There was almost no one in the morning, so we managed to take a few pictures while visiting. People started arriving around noon, and we left shortly after. My dad is not a photographer at all, but with guidance, he ended up doing a good job.
Outfit rundown
Tweed set: second-hand Métamorphose temps de fille
Turtleneck : second-hand Fint
Hat: old Rudsak (with added bow)
Boots: old Fluevog
Book bag: old Axes Femme (with vintage bus pass and flower corsage)
Belt: thrifted
Herb rack wooden brooch: @lotvdesigns
Green landscape brooch: vintage
Turtle earrings, oarfish and shiitake brooches: artists I can't remember
This is a Donegal Tweed Jacket for general purpose that will be worn by a well dressed gentleman during business and leisure.
See the full bespoke project: https://www.deoost.nl/colbert-tweed-donegal
#donegal
A lovable dragon professor with gold and pink dragon features! Despite all the spines and frills, I can assure you he's very huggable~
[Commission done for Sharklotl]
In a quiet corner of the steadily humming train car, bathed in the amber glow of the departing sun whose rays moments ago dallied upon the fields and are now caught in tender play upon her cheeks, sits a woman. Her presence is like a vision pulled from a time when the world moved at the rhythm of the rails and the hearts beat to the longing of distant farewells.
The luxurious locks of her hair are curled with an elegance that whispers of a careful morning ritual, each swirl a testament to her grace. Her eyes, alight with the soft reflection of the world passing by the window, gaze outward wistfully, a reverie of thoughts unvoiced painting her visage with the hues of introspection.
Clad in a suit of tweed, immaculately fitted, it speaks of a meticulousness that is echoed in the lace at her throat—a delicate contrast, softening the earnestness of her attire. The cup cradled in her hands might hold more than warmth—it is a chalice of her solitude, a sip of solace in an otherwise continuous journey.
She is the embodiment of the era's poise and the quiet strength that simmers beneath the surface of serenity, and those who chance upon her cannot help but wonder at the story that flickers behind her calm, contemplative eyes—a narrative as complex and enticing as the landscape she watches slip by.
Yet, above all, there is an unmistakable air of independence about her. She is not waiting to be spoken for but rather seems to be authoring her own path, as intrepid and boundless as the steel tracks that guide her way.