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indianarts · 7 months

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Exploring the World of Epoxy Resin Art: Techniques & Applications

Epoxy resin art is a form of artistic expression that has gained immense popularity in recent years because it leaves anyone mesmerized. This versatile medium allows artists to create stunning, glossy, and three-dimensional works of art that captivate the eye. From intricate jewelry pieces to large-scale wall art, epoxy resin offers endless possibilities for artists to explore. The art pieces made from this art form are not only beautiful but also durable, making them a great option for home decor. In this blog, we will dive into the fascinating world of epoxy resin art. We will be exploring its origins, techniques, applications, and the boundless creative potential the art form offers.

The Origins of Epoxy Resin Art

Epoxy resin, which is a polymer compound consisting of two parts, has been utilized in a variety of different fields for several decades due to the outstanding durability and adhesive qualities that it possesses. The shift into the sphere of art, on the other hand, is a development that occurred just not too long ago. Epoxy resin is a versatile substance that was first experimented with by artists and craftsmen in the middle of the 20th century. This is when epoxy resin was first used in artistic creations. Artistic possibilities have been fundamentally altered as a direct result of its singular capacity to enclose items and provide a finish resembling glass.

The Elemental Components of Epoxy Resin Art

Epoxy Resin - Epoxy resin is a liquid polymer that, when combined with a hardening agent, undergoes a chemical reaction resulting in a solid, durable, and glossy finish. It is the primary medium used in epoxy resin art.

Hardener - The hardener is a catalyst that, when mixed with epoxy resin, initiates the curing process. It determines the curing time and the final hardness of the resin.

Techniques in Epoxy Resin Art

Resin Pouring - Pouring is a fundamental technique in epoxy resin art, involving the application of resin onto a surface. This technique allows artists to create smooth, even coatings and achieve a glass-like finish.

Resin Casting - Casting involves pouring resin into molds to create three-dimensional objects. This technique is widely used in creating jewelry, sculptures, and functional art pieces like tabletops and countertops.

Resin Encapsulation - Encapsulation involves embedding objects, such as flowers, shells, or metallic elements, within layers of resin. This technique allows artists to preserve and showcase natural or found objects in a stunning, transparent medium.

The Diverse Applications of Epoxy Resin Art

Jewelry Making - Epoxy resin is a popular choice among jewelry artists for its ability to create intricate, translucent pieces. From pendants to earrings, resin jewelry offers a unique blend of elegance and creativity.

Home Decor - Epoxy resin art has found its way into homes as functional and decorative elements. From custom countertops to coffee tables with mesmerizing ocean-like patterns, resin-infused decor pieces add a touch of sophistication to any space.

Wall Art - Resin art on canvas or wood panels creates striking, multi-dimensional visual effects. The glossy finish and vibrant colors of resin-infused art pieces make them a captivating focal point in any room.

Challenges and Considerations in Epoxy Resin Art

Safety Precautions - Working with epoxy resin requires proper ventilation, protective gear, and adherence to safety guidelines. Artists should be aware of potential allergic reactions and skin irritations, and take necessary precautions.

Mixing and Pouring Ratios - Achieving the right balance between epoxy resin and hardener is crucial for a successful outcome. Improper mixing ratios can result in an incomplete cure or a sticky, tacky surface.

The Ever-Evolving World of Epoxy Resin Art

Innovation and Experimentation - Artists continually push the boundaries of epoxy resin art, experimenting with new techniques, materials, and combinations. The evolving nature of this medium ensures that there are always new frontiers to explore.

Environmental Considerations - With an increasing emphasis on sustainability, artists are exploring eco-friendly alternatives to traditional epoxy resins, such as bio-based resins made from renewable resources.

Artists are given a dynamic medium to bring their ideas to life through the use of epoxy resin, which is a form of art that resides at the junction of creativity and craftsmanship. Epoxy resin has worked its way into the domain of contemporary art thanks to the many uses it may be put to, the glossy finish it can achieve, and the intriguing visual effects it can produce. The future of epoxy resin art offers even more magnificent masterpieces that will continue to excite and enchant art aficionados all around the world. This is because artists will continue to develop and explore new vistas in the years to come. In the world of epoxy resin art, the possibilities are virtually endless; thus, you should welcome the adventure and allow your creativity to run wild.

#resin art #resin #Epoxy Resin #Resin Products

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mostly-mundane-atla · 2 years

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hello there! how do you think Hakoda/Ursa could've happened post S3 in an alternate 'verse?

Hey there!

Perhaps it could have, but i like it best as something that happened in passing in an alternate universe.

Specifically, when the Fire Nation attacked a village fairly close to one they've already sacked and burned. Ursa is trying to protect her friends and neighbors she's come to know and love in her years of banishment, pointing them to the towns that will accept them as they flee with what they can carry on their backs. She hurts her arm rescuing a seamstress's baby from her burning house, but doesn't realize. Soldiers catch sight of her and one persues her, mistaking the swaddled baby for a bundle of something valuable, but he's struck down by a... Water Tribe Man?

That's right, travellers have said that they joined the war effort.

She delivers the baby to the seamstress waiting for her some ways into the treeline. She leaves blood on the blanket the child is swaddled in, but bolts off before this can be brought to her attention.

The rough bark of the tree she climbs scrapes against her straw shoes as she pulls herself into the branches with a bag of heavy stones round her shoulder. She aims at the Fire Nation uniforms, reminding herself that they aren't her countrymen any more. One would have killed the man who saved her. The stones make a substantial clunk against the helmets and the hit soldiers drop. Brain damage. Slim chance of survival on a battlefield. The one who came to her rescue was charged by one of the soldiers she once prayed safe return for. The side of his head rings like a muffled bell from her stone. Dead.

It's not until they're checking the bodies for survivors on their own side or the enemy's that she comes down from the tree. She intends to survey the village and the damage done and travel to surrounding villages and towns to tell the others what has become of it. The Water Tribe man sees her and ask that she come answer questions at the camp. The Water Tribesmen don't have a reputation of being bandits so she acquiesces.

Once he's offered her a seat on the bench against the tent wall , he asks to lift her sleeve and assesses the wound she didn't realize she had. Looking at the sleeve she now realizes it's caked in blood, closer in stiffness to birch bark than homespun.

"Nasty cut," he remarks, sitting besid her but turned to face her. "I'll have to clean this, ma'am, and it could hurt. Do you need something to bite?"

She shakes her head resolutely and plainly tells the man: "I can handle pain."

His brows tilt up as he nods once and replies: "Clearly, ma'am." He holds his hand out to take her arm and get a better look at her wound. "If I may, ma'am?"

She places her still bleeding arm in his hand, holding herself back from wincing when he pours clean saltwater over it. She couldn't help but notice how awkward the formalities sound in his speach, like he has to make a point to use his foreign civilian voice. She understands. How many times has she only survived by wearing the right mask? More than she cares to count.

"It's good i got you here as soon as I did, ma'am," he says, drawing debris from her wound with a precision she didn't expect from his wide fingers. "If my men saw you a moment longer, they'd be fighting over who gets to bring you water first."

"Even the younger ones?"

"Oh, especially the younger ones, ma'am!"

"I'm old enough to be their mother," she says, unable to hide her amusement at the idea of some not-yet-twenty beardless boy fawning over her with all her creases and stray gray hairs.

"A strong woman, brave, clever, with a high pain tolerance and a pretty face?" He places a wide, shallow bowl on the bench under her arm and ladels in more clean water. The lack of sting she feels when he rinses the wound, the bleeding has now eased to a lazy ooze, suggests it's salt free, and he concludes, "I don't think they'd mind, ma'am."

He takes a jar of soap tucked under the bench and washes out the wound as gently as one washes a child's back, scooping water from the bowl in his hand and delicately rinsing the suds away.

"Are you always so tender, sir?" she feels compelled to ask.

"When I can be, ma'am," he answers while dabbing the wound dry, careful not to use too much pressure. "No good ever came of being rougher than you need, and it reminds me of before."

She tilts her eyebrows up and nods, mirroring his reaction. He opens an envelope of tanned gut and the smell of evergreens is unmistakable as he applies the resin to the jagged gash in her arm and presses it closed. Pain again, but not so much that she'd need something to bite.

"Who was before?" she asks, drawn in by his sad tone, hoping she may have found someone who understands.

The question catches him off guard as he unfolds the bandage and answers, "The two children I have back home, their mother who was killed in a raid, and mine who looks after them now."

"My apologies," she offers. The man is not only a stranger, but a foreigner with a band of warriors. She shouldn't tell him much, every bone in her body begs her to guard herself, but she's never seen her life so reflected in another's soft, warm voice. "I didn't mind leaving my husband; I wish I could have sooner. I did something terrible. It was supposed to save my children, but I haven't seen them in years so I can't say for certain if it worked."

"I'm sure you did the best you could, ma'am."

She wonders if she truly did.

"No master healer," he admits as he ties the bandage in place, "but that should help. Wash often with boiled water and lye soap and bandage with linen or ramie; never cotton. That sap should help the wound close and prevent infection, and if the pain becomes more than you can handle--"

"Willow bark?"

"Strong, brave, and well-studied, ma'am," he remarked.

"Not in years," she admits in turn. "The glue was a surprise."

"Tradition for a reason, ma'am," he nods.

"I'm sure," she replies and nods. The colors begin to lose shape and she feels very heavy. She wonders how long she's been unable to focus her eyes. She needs to get back, and so she tells the man, "Thank you, sir, for everything," and turns toward the village again.

"Ma'am, wait!" he calls as she pushes herself back up on her feet.

Her first step is a shaky one. Her second feels as if there's deep water where the ground should be.

He catches her as she's falling, desperately asking if she hit her head. The last thing she remembers before it fades is saying no.

She comes to in the tent, lying on fluffy furs on a mat of reeds and thin, green branches. There's a water skin placed at her side. The man who dressed her wound lay by the opening to the tent, facing out. There's a stone lamp and a line hung between two opposite tent poles just below the smoke hole and on the line hangs...

Her gown.

She covers her body with her own arms instinctively, surprised to find she'd been dressed in a large man's shirt. The pants she had worn underneath remained untouched, tied in the same complicated knot she was used to, neither tightened nor loosened from what she remembered.

Hearing her stir the man also wakes and gently but assuredly explains.

"I had to wash the blood out, ma'am. It was just me changing clothes for you; no one was allowed in here, and even I didn't look." This care surprises her and it must show because he follows up with: "I know what modesty means here, ma'am. I'm sorry to have shocked you."

"How much blood did I lose?"

"Hard to say, but with all the running and rock-throwing and stress yesterday, it's no wonder you needed rest."

The entire camp was taking a rest day, and messengers ran out nearby villages to say they were accepting trade and even donations, if they were generous. Food is cooked and doled out to the men, and Ursa is given a tea tasting of pine and citrus, blood broth, dried fish, and rice with seal oil and berries. She asks which of the young men brought her the water skin, and her host answers that he did so the others wouldn't fight over it. She laughs, still tickled by the concept of some young thing giving her puppy eyes, and congratulates him on his strategic wisdom.

After eating her fill she feels she's gained enough strength back to change back to her own clothes. Her host asks if she's sure she won't faint again and she answers that she is. He takes her gown off the line, handing it back to her, and pins the blanket he slept with in its place. She notices then how stripped bare his bedding is compared to what she had woken up in. There is no mat, no layers of furs underneath as well as on top, just a single shaggy hide and a thin woolen blanket on the dirt floor. The realization dawns on her: he gave her his bed for the night. With the blanket securely in place he faces away from it and toward the tent's doorflap so he can turn others away

The gown is a treasured one of hers: plain in construction and without much decoration but made of a fabric whose warp and weft were slightly different shades of green. A mistake of the dyer and solution by the weaver, perhaps, but it always reminded her of wind in the leaves on a sunny day. There's a tear in one sleave now, and the shadow of a stain remains where she bled stiffness into it, but the rest still looks like leaves and sunshine.

She asks who the shirt will be returned to, that she knows who to thank. He reveals it's one of his own. She finds herself overwhelmed by the kindness of this stranger. He gave a woman he had known for less than an hour the use of his bed and dressed her in his clothes when her own were unclean. Little wonder why the people seem to love them.

She asks if the people from her village have come by to trade but he doesn't recognize them. She walks about the camp. Food is being shared, civilans have brought gifts of tobacco and pickles and lime eggs, the Water Tribesmen don't accept libations, but they will take tea. Some bring rice to exchange for tanning services or bone carvings. Some discussions held between warriors and a merchant are about letters to their wives and children. Some of the younger men of the Water Tribe army catch a look at her and, predictably, nudge their friends so they, in turn, could get an eyeful of her. And among all the outsiders, Ursa sees a familiar seamstress sitting by the fire and nursing a baby.

The seamstress grabs a fistful of Ursa's sleeve, exclaiming "We'd all worried you died, dear!"

"Even Old Man Chen?" she asks, taking a seat by her friend.

"Oh, especially cranky Old Man Chen!" she chuckles. "Our host at the next village thought he was your father!" Loosening her grip on the sleeve, she notices the bandage and comments, "They patched you up real good, didn't they?"

"Yes," she answers, "and may it never be said they lack hospitality."

"You get any marriage proposals yet?" the seamstress asks as she swaps her child over to her other breast, mischief in her eyes. "I hear they like their girls strong."

She's about to joke back about the comments her own host made about gawky lads fighting over her when he requests to speak to her in private.

"It's a cultural question ma'am," he explains once they're in his tent. "There are quite a few enemy bodies in that village. We haven't always been the most respectful to them in the past, and we haven't always had time to do anything but let them rot. Now that we do have some time, what would you have us do with them?"

"I don't understand sir," she says, casting her eyes down. "Why do you ask me?"

"Few in this part of the Earth Kingdom have eyes like yours, ma'am," he answers flatly. "And those who do generally don't react so strongly to the chill this time of year, or walk like they're used to sandals."

They were a ways away from the Si Wong Desert, and even years into her exile she was still acclimating. She hadn't even noticed her shivering, arm-folding, hand-rubbing, or how she must have wrapped herself in those furs.

"Each man among them was someone's son," he says. "How would a Fire Nation mother have their bodies handled?"

"Burn them," she answers. "And scatter the ashes in the plowed fields where people grow their crops, that they'll be stepped on less often."

He nods at her words and says, "It will be done, ma'am."

"You needn't call me ma'am," she says. "I'm no better than you."

He nods.

She insists on staying to help them cremate the bodies. She carries logs to build the pyres. She helps strip the dead and keeps each man's uniform with the tag that bears his father's name, some are noble, some simply end in "the farmer" or "the butcher" or "the smith." The helmets, on the other hand, are nailed to stakes facing the nearest road, a warning of what happened before and what can happen again.

When the ashes cool, she helps the men scatter them in dormant plowed fields that will be sown with seeds in the coming spring.

When she can contain her curiosity no longer she turns and asks him "Why?"

"Why what?" He almost calls her ma'am again.

"You knew I was one of them," she explains. "You knew, and yet you dressed my wound. You gave me your water, you dressed me in your clothes, you gave me your bed to sleep in, you fed me. Why? Why such kindness for the enemy?"

He looks at her and holds back a chuckle as he answers, "You rescued a civilian's baby and helped my men survive the attack. If you're my enemy, you should do a better job at it."

When she had first arrived at the village, the others offered her a house with a poor roof that had been abandoned after a hearth fire. They avoided her and pretended not to hear when she spoke, unless she was buying something. Old Man Chen, bitter and cynical, had been the first among them to let her heal him of an illness. He figured if he died, she'd have done nobody wrong by it. When she helped the chatty seamstress through a difficult labor, the village became much kinder and more welcoming to her. Only then had the wives explained how to grow cooking herbs in their soil and the children had been allowed to accept sweets from her. Such kindness freely given was not what she expected, especially from a Water Tribe man who recognized her as Fire Nation.

She stays in their company, even as they pack up their camp.

"You said you studied medicine?" he asks

"Just the herbs," she admits "Some time ago."

"But the village goes to you for healing?"

"Yes."

"Then keep this," he says, giving her the gut envelope. "We have more."

"What if it runs out?"

"Cut a tree and it bleeds like any of us," he says. "Cut a spruce, gather the sap that oozes out, and filter out the bits of bark and dirt. It'll seal cuts and stop infections."

She thumbs the crisp, see-through gut, nodding, and thanks him before asking if he will ever come this way again. He says they might. She asks what name she should ask after to hear of him.

"Hakoda," he answers with a smile. "And may I ask yours?"

"Ursa," she answers in turn.

"Well, Ursa," he says, tying his tent's walls around their poles, "i hope we can see those eyes in a friendly face again."

And maybe they don't cross paths again, but maybe they do. I sure hope they do.

#this took a while #but i had to indulge 11yr old me and do their imagination justice #you know how it is #spruce resin for cuts is real shit btw #knew a guy whose grandpa dressed wounds with sap and duct tape because he lived far away from any hospital; no infections ever #naturally talk to a doctor and stick with products approved for human use #but it's not something i just made up

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