Edvard Munch Puberty 1894Unknown Artist Heighton After HoursUnknown Artist Brent Lynch Evening Lounge
Their eyes met. Mrs Whitlow might have had her weaknesses but she was quite tough enough to rule the below-stairs world of the University. However, Granny could outstare a snake; after a few seconds the housekeeper's eyes began to water.
"Yes, Aye "Yes, and some silk."
Granny wasn't sure she approved of silk, she'd heard it came out of a caterpillar's bottom, but black velvet had a powerful attraction. Loyalty won.
"Put it on one side, I may call again," she shouted, and ran down the corridor.expect you are," she said meekly, and fished a handkerchief from the recesses of her bosom. "Well then," said Granny, sitting back and replacing the teacup in its saucer. "There are plenty of opportunities here for a young woman willing to work hard," said Mrs Whitlow. "Aye myself started as a maid, you know." "We all do," said Granny vaguely. "And now I must be going." She stood up and reached for her hat. "But -" "Must hurry. Urgent appointment," said Granny over her shoulder as she hurried down the steps. "There's a bundle of old clothes -" Granny paused, her instincts battling for mastery. "Any black velvet?"
Monday, March 9, 2009
Joseph Mallord William Turner Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western Railway
Joseph Mallord William Turner Rain, Steam and Speed - The Great Western RailwayGustave Courbet MarineGustave Courbet Woman with a Parrot
a barren plateau, hemmed in by the orange cliffs.
She didn't stop until she was good and lost but the anger still burned brightly. She had been angry before, but never she would show them.
Esk sat down under a low-spreading juniper bush at the foot of a steep, sheer cliff, her mind seething with plans and anger. She could sense doors being slammed before she had barely begun to open them. Treatle was right; they wouldn't let her inside the University. Having a staff wasn't enough to be a wizard, there had to be training too, and no one was going to train her.like this; normally anger was like the red flame you got when the forge was first lit, all glow and sparks, but this anger was different-it had the bellows behind it, and had narrowed to the tiny bluewhite flame that cuts iron. It made her body tingle. She had to do something about it or burst. Why was it that, when she heard Granny ramble on about witchcraft she longed for the cutting magic of wizardry, but whenever she heard Treatle speak in his high-pitched voice she would fight to the death for witchcraft? She'd be both, or none at all. And the more they intended to stop her, the more she wanted it. She'd be a witch and a wizard too. And
a barren plateau, hemmed in by the orange cliffs.
She didn't stop until she was good and lost but the anger still burned brightly. She had been angry before, but never she would show them.
Esk sat down under a low-spreading juniper bush at the foot of a steep, sheer cliff, her mind seething with plans and anger. She could sense doors being slammed before she had barely begun to open them. Treatle was right; they wouldn't let her inside the University. Having a staff wasn't enough to be a wizard, there had to be training too, and no one was going to train her.like this; normally anger was like the red flame you got when the forge was first lit, all glow and sparks, but this anger was different-it had the bellows behind it, and had narrowed to the tiny bluewhite flame that cuts iron. It made her body tingle. She had to do something about it or burst. Why was it that, when she heard Granny ramble on about witchcraft she longed for the cutting magic of wizardry, but whenever she heard Treatle speak in his high-pitched voice she would fight to the death for witchcraft? She'd be both, or none at all. And the more they intended to stop her, the more she wanted it. She'd be a witch and a wizard too. And
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Salvador Dali The Rose
Salvador Dali The RoseSalvador Dali Paysage aux papillons (Landscape with Butterflies)Salvador Dali Mirage
right to your head?"
The smith nodded again and, aware that he wasn't making a major contribution to the dialogue, added, "That's right."
"That's the difference," said Granny.
"The difference from what?"
Granny sighed. "The difference between witch magic and wizard magic," she said. "And it's found her, and if she doesn't control it, then there are those who will control her. Magic can be a sort of door, and there are unpleasant things on the other side. Do you understand?"
The smith nodded. He didn't really understand, but he correctly surmised that if he revealed this fact Granny would start going into horrible details.
"She's strong in her mind and it might take a while," said Granny. "But sooner or later they'll challenge her."
Smith some advantages. After all, Granny wouldn't last forever, and being father to the area's only witch might not be too bad, at that.
"All right," he said.
And so, as the winter turned and started the long, reluctant climb towards spring, Esk picked up a hammer from his bench, looked at it as though he had never seen it before, and put it down again. "But," he said, "if it's wizard magic she's got, learning witchery won't be any good, will it? You said they're different." "They're both magic. If you can't learn to ride an elephant, you can at least learn to ride a horse." "What's an elephant?" "A kind of badger," said Granny. She hadn't maintained forest credibility for forty years by ever admitting ignorance. The blacksmith sighed. He knew he was beaten. His wife had made it clear that she favored the idea and, now that he came to think about it, there were
right to your head?"
The smith nodded again and, aware that he wasn't making a major contribution to the dialogue, added, "That's right."
"That's the difference," said Granny.
"The difference from what?"
Granny sighed. "The difference between witch magic and wizard magic," she said. "And it's found her, and if she doesn't control it, then there are those who will control her. Magic can be a sort of door, and there are unpleasant things on the other side. Do you understand?"
The smith nodded. He didn't really understand, but he correctly surmised that if he revealed this fact Granny would start going into horrible details.
"She's strong in her mind and it might take a while," said Granny. "But sooner or later they'll challenge her."
Smith some advantages. After all, Granny wouldn't last forever, and being father to the area's only witch might not be too bad, at that.
"All right," he said.
And so, as the winter turned and started the long, reluctant climb towards spring, Esk picked up a hammer from his bench, looked at it as though he had never seen it before, and put it down again. "But," he said, "if it's wizard magic she's got, learning witchery won't be any good, will it? You said they're different." "They're both magic. If you can't learn to ride an elephant, you can at least learn to ride a horse." "What's an elephant?" "A kind of badger," said Granny. She hadn't maintained forest credibility for forty years by ever admitting ignorance. The blacksmith sighed. He knew he was beaten. His wife had made it clear that she favored the idea and, now that he came to think about it, there were
Leonardo da Vinci Madonna with Flower
Leonardo da Vinci Madonna with FlowerLeonardo da Vinci Leda 1508Thomas Kinkade The Light of PeaceThomas Kinkade The Edge of Wilderness
chittering noises he had been hearing grew in volume, and there were other sounds behind them – leering sounds, beckoning sounds, sounds made by the voices of unimaginable horrors that Trymon found it all too easy to imagine. As he ran across the Great Hall and up the main staircase the shadows began to move and reform and close in around him, and he also became aware that something was following, something with skittery legs moving obscenely fast. Ice formed on the walls. Doorways lunged at him as he barrelled past. Underfoot the stairs began to feel just like a tongue . . .
Not for nothing had Trymon spent long hours in the University's curious equivalent of a gymnasium, building up floor were scuffed as if something had danced on them, and the air was full of a smell unpleasant even by Ankh-Morpork's broad standards. There was a hint of sulphur to it, but that underlay something worse. It smelt like the bottom of a pond.mental muscle. Don't trust the senses, he knew, because they can be deceived. The stairs are there, somewhere – will them to be there, summon them into being as you climb and, boy, you better get good at it. Because this isn't all imagination. Great A'Tuin slowed.With flippers the size of continents the skyturtle fought the pull of the star, and waited. There would not be long to wait . . . Rincewind sidled into the Great Hall. There were a few torches burning, and it looked as though it had been set up for some sort of magical work. But the ceremonial candlesticks had been overturned, the complex octograms chalked on the
chittering noises he had been hearing grew in volume, and there were other sounds behind them – leering sounds, beckoning sounds, sounds made by the voices of unimaginable horrors that Trymon found it all too easy to imagine. As he ran across the Great Hall and up the main staircase the shadows began to move and reform and close in around him, and he also became aware that something was following, something with skittery legs moving obscenely fast. Ice formed on the walls. Doorways lunged at him as he barrelled past. Underfoot the stairs began to feel just like a tongue . . .
Not for nothing had Trymon spent long hours in the University's curious equivalent of a gymnasium, building up floor were scuffed as if something had danced on them, and the air was full of a smell unpleasant even by Ankh-Morpork's broad standards. There was a hint of sulphur to it, but that underlay something worse. It smelt like the bottom of a pond.mental muscle. Don't trust the senses, he knew, because they can be deceived. The stairs are there, somewhere – will them to be there, summon them into being as you climb and, boy, you better get good at it. Because this isn't all imagination. Great A'Tuin slowed.With flippers the size of continents the skyturtle fought the pull of the star, and waited. There would not be long to wait . . . Rincewind sidled into the Great Hall. There were a few torches burning, and it looked as though it had been set up for some sort of magical work. But the ceremonial candlesticks had been overturned, the complex octograms chalked on the
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
William Blake The Resurrection
William Blake The ResurrectionWilliam Blake The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with SunWilliam Blake The Descent of ChristWilliam Blake Los
won't take long,' said Twoflower firmly, and rapped on the side of the box. A tiny door flew open and the imp poked his head out.
'Bloody hell,' it said. 'Where are we?'
'It doesn't matter,' said Twoflower. The clock first, I think.'
The demon squinted.
'Poor light,' he They both turned. Ysabell was standing in the archway, smiling faintly. She held a scythe in one hand, a scythe with a blade of proverbial sharpness. Rincewind tried not to look down at girl holding a scythe shouldn't smile in that unpleasant, knowing and slightly deranged way.
'Daddy seems a little preoccupied at the moment but I'm sure he wouldn't dream of said. Three bloody years at f8, if you ask me.' He slammed the door shut. A second later there was the tiny scraping noise of his stool being dragged up to his easel.Rincewind gritted his teeth.'You don't need to take pictures, you can just remember it!' he shouted.It's not the same,' said Twoflower calmly.'It's better! It's more real!''It isn't really. In years to come, when I'm sitting by the fire —''You'll be sitting by the fire forever if we don't get out of here!''Oh, I do hope you're not going.'
won't take long,' said Twoflower firmly, and rapped on the side of the box. A tiny door flew open and the imp poked his head out.
'Bloody hell,' it said. 'Where are we?'
'It doesn't matter,' said Twoflower. The clock first, I think.'
The demon squinted.
'Poor light,' he They both turned. Ysabell was standing in the archway, smiling faintly. She held a scythe in one hand, a scythe with a blade of proverbial sharpness. Rincewind tried not to look down at girl holding a scythe shouldn't smile in that unpleasant, knowing and slightly deranged way.
'Daddy seems a little preoccupied at the moment but I'm sure he wouldn't dream of said. Three bloody years at f8, if you ask me.' He slammed the door shut. A second later there was the tiny scraping noise of his stool being dragged up to his easel.Rincewind gritted his teeth.'You don't need to take pictures, you can just remember it!' he shouted.It's not the same,' said Twoflower calmly.'It's better! It's more real!''It isn't really. In years to come, when I'm sitting by the fire —''You'll be sitting by the fire forever if we don't get out of here!''Oh, I do hope you're not going.'
Monday, March 2, 2009
Leroy Neiman Ferrari on the Beach
Leroy Neiman Ferrari on the BeachLeroy Neiman Elephant StampedeLeroy Neiman Elephant NocturneLeroy Neiman Elephant Family
mantlepiece and thought longingly of pickled onions.
And far away, but set as it were on a collision course, the greatest hero the Disc ever produced rolled himself a cigarette, entirely unaware of the role that lay in store for him.
It was part of a tribe who had pitched their felt tents in the sweltering heatwave of a mere -3 degrees and were going around with peeling noses and complaining about heatstroke.
The barbarian chieftain said: What then are the greatest things that a man may find in life?' This is the sort of thing you're supposed to say to maintain steppe-cred in barbarian circles.
The man on his right thoughtfully drank his cocktail of mare's milk and snowcat quite an interesting tailormade that he twirled expertly between his fingers because, like many of the wandering wizards from whom he had picked up the art, he was in the habit of saving dogends in a leather bag and rolling them into fresh smokes. The implacable law of verages therefore dictated that some of that tobacco had been smoked almost continuously for many years now. The thing he was trying unsuccessfully to light was, well, you could have coated roads with it.So great was the reputation of this person that a group of nomadic barbarian horsemen had respectfully invited him to join them as they sat around a horseturd fire. The nomads of the Hub regions usually migrated Rimwards for the winter, and these were
mantlepiece and thought longingly of pickled onions.
And far away, but set as it were on a collision course, the greatest hero the Disc ever produced rolled himself a cigarette, entirely unaware of the role that lay in store for him.
It was part of a tribe who had pitched their felt tents in the sweltering heatwave of a mere -3 degrees and were going around with peeling noses and complaining about heatstroke.
The barbarian chieftain said: What then are the greatest things that a man may find in life?' This is the sort of thing you're supposed to say to maintain steppe-cred in barbarian circles.
The man on his right thoughtfully drank his cocktail of mare's milk and snowcat quite an interesting tailormade that he twirled expertly between his fingers because, like many of the wandering wizards from whom he had picked up the art, he was in the habit of saving dogends in a leather bag and rolling them into fresh smokes. The implacable law of verages therefore dictated that some of that tobacco had been smoked almost continuously for many years now. The thing he was trying unsuccessfully to light was, well, you could have coated roads with it.So great was the reputation of this person that a group of nomadic barbarian horsemen had respectfully invited him to join them as they sat around a horseturd fire. The nomads of the Hub regions usually migrated Rimwards for the winter, and these were
Jean Beraud Symphony in Red and Gold
Jean Beraud Symphony in Red and GoldJean Beraud Pont des artsJean Beraud Leaving La Madeleine ParisJean Beraud Le Boulevard St. Denis Paris
which sailors marooned on the Circumfence were turned into slaves, and usually had their tongues cut out. After some interjections at this point he spoke, in a friendly way, on the futility of force, the impossibility of escaping muted night-roar of the Rimfall only served to give the silence a heavier texture.
The rocking chair started to creak again. Tethis seemed to have grown alarmingly during the monologue.
"There is nothing personal in all this," he added. "I, too, am a slave. If you try to overpower me I shall have to kill you, of course, but I won't take any particular pleasure in it."
Rincewind looked at the shimmering fists that rested lightly in the troll's lap. He suspected they could strike with from the island except by boat to one of the other three hundred and eighty isles that lay between the island and Krull itself, or by leaping over the Edge and the high merit of muteness in comparison to for example, death.There was a pause. The
which sailors marooned on the Circumfence were turned into slaves, and usually had their tongues cut out. After some interjections at this point he spoke, in a friendly way, on the futility of force, the impossibility of escaping muted night-roar of the Rimfall only served to give the silence a heavier texture.
The rocking chair started to creak again. Tethis seemed to have grown alarmingly during the monologue.
"There is nothing personal in all this," he added. "I, too, am a slave. If you try to overpower me I shall have to kill you, of course, but I won't take any particular pleasure in it."
Rincewind looked at the shimmering fists that rested lightly in the troll's lap. He suspected they could strike with from the island except by boat to one of the other three hundred and eighty isles that lay between the island and Krull itself, or by leaping over the Edge and the high merit of muteness in comparison to for example, death.There was a pause. The
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