17jul2026

Today's fun linkie goes with the subject! The flowers I'm featuring are in fact pollinated by small bees, but Magnolias—which petals are very nearly the same shape and magenta colour—are so old they rely upon beetles because bees hadn't evolved yet. Pretty cool! (Via slacktivist.)

From the same source, Re-reading Mark Twain while everything else burns which, alas, is currently literally true: the canadian wildflowers wild fires are so bad the air-quality index metering nearly pegged out yesterday, at over 300; I love the gorgeous golden light, but its cause is toxic.

So, I guess that part's the fridayfugly; the flowers are beautiful.

13jul2026

O hai, another page made solely as an excuse to post a link.

See, technically, I was camping (except with internet—despite the fact that the islands I stayed on barely had any critturs bigger than a few gartner snakes—really, I didn't have to worry about ticks, because there were no deer (let alone bears, hallelujah), just lots, and I do mean lots and lots and lots of spiders, which meant aside from doing duolingo, I was only using my phone to take pictures (and/or sending said images to friends and family, on occasion...)

So I pretty much tuned out of the social stuff that winds me up, aside from a book (printed on actual paper, stored in a ziploc to stay dry...) another kayaker had brought called Down, Girl, for which title was sort of a joke about the author's corgi, but also a monograph, specifically, on misogyny by a feminist philosopher (who felt one important contribution she made to the field was the distinction between sexism and misogyny, the one being the gestalt, or perhaps societal design, and the other its execution.) I only got as far as the introduction, and the material was depressingly familiar. (Hilary Clinton and Kamela Harris lost, becuz misogyny. I mostly survived misogyny when I was young by not thinking about it. Frankly, I try not to think what life would be like if Harris, or Clinton, or even Gore had won. Too painful.) Then came home to watch Rebecca Watson rail about this dreadful progressive candidate who incidentally, in addition to being a warmonger and nazi, also abused and raped his girlfriends.

Lovely.

Fred Clark had a whole slew of linkies about misogyny. Fascinating, and also stomach-churning.

But Angela Collier actually had a somewhat happy video, at least for me, once I got past the title, an apology over LaTeX. Why would anyone, a physicist in particular, apologize for LaTeX? TeX (& its descendant, LaTeX) is awesome!

Well, that was kind of her point. Evidently she'd made some other video in which she asserted any physicist was likely to detect this sham paper as soon as they heard it was formatted in Word, because serious scientists, or at least serious scientists compelled to use mathematical equations, use LaTeX. She was apologizing for calling anyone taken in by this half-assed deception dumb, because, of course, most people outside the academic world don't know about LaTeX.

I, however, do, and for the same reason the scientists still use it, and that Donald Knuth wrote it in the first place: to typeset math beautifully.

TeX—and IIRC I did actually use a macro written for TeX, rather than LaTeX—could, back in the 90s, be massaged to write newsletters, and since I was part of a (now sadly defunct) APA, and also newsletter editor for my local bead guild, I used TeX to typeset these things, and it did a much nicer job of spacing—both between the individual letters (kerning), and the words, which, given the extremely short (double) column width (because at standard font sizes, single columns for 8.5" wide pages, unless they have truly gigantic margins, are more than the 66 characters that is considered the comfortable reading width)...but it wasn't easy.

I also wrote two novels (in LaTeX, by this time) and though I wasn't really able to do some of the really fancy stuff—my dropped capitals often failed to work correctly, frex—still, I was able to add sections in addition to chapters, side notes in addition to footnotes and endnotes, and even those old fashioned quotes at the beginning of a chapter. As Collier noted, there is a real benefit to writing something like a novel in text—I used emacs, though she's evidently in the vi/vim camp, and once upon a time there were wars about which text editor was better—and then shoving your monospace ‘typing’ through an interpreter to see beautifully typeset output: I would write in emacs, but reread/edit in the very finished looking typeset version, and the visual differences provided excellent cues for going back in forth. (I edit prior chapters as I go along, as opposed to getting the whole thing down in rough draft, then revising.)

As I said, I never got really good with this stuff, and couldn't’ve done it at all without a lot of tech support from the wizard. But. When he decided to finish up his degree and had to take linear algebra for his compsci major, the homework had to be ink.

Now, I love making marks on paper (obviously) but the wizard, if not actively dyslexic, at the very least, finds the process physically taxing (and, judging from his comments, emotionally draining as well) and the thought of generating a bunch of math in (non-erasable) ink was, shall we say, deeply unappealing. But we had TeX, and what's more, I was reasonably familiar with it.

So I typeset his homework. (He started, but I soon took over: though unable to match f2tE's 100 wpm—by 6th grade no less—speed, I had learnt to touch type in high school, because I was taking an independent study for writing stories a short story that turned into a novel, and the teacher made typing it up a requirement, since if I were a real writer, I would have to type my manuscripts. Except, the only typewriter available to borrow was from the typing classes, so the keys were all blank. I therefore had no choice to learn, and since it was my own sf&f, as opposed to dull business letters, I was motivated; later, in college, I made extra money typing—and editing, really, some of these folks had no idea how to write—other people's papers.)

But by the 90s, I had swapped my beloved electric typewriter for a computer and laser printer. Thus, we typeset his linear algebra math homework, and it looked great—in fact, it looked better than the equations in the textbook. (Boy, was I smug;) Not only that, after struggling to get LaTex to do things like newsletters, using it to typeset math—its original purpose—was a breeze. I was amazed at how easy it was. It truly was a joy, and a premier example of the pleasure of using a well-made tool for its intended purpose.

I haven't printed anything out, really, for years; I do input these web pages in a monospace ‘typewriter’ font, with much simplified TeX like commands to format the pages, and click on a button to see the output, so I do still have that distinction between input/writing and output/editing. The kind of fancy graphic design I'd be interested in doing now probably would be more reasonably done in inkscape; whereas LaTeX is for long form documents, like books.

But I have fond memories of TeX, and of developing (admittedly beginner-level) abilities to use it. (It's a good thing too, because recently, beginner level mediocrity has been an ongoing theme: after 4 days of so-so kayak learning I swapped out that irritation for some equally mediocre botanical illustration, all the more frustrating because I stumbled across not one but two species of spectacular orchids, at peak bloom, that I was utterly unable to render.

The problem for both kayaking and botanical illustration was the same, lack of consistent practise, and it shows; without practise, there's gonna be a lot of half-assed flailing around until some skill shows up/returns. I can no longer typeset in TeX, I've forgotten how; I don't think I can even use emacs—but what I can still do is remember old pleasures in whatever skill I did have, and celebrate that something created over half a century ago is still being maintained, is still deeply useful, is being used to make beautiful things.

Dogwoods, of course, are innately beautiful.

5jul2026

So, at last, I think I can post the assortment of linkies I've been wanting to clear off my screen for the past little while.

Because both f2tE and the wizard are awesome, they each (unbenknownst to the other) contacted someone on the local giveaway board that yes, they would like free Breyers, figuring that I would want them. Johnny-on-the-spot F2 immediately got half of them, and then, when the three people between their responses failed to pick up the second lot, the wizard was awarded those, which I happily walked over in 100+ heat index heat to pick up:)

Now I have lots of old horsies to paint, and while scrolling through old intros (yeah, I know, rereading one's own blog is the height of hubris, but sometimes my energy levels are very low indeed), stumbled across some linkies for model horse painting. Welp, that was still good, and plus I found more. Here are some resources:

• Daisy Stalls is transitioning to 3D printing models for others to paint, but her wonderful Japan-inspired fantasy is still up, and still fabulous. (I was pretty impressed with her tiny kanji on the furin paper tag, though I might've been tempted to make the maple leaves green (or a more purple red) to emphasize the otherwise summer (as opposed to fall, which is literally called red in Japanese) theme—I hang my furin year round, but they're really more of a summer thing:) Like, associated with the punishingly hot temps we are, in fact, currently experiencing.)
• Dee Jay Bee studios has also been doing some incredible work, especially the magnificent Enigma: yeah, this is where Breyer model horses join the fancier, artsy-fartsy doll making community with really expressive, personal and deeply heartfelt pieces
• Daisy & DJB are so good they're intimidating, so I was kind of heartened by MouseDeer studios (and is that not the cutest?) who has only two videos up, one of which is titled, I made this pony—and burnt him. Unlike the other two, who do what is called extreme customs, this artist starts from scratch, with a wire armature, and despite her being a newcomer to youtube, she's clearly very knowledgeable about horses, casually describing their anatomy, the conformation of the feral horses she chose as her model, and mentioning offhand that dapples tend to show up in areas of high vascularization, such as the flanks and belly (also in TIL, the ‘flank’ of a horse is not its hindquarters, but the underside part where the hind legs join the body). Her approach, both in sculpting and painting, is significantly different from the other two, but the outcome is still great; in other words, there's room for personal expression, even if one's technique is still relatively in the beginner stage.

Also, one of these youtubers referenced several doll artists w/r/t techniques, (and I failed to grab the links, but I imagine I'll rewatch these three videos again when I'm actually ready to start). The last round of this project was when my sister gave me her breyers 2–3 years ago: I made a cardboard spray booth for my hood and purchased some apoxy and paint, and got as far as sanding down some seams; this time I ganked a bunch of photos of a what looked like a suitably fun but not too difficult horse—a buckskin pinto with some very subtle dappling that the owner had lots of shots of, so I was able to get the front of the head, closeups of the eyes and ears (& muzzle), plus the usual body shots from a variety of angles. All of the modelers above discuss how photo reference is an absolute must, and oh my goodness, once you start looking there is a lot going on even in a relatively “simple” coat—occasional dark hairs around the eyes, ghosting on the margins of the pinto marking, black on one knee between the white and dun markings, aforementioned dapples on the shoulders, plus all these things shift from photo to photo—there's a reason working from life can sometimes be so much easier, but alas, getting flower pix refs is much easier for me than horsies:)

4jul2026

Happy 4th July to those of you into that—I can't say I am, much, this year. Some of the olds I read online are rather nostalgic, comparing this 250th to 1976, and yes, I'm old enough to remember that; our state won the license plate contest with what I myself also consider the best bicentennial design, and of course that's also when the mint started issueing bicentennial quarters, kicking off this whole themed coinage, which is awfully nice for the coin collectors, and why not? We've been doing fancy stamps for years, and I love that the post office does all different designs—it's fun!

Frankly that, and the excitement over the tall ships—because my parents were sailors, that resonated a bit—is all I really remember of 1976, though I have a vague sense of a lot of flag-inspired merch that I more or less appreciated. I was gonna try and do some flag inspired art, and even took reference photos yesterday, but I doubt I'll have the time, so I've dug out this lighthouse photo instead.

Lighthouses are hardly peculiar to the US—they go back to ancient times—but growing up in and amongst the great lakes, they are part of that historical nostalgia, and this one, at least, is in patriotic colours.

But onto the linkies.

Once again, I think I'll only have space for one, Rowan Ellis’ long form youtube essay on boredom. I don't want to spoil her essay, which for me was full of twists and turns, but one bit she was very excited (& that I would be) to try was a sensory deprivation tank: I live in a small town, and one of my sorrows is that at night I always heard distant traffic, which—sometimes, if I were very, very lucky—would calm enough at 3 in the morning that I would just hear the crickets, wind, or rain that I like. Then about a decade or so, the local uni enlarged their power plant and now I pretty much always hear that at night, it drowns out even the traffic noise.

And then there's the light pollution from the neighbors, which waxes and wanes as differing people move in and out. One of the reasons I love camping in remote areas, despite insects, lack of running water or even toilets (I was grousing about the latest trip, in which we had to pack out all the toilet paper, and the wizard reminded me I should consider myself thankful we didn't have to pack out our poop) is the attendant lack of noise pollution.

I'm bored relatively seldom, so long as I have adequate light, space, quiet and art supplies—and the energy and attention to do something with them. Ms Ellis claims her ADHD inclines her to easy boredom and restlessness; I (probably) have AuAHD, and can happily spend hours journalling or doodling, mostly because I can adjust the difficulty level to what energy I can bring to the activity.

Other disciplines, such as drawing, bead-making or traditional Japanese embroidery, that have a (relatively) higher minimum effort level (for me, anyway) I may often want to do but can't, most often because I failed to get enough sleep or am anxious about other time sensitive tasks I feel I should do first (e.g. watering the garden, financial record keeping).

Ellis’ sensory deprivation tank experience did not go well, for a reason I should have predicted, and felt badly that I did not: she has chronic pain, and distraction with relatively low stakes engagement—instagram, in my case—is one way to manage it. When I feel too tired to make even easy art, once again, I'm doing sudoku or looking at insta, because if I can't make art, at least I can enjoy other folks making art (or music, or helping homeless kittens, or showing kinder ways to treat their pets) —IOW, people being good: sharing their knowledge, helping the less fortunate, even just exuding joy.

Chronic pain (if poison ivy rashes are a fair comparison) is a drain on resource management, sort of like being poked with a pin (with, depending on the level of pain, at varying depths) at periodic intervals, which needless to say destroys your attention, and therefore, ability to do tasks that require intense concentration. Ditto, lack of sleep, there's simply not the depth of attention to draw upon. Anxiety over circumstances, also a drain on attention. People with chronic pain or fatigue (or anxiety), therefore, are gonna have to make do with low-quality distractions like their phones or casual games, not because they're crappy humans who can't be bothered to put the damn phone down, but because it's an effective and accessible tool for managing discomfort.

Extend that to other kinds of pain—such as a crappy environment or a lousy political situation—et voila, why people turn to maladapative behaviours. Those strategies may not be ideal, but likely are what's available. And with that said, why yes, given the dumpster fire the current administration is imposing upon all of us (to admittedly varying degrees) the best I can do for the holiday is shrug my shoulders and say, well, here's a rather pretty lighthouse.

(I know some people are getting their jollies laughing at the green reflecting pool or the pathetic ‘world's fair’ [& good on them—I expect a Randy Rainbow on these fiascos any day now], but aside from grinding my teeth over the millions wasted [I know, I know, not as bad the billions wasted on the assorted half-assed wars...] I can't help but fret over the latest plague going ’round our food supply cuz the administration cut the funding for monitoring & controlling such.)

So, have a maritime symbol of hope and care for sailors, instead.

3jul2026

Ooooo, linkies.

(One linkie. It got really long. More linkies next time!)

Between the heat wave, some truly aggravating poison ivy rash (just because my prior protocols with brushes in the past have been effective doesn't mean they were sufficient for 4 straight hours’ weeding—I highly recommend researching balls-to-the-wall levels of prevention if you attempt this!), wonky electrical service (to the point I couldn't run two concentrators at once, which proved not much an issue anyway since a) lampworking with rashes on one's wrists is kinda uncomfortable, and also, the concentrators themselves aren't too keen on running during a heat wave, never mind the would be lampworkers) I've been rather cranky and unproductive.

So while there are plenty of things I should be doing, at this point, I'm settling for what I can do—this rash has probably been the closest experience I've had to someone experiencing chronic pain—new rashes keep popping up, despite many washings, both of myself and every piece of fabric that could've possibly had urushiol rubbed onto it; the old ones are slow to heal, and while I have faith that eventually I'll get rid of the poison ivy symptoms, I have a better understanding (on a visceral level, I mean) why chronic-pain sufferers would try anything to cope, especially when one can't help wondering when it's gonna finally end (& I know mine will, a luxury many chronic pain sufferers don't have)—and my issue is not even especially bad; I'd say it's on the level of annoying.

So there's been a fair amount of pintrest, insta and youtube watching, mostly to distract myself from the itching and heat while I wait for conditions to allow for a more productive use of my time. Or, via Slate's agony aunt (advice) columns, reading this essay one of the columnists recommended as clarifying their thought processes, about Gauguin and being a great artist his authentic self by Daniel Callcut.

Gauguin's work fascinates me, and I mean that literally: I don't really like it, but I can't look away, because his colour combos, especially of his Tahitian women, are strange and intriguing. But as you dig deeper into his history those paintings front a more and more horrifying history: to start, Gauguin famously deserted his wife and children; then, leaning on the power imbalance between his white colonialist self and the natives, he had sex with all these native women he painted. Makes their passive poses just that much more awful: he was, in effect, painting their suffering.

That he inflicted.

Except wait, they were girls. Children. IOW, by modern standards, he raped them. (And this asshole had the gall to paint himself with a halo over his head, as if he were a saint. No, really.) But wait, there's more! Evidently not only did he rape these girls, he infected them with syphilis, too!

The teal dear is that Callcut's essay explores Bernard Williams’ concept of “moral luck.” —say you believe you can be a great artist, and you become one, thereby excusing, on some level, your assholish or outright heinous behaviour. Gauguin is a great example, because he wasn't just a selfish bastard, forcing his models into working for him (the way Klimt did for one that didn't wish to model while pregnant, or Mucha painted his anonymous models half nude, but certainly never did that, to, say, Sarah Bernhardt, who as the most famous actress of her day had the social clout to not even be asked such a thing); he actively was an awful person.

But Gauguin's moral luck (in pursuing “authenticity”) was good, so the essay goes, because he did, in fact, produce great art. But, what if you're mediocre and do all that crappy behaviour? The essayist, Daniel Callcut, notes that the philosopher, Williams, backed away from this concept of ‘moral luck’ justification later in his (Williams) life, but no-one—not the Slate columnist (closed the tab, sorry), the essay writer (Callcut), nor the philosopher who came up with the idea of ‘moral luck’ (Williams)—seems to have considered the hidden cost of Gauguin's art-making to society.

Sure, we got these painting with very interesting colour combos; but aside from the cost to the subjects (the abused and infected Tahitian girls) and Gauguin's family, what about the evil a society fostered that made it even remotely acceptable for a man to do this? How many unknown, equally (or more!) gifted women artists did we lose because of the idea of being a selfish, male, loner artist was (& still kinda is) the norm?

I'm hardly the first person to argue that great art(ists) are not worth the cost in moral hazards (howzat for a fancy phrase?) to society: we tend to look at what we have, because the fuzzy could've-beens are basically invisible. —I suppose this essay, which ends with a merely a caution to consider those costs—mostly to yourself and those unfortunate to be in your immediate orbit—angered me because I don't think that's nearly strong enough.

Great artists (and scientists) are not necessarily great people, but I think they owe it to their art and themselves to be the best people they can be. I made the decision, in college, to attempt to be a decent human being, because I did not think I could make art great enough to excuse the assholishness a single minded pursuit of art would inflict upon society.

But as I've gotten older, and seen the ruin of pursuing one's own interests to the exclusion of all else, I've become ever less convinced that being great at something excuses bad behaviour otherwise. (I suppose Ursula K LeGuin's "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" sums that quandry better than any other work I know...) It's not a scale, where you trade art tokens for cruelty. People can and do make art while being good humans.

What we need to do is valorize that, instead of the bad boy artist. IOW, bad boys make for an entertaining story, but at what cost do we push that narrative? Note, please, that I'm not saying that story can't be told. Only that I don't think privileging that narrative over kindness and sharing is a good idea.

And me? Welp, I'll continue over here, trying to be thankfull for the many advantages I have (itching and heat and wonky wiring and not being able to take advantage of the pool and whatnot aside, cuz I'm lucky to have A/C spaces, and health care and a beautiful community pool in the first place) trying to make good art while attempting to make the world around me better. Or at least, no worst.

3jun2026

Although the ‘no pain, no gain’ aphorism has (somewhat) gone out of style for weight training, two educators, Zoe Bee and LanguageJones, have recently made overlapping arguments for the opposing view with regard to learning.

I encountered Bee's video first, The Educational Seduction of Jordan Peterson. I didn't know he was even still a thing, assuming his assorted dietary (& other) antics had gotten him so completely discredited that he'd fallen completely off the face of the (online) earth, but evidently his university scam is still an ongoing concern? By scam, I mean that paying the several hundred dollar per year fee is not going to net you a diploma from an accredited university; it's going to give you access to slickly produced videos that promise to deliver knowledge in 30 minutes. Or 3 hours. Or 3 months.

This annoys Zoe Bee deeply as an educator, because these sorts of snake-oil claims deceive people into thinking there's an easy end run to getting good at something. It's much of a piece with get-rich-quick: a get smart quick, if you will.

Unfortunately, life doesn't work that way, and most disciplines worth pursuing take years.

LanguageJones takes a slightly different approach with his video, I did a PhD w/o knowing how to read. In it, he claims that that a lot of the work that even authentically motivated and hard-working students only makes the material more familiar, not more mastered. Thus, re-reading the chapter (or one's notes) are not really good uses of time—but that there are hacks which, while not eliminating the time and effort, will at least make it faster and more effective. He explains that he finds the protocols of two books, Mortimer J. Adler & Charles Van Doren's (1940s!) How to Read a Book and Peter C. Brown, Henry L. Roediger III, Mark A. McDanie's 2012 Make It Stick: The Science of Successful Learning, which, used together, are very helpful for focusing on the sort of effortful (i.e. hard) learning that activates that deep knowledge available ‘on the fly’ so critical to language learning.

Vis a vis the kayaking conference I went to, it should be noted for persons who don't find 3 generations (or more) out-of-style formal la-di-dah-ish language, or the shallow self-help mode in which these books are respectively cast, that the writing can be annoying: just as my paddling instructor's relentless focus on non-negativity in language got really wearisome. Some things are just plain old failures, and in some contexts, I want to be able to say so without being guilted over my cultural choices—that is, I'm from Detroit, and take pride in a certain level of sarcastic pushback on the ocean of midwestern “nice” surrounding me.

In a similar way, while I can appreciate a nearly century out-of-date formality (I read Jane Austen for fun, cuz I like the language), modern self-help books and their breezy, skimalicious, lite writing style just grates. LanguageJones acknowledges this, but says overcoming such distaste is worth it. (So, of course, I feel much more comfortable with the content of the older book, not least because most of its precepts formed the basis of my high school “speed-reading” class, and stuff like summarizing the argument of a book in one sentence or answering the question why did the author write this particular book? are things I mostly do already; it's the annoying-styled one I still need to internalize, le sigh.

Same with the kayaking, despite the ‘no bad experiences, only learning opportunities mantra’—I learned plenty, and would even concede, especially when interacting with others, that praise is gonna be more helpful: ‘what would you have done differently?’ is a better framing than ‘you screwed up!’, even if I wanted to be able to say, I screwed up, because some things, like ramming the rather sharp prow of a kayak in your would be rescuerer's chest is a mistake I don't ever care to repeat, especially not on rough seas with forceful waves propelling said boat as opposed to the gentle tap on dead flat water that actually happened.)

But the larger point stands: learning stuff so it's truly available takes (a) time and (b) brainful, if not painful, effort.

Oddly enough, so does drawing peonies, especially the cultivars with multiple rings of petals, for which today's images serve as photo reference.