Cutesy Shrinky Dink Buttons
noise dept.

Discoholic 🪩
Sweet Seals For You, Always

No title available

Janaina Medeiros
$LAYYYTER
styofa doing anything
tumblr dot com
Show & Tell
Xuebing Du
RMH
dirt enthusiast

JBB: An Artblog!

Love Begins
🪼

Product Placement
No title available
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
No title available
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Germany

seen from Vietnam

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Pakistan
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Malaysia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye
@summersfairydreamworld
Cutesy Shrinky Dink Buttons
this will eventually be a blanket
The Orange
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange, it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park.
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all the jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.
— Wendy Cope
It’s okay
So many wips
Grounded Flight
2024, decolorant screenprint on quilted cotton
Forever finding new holes in my mom's favorite sweater
Found a local fiber arts group to hang out with. By which I mean I'm weaving on my balcony surrounded by three big orb weavers' webs
fish rugs by h.h.hooks
some of my favorite woven tapestries, by Cecilia Blomberg:
Point Defiance Steps
Mates
Rising Tides
Vashon Steps
The Magic of Weaving
When I was a kid I remember the tapestries my mom would hang on the wall. They always fascinated me. The intricacy of the woven design is something that would always draw my eye. The over and under of the threads forming this incredible labyrinth of string, all formed into one huge image. Years later, I am still fascinated with this intricacy of weaving. If I could weave nonstop for the rest of my life I would. The process and motion of weaving is what draws me in time after time. Over, under, over, under, pulling the beater down and putting the threads in place, over, under, over, under. I find myself fascinated with what I am able to achieve with even the most simple of weaves on the most simple of looms. The joy of making is never absent when I am weaving.
I am never more present with myself than when I weave and prepare a loom. I am conscious of every move I make, every thread, every piece of the loom. I know each of these things like I know the back of my hand. Comb, thread, repeat. Comb, thread, repeat. Over and over until I am ready to weave. I let my mind wander as I do these motions, so very aware and yet so far away. I often come back to the thoughts of my loved ones. My mom, my grandmothers, my father, my brothers, my friends. Each of these people have shaped me to be the woman I am today.
I remember one specific memory with my best friend. She went through a particularly nasty breakup and I was there for her every step of the way. We did a spell. A releasing spell. To help her let go of all the ugly emotions she was feeling towards this person who hurt her so deeply. We took herbs and crystals and sentimental things from their relationship and put them in a glass bottle. As we did so I told her to imagine all her feelings about this person were going into the bottle as well. Then we smashed it. We took a hammer and put the bottle in a bag and we let out all our anger. I remember she cried as we did so. She smashed until she was exhausted and collapsed to the ground in tears. I held her after that. We sat together and held each other until she calmed down. I remember that being the first time I had ever felt that close to a person since I was a kid in my mother’s arms. I realized at that moment what a found family is.
That spell was like weaving. So uncertain and yet so certain at the same time. So connected to me and everything I feel. When I am weaving I am myself. I am fully in my body as I weave the threads over and under, again and again. And yet I find my mind wandering elsewhere. How do I choose what I focus on? I could focus on weaving or let my mind wander. I often let my mind wander. Thought after thought repeating in my mind as I pull the beater down again.
Why do I feel anxious?
Over, under, over, under,
I wonder what this weaving will look like when it’s done.
I pull the beater down,
I wonder how I am connected to this weaving.
Over, under, over, under,
I wonder how time informs who we are.
I pull the beater down,
I wonder how time is related to girlhood.
Over, under, over, under,
I wonder how time affects girlhood.
I pull the beater down,
I wonder if any of it matters.
Over, under, over, under.
To weave is to be myself. To weave is to wonder. To weave is girlhood. To weave is joy.
filet crochet 🪲 ‧₊˚ 𓍢ִ
Lace bugs. 500 designs for Mexican drawn-work. 1893.
Internet Archive
Dad’s Garden / Her Final Resting Place
Mediums: Fiber Rush, Dried and Fresh Flowers, Dead Bee (ethically sourced)
This is a project I did back when I was taking a basket weaving class. There were these flowers in my dad’s garden where the bees would get pollen drunk and fall asleep. There would be 20+ bees on these group of flowers everyday. I remember thinking it was so magical that we had created a space for these bees to rest. One day I found a dead bee by the garden and I decided to create a final resting place for her. I created two baskets to hold flowers from the garden and finally a third basket shaped like the flowers the bees would rest on for the bee I found. This is to date one of my favorite projects I’ve ever done. It holds such a special place in my heart.