Mar 4
Congratulations on the Premiere of the final season! ✨️ Outlander is an island of stability and love in our crazy world. It is sad to say goodbye. 🥹 I couldn't resist drawing this event.
seen from Belgium
seen from Germany
seen from South Korea
seen from Belgium
seen from China
seen from Belgium
seen from Pakistan
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Greece
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Pakistan
seen from Canada
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Pakistan
seen from Australia
seen from Spain
seen from United States
Congratulations on the Premiere of the final season! ✨️ Outlander is an island of stability and love in our crazy world. It is sad to say goodbye. 🥹 I couldn't resist drawing this event.
My new scetches, mostly from Outlander. I’m going to make it in color. Winter is not so boring when you have something interesting to do😊
Another Outlander sketch and many more to come😁 My evenings have become much more interesting. I'm glad the 4th season of Outlander series has already begun. I'm very bad at drawing faces, I say this outright😏 So please bear with my meager skills😊 Anyway, I draw for my own pleasure...
Love this quote:
I hid a smile at the mention of wool waulking. Alone among the Highland farms, I was sure, the women of Lallybroch waulked their wool not only to the old traditional chants but also to the rhythms of Molière and Piron. I had a sudden memory of the waulking shed, where the women sat in two facing rows, barefooted and bare-armed in their oldest clothes, bracing themselves against the walls as they thrust with their feet against the long, sodden worm of woolen cloth, battering it into the tight, felted weave that would repel Highland mists and even light rain, keeping the wearer safe from the chill. Every so often one woman would rise and go outside, to fetch the kettle of steaming urine from the fire. Skirts kilted high, she would walk spraddle-legged down the center of the shed, drenching the cloth between her legs, and the hot fumes rose fresh and suffocating from the soaking wool, while the waulkers pulled back their feet from random splashes, and made crude jokes. "Hot piss sets the dye fast," one of the women had explained to me as I blinked, eyes watering, on my first entrance to the shed. The other women had watched at first, to see if I would shrink back from the work, but wool-waulking was no great shock, after the things I had seen and done in France, both in the war of 1944 and the hospital of 1744. Time makes very little difference to the basic realities of life. And smell aside, the waulking shed was a warm, cozy place, where the women of Lallybroch visited and joked between bolts of cloth, and sang together in the working, hands moving rhythmically across a table, or bare feet sinking deep into the steaming fabric as we sat on the floor, thrusting against a partner thrusting back.
She set the cup down carefully, as though afraid it might blow up in her face. The grooves on either side of her mouth had deepened, and her brows pressed together in what looked like puzzlement.
“Well,” she said finally. “That’s one of the stranger ones I’ve seen.”
“Oh?” I was still amused, but beginning to be curious. “Am I going to meet a tall dark stranger, or journey across the sea?”
“Could be.” Mrs. Graham had caught my ironic tone, and echoed it, smiling slightly. “And could not. That’s what’s odd about your cup, my dear. Everything in it’s contradictory. There’s the curved leaf for a journey, but it’s crossed by the broken one that means staying put. And strangers there are, to be sure, several of them. And one of them’s your husband, if I read the leaves aright.”
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