it be said that Rey doesn’t know her worth.) “There,” the woman says, and when she smiles the lines around her eyes carve even deeper. When Rey drags the brush over the drive port, no sand kicks up. “Shiny and new. Go on, now—you can’t let him run out of portions.”

“’m Rey,” Rey says, breathless, clutching the port to her chest.

“Go!” the woman says, and Rey runs. She gets in line just in time to get the last three portions from Unkar. But when tries to find the woman after—

The sand is empty of sentients, and no one seems to know the human woman with dark hair, darker eyes, not even when Rey wanders among the camps and asks for her. Rey is only 273 days, and hungry, and so she eats there, squatted down in the sand outside someone’s tent—scarfing down half-mixed portions because she’s dizzy with starving, and she can’t wait. If the dark-haired woman wanted some, she should have been easier to find.

Rey sleeps that night full—or, at least, what she thinks is full—and dreams of a wattle-and-daub hut, and a woman with dark hair, dark eyes, laughing. The woman’s son sits with sun-bleached hair, his mouth is skewed as he works on a droid to help his mother with the customers that come. Rey helps too, and when he smiles at her, it feels like coming-home.

They are so happy, and Rey wakes crying, even though that is water she cannot afford to lose.

.

“No, not that one,” the woman says, and Rey drops the part like it burns her hand to touch. She whirls around, and there is the woman with the dark eyes, dark hair. She’s smiling, a little bemusedly, at Rey, at the specific part Rey was trying to extract from the mess of decay and rust.

“What’s wrong with it?” Rey demands. She is six hundred and seven days now, and she thought—

“Navigation systems are fiddly,” the woman says, stepping towards her, and then she is there, close enough for Rey to touch, to—“Biologic growth damages them first, interferes with the electro-magnetic signaling. This has—” she grunts, and the part comes away in her hand. “This has overgrown. It’s not worth installing again, it’ll just send the ship off-course trying to follow all those awful fractals.”

“What good does that do me?” Rey asks, thinking of all the portion she’s lost, if this stranger is right. She’d just wanted—

But the stranger smiles, and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Come on,” she says, lowering herself to sit on the durasteel floor of the mighty star destroyer. “I’ll show you a trick my unscrupulous master showed me, on how to make it look as though tech has never been damaged.”

Rey spends the whole afternoon with her chin hooked over the woman’s soft shoulder, watching as she shows Rey how to reroute, undo, lay down new electric pathways. She smells like something sharp, the way Rey has always imagined ozone would smell if Rey had ever found the courage to leave the atmosphere. Her eyes are older than her face, that much Rey knows for sure.

“There you go,” the woman finally says, pressing the piece into Rey’s hand. “Good as new. Plutt won’t even be able to tell the difference, so you shouldn’t accept less than five and a quarter portions—”

“What about you?” Rey asks. The woman is warm, and alive, and human, and Rey finds herself hoping she’s her mother. Just to have something, someone. And especially her, with her crinkled eyes, the way she rests a hand against Rey’s cheek like—

“Oh, I’m fine,” the woman says, and Rey’s heart falters. “You will be full, on five and a quarter portions. That’s enough.”

Rey eats alone, eats until she is sick on constituted bread and meat, and she lies in her own bed biting down on her fist to keep herself from crying.

.

Sometimes, Rey looks out of the corner of her eye, and there she is, the woman with the dark hair and the dark eyes. “Hello, Mother,” Rey begins greeting her at some point, muttered in between breaths as she extracts another part, as she wakes from her midday nap in the shadowy berth of a star destroyer, as she forces herself to stay longer, work harder.

Sometimes, she hears someone murmur, hello, daughter, but she’s not sure. She’s not.

.

Poor affection-starved Rey, longing for a family, any family, even a ghost. Even the vague shape, even a shadow. Even the hint of a mother, whispering in her ear, droids have always been harbingers of good news, of better things ahead. Strangers may be angels. You are more. Run, go. I will follow you there.

Rey  isn’t sure, really, but in the barracks of D’Qar, Rey tosses and turns, until a cool hand comes to rest on her forehead, her neck. Shhh, a voice that is not quite the Force but might be something similar, whispers. It strokes its cool knuckles over the rabbit-pulse of her jugular. Shh, rest. You have a war to fight in the morning.

Shh.

 Shhhhhhh.

.

Luke has holos of his family—Padmé Amidala and Anakin Skywalker, Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru Whitesun-Lars. But it’s the holo of their their step-mother, Shmi, that stops Rey in her tracks, stops her breathing at all. Anakin’s mother, Luke says, but Rey is holding onto he lightsaber too tightly to hear.

I know her, she says, and Luke goes still, blinks. 

Oh?

She used to—sing me lullabies, Rey says, because that’s all she can remember just now, the dark-haired-dark-eyed woman—Shmi Skywalker, chosen to be Mother of the Living Force, blessed, holy—humming in Rey’s darkened AT-AT. Shmi singing in Huttese; warm and calloused hands, a rough voice singing of how much she loved, would protect—

Luke catches Rey before she hits her knees, gathers her up to his chest. Shh, Luke murmurs, stroking her hair as Rey sobs. Shhh, it’s all right. Everything will—it’ll turn out right. It’ll be—it’ll be right.

Rey feels a cool touch at her forehead (impossible, Luke’s hands are hot at her waist, and—) and she sobs again, feeling hollow, feeling like she’s come home, somehow, impossibly. It is a war, she shouldn’t feel….

Shh, Luke and his grandmother whisper together, cradling Rey against the bulwark of light they represent. Shh.

8

David Tennant as Romeo in the Royal Shakespeare Company’s Romeo and Juliet (2000) - Part 3

Excerpts from a Scotland on Sunday article on David at the RSC in 2000

“He is perfect casting, because of the intensity he brings to his work,“ Michael Boyd says.  While Tennant’s great friend and former landlady, the comic performer and author of Does My Bum Look Big in This?, Arabella Weir, says: "He’s astonishingly focused for his age and amazingly straightforward and honest. He’s trustworthy and he’s honourable.”

There is still something uncynical and unspoilt about him, though. He confesses that being with the RSC can be scary. “Not only because you are in the home of ‘world class classical theatre’ (as all the brochures tell you), but these big Shakespearean roles come with a lot of historical baggage attached. People tell you how romantic Ian McKellen was as Romeo, or how masculine Sean Bean was, or how marvellous Laurence Olivier was. You feel the weight of all those ghosts, those performances that have taken on a mystical resonance. And because it’s Shakespeare, you feel it’s hard to make it believable, because it is so beautiful.  With this play, everyone has so many ideas about it, that you almost want to play against the beauty. We did the balcony scene the other day and I was doing: 'But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!’ And I was going: 'How can I say that?’ It is beyond parody, but all you can do is be personal with it and make it your own, if that doesn’t sound too pretentious. I know that’s how Alex [who plays Juliet] feels about famous lines like, 'Parting is such sweet sorrow’.”   

The intensity of the rollercoaster he is on is overwhelming. Stratford is a grueling, sometimes stifling, hothouse. Rehearsal followed by show, followed by rehearsal, in one long punishing schedule. After one-and-a-half hours in the rehearsal room, there is just time for a snack  before voice warm-ups for the matinee of The Rivals. There, Tennant’s rapier-thin young blade gets involved in sword fights and various cunning derring-do disguises, then he is off again for lunch. And back on again, for The Comedy of Errors. A short show, but a physical one, as Tennant slides down those banisters, executes pratfalls and turns in a brilliantly funny double act with Ian Hughes, who plays his manservant, Dromio. He also does the neatly witty trick of lighting two post-coital cigarettes after seducing his long lost twin’s wife and then buries his head in Nina Conti’s cleavage.

Later Tennant is in his dressing-room, stripped to the waist, slapping Simple moisturizer onto his face, swigging pints of mineral water, and packing up his make-up box, an old-fashioned leather bowling case. As we leave, we trip up over a bloody but unbowed Hotspur, about to go on stage and die in Henry IV, Part 1. Falstaff is plumped in the corner and wishes us a courteous good night, while various make-up girls daub elderly knights. “It’s like this every night at this time,” says Tennant. “You can’t move for men in armour and there’s blood everywhere.”    

Photo credits include:  Shakespeare Birthplace Trust, photostage.co.uk, the Royal Shakespeare Company, and more 

Other parts of this Romeo photoset [ Part 1 ]  [ Part 2 ]

Getting Salty About Weathering

Hey there True Believers, today we’re going to talk about how to create your own convincing weathered metallics using a really simple technique. This whole project is done using Warcolours and an airbrush, but you can use these techniques just as effectively with any acrylic craft paints and a brush. 

SUPPLIES

Coarse Salt

Hair Spray

Hot Water

GETTING STARTED

First off, we’re going to need the the prepped model surface we’re going to be working on, in my case, it’s a spaceship corridor that I sculpted for a diorama out of cardstock and some other stuff. In your case, this can be for old pipes, rusted out cars, Land Raiders, junked planes, really, anywhere where enameled metals have been left to the elements. 


We begin by priming it black, in the standard fashion. Ensuring even coverage and allowing it to dry for several hours, prior to applying the next layers. Once we’ve got that established, we begin to build up the basis for our rust layers. We’re going to start with a neutral, high saturation brown, and warm it up with each step into a terracotta.

Below you can see the browns applied with an airbrush, Make an attempt to focus the warming in specific spots, but avoid allowing the redder browns to achieve 100% opacity. We’re developing “filter” layers at this stage, and will be altering the texture in the next steps.

You can see how I’ve focused the filter towards the bottom of the wall. This will be the area with the heaviest weathering, representing where it has interacted most with moisture and wear and tear. If you were doing this on a Land Raider (for instance) this focal area might be around the treads, instead. It’s important to have an idea of which areas will be most heavily influenced by the rusting out, and begin to develop them.


Next up, we’re going to be moving up into proper oranges. In my case, Warcolours Orange 4 and One Coat Orange. Were going to be applying these differently than we did the brown, as we’re going to use these to develop an erratic, rusting texture on top of the browns. We’ll need a bit of blister foam or sponge for this next step. The idea is to daub a bit on a sponge, and then stipple a paper towel or piece of carboard until you get a nice erratic pattern. It’s similar to the amount of paint you’d want on your brush, if you were drybrushing. 


Above, you can see the texture developed, post stippling. Note the areas where I’ve concentrated it, that will become important shortly. When you’re satisfied with this, it’s time to seal the project using the matte varnish of your choice. In this instance, I’m using Warcolours matte varnish.

Apply a couple of coats of varnish, and allow to dry 100% before moving on from this step. You need the layers under this to be well protected, as we’re going to be applying salt and scrubbing the model after this. If you’ve not thoroughly sealed this layer, you will work your way down to the primer/plastic, ruining the effect and all the work you’ve done so far. Learn this lesson from me, as opposed to the hard way… Trust me.

Next up, the real meat and potatoes of this technique, coarse salt and hairspray.

We’re going to be using the hairspray as a temporary glue, to hold the salt crystals in place. To that end, decant a little into a dixie cup by turning the hairspray upside down and spraying it into the container. This will smell like the 80’s, so it’s best to do it in a well ventilated area. After you’ve got enough liquid hairspray in the cup for your needs, take an old brush and start to apply it to the model, sprinkling the coarse salt over the top, and knocking away any excess. Focus these sticky salt piles on top of the regions of heaviest wear, where you developed the texture with the oranges. 

When you’ve developed enough sticky salt piles to satisfy, allow it to dry and then apply the paint/wall/enamel color. In my case, I’ll be using a mixture of Warcolours One Coat Yellow Green with a little One Coat Green mixed in.

Now it’s magic time! 

Dip an old toothbrush in hot water, and allow it to saturated the salt crystals. When they begin to loosen, scrub them away. You’ll immediately begin to see the rust pattern develop. In addition to the salt texture, you can scratch or rub any amount of weathering into the paint. Since the lower layers are well sealed, and this layer is sitting on top of a water soluable hairspray base, it is very easy to manipulate. You want to make sure that you’ve removed all the salt from the peice, even going so far as to rinse it in cold water. Any residue left over will dry a chalky white and damage the paint over time. 

After that, it’s a simple issue of sealing it with another layer of Matte Varnish. And you’re ready to move onto the rest of your project. This method is not only simple, but provides a higher degree of verisimilitude than painting the rust effect over the green. Not only is it actually beneath the paint (like rust would be), but it ends up with a randomness that is near impossible to replicate with the brush, and is far closer to the actual effect for it.



That’s it for today, true believers. I hope you find this useful. Keep your bristles damp!

Will


Basic Witchcraft Substitutions

“I’m a secret Witch and don’t have access to herbs. What can I use instead of ____?”

“I can’t afford a cauldron, what can I use instead?”

“I can’t get ______, can I use _______?”

So I get this kind of question a lot. Witchcraft in the modern day, especially Witchcraft as it’s practiced by younger people and/or people on social media Witchcraft groups, has a certain aesthetic around it that tends to popularise expensive cauldrons, gem-studded wands, expensive black velvet shawls, and all the other trappings of a field that has become caught, like so many things, in the web of materialism and a desire to be identifiably “Witchy”. Now, please understand that this is not an inherently bad thing - common aesthetic or cosmetic themes are a trope common to many cultures and subcultures around the world and through history. They serve as common binding elements, giving people a much-needed sense of community, a sense of belonging, and a certain amount of morale boosting that might otherwise be hard for a person in a somewhat shunned subculture to achieve. 

However, for those who are unable to make this kind of subculture connection apparent for whatever reason be it societal, financial or otherwise, or for those who wish an alternative presentation and practice of the Craft, this can sometimes be problematic. Many Witchcraft resources online assume that a Witch has free and open access to certain things, such as a metal cauldron, a ceremonial athame, a certain number of expensive herbs or crystals, or other such tools or components. Since this isn’t always practical, here is a simple substitution guide for you, giving a non-exhaustive list of potential, basic substitutions. 

Please bear in mind, this list only gives example substitutions - other options are also potentially possible! 

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Athame
Most knives, especially things like letter-openers that are not used for eating. It doesn’t have to be sharp, as athames should never be used for cutting - that’s a boline’s job

Boline
A boline is simply a sharp knife that is used for cutting spell ingredients and the like. Any sharp knife will do, just cleanse it appropriately before and after.

Cauldron
Most bowls, though metal or fired and glazed clay is best as these materials are both fireproof and waterproof. Flowerpots or ceramic mugs can work if nothing else is available!

Chalice
Any glass will work, however something special and with a stem, like a decorative or ornate wine glass, would be most suitable. You could also use a special or ornate mug, but one either without a handle or with two handles would be better than one with a single handle.

Coloured candles
If you don’t mind the lack of colour, white is a good “general” colour. However, if the colour is essential, consider tying coloured ribbons around the base. Do not melt crayons into the wax, however - this can clog the candle-wick and cause it to explode, potentially violently.

Crystals
Look up the associations for that stone, and see if any more common ones would do. In a pinch, consider instead writing the intentions on paper and burning it, or using stones from around your area that you feel have an appropriate energy.

Deity statues
If your deities would find it appropriate, it may be possible to simply write their name on a candle, or inscribe a basic god or goddess figure into one, and burn that in place of using a statue or idol of your deities.

Grimmoiré
A grimmoiré is really just a book that’s written in. Any notebook will work, no matter if it’s bound in singed leather or in a plastic spiral-bound homework book.

Herbs
Again, consider possible alternatives - if sage isn’t available, rosemary is a good protective. If you don’t have feverfew for a headache charm, consider willow leaves or bark.

Pentacle table top
A pentacle drawn on a piece of paper will work well as an alternative, or you could consider using something like water daubed into a pentagram on the table top.

Ritual or altar cloth
Cleanse and bless any clean, appropriately coloured fabric and it will work well. A bedsheet is an ideal altar cloth. Black cloth is reserved for Samhain or funerary altars.

Wands
A wand is simply a channelling device for your own innate energies and abilities, so anything that channels will work. Something like a stick that’s been blessed will do, as will any rod made out of metal. 

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Blessed be,

– Juniper

Crime scene photograph showing the injuries inflicted on Leno LaBianca, a victim of the Manson Family cult.

Mr LaBianca was a successful businessman who lived with his wife Rosemary. On August 10, 1969, he was awoken on the couch by Tex Watson and Charles Manson, who demanded all his money and his wife’s jewellery. After being tied to the bed and gagged, Tex Watson fetched a butcher’s knife from the kitchen and began stabbing Leno in a frenzy. Two female cult members - Leslie Van Houten and Patricia Krenwinkel - also grabbed knives and viciously attacked Rosemary LaBianca as she cowered on the floor begging for mercy. Charles Manson decided not to partake in the murders and was sitting outside in the car with the stolen property.

After Leno LaBianca was dead, Patricia was instructed to take the knife and mutilate him. She carved the words “WAR” into his abdomen, and used Rosemary’s blood to daub messages on the walls with her fingers. The three cultists then disappeared into the night.