Leonardo da Vinci picture of the last supperLeonardo da Vinci original picture of the last supperRaphael Deposition of ChristGeorge Frederick Watts Pablo and FrancescaFrancisco de Goya The Quail Shoot
Gaspode?’ he said hesitantly. Fog’s just fog, he repeated. But it feels crowded. It feels like that, if it suddenly went away, I’d see lots of people watching me. From outside. And that’s ridiculous, because I am outside, so there’s nothing outside of outside. And it’s flickering.
‘I expect you’ll be wantin’ me to lead the way,’ said a smug voice by his knee.
‘It’s very quiet, isn’t it?’ said Victor, trying to sound nonchalant. ‘I expect it’s the fog muffling in this stuff,’ he said. ‘We thought you’d got lost. Come on, it’s nearly noon. We’re more or less ready to go.’
‘I’m ready.’
‘Good.’ Fog droplets had condensed on Soll’s hair and clothing. ‘Er,’ he said. ‘Where are we, exactly?’
Victor turned around. His lodgings had been behind him.everything.’‘O’corse, maybe gharstely creatures have come up out o’ the sea and murthered every mortal soul except us,’ said Gaspode conversationally.‘Shut up!’Something loomed up out of the brightness. As it got closer it got smaller, and the tentacles and antennae that Victor’s imagination had been furnishing became the more‑or‑less ordinary arms and legs of Soll Dibbler.‘Victor?’ he said uncertainly. Soll’s relief was visible. ‘Can’t see a thing
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Lorenzo Lotto Mystic Marriage of St Catherine
Lorenzo Lotto Mystic Marriage of St CatherineLorenzo Lotto Angel AnnunciatingCamille Pissarro The Harvest 1882Camille Pissarro The garden at Pontoise 1877Camille Pissarro The Chestnut Trees at Osny
had her full attention. ‘Yes?’ she said encouragingly, and, ‘It doesn’t sound too bad so far.’
‘I’m getting to the bad bit.’
‘Oh.’
Victor is, when you get something like that, you get a hole‑‘
He looked at her polite, blank expression. Analogies bubbled to the surface like soggy croutons. Imagine all the worlds that have ever been are in one sense pressed together like a sandwich . . . a pack of cards . . . a book . . . a folded sheet . . . if conditions are right, things can go through rather than along . . . but if you open a gate between worlds, there are terrible dangers, as for instance . . .
As for instance . . .
As for instance . . .swallowed. His brain was bubbling like a bouillon. Halfremembered facts surfaced tantalizingly and sank again. Dry old tutors in high old rooms had been telling him dull old things which were suddenly as urgent as a knife, and he dredged desperately for them.‘I’m not‑‘ he croaked. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m not sure it’s right, though,’ he managed. ‘It’s come from somewhere else. It can happen. You’ve heard of ideas whose time has come?’‘Yes.’‘Well, they’re the tame ones. There’s other ones. Ideas so full of vigour they don’t even wait for their time. Wild ideas. Escaped ideas. And the trouble
had her full attention. ‘Yes?’ she said encouragingly, and, ‘It doesn’t sound too bad so far.’
‘I’m getting to the bad bit.’
‘Oh.’
Victor is, when you get something like that, you get a hole‑‘
He looked at her polite, blank expression. Analogies bubbled to the surface like soggy croutons. Imagine all the worlds that have ever been are in one sense pressed together like a sandwich . . . a pack of cards . . . a book . . . a folded sheet . . . if conditions are right, things can go through rather than along . . . but if you open a gate between worlds, there are terrible dangers, as for instance . . .
As for instance . . .
As for instance . . .swallowed. His brain was bubbling like a bouillon. Halfremembered facts surfaced tantalizingly and sank again. Dry old tutors in high old rooms had been telling him dull old things which were suddenly as urgent as a knife, and he dredged desperately for them.‘I’m not‑‘ he croaked. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m not sure it’s right, though,’ he managed. ‘It’s come from somewhere else. It can happen. You’ve heard of ideas whose time has come?’‘Yes.’‘Well, they’re the tame ones. There’s other ones. Ideas so full of vigour they don’t even wait for their time. Wild ideas. Escaped ideas. And the trouble
Friday, March 27, 2009
Alphonse Maria Mucha Monaco Monte Carlo
Alphonse Maria Mucha Monaco Monte CarloAlphonse Maria Mucha MedeeAlphonse Maria Mucha FruitAlphonse Maria Mucha FlowerAlphonse Maria Mucha Flirt
Pedigree? Pedigree? What’s a pedigree? It’s just breedin’. I had a father too, you know. And two grandads. And four great grandads. And many of ‘em were the same dog, even. So don’t you tell me from no pedigree,’ it’ll work for a plate of meat a day, too.’
‘Well, look, maybe you weren’t called to Holy Wood to be a wonder dog,’ said Victor. ‘Maybe it’s got something else in mind for you.’
This is ridiculous, he thought. Why are we talking about it like this? A place hasn’t got a mind. It can’t call people to it . . . well, unless you count things like homesickness. But you can’t be homesick for a place you’ve never been to before, it stands to reason. The last time said Gaspode. He paused to cock a leg against one of the supports of the new ‘Home of Century of the Fruitbat Moving Pictures’ sign. That was something else that had puzzled Thomas Silverfish. He’d come in this morning, and the handpainted sign saying ‘Interesting and Instructive Films’ had gone and had been replaced by this huge billboard. He was sitting back in the office with his head in his hands, trying to convince himself that it had been his idea. ‘I’m the one Holy Wood called,’ Gaspode muttered, in a self-pitying voice. ‘I came all the way here, and then they chose that great hairy thing. Probably
Pedigree? Pedigree? What’s a pedigree? It’s just breedin’. I had a father too, you know. And two grandads. And four great grandads. And many of ‘em were the same dog, even. So don’t you tell me from no pedigree,’ it’ll work for a plate of meat a day, too.’
‘Well, look, maybe you weren’t called to Holy Wood to be a wonder dog,’ said Victor. ‘Maybe it’s got something else in mind for you.’
This is ridiculous, he thought. Why are we talking about it like this? A place hasn’t got a mind. It can’t call people to it . . . well, unless you count things like homesickness. But you can’t be homesick for a place you’ve never been to before, it stands to reason. The last time said Gaspode. He paused to cock a leg against one of the supports of the new ‘Home of Century of the Fruitbat Moving Pictures’ sign. That was something else that had puzzled Thomas Silverfish. He’d come in this morning, and the handpainted sign saying ‘Interesting and Instructive Films’ had gone and had been replaced by this huge billboard. He was sitting back in the office with his head in his hands, trying to convince himself that it had been his idea. ‘I’m the one Holy Wood called,’ Gaspode muttered, in a self-pitying voice. ‘I came all the way here, and then they chose that great hairy thing. Probably
Thursday, March 26, 2009
John Singleton Copley Brook Watson And The Shark
John Singleton Copley Brook Watson And The SharkThomas Cole Home in the WoodsPierre Auguste Renoir At The TheatrePierre Auguste Renoir The Large BathersAlexandre Cabanel Phedre
There had been another stylized battle, he knew that much, with Morry and what would have been a fearsome whip if the like a thrown knife, ‘Don’t stop turning the handle.’
The edges of his vision went cloudy, and there were shapes in the cloud that changed and faded before he had a chance to examine them. Helpless as a fly in an amber flow, as much in control of his destiny as a soap bubble in a hurricane, he leaned down and kissed her. troll hadn’t kept tangling it round his own legs. And, when the dreadful Balgrog had been beaten and had slid out of shot mugging terribly and trying to hold its wings on with one hand, he’d turned and cut the ropes holding the girl to the stake and should have dragged her sharply to the right when– –the whispering started. There were no words but there was something that was the heart of words, that went straight through his ears and down his spinal column without bothering to make a stopover in his brain. He stared into the girl’s eyes and wondered if she was hearing it too. A long way off, there were words. There was Silverfish saying, ‘Come on, get on with it, what are you looking at her like that for?’ and the handleman saying, ‘They gets really fractious if they misses a meal,’ and Dibbler saying, in a voice hissing
There had been another stylized battle, he knew that much, with Morry and what would have been a fearsome whip if the like a thrown knife, ‘Don’t stop turning the handle.’
The edges of his vision went cloudy, and there were shapes in the cloud that changed and faded before he had a chance to examine them. Helpless as a fly in an amber flow, as much in control of his destiny as a soap bubble in a hurricane, he leaned down and kissed her. troll hadn’t kept tangling it round his own legs. And, when the dreadful Balgrog had been beaten and had slid out of shot mugging terribly and trying to hold its wings on with one hand, he’d turned and cut the ropes holding the girl to the stake and should have dragged her sharply to the right when– –the whispering started. There were no words but there was something that was the heart of words, that went straight through his ears and down his spinal column without bothering to make a stopover in his brain. He stared into the girl’s eyes and wondered if she was hearing it too. A long way off, there were words. There was Silverfish saying, ‘Come on, get on with it, what are you looking at her like that for?’ and the handleman saying, ‘They gets really fractious if they misses a meal,’ and Dibbler saying, in a voice hissing
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Claude Monet Water Lilies
Claude Monet Water LiliesClaude Monet Chemin dans les Bles a PourvilleVincent van Gogh Wheatfield under a Cloudy SkyClaude Monet Water Lilies 1903Claude Monet Bridge over a Pool of Water Lilies
effort into avoiding work than most people put into hard labour.
He had never wanted to be a wizard. He’d never wanted much, except perhaps to be left alone and not woken up until midday. When he’d been small, people had said things like, ‘And what do you want to be, little man?’ lodgings and, to his amazement, hard work.
He’d allowed himself to be sent to the University because it was easier than not going.
He tended to smile a lot, in a faintly puzzled way. This gave people the impression that he was slightly more intelligent than they were. In fact, he was usually trying to work out what they had just said.
And he had a thin moustache, which in a certain light made him look debonair and, in another, made him look as though he had been drinking a thick chocolate milk shake. and he’d said, ‘I don’t know. What have you got?’ They didn’t let you get away with that sort of thing for very long. It wasn’t enough to be what you were, you had to be working to be something else. He’d tried. For quite a long while he’d tried wanting to be a blacksmith, because that looked interesting and romantic. But it also involved hard work and intractable bits of metal. Then he’d tried wanting to be an assassin, which looked dashing and romantic. But it also involved hard work and, when you got right down to it, occasionally having to kill someone. Then he’d tried wanting to be an actor, which looked dramatic and romantic, but it had involved dusty tights, cramped
effort into avoiding work than most people put into hard labour.
He had never wanted to be a wizard. He’d never wanted much, except perhaps to be left alone and not woken up until midday. When he’d been small, people had said things like, ‘And what do you want to be, little man?’ lodgings and, to his amazement, hard work.
He’d allowed himself to be sent to the University because it was easier than not going.
He tended to smile a lot, in a faintly puzzled way. This gave people the impression that he was slightly more intelligent than they were. In fact, he was usually trying to work out what they had just said.
And he had a thin moustache, which in a certain light made him look debonair and, in another, made him look as though he had been drinking a thick chocolate milk shake. and he’d said, ‘I don’t know. What have you got?’ They didn’t let you get away with that sort of thing for very long. It wasn’t enough to be what you were, you had to be working to be something else. He’d tried. For quite a long while he’d tried wanting to be a blacksmith, because that looked interesting and romantic. But it also involved hard work and intractable bits of metal. Then he’d tried wanting to be an assassin, which looked dashing and romantic. But it also involved hard work and, when you got right down to it, occasionally having to kill someone. Then he’d tried wanting to be an actor, which looked dramatic and romantic, but it had involved dusty tights, cramped
Monday, March 23, 2009
Paul Cezanne Card Players
Paul Cezanne Card PlayersLaurie Maitland fireWilliam Bouguereau InnocenceBill Brauer The Gold DressUnknown Artist Muhammad Ali pop art
Teppic conceded this, rather reluctantly, and eased himself cautiously up the sliding surface of the dune. The voices were arguing again
'Give in?'
'We simply he could not recognise. In the middle of it all were two men - one small, fat and florid, the other tall and willowy and with an indefinable air of authority. They were wearing sheets. Clustered around them, and not wearing very much at all, was a group of slaves. One of them was holding a bow.
Several of them were holding tortoises on sticks. They looked a bit pathetic, like tortoise lollies.haven't got all the parameters right.' 'I know what we haven't got all right.' 'What is that, pray?' 'We haven't got any more bloody tortoises. That's what we haven't got.' Teppic carefully poked his head over the top of the dune. He saw a large cleared area, surrounded by complicated ranks of markers and flags. There were one or two buildings in it, mostly consisting of cages, and several other intricate constructions
Teppic conceded this, rather reluctantly, and eased himself cautiously up the sliding surface of the dune. The voices were arguing again
'Give in?'
'We simply he could not recognise. In the middle of it all were two men - one small, fat and florid, the other tall and willowy and with an indefinable air of authority. They were wearing sheets. Clustered around them, and not wearing very much at all, was a group of slaves. One of them was holding a bow.
Several of them were holding tortoises on sticks. They looked a bit pathetic, like tortoise lollies.haven't got all the parameters right.' 'I know what we haven't got all right.' 'What is that, pray?' 'We haven't got any more bloody tortoises. That's what we haven't got.' Teppic carefully poked his head over the top of the dune. He saw a large cleared area, surrounded by complicated ranks of markers and flags. There were one or two buildings in it, mostly consisting of cages, and several other intricate constructions
Friday, March 20, 2009
Jack Vettriano night Negotiations
Jack Vettriano night NegotiationsJack Vettriano night in the CityJack Vettriano Night GeometryJack Vettriano Narcissistic BathersJack Vettriano Mr Cool
air. Teppic sighed and, moving with the delicacy of a watchmaker, drew his diamond compasses from their pouch and dragged a slow, gentle circle on the dusty glass...
'You carry it yourself,' said Chidder. 'That's the rule around here.'
Teppic , ambling along beside him.
Teppic thought about this. 'No, not really,' he said. 'They mainly grow melons and garlic and that kind of thing. And stand in the streets and shout "hurrah".'
'This is your parents you're talking about?' said Chidder, puzzled.
'Oh, them? No, my father's a pharaoh. My mother was a concubine. I think.'
'I thought that was some sort of vegetable.'looked at the trunk. It was an intriguing notion. 'At home we've people who do that,' he said. 'Eunuchs and so on. 'You should of brought one with you.' 'They don't travel well,' said Teppic. In fact he'd adamantly refused all suggestions that a small retinue should accompany him, and Dios had sulked for days. That was not how a member of the royal blood should go forth into the world, he said. Teppic had remained firm. He was pretty certain that assassins weren't expected to go about their business accompanied by handmaidens and buglers. Now, however, the idea seemed to have some merit. He gave the trunk an experimental heave, and managed to get it across his shoulders. 'Your people are pretty rich, then?' said Chidder
air. Teppic sighed and, moving with the delicacy of a watchmaker, drew his diamond compasses from their pouch and dragged a slow, gentle circle on the dusty glass...
'You carry it yourself,' said Chidder. 'That's the rule around here.'
Teppic , ambling along beside him.
Teppic thought about this. 'No, not really,' he said. 'They mainly grow melons and garlic and that kind of thing. And stand in the streets and shout "hurrah".'
'This is your parents you're talking about?' said Chidder, puzzled.
'Oh, them? No, my father's a pharaoh. My mother was a concubine. I think.'
'I thought that was some sort of vegetable.'looked at the trunk. It was an intriguing notion. 'At home we've people who do that,' he said. 'Eunuchs and so on. 'You should of brought one with you.' 'They don't travel well,' said Teppic. In fact he'd adamantly refused all suggestions that a small retinue should accompany him, and Dios had sulked for days. That was not how a member of the royal blood should go forth into the world, he said. Teppic had remained firm. He was pretty certain that assassins weren't expected to go about their business accompanied by handmaidens and buglers. Now, however, the idea seemed to have some merit. He gave the trunk an experimental heave, and managed to get it across his shoulders. 'Your people are pretty rich, then?' said Chidder
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Alphonse Maria Mucha La Dame aux Camelias
Alphonse Maria Mucha La Dame aux CameliasAlphonse Maria Mucha Biscuits Champagne Lefevre UtilePierre Auguste Renoir The First OutingPierre Auguste Renoir Sleeping GirlThomas Kinkade The Spirit of New York
'Right,' said Death, to no-one in particular. He turned back to the mirror.
' 'Gainst Whom No . . . Tumpty-Tum . . . nor Tumpty-Tumpty bar,' he said, uncertainly, and flourished his scythe. The end fell off.
'Do you think I'm fearsome enough?' he said, as he tried to fix it on again.
Tomjon, who was sitting on his hump and trying to drink some tea, gave him an encouraging nod.
'No problem, my friend,' he said. 'Compared to a visit from you, even Death himself would hold no fears. But you could try a bit more hollowness.'
'How the wall, relaxed a bit and gave a nervous giggle.
'Gods, I don't know how you do it,' he said. 'Honestly, I'll never be as good as you.'
'There really isn't anything to it. Now run along, Hwel's fit to be tied as it is.'
Dafe gave him a look of gratitude and ran off to help with the scene shifting.
Tomjon sipped his tea uneasily, the backstage noises whirring around him like so much fog. He was worried.
Hwel had said that everything about the play was fine, except for the play itself. d'you mean?'Tomjon put down his cup. Shadows seemed to move across his face; his eyes sank, his lips drew back from his teeth, his skin stretched and paled.'I HAVE COME TO GET YOU, YOU TERRIBLE ACTOR,' he intoned, each syllable falling into place like a coffin lid. His features sprang back into shape.'Like that,' he said.Dafe, who had flattened himself against
'Right,' said Death, to no-one in particular. He turned back to the mirror.
' 'Gainst Whom No . . . Tumpty-Tum . . . nor Tumpty-Tumpty bar,' he said, uncertainly, and flourished his scythe. The end fell off.
'Do you think I'm fearsome enough?' he said, as he tried to fix it on again.
Tomjon, who was sitting on his hump and trying to drink some tea, gave him an encouraging nod.
'No problem, my friend,' he said. 'Compared to a visit from you, even Death himself would hold no fears. But you could try a bit more hollowness.'
'How the wall, relaxed a bit and gave a nervous giggle.
'Gods, I don't know how you do it,' he said. 'Honestly, I'll never be as good as you.'
'There really isn't anything to it. Now run along, Hwel's fit to be tied as it is.'
Dafe gave him a look of gratitude and ran off to help with the scene shifting.
Tomjon sipped his tea uneasily, the backstage noises whirring around him like so much fog. He was worried.
Hwel had said that everything about the play was fine, except for the play itself. d'you mean?'Tomjon put down his cup. Shadows seemed to move across his face; his eyes sank, his lips drew back from his teeth, his skin stretched and paled.'I HAVE COME TO GET YOU, YOU TERRIBLE ACTOR,' he intoned, each syllable falling into place like a coffin lid. His features sprang back into shape.'Like that,' he said.Dafe, who had flattened himself against
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Vincent van Gogh Wheatfield with a Lark
Vincent van Gogh Wheatfield with a LarkVincent van Gogh Vegetable Gardens in MontmartreVincent van Gogh Vegetable gardens at the MontmartreVincent van Gogh Still life with a bottle of lemons and orangesVincent van Gogh Self-Portrait with Straw
before even broaching the subject to his father, and now the dwarfs mind was on fire with the possibilities of backdrops and scenery changes and wings and flies and magnificent engines that could lower gods from the heavens and trapdoors that could raise demons from hell. Hwel was no more capable of objecting to the new theatre world was a stage, to the gods . . .
Presently he began to write.
All the Disc it is but an Theater, he wrote, Aite alle men and wymmen are but Players. He made the mistake of pausing, and another inspiration sleeted down, sending his train of thought off along an entirely new track.
He looked at what he had written and added: Except Those who selle popcorn.than a monkey was of resenting a banana plantation.'Damn thing hasn't even got a name,' Vitoller had said. 'I should call it the Golde Mine, because that's what it's costing me. Where's the money going to come from, that's what I'd like to know.'In fact they'd tried a lot of names, none of which suited Tomjon.'It's got to be a name that means everything,' he said. 'Because there's everything inside it. The whole world on the stage, do you see?'And Hwel had said, knowing as he said it that what he was saying was exactly right, 'The Disc.'And now the Dysk was nearly done, and still he hadn't written the new play.He shut the window and wandered back to his desk, picked up the quill, and pulled another sheet of paper towards him. A thought struck him. The whole
before even broaching the subject to his father, and now the dwarfs mind was on fire with the possibilities of backdrops and scenery changes and wings and flies and magnificent engines that could lower gods from the heavens and trapdoors that could raise demons from hell. Hwel was no more capable of objecting to the new theatre world was a stage, to the gods . . .
Presently he began to write.
All the Disc it is but an Theater, he wrote, Aite alle men and wymmen are but Players. He made the mistake of pausing, and another inspiration sleeted down, sending his train of thought off along an entirely new track.
He looked at what he had written and added: Except Those who selle popcorn.than a monkey was of resenting a banana plantation.'Damn thing hasn't even got a name,' Vitoller had said. 'I should call it the Golde Mine, because that's what it's costing me. Where's the money going to come from, that's what I'd like to know.'In fact they'd tried a lot of names, none of which suited Tomjon.'It's got to be a name that means everything,' he said. 'Because there's everything inside it. The whole world on the stage, do you see?'And Hwel had said, knowing as he said it that what he was saying was exactly right, 'The Disc.'And now the Dysk was nearly done, and still he hadn't written the new play.He shut the window and wandered back to his desk, picked up the quill, and pulled another sheet of paper towards him. A thought struck him. The whole
Monday, March 16, 2009
Gustav Klimt Apple Tree I
Gustav Klimt Apple Tree ISalvador Dali Persistence of MemorySalvador Dali Metamorphosis of NarcissusSalvador Dali MaelstromSalvador Dali Les trois sphinx de bikini
was a full moon again that night, and most unusually all three witches arrived at the standing stone early; it was so embarrassed by this that it went and hid in some gorse bushes.
'Greebo hasn't been home for two days/ said Nanny Ogg, as soon as she arrived. 'It's not like him. I can't find him anywhere.'
'Cats can look after themselves,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'Countries can't. I have intelligence to report. Light the tougher, too. Look at her. Doesn't even wear the pointy hat. How's anyone going to know?'
'You got something on your mind, Esme?' said Nanny.fire, Magrat.''Mmm?''I said, light the fire, Magrat.''Mmm? Oh. Yes.'The two old women watched her drift vaguely across the moorland, tugging absently at dried-up whin clumps. Magrat seemed to have her mind on something.'Doesn't seem to be her normal self,' said Nanny Ogg.'Yes. Could be an improvement,' said Granny shortly, and sat down on a rock. 'She should of got it lit before we arrived. It's her job.''She means well,' said Nanny Ogg, studying Magrat's back reflectively.'I used to mean well when I was a girl, but that didn't stop the sharp end of Goodie Filter's tongue. Youngest witch serves her time, you know how it is. We had it
was a full moon again that night, and most unusually all three witches arrived at the standing stone early; it was so embarrassed by this that it went and hid in some gorse bushes.
'Greebo hasn't been home for two days/ said Nanny Ogg, as soon as she arrived. 'It's not like him. I can't find him anywhere.'
'Cats can look after themselves,' said Granny Weatherwax. 'Countries can't. I have intelligence to report. Light the tougher, too. Look at her. Doesn't even wear the pointy hat. How's anyone going to know?'
'You got something on your mind, Esme?' said Nanny.fire, Magrat.''Mmm?''I said, light the fire, Magrat.''Mmm? Oh. Yes.'The two old women watched her drift vaguely across the moorland, tugging absently at dried-up whin clumps. Magrat seemed to have her mind on something.'Doesn't seem to be her normal self,' said Nanny Ogg.'Yes. Could be an improvement,' said Granny shortly, and sat down on a rock. 'She should of got it lit before we arrived. It's her job.''She means well,' said Nanny Ogg, studying Magrat's back reflectively.'I used to mean well when I was a girl, but that didn't stop the sharp end of Goodie Filter's tongue. Youngest witch serves her time, you know how it is. We had it
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Henri Rousseau The Waterfall
Henri Rousseau The WaterfallHenri Rousseau The Repast of the LionHenri Rousseau The Merry JestersHenri Rousseau The FlamingosHenri Rousseau The Equatorial Jungle
I should think,' said Granny, her expression suddenly curiously wooden. 'What's Gytha doing?'
'She's giving the baby a wash in the sink,' said Magrat vaguely. 'How can we hide something like this? What'd happen if we on them, naturally.'
'Seen a fair few. They've got a lot more jewels on them, and cloth bits in the middle,' said Magrat defiantly. 'This is just a thin little thing—'
'Magrat Garlick!'
'I have. When I was being trained up by Goodie Whemper—'buried it really deeply somewhere?''A badger'd dig it up,' said Granny wearily. 'Or someone'd go prospecting for gold or something. Or a tree'd tangle its roots around it and then be blown over in a storm, and then someone'd pick it up and put it on—''Unless they were as strong-minded as us,' Magrat pointed out.'Unless that, of course,' said Granny, staring at her finger-nails. Though the thing with crowns is, it isn't the putting them on that's the problem, it's the taking them off.'Magrat picked it up and turned it over in her hands.'It's not as though it even looks much like a crown,' she said.'You've seen a lot, I expect,' said Granny. 'You'd be an expert
I should think,' said Granny, her expression suddenly curiously wooden. 'What's Gytha doing?'
'She's giving the baby a wash in the sink,' said Magrat vaguely. 'How can we hide something like this? What'd happen if we on them, naturally.'
'Seen a fair few. They've got a lot more jewels on them, and cloth bits in the middle,' said Magrat defiantly. 'This is just a thin little thing—'
'Magrat Garlick!'
'I have. When I was being trained up by Goodie Whemper—'buried it really deeply somewhere?''A badger'd dig it up,' said Granny wearily. 'Or someone'd go prospecting for gold or something. Or a tree'd tangle its roots around it and then be blown over in a storm, and then someone'd pick it up and put it on—''Unless they were as strong-minded as us,' Magrat pointed out.'Unless that, of course,' said Granny, staring at her finger-nails. Though the thing with crowns is, it isn't the putting them on that's the problem, it's the taking them off.'Magrat picked it up and turned it over in her hands.'It's not as though it even looks much like a crown,' she said.'You've seen a lot, I expect,' said Granny. 'You'd be an expert
Friday, March 13, 2009
Thomas Kinkade Forest Chapel
Thomas Kinkade Forest ChapelThomas Kinkade End of a Perfect Day IIIThomas Kinkade End Of A Perfect Day II
a while Ysabell came in, treading softly.
'Albert's written it down,' she said quietly, 'I've checked the book. It isn't a trick. He's gone and locked himself in his room now and —'
'Look at these help.'
He looked at her for the first time and saw she was wearing her outdoor coat, the unsuitable one with the big fur collar.
'You? What could you do?'
'Binky can easily carry two,' said Ysabell meekly. She waved a paper package vaguely. 'I've packed us something to eat. I could – hold open doors and things.'
Mort laughed mirthlessly. THAT WON'T BE NECESSARY.two! I mean, will you look at them!''I think you should calm down a bit, Mort.''How can I calm down with, look, this one over here almost in the Great Nef, and this one right in Bes Pelargic and then I've got to get back to Sto Lat. That's a ten thousand mile round trip however you look at it. It can't be done.''I'm sure you'll find a way. And I'll
a while Ysabell came in, treading softly.
'Albert's written it down,' she said quietly, 'I've checked the book. It isn't a trick. He's gone and locked himself in his room now and —'
'Look at these help.'
He looked at her for the first time and saw she was wearing her outdoor coat, the unsuitable one with the big fur collar.
'You? What could you do?'
'Binky can easily carry two,' said Ysabell meekly. She waved a paper package vaguely. 'I've packed us something to eat. I could – hold open doors and things.'
Mort laughed mirthlessly. THAT WON'T BE NECESSARY.two! I mean, will you look at them!''I think you should calm down a bit, Mort.''How can I calm down with, look, this one over here almost in the Great Nef, and this one right in Bes Pelargic and then I've got to get back to Sto Lat. That's a ten thousand mile round trip however you look at it. It can't be done.''I'm sure you'll find a way. And I'll
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Caravaggio Sick Bacchus
Caravaggio Sick BacchusUnknown Artist Wave RiderJohannes Vermeer Young Woman with a Water Jug
was worth any amount of unexplained manifestations, and the silence was punctuated by the sound of determined mastication.
In one corner of the crowded room was a little shrine to Offler, the six-armed Crocodile God of Klatch. It was grinning bangles jangling, carefully arranged a few slices of pepper across the plate and sprinkled it with a dark green sauce that Mort was afraid he recognised. He'd tried it a few weeks before, and although it was a had been enough to know that it was made out of fish entrails marinated for several years in a vat of shark bile. Death had said that it was an acquired taste. Mort had decided not to make the effort.
He tried to sidle around the edge of the room towards the bead-hung doorway, all the heads turning to watch him. He tried a grin.just like Death, except of course Death didn't have a flock of holy birds that brought him news of his worshippers and also kept his teeth clean.Klatchians prize hospitality above all other virtues. As Mort stared the woman took another plate off the shelf behind her and silently began to fill it from the big bowl, snatching a choice cut of catfish from the ancient's hands after a brief struggle. Her kohl-rimmed eyes remained steadily on Mort, however.It was the father who had spoken. Mort bowed nervously.'Sorry,' he said. 'Er, I seem to have walked through this wall.' It was rather lame, he had to admit.'Please?' said the man. The woman, her
was worth any amount of unexplained manifestations, and the silence was punctuated by the sound of determined mastication.
In one corner of the crowded room was a little shrine to Offler, the six-armed Crocodile God of Klatch. It was grinning bangles jangling, carefully arranged a few slices of pepper across the plate and sprinkled it with a dark green sauce that Mort was afraid he recognised. He'd tried it a few weeks before, and although it was a had been enough to know that it was made out of fish entrails marinated for several years in a vat of shark bile. Death had said that it was an acquired taste. Mort had decided not to make the effort.
He tried to sidle around the edge of the room towards the bead-hung doorway, all the heads turning to watch him. He tried a grin.just like Death, except of course Death didn't have a flock of holy birds that brought him news of his worshippers and also kept his teeth clean.Klatchians prize hospitality above all other virtues. As Mort stared the woman took another plate off the shelf behind her and silently began to fill it from the big bowl, snatching a choice cut of catfish from the ancient's hands after a brief struggle. Her kohl-rimmed eyes remained steadily on Mort, however.It was the father who had spoken. Mort bowed nervously.'Sorry,' he said. 'Er, I seem to have walked through this wall.' It was rather lame, he had to admit.'Please?' said the man. The woman, her
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Thomas Kinkade Lamplight bridge
Thomas Kinkade Lamplight bridgeThomas Kinkade Stillwater CottageVincent van Gogh Wheat Fields
Everyone stop talking!"
Ordinary light, slow and easy on the eye, sidled back into the Library.
Esk sat up, dislodging the staff. It rolled under the table. She felt something slip over her eyes, and reached up for it.
"Just a moment," said Granny, darting forward. She gripped the girl's shoulders and peered into her eyes.
"Welcome back," she said, and kissed her.
Esk reached up and patted something hard on her head. She lifted it down to examine it.
It was a pointed hat, slightly smaller than Granny's, but bright blue with a couple of silver stars painted on it.
"A wizard hatof one who, opening the proverbial brightly-wrapped package, finds bath salts.
"It's very nice," she said uncertainly.
"Is that all you can say?" said Granny.?" she said. Cutangle stepped forward. "Ah, yes,"he said, and cleared his throat: "You see, we thought - it seemed - anyway, when we considered it -" "You're a wizard," said Granny, simply. "The Archchancellor changed the lore. Quite a simple ceremony, really." "There's the staff somewhere about here," said Cutangle. "I saw it fall down - oh." He stood up with the staff in his hand, and showed it to Granny. "I thought it had carvings on," he said. "This looks just like a stick." And that was a fact. The staff looked as menacing and potent as a piece of kindling. Esk turned the hat around in her hands, in the manner
Everyone stop talking!"
Ordinary light, slow and easy on the eye, sidled back into the Library.
Esk sat up, dislodging the staff. It rolled under the table. She felt something slip over her eyes, and reached up for it.
"Just a moment," said Granny, darting forward. She gripped the girl's shoulders and peered into her eyes.
"Welcome back," she said, and kissed her.
Esk reached up and patted something hard on her head. She lifted it down to examine it.
It was a pointed hat, slightly smaller than Granny's, but bright blue with a couple of silver stars painted on it.
"A wizard hatof one who, opening the proverbial brightly-wrapped package, finds bath salts.
"It's very nice," she said uncertainly.
"Is that all you can say?" said Granny.?" she said. Cutangle stepped forward. "Ah, yes,"he said, and cleared his throat: "You see, we thought - it seemed - anyway, when we considered it -" "You're a wizard," said Granny, simply. "The Archchancellor changed the lore. Quite a simple ceremony, really." "There's the staff somewhere about here," said Cutangle. "I saw it fall down - oh." He stood up with the staff in his hand, and showed it to Granny. "I thought it had carvings on," he said. "This looks just like a stick." And that was a fact. The staff looked as menacing and potent as a piece of kindling. Esk turned the hat around in her hands, in the manner
Monday, March 9, 2009
Pablo Picasso Seated Bather
Pablo Picasso Seated BatherPablo Picasso Mandolin and GuitarPablo Picasso Girl Before a Mirror
door hinges began to creak.
There was a moment of tension and then the nails sprang from the hinges and clattered into the wall behind her. The planks When they eventually found enough courage to look inside the room, they saw nothing there but the sleeping body of Simon. And Esk, silent and cold on the floor, breathing very slowly. And the floor was covered with a fine layer of silver sand.
Esk floated through the mists of the world, noticing with a curious impersonal feeling began to bend as the door still tried to force itself open against the strength of -whatever was holding it shut. The wood billowed. Beams of blue light lanced out into the corridor, moving and dancing as indistinct shapes shuffled through the blinding brilliance inside the room. The light was misty and actinic, the sort of light to make Steven Spielberg reach for his copyright lawyer. Esk's hair leapt from her head so that she looked like an ambulant dandelion. Little firesnakes of magic crackled across her skin as she stepped through the doorway. The students outside watched in horror as she disappeared into the light. It vanished in a silent explosion.
door hinges began to creak.
There was a moment of tension and then the nails sprang from the hinges and clattered into the wall behind her. The planks When they eventually found enough courage to look inside the room, they saw nothing there but the sleeping body of Simon. And Esk, silent and cold on the floor, breathing very slowly. And the floor was covered with a fine layer of silver sand.
Esk floated through the mists of the world, noticing with a curious impersonal feeling began to bend as the door still tried to force itself open against the strength of -whatever was holding it shut. The wood billowed. Beams of blue light lanced out into the corridor, moving and dancing as indistinct shapes shuffled through the blinding brilliance inside the room. The light was misty and actinic, the sort of light to make Steven Spielberg reach for his copyright lawyer. Esk's hair leapt from her head so that she looked like an ambulant dandelion. Little firesnakes of magic crackled across her skin as she stepped through the doorway. The students outside watched in horror as she disappeared into the light. It vanished in a silent explosion.
Andy Warhol daisy 1982
Andy Warhol daisy 1982Andy Warhol Camouflage green yellow whiteAndy Warhol Brooklyn Bridge
Yes."
"Not meat all?"
Granny thought for a while. She always had to pause when conversations with Esk led her beyond the reaches of a decent person's vocabulary.
"No," she said at last, "not in the way you mean. Just an eagle with maybe some strange dreams sometimes. Like when you dream you're flying, perhaps it would remember walking and talking."
"Urgh."
"But it's all over now," said Granny, treating her to a thin smile. "You're your true self again and the eagle has got its mind back. It's sitting in the big beech by the privy; I should like you to put out some food for it."
Esk sat back on her heels, staring at a point past Granny's head.
"There "Mmph? Yes? Oh." Granny shook herself. "Yes. I see. Now I would like you to go downstairs and get the bacon that is in the pantry and put it out for the bird, do you understand? It would be a good idea to thank it, too. You never know."
When Esk returned Granny was buttering bread. She pulled her stool up to the table, but the old woman waved the breadknife at her.were some strange things," she said conversationally. Granny spun around. "I meant, in a sort of dream I saw things," said Esk. The old woman's shock was so visible that she hesitated, frightened that she had said something wrong. "What kind of things?" said Granny flatly. "Sort of big creatures, all sorts of shapes. Just sitting around." "Was it dark? I mean, these Things, were they in the dark?" "There were stars, I think. Granny?" Granny Weatherwax was staring at the wall. "Granny?" Esk repeated.
Yes."
"Not meat all?"
Granny thought for a while. She always had to pause when conversations with Esk led her beyond the reaches of a decent person's vocabulary.
"No," she said at last, "not in the way you mean. Just an eagle with maybe some strange dreams sometimes. Like when you dream you're flying, perhaps it would remember walking and talking."
"Urgh."
"But it's all over now," said Granny, treating her to a thin smile. "You're your true self again and the eagle has got its mind back. It's sitting in the big beech by the privy; I should like you to put out some food for it."
Esk sat back on her heels, staring at a point past Granny's head.
"There "Mmph? Yes? Oh." Granny shook herself. "Yes. I see. Now I would like you to go downstairs and get the bacon that is in the pantry and put it out for the bird, do you understand? It would be a good idea to thank it, too. You never know."
When Esk returned Granny was buttering bread. She pulled her stool up to the table, but the old woman waved the breadknife at her.were some strange things," she said conversationally. Granny spun around. "I meant, in a sort of dream I saw things," said Esk. The old woman's shock was so visible that she hesitated, frightened that she had said something wrong. "What kind of things?" said Granny flatly. "Sort of big creatures, all sorts of shapes. Just sitting around." "Was it dark? I mean, these Things, were they in the dark?" "There were stars, I think. Granny?" Granny Weatherwax was staring at the wall. "Granny?" Esk repeated.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Henri Matisse The Green Line
Henri Matisse The Green LineHenri Matisse Red FishHenri Matisse Pink Nude
There is that."
The midwife's name was Granny Weatherwax. She was a witch. That was quite acceptable in the Ramtops, and no one had a bad word to say about witches. At least, not if he wanted to wake up in the morning the same shape as he went to bed.
The smith was still staring gloomily at the rain when she came back down the stairs and clapped a warty hand on his shoulder.
He looked up at her.
"What shall I do, Granny?" he said, unable to keep the pleading out of his voice.
"What have you done with the wizard?"
"I put him Granny Weatherwax swung shut the big doors and turned to him angrily.
"Now you listen to me, Gordo Smith!" she said. "Female wizards aren't right either! It's the wrong kind of magic for women, is wizard magic, it's all books and stars and jommetry. She'd never grasp it out in the fuel store. Was that right?" "It'll do for now," she said briskly. "And now you must burn the staff." They both turned to stare at the heavy staff, which the smith had propped in the forge's darkest corner. It almost appeared to be looking back at them. "But it's magical," he whispered. "Well?" "Will it burn?" "Never knew wood that didn't." "It doesn't seem right!"Whoever heard of a female wizard?"
"There's witches," said the smith uncertainly. "And enchantresses too, I've heard."
There is that."
The midwife's name was Granny Weatherwax. She was a witch. That was quite acceptable in the Ramtops, and no one had a bad word to say about witches. At least, not if he wanted to wake up in the morning the same shape as he went to bed.
The smith was still staring gloomily at the rain when she came back down the stairs and clapped a warty hand on his shoulder.
He looked up at her.
"What shall I do, Granny?" he said, unable to keep the pleading out of his voice.
"What have you done with the wizard?"
"I put him Granny Weatherwax swung shut the big doors and turned to him angrily.
"Now you listen to me, Gordo Smith!" she said. "Female wizards aren't right either! It's the wrong kind of magic for women, is wizard magic, it's all books and stars and jommetry. She'd never grasp it out in the fuel store. Was that right?" "It'll do for now," she said briskly. "And now you must burn the staff." They both turned to stare at the heavy staff, which the smith had propped in the forge's darkest corner. It almost appeared to be looking back at them. "But it's magical," he whispered. "Well?" "Will it burn?" "Never knew wood that didn't." "It doesn't seem right!"Whoever heard of a female wizard?"
"There's witches," said the smith uncertainly. "And enchantresses too, I've heard."
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Cao Yong GARDEN BEAUTIES
Cao Yong GARDEN BEAUTIESCao Yong FreedomCao Yong Day of LoveCao Yong cao yong Red Umbrella
said, where's the Luggage?' hissed Bethan behind Rincewind's back.
Twoflower looked around. The Luggage was missing.
Rincewind was having the desired effect of the star people, though. As his hand waved vaguely around they advanced, watching his hands cautiously.
Twoflower and Bethan backed away. Twoflower looked around.
'Bethan?'
'What?' said Bethan, not taking her eyes off the advancing figures.
'This is a dead end.'
'Are you sure?'
'I think I know a brick wall when I see one,' said Twoflower reproachfully.treated it like a rotary scythe and tried to hide behind one another.'Well, where's it gone?''How should I know?' said Twoflower.'It's your Luggage!''I often don't know where my Luggage is, that's what being a tourist is all about,' said Twoflower. 'Anyway, it often wanders off by itself. It's probably best not to ask why.'It began to dawn on the mob that nothing was actually happening, and that Rincewind was in no condition to hurl insults, let alone magical fire. They
said, where's the Luggage?' hissed Bethan behind Rincewind's back.
Twoflower looked around. The Luggage was missing.
Rincewind was having the desired effect of the star people, though. As his hand waved vaguely around they advanced, watching his hands cautiously.
Twoflower and Bethan backed away. Twoflower looked around.
'Bethan?'
'What?' said Bethan, not taking her eyes off the advancing figures.
'This is a dead end.'
'Are you sure?'
'I think I know a brick wall when I see one,' said Twoflower reproachfully.treated it like a rotary scythe and tried to hide behind one another.'Well, where's it gone?''How should I know?' said Twoflower.'It's your Luggage!''I often don't know where my Luggage is, that's what being a tourist is all about,' said Twoflower. 'Anyway, it often wanders off by itself. It's probably best not to ask why.'It began to dawn on the mob that nothing was actually happening, and that Rincewind was in no condition to hurl insults, let alone magical fire. They
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Talantbek Chekirov Tender Passion
Talantbek Chekirov Tender PassionTalantbek Chekirov Missing YouTalantbek Chekirov Embrace in ParisTalantbek Chekirov Close Encounter
reason was an unspoken dread that if women were allowed to mess around with magic they would probably be embarrassingly good at it . . .
'Anyway, I of Turtles, and – Rincewind had been expecting it – Death.
And something was wrong with Death, too. It should have been a fairly realistic drawing of Death on his white horse, and indeed He was still there. But the sky was red lit, and coming over a distant hill was a tiny figure. barely visible by the light of the horsefat lamps.
Rincewind didn't have to identify it, because behind it was don't believe in Caroc cards,' he muttered, 'All that stuff about it being the distilled wisdom of the universe is a load of rubbish.'The first card, smoke-yellowed and age-crinkled, was . . .It should have been The Star. But instead of the familiar round disc with crude little rays, it had become a tiny red dot. The old woman muttered and scratched at the card with a fingernail, then looked sharply at Rincewind.'Nothing to do with me,' he said.She turned up the Importance of Washing the Hands, the Eight of Octograms, the Dome of the Sky, the Pool of Night, the Four of Elephants, the Ace
reason was an unspoken dread that if women were allowed to mess around with magic they would probably be embarrassingly good at it . . .
'Anyway, I of Turtles, and – Rincewind had been expecting it – Death.
And something was wrong with Death, too. It should have been a fairly realistic drawing of Death on his white horse, and indeed He was still there. But the sky was red lit, and coming over a distant hill was a tiny figure. barely visible by the light of the horsefat lamps.
Rincewind didn't have to identify it, because behind it was don't believe in Caroc cards,' he muttered, 'All that stuff about it being the distilled wisdom of the universe is a load of rubbish.'The first card, smoke-yellowed and age-crinkled, was . . .It should have been The Star. But instead of the familiar round disc with crude little rays, it had become a tiny red dot. The old woman muttered and scratched at the card with a fingernail, then looked sharply at Rincewind.'Nothing to do with me,' he said.She turned up the Importance of Washing the Hands, the Eight of Octograms, the Dome of the Sky, the Pool of Night, the Four of Elephants, the Ace
Monday, March 2, 2009
Cao Yong Red Umbrella
Cao Yong Red UmbrellaCao Yong GARDEN BEAUTIESCao Yong FreedomCao Yong Day of Love
on. These trees had moss everywhere, and wooden warts, and scrabbly old branches; if trees were people, these trees would be sitting in rocking chairs.
,' said the tree.
'Fairly boring life, I imagine,' said Rincewind.
'I wouldn't know. I've never been anything else,' said the tree.
Rincewind looked at it closely. It seemed pretty much like every other tree he'd seen.
'Are you magical?' he said.Rincewind gave the nearest one a kick. With unerring aim it dropped an acorn on him. He said 'Ow.' The tree, in a voice like a very old door swinging open, said, 'Serves you right.'There was a long silence.Then Rincewind said, 'Did you say that?''Yes.''And that too?''Yes.''Oh.' He thought for a bit. Then he tried, 'I suppose you wouldn't happen to know the way out of the forest, possibly, by any chance?''No. I don't get about much
on. These trees had moss everywhere, and wooden warts, and scrabbly old branches; if trees were people, these trees would be sitting in rocking chairs.
,' said the tree.
'Fairly boring life, I imagine,' said Rincewind.
'I wouldn't know. I've never been anything else,' said the tree.
Rincewind looked at it closely. It seemed pretty much like every other tree he'd seen.
'Are you magical?' he said.Rincewind gave the nearest one a kick. With unerring aim it dropped an acorn on him. He said 'Ow.' The tree, in a voice like a very old door swinging open, said, 'Serves you right.'There was a long silence.Then Rincewind said, 'Did you say that?''Yes.''And that too?''Yes.''Oh.' He thought for a bit. Then he tried, 'I suppose you wouldn't happen to know the way out of the forest, possibly, by any chance?''No. I don't get about much
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Edward Hopper Jo in Wyoming
Edward Hopper Jo in WyomingEdward Hopper Hills South TruroEdward Hopper High RoadEdward Hopper First Row Orchestra
There was a sudden darkness.
There was a brilliant flash.
The sudden departure of several quintillion atoms from a universe that they had no right to be in anyway caused a wild , stellar collisions, wild flights of geese and drowning of imaginary continents. Worlds as far away as the other end of time experienced brilliant sunsets of corruscating octarine as highly-charged magical particles roared through the atmosphere. In the cometary halo around the fabled Ice System of Zeret a noble comet died as a prince flamed across the sky.
All this was however lost on Rincewind as, clutching the inert Twoflower around the waist, he plunged towards the Disc's sea several hundred feet below. Not eimbalance in the harmony of the Sum Totality which it tried frantically to retrieve, wiping out a number of subrealities in the process. Huge surges of raw magic boiled uncontrolled around the very foundations of the multiverse itself, welling up through every crevice into hitherto peaceful dimensions and causing novas, supernovas
There was a sudden darkness.
There was a brilliant flash.
The sudden departure of several quintillion atoms from a universe that they had no right to be in anyway caused a wild , stellar collisions, wild flights of geese and drowning of imaginary continents. Worlds as far away as the other end of time experienced brilliant sunsets of corruscating octarine as highly-charged magical particles roared through the atmosphere. In the cometary halo around the fabled Ice System of Zeret a noble comet died as a prince flamed across the sky.
All this was however lost on Rincewind as, clutching the inert Twoflower around the waist, he plunged towards the Disc's sea several hundred feet below. Not eimbalance in the harmony of the Sum Totality which it tried frantically to retrieve, wiping out a number of subrealities in the process. Huge surges of raw magic boiled uncontrolled around the very foundations of the multiverse itself, welling up through every crevice into hitherto peaceful dimensions and causing novas, supernovas
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