Raphael The Holy FamilyWilliam Bouguereau The Virgin of the LiliesWilliam Bouguereau The Madonna of the Roses
Something batlike clicked and whirred over his head, circled erratically in the middle of the room, and then flew apart into a dozen jerking pieces.
'Oh dear,' his hair, rising like a mighty rock dome through heavy forest.
Inspirations sleet through the universe continuously. Their destination, as if they cared, is the right mind in the place at the right time. They hit the right neuron, there's a chain reaction, and a little while later someone is blinking foolishly in the TV lights and wondering how the hell he came up with the idea of pre-sliced bread in the first place.said a mild voice. 'Back to the drawing tablet. Good afternoon, your lordship.''Good afternoon, Leonard,' said the Patrician. 'What was that?''I call it a flapping-wing-flying-device,' said Leonard da Quirm, getting down off his launching stepladder. 'It works by gutta-percha strips twisted tightly together. But not very well, I'm afraid.'Leonard of Quirm was not, in fact, all that old. He was one of those people who started looking venerable around the age of thirty, and would probably still look about the same at the age of ninety. He wasn't exactly bald, either. His head had just grown up through
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Marc Chagall The Fall of Icarus
Marc Chagall The Fall of IcarusMarc Chagall The BirthdayMarc Chagall RainMarc Chagall Blue Lovers
come you smell so bad? I mean, you smelled bad enough when I was human, but now—'
Gaspode looked proud.
'Good, innit,' he said. 'It didn't just happen. I had to work at it. If you was a true dog, this'd be like really great aftershave. ByI didn't ask you to come.'
'Got nothing else to do,' said Gaspode. 'The House of Ribs don't put its rubbish out till midnight.'
'Haven't you got a home to go to ?' said Angua, as they trotted under a fish-and-chip stall.
'Home? Me? Home? Yeah. Of course. No problemo. Laughing kids, big kitchen, three meals a day, humorous cat next door to chase, own blanket and spot by the fire, he's an old softy but we love him, ekcetra. No problem there. I just like to get out a bit,' said Gaspode.
'Only, I see you haven't got a collar.' the way, you want to get a collar, miss. No-one bothers you if you've got a collar.''Thanks.'Gaspode seemed to have something on his mind.'Er . . . you don't rip hearts out, do you?''Not unless I want to,' said Angua.'Right, right, right,' said Gaspode hurriedly. 'Where're you going?'He broke into a waddling, bow-legged trot to keep up with her.'To have a sniff around Hammerhock's place.
come you smell so bad? I mean, you smelled bad enough when I was human, but now—'
Gaspode looked proud.
'Good, innit,' he said. 'It didn't just happen. I had to work at it. If you was a true dog, this'd be like really great aftershave. ByI didn't ask you to come.'
'Got nothing else to do,' said Gaspode. 'The House of Ribs don't put its rubbish out till midnight.'
'Haven't you got a home to go to ?' said Angua, as they trotted under a fish-and-chip stall.
'Home? Me? Home? Yeah. Of course. No problemo. Laughing kids, big kitchen, three meals a day, humorous cat next door to chase, own blanket and spot by the fire, he's an old softy but we love him, ekcetra. No problem there. I just like to get out a bit,' said Gaspode.
'Only, I see you haven't got a collar.' the way, you want to get a collar, miss. No-one bothers you if you've got a collar.''Thanks.'Gaspode seemed to have something on his mind.'Er . . . you don't rip hearts out, do you?''Not unless I want to,' said Angua.'Right, right, right,' said Gaspode hurriedly. 'Where're you going?'He broke into a waddling, bow-legged trot to keep up with her.'To have a sniff around Hammerhock's place.
Monday, 27 April 2009
Franz Marc Tiger
Franz Marc TigerFranz Marc StablesFranz Marc FoxesFranz Marc fighting forms
made of silk edged with lace and pearls, but Lady Ramkin was so rich she could afford to stomp around the place in rubber boots andhe was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.
But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that'd still be keeping his feet dry in ten years' time, while a poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.
This was the Captain Samuel Vimes 'Boots' theory of socio-economic unfairness. a tweed skirt that had belonged to her mother. She was so rich she could afford to live on biscuits and cheese sandwiches. She was so rich she lived in three rooms in a thirty-four-roomed mansion; the rest of them were full of very expensive and very old furniture, covered in dust sheets.The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where
made of silk edged with lace and pearls, but Lady Ramkin was so rich she could afford to stomp around the place in rubber boots andhe was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.
But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that'd still be keeping his feet dry in ten years' time, while a poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.
This was the Captain Samuel Vimes 'Boots' theory of socio-economic unfairness. a tweed skirt that had belonged to her mother. She was so rich she could afford to live on biscuits and cheese sandwiches. She was so rich she lived in three rooms in a thirty-four-roomed mansion; the rest of them were full of very expensive and very old furniture, covered in dust sheets.The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where
Friday, 24 April 2009
Edgar Degas The Bellelli Family
Edgar Degas The Bellelli FamilyEdgar Degas At the RacesEdgar Degas After the BathFrida Kahlo The Frame
was nothing. She was insignificant. She was so worthless and unimportant that even something completely worthless and exhaustively unimportant would consider her beneath contempt. In laying hands upon the Queen she truly deserved an eternity, tearing at the strata of her soul.. .
. .. exposing the core.
She bunched up a fist and hit the Queen between the eyes. There was a moment of terminal perplexity before the Queen screamed, and Magrat hit her again. Only one queen in a hive! Slash! Stab!
They rolled over, landing in the mud. Magrat felt some-thing sting her leg, but she ignored it. She took no notice of the noise around her, but she did find the battleaxe under her hand as the two of them landed in a peat puddle. The elf scrabbled at her but this time without strength, and Magrat managed to push herself to her knees and raise the axe—
l and then noticed the silence. of pain. She had no control of her body. She did not deserve any. She did not deserve a thing.The disdain sleeted over her, tearing the planetary body of Magrat Garlick to pieces.She’d never be any good. She’d never be beautiful, or intelligent, or strong. She’d never be anything at all.286LQR06 ftf/0 LftQ/£6Self-confidence? Confidence in what?The eyes of the Queen were all she could see. All she wanted to do was lose herself in them ...And the ablation of Magrat Garlick roared on
was nothing. She was insignificant. She was so worthless and unimportant that even something completely worthless and exhaustively unimportant would consider her beneath contempt. In laying hands upon the Queen she truly deserved an eternity, tearing at the strata of her soul.. .
. .. exposing the core.
She bunched up a fist and hit the Queen between the eyes. There was a moment of terminal perplexity before the Queen screamed, and Magrat hit her again. Only one queen in a hive! Slash! Stab!
They rolled over, landing in the mud. Magrat felt some-thing sting her leg, but she ignored it. She took no notice of the noise around her, but she did find the battleaxe under her hand as the two of them landed in a peat puddle. The elf scrabbled at her but this time without strength, and Magrat managed to push herself to her knees and raise the axe—
l and then noticed the silence. of pain. She had no control of her body. She did not deserve any. She did not deserve a thing.The disdain sleeted over her, tearing the planetary body of Magrat Garlick to pieces.She’d never be any good. She’d never be beautiful, or intelligent, or strong. She’d never be anything at all.286LQR06 ftf/0 LftQ/£6Self-confidence? Confidence in what?The eyes of the Queen were all she could see. All she wanted to do was lose herself in them ...And the ablation of Magrat Garlick roared on
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Mark Rothko Orange and Yellow
Mark Rothko Orange and YellowWassily Kandinsky Red OvalVincent van Gogh Two Cypresses
witch thing, he told himself. They’re always very clear about what they want. If you climbed cliffs and braved rivers and ski’d down mountains to bring a box of chocolates to Gytha Ogg, she’d have the nougat centers out of the bottom layer even before you got your crampons off. That’s it. Whatever a witch does, she does one hundred percent.
Hubba, hubba!
“Ain’t you going to eat all those prawns? Just push the plate this way, then.”
He had What also captivated Casanunda was the way Nanny Ogg’s face became a mass of cheerful horizontal lines when she laughed, and Nanny Ogg laughed a lot.
In fact Casanunda was finding, through the faint haze of wine, that he was actually having fun.
“I take it there is no Mr. Ogg?” he said, eventually.tried a little footsie to keep his hand in, as it were, but an accidental blow on the ankle from one of Nanny’s heavy iron-nailed boots had put a stop to that.And then there had been the gypsy violinist. At firstNanny had complained about people playin’ the fiddle while199Terry Pratchettshe was trying to concentrate on her eatin’, but between courses she’d snatched it off the man, thrown the bow into a bowl of camellias, retuned the instrument to something approaching a banjo, and had given Casanunda three rous-ing verses of what, him being foreign, she chose to call II Porcupine Nil Sodomy Est.Then she’d drunk more wine.
witch thing, he told himself. They’re always very clear about what they want. If you climbed cliffs and braved rivers and ski’d down mountains to bring a box of chocolates to Gytha Ogg, she’d have the nougat centers out of the bottom layer even before you got your crampons off. That’s it. Whatever a witch does, she does one hundred percent.
Hubba, hubba!
“Ain’t you going to eat all those prawns? Just push the plate this way, then.”
He had What also captivated Casanunda was the way Nanny Ogg’s face became a mass of cheerful horizontal lines when she laughed, and Nanny Ogg laughed a lot.
In fact Casanunda was finding, through the faint haze of wine, that he was actually having fun.
“I take it there is no Mr. Ogg?” he said, eventually.tried a little footsie to keep his hand in, as it were, but an accidental blow on the ankle from one of Nanny’s heavy iron-nailed boots had put a stop to that.And then there had been the gypsy violinist. At firstNanny had complained about people playin’ the fiddle while199Terry Pratchettshe was trying to concentrate on her eatin’, but between courses she’d snatched it off the man, thrown the bow into a bowl of camellias, retuned the instrument to something approaching a banjo, and had given Casanunda three rous-ing verses of what, him being foreign, she chose to call II Porcupine Nil Sodomy Est.Then she’d drunk more wine.
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Mark Spain Flamenco I
Mark Spain Flamenco IMark Spain Eternal FlameMark Spain Encore
mouldy bread poultice doesn’t sound very magical to
me,” she said.
“Goodie Whemper used to swear by it. But I don’t know
what we can time, in my garden.”
“But elves don’t shoot people! Elves are good.”
“They probably just fired at Esme and the girl in fun, like?”
“But—“
“Look, dear, you’re going to be queen. It’s an important
job. You look after the king now, and let me and Esme look
after ... other stuff.”do about the coma.”Magrat thumbed hopefully through the crackling, ancient pages. Her ancestral witches had written things down pretty much as they occurred to them, so that quite important spells and observations would be interspersed with comments about the state of their feet.“It says here ‘The smalle pointy stones sometimes found are knowne as Elf-shot, beinge the heads of Elf arrows from Times Past.” That’s all I can find. And there’s a drawing. But I’ve seen these little stones around, too.”“Oh, there’s lots of them,” said Nanny, bandagingDiamanda’s shoulder. “Dig ‘em up all the
mouldy bread poultice doesn’t sound very magical to
me,” she said.
“Goodie Whemper used to swear by it. But I don’t know
what we can time, in my garden.”
“But elves don’t shoot people! Elves are good.”
“They probably just fired at Esme and the girl in fun, like?”
“But—“
“Look, dear, you’re going to be queen. It’s an important
job. You look after the king now, and let me and Esme look
after ... other stuff.”do about the coma.”Magrat thumbed hopefully through the crackling, ancient pages. Her ancestral witches had written things down pretty much as they occurred to them, so that quite important spells and observations would be interspersed with comments about the state of their feet.“It says here ‘The smalle pointy stones sometimes found are knowne as Elf-shot, beinge the heads of Elf arrows from Times Past.” That’s all I can find. And there’s a drawing. But I’ve seen these little stones around, too.”“Oh, there’s lots of them,” said Nanny, bandagingDiamanda’s shoulder. “Dig ‘em up all the
Monday, 20 April 2009
Mark Spain Night Light
Mark Spain Night LightMark Spain Forever YouMark Spain Flamenco II
interestin’ in the autumn,” said Mr.
Brooks. “Hive don’t need any dead weight in the winter, see,
and there’s all these drones hangin’ around not doing any-
thing, so the workers drag all the drones down to the hive
entrance, see, and they bite their—“
“Stop! This is horrible!” said Magrat. “I thought bee-keeping was, well, nice.”
“Of course, that’sknow. Almost.”
“Sorry, miss,” said Mr. Brooks. “I thought you wanted to know a bit about beekeeping.”
“Yes, but note’s!”
Magrat swept out.
“Oh, I dunno,” said Mr. Brooks. “Does you good to get close to Nature.”
He shook his head cheerfully as she disappeared among the hedges. around the time of year when the beeswear out,” said Mr. Brooks. “What happens is, see, yourbasic bee, why, it works ‘til it can’t work no more, and you’ll102LORQ6 ftWD ift0/£8see a lot of old workers acrawlin’ around in front of the hive‘cos—““Stop it! Honestly, this is too much. I’m queen, you
interestin’ in the autumn,” said Mr.
Brooks. “Hive don’t need any dead weight in the winter, see,
and there’s all these drones hangin’ around not doing any-
thing, so the workers drag all the drones down to the hive
entrance, see, and they bite their—“
“Stop! This is horrible!” said Magrat. “I thought bee-keeping was, well, nice.”
“Of course, that’sknow. Almost.”
“Sorry, miss,” said Mr. Brooks. “I thought you wanted to know a bit about beekeeping.”
“Yes, but note’s!”
Magrat swept out.
“Oh, I dunno,” said Mr. Brooks. “Does you good to get close to Nature.”
He shook his head cheerfully as she disappeared among the hedges. around the time of year when the beeswear out,” said Mr. Brooks. “What happens is, see, yourbasic bee, why, it works ‘til it can’t work no more, and you’ll102LORQ6 ftWD ift0/£8see a lot of old workers acrawlin’ around in front of the hive‘cos—““Stop it! Honestly, this is too much. I’m queen, you
Friday, 17 April 2009
Cao Yong Catalina
Cao Yong CatalinaCao Yong CAFE BELLACao Yong AGE OF INNOCENCE
happens all the time, everywhere in the multiverse, even on cold planets awash with liquid methane. No one knows why it is, but in any
group of employed individuals the only naturally early riser is always the
office manager,mind.
More or less literally.
It was round. There was healthy growth all around it. He could swear it hadn’t been there yesterday.
He turned his head this way and that, squinting at the reflection in the mirror of the other mirror he was holding above his head.
The next member of staff to wake up after Ridcully and the Librarian was the Bursar who will always leave reproachful little notes (or, as itmight be, engraved helium crystals) on the desks of their subordinates. Infact the only place this does not happen very often is the world Zyrix, andthis is only because Zyrix has eighteen suns and it is only possible to bean early riser there once every 1,789.6 years, but even then, once every1,789.6 years, resonating to some strange universal signal, smallmindedemployers slither down to the office with a tentacle full of small reproach-ful etched frimpt shells at the ready.32LQR06 ft/VQ iftQ/£8Today, however, he had something else on his
happens all the time, everywhere in the multiverse, even on cold planets awash with liquid methane. No one knows why it is, but in any
group of employed individuals the only naturally early riser is always the
office manager,mind.
More or less literally.
It was round. There was healthy growth all around it. He could swear it hadn’t been there yesterday.
He turned his head this way and that, squinting at the reflection in the mirror of the other mirror he was holding above his head.
The next member of staff to wake up after Ridcully and the Librarian was the Bursar who will always leave reproachful little notes (or, as itmight be, engraved helium crystals) on the desks of their subordinates. Infact the only place this does not happen very often is the world Zyrix, andthis is only because Zyrix has eighteen suns and it is only possible to bean early riser there once every 1,789.6 years, but even then, once every1,789.6 years, resonating to some strange universal signal, smallmindedemployers slither down to the office with a tentacle full of small reproach-ful etched frimpt shells at the ready.32LQR06 ft/VQ iftQ/£8Today, however, he had something else on his
Thursday, 16 April 2009
Dante Gabriel Rossetti Paolo and Francesca
Dante Gabriel Rossetti Paolo and FrancescaDante Gabriel Rossetti A Sea SpellJohannes Vermeer Lady Seated at a Virginal
pushed his way through the crowds, with Fergmen trailing behind. That was the best and the worst of civil war, at least at the start-everyone wore the same uniform. It was much easier when you picked enemies who were a different color or at least spoke with a funny accent. You could call them "gooks" or something. It made things easier.
Hey, Urn thought. This is nearly philosophy. Pity I probably won't live to tell anyone.
The big doors were ajar. The crowd was silent, and very attentive. He craned forward to see, and then looked up at the soldier beside him.
It was Simony.
"I now lighting a fire. And chained to the back of the turtle-
"Who's that?"
"Brutha."
"What?"
"I don't know what happened. He hit Vorbis, or didn't hit him. Or something. Enraged him anyway. Vorbis stopped the ceremony, right there and then."thought-”"It didn't work," said Simony, bitterly."Did you-?""We did everything! Something broke!""It must be the steel they make here," said Urn. "The link pins on-”"That doesn't matter now," said Simony.The flat tones of his voice made Urn follow the eyes of the crowd.There was another iron turtle there-a proper model of a turtle, mounted on a sort of open gridwork of metal bars in which a couple of inquisitors were even
pushed his way through the crowds, with Fergmen trailing behind. That was the best and the worst of civil war, at least at the start-everyone wore the same uniform. It was much easier when you picked enemies who were a different color or at least spoke with a funny accent. You could call them "gooks" or something. It made things easier.
Hey, Urn thought. This is nearly philosophy. Pity I probably won't live to tell anyone.
The big doors were ajar. The crowd was silent, and very attentive. He craned forward to see, and then looked up at the soldier beside him.
It was Simony.
"I now lighting a fire. And chained to the back of the turtle-
"Who's that?"
"Brutha."
"What?"
"I don't know what happened. He hit Vorbis, or didn't hit him. Or something. Enraged him anyway. Vorbis stopped the ceremony, right there and then."thought-”"It didn't work," said Simony, bitterly."Did you-?""We did everything! Something broke!""It must be the steel they make here," said Urn. "The link pins on-”"That doesn't matter now," said Simony.The flat tones of his voice made Urn follow the eyes of the crowd.There was another iron turtle there-a proper model of a turtle, mounted on a sort of open gridwork of metal bars in which a couple of inquisitors were even
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
Rembrandt Saskia As Flora
Rembrandt Saskia As FloraRembrandt Samson And DelilahLord Frederick Leighton Odalisque
been joined together in a star-shaped pattern behind the copper globe, and hung over the rear of the boat. Wooden cogwheels and a couple of endless belts fiIled the intervening space. As the globe spun, the paddles thrashed at the air.
"How does it work?" he said.
"Very simple," said Urn. "The fire makes-”
"We haven't got time for this," said Simony.
"-makes the water hot and so it gets angry," said the apprentice philosopher. "So it rushes out of the globe through that," said Urn.
Brutha felt a faint sinful twinge of pride that Omnia still had anything he could be proud of.
"Very good balance and some hydraulics, probably."
"Oh."
Simony thoughtfully prodded the mechanism with his sword.
"Have you thought of all the possibilities?" he said.these four little nozzles to get away from the fire. The plumes of steam push the globe around, and the cogwheels and Legibus's screw mechanism transfer the motion to the paddles which turn, pushing the boat through the water.""Very philosophical," said Didactylos.Brutha felt that he ought to stand up for Omnian progress."The great doors of the Citadel weigh tons but are opened solely by the power of faith," he said. "One push and they swing open.""I should very much like to see
Urn's hands began to weave through the air. "You mean mighty
been joined together in a star-shaped pattern behind the copper globe, and hung over the rear of the boat. Wooden cogwheels and a couple of endless belts fiIled the intervening space. As the globe spun, the paddles thrashed at the air.
"How does it work?" he said.
"Very simple," said Urn. "The fire makes-”
"We haven't got time for this," said Simony.
"-makes the water hot and so it gets angry," said the apprentice philosopher. "So it rushes out of the globe through that," said Urn.
Brutha felt a faint sinful twinge of pride that Omnia still had anything he could be proud of.
"Very good balance and some hydraulics, probably."
"Oh."
Simony thoughtfully prodded the mechanism with his sword.
"Have you thought of all the possibilities?" he said.these four little nozzles to get away from the fire. The plumes of steam push the globe around, and the cogwheels and Legibus's screw mechanism transfer the motion to the paddles which turn, pushing the boat through the water.""Very philosophical," said Didactylos.Brutha felt that he ought to stand up for Omnian progress."The great doors of the Citadel weigh tons but are opened solely by the power of faith," he said. "One push and they swing open.""I should very much like to see
Urn's hands began to weave through the air. "You mean mighty
Tuesday, 14 April 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
B of the word "But" framed itself on the sergeant's lips, and faded there.
"General Fri'it has other business," said Vorbis. "Most pressing and urgent business. Which only he can attend
Fri'it opened his eyes in grayness.
He could see the room around him, but only faintly, as a series of edges in the air.
The sword . . .
He'd dropped the sword, but maybe he could find it again. He stepped forward, feeling a tenuous resistance around his ankles, and looked down.
There AT FIRST. IT IS ONLY TO BE EXPECTED.
To his horror, Fri'it saw the tall black figure stride away through the gray wall.
"Wait!"
A skull draped in a black hood poked out of the wall.
YES?
"You're Death, aren't you?"
INDEED.was the sword. But his fingers passed through it. It was like being drunk, but he knew he wasn't drunk. He wasn't even sober. He was . . . suddenly clear in his mind.He turned and looked at the thing that had briefly impeded his progress."Oh," he said.GOOD MORNING."Oh.""THERE IS A LITTLE CONFUSION
B of the word "But" framed itself on the sergeant's lips, and faded there.
"General Fri'it has other business," said Vorbis. "Most pressing and urgent business. Which only he can attend
Fri'it opened his eyes in grayness.
He could see the room around him, but only faintly, as a series of edges in the air.
The sword . . .
He'd dropped the sword, but maybe he could find it again. He stepped forward, feeling a tenuous resistance around his ankles, and looked down.
There AT FIRST. IT IS ONLY TO BE EXPECTED.
To his horror, Fri'it saw the tall black figure stride away through the gray wall.
"Wait!"
A skull draped in a black hood poked out of the wall.
YES?
"You're Death, aren't you?"
INDEED.was the sword. But his fingers passed through it. It was like being drunk, but he knew he wasn't drunk. He wasn't even sober. He was . . . suddenly clear in his mind.He turned and looked at the thing that had briefly impeded his progress."Oh," he said.GOOD MORNING."Oh.""THERE IS A LITTLE CONFUSION
Monday, 13 April 2009
Frederic Edwin Church The Icebergs
Frederic Edwin Church The IcebergsFrederic Edwin Church Twilight in the WildernessJulius LeBlanc Stewart At Home
believes in metal. She was the kind of woman every priest dreads in a congregation, the one who knows all the chants, all the sermons. In the Omnian Church women were allowed in the temple only on sufferance, and had to keep absolutely silent and well covered-up in their own section behind the pulpit in case the sight of one half of the certain knowledge of the Great God Om. Brutha grew up knowing that Om's eyes were on him all the time, especially in places like the privy, and that demons assailed him on all sides and were only kept at bay by the strength of his belief and the weight of grandmother's cane, which was kept behind the door on those rare occasions when it was nhuman race caused the male members of the congregation to hear voices not unakin to those that plagued Brother Nhumrod through every sleeping and waking hour. The problem was that Brutha's grandmother had the kind of personality that can project itself through a lead sheet and a bitter piety with the strength of a diamond-bit auger.If she had been born a man, Omnianism would have found its 8th Prophet rather earlier than expected. As it was, she organized the temple-cleaning, statue-polishing, and stoning-of-suspected-adulteresses rotas with a terrible efficiency.So Brutha grew up in the sure and ot being used. He could recite every verse in all seven Books of
believes in metal. She was the kind of woman every priest dreads in a congregation, the one who knows all the chants, all the sermons. In the Omnian Church women were allowed in the temple only on sufferance, and had to keep absolutely silent and well covered-up in their own section behind the pulpit in case the sight of one half of the certain knowledge of the Great God Om. Brutha grew up knowing that Om's eyes were on him all the time, especially in places like the privy, and that demons assailed him on all sides and were only kept at bay by the strength of his belief and the weight of grandmother's cane, which was kept behind the door on those rare occasions when it was nhuman race caused the male members of the congregation to hear voices not unakin to those that plagued Brother Nhumrod through every sleeping and waking hour. The problem was that Brutha's grandmother had the kind of personality that can project itself through a lead sheet and a bitter piety with the strength of a diamond-bit auger.If she had been born a man, Omnianism would have found its 8th Prophet rather earlier than expected. As it was, she organized the temple-cleaning, statue-polishing, and stoning-of-suspected-adulteresses rotas with a terrible efficiency.So Brutha grew up in the sure and ot being used. He could recite every verse in all seven Books of
Friday, 10 April 2009
John Singer Sargent The Breakfast Table
John Singer Sargent The Breakfast TableRembrandt Susanna and the EldersRembrandt Diana Bathing with the Stories of Actaeon and Callisto
and brilliance, would be his command.
'I shall . 'I always thought genies had just the one.'
The genie explained wearily that in fact he had several lamps. There was a small but well-appointed lamp where he lived during the week, another rather unique lamp in the country, a carefully restored peasant rushlight in an unspoilt winegrowing district near Quirm, and just recently a set of derelict lamps in the docks area of Ankh-Morpork that had great potential, once the smart crowd got there, to become the occult equivalent of a suite of offices and a wine bar.smash the lamp,' she said quietly.The genie flashed her a smile and spoke hastily into the thing he was cradling between his chin and his shoulder.'Fine,' he said. 'Great. It's a slice, believe me. Have your people call my people. Stay beyond, okay? Bye.' He lowered the instrument. 'Bastard,' he said vaguely.'I really shall smash the lamp,' said Conina.'Which lamp is this?' said the genie hurriedly.'How many have you got?' said Nijel
and brilliance, would be his command.
'I shall . 'I always thought genies had just the one.'
The genie explained wearily that in fact he had several lamps. There was a small but well-appointed lamp where he lived during the week, another rather unique lamp in the country, a carefully restored peasant rushlight in an unspoilt winegrowing district near Quirm, and just recently a set of derelict lamps in the docks area of Ankh-Morpork that had great potential, once the smart crowd got there, to become the occult equivalent of a suite of offices and a wine bar.smash the lamp,' she said quietly.The genie flashed her a smile and spoke hastily into the thing he was cradling between his chin and his shoulder.'Fine,' he said. 'Great. It's a slice, believe me. Have your people call my people. Stay beyond, okay? Bye.' He lowered the instrument. 'Bastard,' he said vaguely.'I really shall smash the lamp,' said Conina.'Which lamp is this?' said the genie hurriedly.'How many have you got?' said Nijel
Wednesday, 8 April 2009
Caravaggio The Conversion on the Way to Damascus
Caravaggio The Conversion on the Way to DamascusCaravaggio The AnnunciationCaravaggio Sleeping Cupid
The snow became sleet, then melted into drizzle.
Conina nudged him aside and pulled the box out of the frozen arms.
'I wish there was There was a disturbance further up the alley, coming from the back door of the Troll's Head. Rincewind felt the knife snatched from his hand and then go past his ear in a flat trajectory that ended in the doorpost twenty yards away. A head that had been sticking out withdrew hurriedly.
'We'd better go,' said Conina, hurrying along the alley. 'Is there somewhere we can hide? Your place?'something we could do for him. It seems wrong just to leave him here.''He won't mind,' said Rincewind, with conviction.'Yes, but we could at least lean him against the wall. Or something.'Rincewind nodded, and grabbed the frozen thief by his icicle arm. The man slipped out of his grasp and hit the cobbles.Where he shattered.Conina looked at the pieces.'Urg,' she said.
The snow became sleet, then melted into drizzle.
Conina nudged him aside and pulled the box out of the frozen arms.
'I wish there was There was a disturbance further up the alley, coming from the back door of the Troll's Head. Rincewind felt the knife snatched from his hand and then go past his ear in a flat trajectory that ended in the doorpost twenty yards away. A head that had been sticking out withdrew hurriedly.
'We'd better go,' said Conina, hurrying along the alley. 'Is there somewhere we can hide? Your place?'something we could do for him. It seems wrong just to leave him here.''He won't mind,' said Rincewind, with conviction.'Yes, but we could at least lean him against the wall. Or something.'Rincewind nodded, and grabbed the frozen thief by his icicle arm. The man slipped out of his grasp and hit the cobbles.Where he shattered.Conina looked at the pieces.'Urg,' she said.
Tuesday, 7 April 2009
Alphonse Maria Mucha Dance
Alphonse Maria Mucha DanceAlphonse Maria Mucha AutumnMichelangelo Buonarroti The Creation of Adam hand
Bill Door? You gave me quite a start -‘
I HAVE BROUGHT YOU SOME FLOWERS.
She stared at the dry, dead stems.
ALSO SOME CHOCOLATE ASSORTMENT, THE SORT LADIES LIKE.
She stared at the black box.
ALSO HERE IS A DIAMOND TO BE FRIENDS WITH YOU.
It caught the last rays of the setting sun.
Miss Flitworth finally found her voice.
‘Bill Door, what are you thinking of?’
I HAVE COME TO TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ALL THIS.
‘You have? Where to?’
Death hadn’t thought this far.
WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE?
‘I ain’t thankfulness, I suppose.’
I HAD PLANNED TO SHOW YOU MARVELS. FINE CITIES. ANYTHING YOU WANTED. ‘Anything?’
YES.
‘Then we’re going to the dance, Bill Door. I always go every year. They rely on me. You know how it is.’
YES. MISS FLITWORTH.
He reached out and took her hand.proposing to go anywhere tonight except to the dance,’ said Miss Flitworth firmly.Death hadn’t planned for this, either.WHAT IS THIS DANCE?‘Harvest dance. You know? It’s tradition. When the harvest is in. It’s a sort of celebration, and like a thanksgiving.’THANKSGIVING TO WHO?‘Dunno. No-one in particular, I reckon. Just general
‘What, you mean now?’ she said, ‘I’m not ready
Bill Door? You gave me quite a start -‘
I HAVE BROUGHT YOU SOME FLOWERS.
She stared at the dry, dead stems.
ALSO SOME CHOCOLATE ASSORTMENT, THE SORT LADIES LIKE.
She stared at the black box.
ALSO HERE IS A DIAMOND TO BE FRIENDS WITH YOU.
It caught the last rays of the setting sun.
Miss Flitworth finally found her voice.
‘Bill Door, what are you thinking of?’
I HAVE COME TO TAKE YOU AWAY FROM ALL THIS.
‘You have? Where to?’
Death hadn’t thought this far.
WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE?
‘I ain’t thankfulness, I suppose.’
I HAD PLANNED TO SHOW YOU MARVELS. FINE CITIES. ANYTHING YOU WANTED. ‘Anything?’
YES.
‘Then we’re going to the dance, Bill Door. I always go every year. They rely on me. You know how it is.’
YES. MISS FLITWORTH.
He reached out and took her hand.proposing to go anywhere tonight except to the dance,’ said Miss Flitworth firmly.Death hadn’t planned for this, either.WHAT IS THIS DANCE?‘Harvest dance. You know? It’s tradition. When the harvest is in. It’s a sort of celebration, and like a thanksgiving.’THANKSGIVING TO WHO?‘Dunno. No-one in particular, I reckon. Just general
‘What, you mean now?’ she said, ‘I’m not ready
Monday, 6 April 2009
Thomas Moran Entrance to the Grand Canal, Venice
Thomas Moran Entrance to the Grand Canal, VeniceJean Francois Millet The Walk to WorkJean Francois Millet The Angelus
YES.
‘With all them sands of time pouring through?’
YES.
‘Everyone’s got one?’
YES.
‘So you know how long I’ve -‘
YES.
‘It must be very odd, knowing . . . the kind of things you know . . .’
DO NOT ASK ME.
‘meagre handful of streets and over the cobbles of the square. There was no-one else around. In cities like Ankh-Morpork midnight was just late evening, because there was no civic night at all, just evenings fading into dawns. But here people regulated their lives by things like sunsets and mispronounced cockcrows. Midnight meant what it said.
Even with the storm stalking the hills, the square itself was hushed. The ticking of the clock in its tower, unnoticeable at midday, now seemed to echo off the buildings.
As they approached, something whirred deep in its cogwheeled innards. That’s not fair, you know. If we knew when we were going to die, people would live better lives.’IF PEOPLE KNEW WHEN THEY WERE GOING TO DIE, I THINK THEY PROBABLY WOULDN’T LIVE AT ALL.‘Oh, very gnomic. And what do you know about it, Bill Door?’EVERYTHING.Binky trotted up one of the town’s
The minute hand moved with a clonk, and shuddered to a halt on the 9. A
trapdoor opened in the clock face and two little mechanical figures whirred
YES.
‘With all them sands of time pouring through?’
YES.
‘Everyone’s got one?’
YES.
‘So you know how long I’ve -‘
YES.
‘It must be very odd, knowing . . . the kind of things you know . . .’
DO NOT ASK ME.
‘meagre handful of streets and over the cobbles of the square. There was no-one else around. In cities like Ankh-Morpork midnight was just late evening, because there was no civic night at all, just evenings fading into dawns. But here people regulated their lives by things like sunsets and mispronounced cockcrows. Midnight meant what it said.
Even with the storm stalking the hills, the square itself was hushed. The ticking of the clock in its tower, unnoticeable at midday, now seemed to echo off the buildings.
As they approached, something whirred deep in its cogwheeled innards. That’s not fair, you know. If we knew when we were going to die, people would live better lives.’IF PEOPLE KNEW WHEN THEY WERE GOING TO DIE, I THINK THEY PROBABLY WOULDN’T LIVE AT ALL.‘Oh, very gnomic. And what do you know about it, Bill Door?’EVERYTHING.Binky trotted up one of the town’s
The minute hand moved with a clonk, and shuddered to a halt on the 9. A
trapdoor opened in the clock face and two little mechanical figures whirred
Friday, 3 April 2009
Francisco de Zurbaran Still life
Francisco de Zurbaran Still lifeAlbert Bierstadt The Last of the BuffaloDante Gabriel Rossetti Venus Verticordia
Be good, ‘ he said.
There was a meaningful cough from One-Man-Bucket. ‘All right, all right,’ said Mrs Cake. She took a bundle of matches from the dresser, lit one absent-mindedly with her fingernail, and dropped it into the whisky glass. It Dean.
‘Cream the basket!’
The Archchancellor laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.’Don’t be daft. Dungeon Things have a lot more tentacles and things. They don’t look made.’
They turned at the sound of another trolley. It rattled unconcernedly down
a side passage, stopped when
182burned with a blue flame, and somewhere in the spirit world the spectre of a stiff double lasted just long enough. As Windle Poons left the house, he thought he could hear a ghostly voice raised in song.The trolley stopped. It swivelled from side to side, as if observing the wizards. Then it did a fast three-point turn and trundled off at high speed. ‘Get it!’ bellowed the Archchancellor.He aimed his staff and got off a fireball which turned a small area of cobblestones into something yellow and bubbly. The speeding trolley rocked wildly but kept going, with one wheel rattling and squeaking. ‘It’s from the Dungeon Dimensions!’ said the
Be good, ‘ he said.
There was a meaningful cough from One-Man-Bucket. ‘All right, all right,’ said Mrs Cake. She took a bundle of matches from the dresser, lit one absent-mindedly with her fingernail, and dropped it into the whisky glass. It Dean.
‘Cream the basket!’
The Archchancellor laid a steadying hand on his shoulder.’Don’t be daft. Dungeon Things have a lot more tentacles and things. They don’t look made.’
They turned at the sound of another trolley. It rattled unconcernedly down
a side passage, stopped when
182burned with a blue flame, and somewhere in the spirit world the spectre of a stiff double lasted just long enough. As Windle Poons left the house, he thought he could hear a ghostly voice raised in song.The trolley stopped. It swivelled from side to side, as if observing the wizards. Then it did a fast three-point turn and trundled off at high speed. ‘Get it!’ bellowed the Archchancellor.He aimed his staff and got off a fireball which turned a small area of cobblestones into something yellow and bubbly. The speeding trolley rocked wildly but kept going, with one wheel rattling and squeaking. ‘It’s from the Dungeon Dimensions!’ said the
Thursday, 2 April 2009
Joseph Mallord William Turner The Grand Canal Venice
Joseph Mallord William Turner The Grand Canal VeniceJoseph Mallord William Turner PortsmouthJohn Singer Sargent Lady Agnew
The door opened on to a flight of stairs that smelled of old paint and dead flies. They creaked even more than Windle’s into College in a fury, with the others trailing desperately behind him.
‘Who is he going to call! We’re the wizards around here!’ ‘Yes, but we don’t actually know what’s happening, do we?’ said the Dean.
‘So we’re going to find out!’ Ridcully growled. ‘I don’t know who he’s going to call, but I’m damn sure who I’m going to call.’ He halted abruptly. The rest of the wizards piled into him.
knees. Someone had been drawing on the walls. The phraseology was exotic but the general tone was familiar enough: Spooks of the World Arise, You have Nothing to lose but your Chains and The Silent Majority want DeadRights and End vitalism now!?!At the top was ?dolanding?, with one door opening off it. Once upon a time someone had hung an oil lamp from the ceiling, but it looked as though it had never been lit for thousands of years. An ancient spider, possibly living on the remains of the oil, watched him warily from its eyrie.Windle looked at the card again, took a deep breath out of habit, and knocked.The Archchancellor strode back
The door opened on to a flight of stairs that smelled of old paint and dead flies. They creaked even more than Windle’s into College in a fury, with the others trailing desperately behind him.
‘Who is he going to call! We’re the wizards around here!’ ‘Yes, but we don’t actually know what’s happening, do we?’ said the Dean.
‘So we’re going to find out!’ Ridcully growled. ‘I don’t know who he’s going to call, but I’m damn sure who I’m going to call.’ He halted abruptly. The rest of the wizards piled into him.
knees. Someone had been drawing on the walls. The phraseology was exotic but the general tone was familiar enough: Spooks of the World Arise, You have Nothing to lose but your Chains and The Silent Majority want DeadRights and End vitalism now!?!At the top was ?dolanding?, with one door opening off it. Once upon a time someone had hung an oil lamp from the ceiling, but it looked as though it had never been lit for thousands of years. An ancient spider, possibly living on the remains of the oil, watched him warily from its eyrie.Windle looked at the card again, took a deep breath out of habit, and knocked.The Archchancellor strode back
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
Fabian Perez Untitled II
Fabian Perez Untitled IIThomas Kinkade The Aspen ChapelFabian Perez Rojo Sillion III Second StateFabian Perez Balcony at Buenos Aires IIPino WHITE SAND
Wow Sauce, a mixture of mature scumble, pickled cucumbers, capers, mustard, mangoes, figs, grated wahooni, anchovy essence, asafetida and, significantly, sulphur and saltpetre for added potency. Ridcully inherited the formula from his uncle who, after half a pint of sauce on a big meal one evening, had a charcoal biscuit to settle his stomach, lit his pipe and disappeared in mysterious circumstances, although his shoes were found on the roof the following summer. There was cold mutton for lunch. Mutton went well with Wow-Wow senior’s death, for example, it had gone at least three miles. Mustrum tied his napkin behind his neck, rubbed his hands together, and reached out.Sauce; l Someone who will put certainly salt and probably pepper on any meal you put in front of them whatever it is and regardless of how much it’s got on it already and regardless of how it tastes. Behavioural psychiatrists working for fast-food outlets around the universe have saved billions of whatever the local currency is by noting the autocondimenting phenomenon and advising their employers to leave seasoning out in the first place. This is really true.
Wow Sauce, a mixture of mature scumble, pickled cucumbers, capers, mustard, mangoes, figs, grated wahooni, anchovy essence, asafetida and, significantly, sulphur and saltpetre for added potency. Ridcully inherited the formula from his uncle who, after half a pint of sauce on a big meal one evening, had a charcoal biscuit to settle his stomach, lit his pipe and disappeared in mysterious circumstances, although his shoes were found on the roof the following summer. There was cold mutton for lunch. Mutton went well with Wow-Wow senior’s death, for example, it had gone at least three miles. Mustrum tied his napkin behind his neck, rubbed his hands together, and reached out.Sauce; l Someone who will put certainly salt and probably pepper on any meal you put in front of them whatever it is and regardless of how much it’s got on it already and regardless of how it tastes. Behavioural psychiatrists working for fast-food outlets around the universe have saved billions of whatever the local currency is by noting the autocondimenting phenomenon and advising their employers to leave seasoning out in the first place. This is really true.
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