tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77181635782535433572024-02-06T20:56:54.674-08:00Decorative painting 100222Blogging decorative painting and contemporary abstract painting.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger1466125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-64499179243942266282009-05-12T23:21:00.000-07:002009-05-12T23:22:56.494-07:00Jack Vettriano Silhouette<a href="http://www.nonprints.com/painting/Silhouette_5854.html"><strong>Jack Vettriano Silhouette</strong></a><a href="http://www.nonprints.com/painting/Shades_of_Scarlett_5853.html"><strong>Jack Vettriano Shades of Scarlett</strong></a><a href="http://www.nonprints.com/painting/Setting_New_Standards_5852.html"><strong>Jack Vettriano Setting New Standards</strong></a><br />There was some silence.<br />'Sorry,' said Buddy. 'We were waiting for the "‑teen".'<br />'I had to be firm,' said most at poker), who listen to the frozen echoes in ammonites and amber, swear they can detect some tiny sounds before that.<br />It sounded, they say, like someone counting: One, Two, Three, Four.<br />The very best one, who listened to basalt, said he thought he could make out, very faintly, some numbers that came even earlier.<br />When they asked him what it was, he said: 'It sounds like One, Two.'<br />No‑one ever asked what, if there was a sound that called the universe into being, happened toUnknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-54945166528123060752009-05-11T23:45:00.000-07:002009-05-11T23:46:42.870-07:00Arthur Hughes Phyllis<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Phyllis_5268.html"><strong>Arthur Hughes Phyllis</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Zwei_Katzen_5162.html"><strong>Franz Marc Zwei Katzen</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/yellow_cow_5161.html"><strong>Franz Marc yellow cow</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Tiger_5158.html"><strong>Franz Marc Tiger</strong></a><br />Susan had no difficulty in spotting Imp y Celyn. He was at the front of the stage, his face a mask of terror. Behind him was a troll, withcapable of doing so. It was more fun watching people dodge.<br />A big, red‑bearded man grinned at Lias, and selected a small throwing axe from his bandolier. It was OK to throw axes at trolls. They tended to bounce off.<br />Susan could see it all. It'd bounce off, and hit Imp. No‑one's fault, really. Worse things happened at sea. Worse things happened in Ankh‑Morpork all the time, often continuously. a dwarf trying to hide behind it.She glanced at the hourglass. Just a few more seconds . . .He was really rather attractive, in a dark, curly­headed sort of way. He looked a little elvish.And familiar.She'd felt sorry for Volf, but at least he was on a battlefield. Imp was on a stage. You didn't expect to die on stage.I'm standing here with a scythe and an hourglass waiting for someone to die. He's not much older than me and I'm not supposed to do anything about it. That's silly. And I'm sure I've seen him . . . before . . .No‑one actually tried to kill musicians in the Drum. Axes were thrown and crossbows fired in a good­humoured, easy‑going way. No‑one really aimed, even if they wereUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-17279734517275817202009-05-07T00:45:00.000-07:002009-05-07T00:46:07.935-07:00Tamara de Lempicka Kizette on the Balcony<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Kizette_on_the_Balcony_2713.html"><strong>Tamara de Lempicka Kizette on the Balcony</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Portrait_of_Adele_Bloch_Bauer_2653.html"><strong>Gustav Klimt Portrait of Adele Bloch Bauer</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/At_the_Ball_2542.html"><strong>Berthe Morisot At the Ball</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Woman_In_A_Green_Dress_2398.html"><strong>Claude Monet Woman In A Green Dress</strong></a><br />. I'm pretty sure I saw you carry most of it out of the Guild . . .'<br />'Must have 'And . . . it seemed to me, as we were carrying that little coffin . . . slightly heavier . . .?'<br />'Really, sir? I really couldn't say I noticed.'<br />'But at least he's got a proper dwarf burial.'<br />'Oh, yes. I saw to that, sir,' said Carrot.<br /><br />The rain gurgled off the roofs of the Palace. The done, sir.''Yes. Er. I hope you put it somewhere safe, then. Do you, er, do you think you left it somewhere safe?'Behind them, the gravedigger began to shovel the wet, clinging loam of Ankh-Morpork into the hole.'I think I must have done, sir. Don't you? Seeing as no-one has found it. I mean, we'd soon know if anyone'd found it!''Maybe it's all for the best, Corporal Carrot.''I certainly hope so.''He was a good copper.''Yes, sir.'Vimes went for broke.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-11738633672830557462009-05-04T23:28:00.000-07:002009-05-04T23:29:43.997-07:00George Bellows The Circus<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Circus_6355.html"><strong>George Bellows The Circus</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Summer_Fantasy_6354.html"><strong>George Bellows Summer Fantasy</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Romance_of_Autumn_6352.html"><strong>George Bellows Romance of Autumn</strong></a><br /> Good. I like sorting things out.'<br /><br />Foul Ole Ron He watched as the sleek golden shape streaked away.<br />'I told 'em! I told 'em! I told 'em!' he said. Til give 'em the wrong end of a ragman's trumpet, so I shall. Bug'r'em. Millennium hand and shrimp! I told 'em!'<br /><br />Gaspode wagged what was technically a tail when Angua re-emerged.<br />' "Change into fomefing more fuitable",' he said, his voice slightly muffled was a Beggars' Guild member in good standing. He was a Mutterer, and a good one. He would walk behind people muttering in his own private language until they gave him money not to. People thought he was mad, but this was not, technically, the case. It was just that he was in touch with reality on the cosmic level, and had a bit of trouble focusing on things smaller, like other people, walls and soap (although on very small things, such as coins, his eyesight was Grade A).Therefore he was not surprised when a handsome young woman streaked past him and removed all her clothes. This sort of thing happened all the time, although up until now only on the inner side of his head.Then he saw what happened next.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-42275147934224948192009-04-28T23:53:00.000-07:002009-04-28T23:55:25.166-07:00John Singleton Copley The Death of Major Pierson<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Death_of_Major_Pierson_985.html"><strong>John Singleton Copley The Death of Major Pierson</strong></a><br />the four food groups: sugar, starch, grease and burnt crunchy bits.<br />'I'd like a couple of eggs,' said Vimes, 'with the yolks real hard but the whites so runny that they drip like treacle. And I want bacon, that special bacon all covered with bony nodules and dangling bits of fat. And a slice of fried bread. The kind that makes your arteries go clang just by looking at it.'<br />'Tough order,' said Harga.<br />'You managed it yesterday. And give me some more coffee. Black as midnight on a moonless night.'<br />Harga looked surprised. That wasn't like Vimes.<br />'How black's that, then?' he said.<br />'Oh, pretty damn black, I should think.'<br /><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Copley_Family_984.html"><strong>John Singleton Copley The Copley Family</strong></a><br />necessarily.'<br />'What?'<br />'You get more stars on a moonless night. Stands to reason. They show up more. It can be quite bright on a moonless night.'<br />Vimes sighed.<br />'An overcast moonless night?' he said.<br />Harga looked carefully at his coffee pot.<br />'Cumulus or cirro-nimbus?'<br />'I'm sorry? What did you say?'<br />'You gets city lights reflected off cumulus, because it's low lying, see. Mind you, you can get high-altitude scatter off the ice crystals in—'<br />'A moonless night,' said Vimes, in a hollow voice, 'that is as black as that coffee.'<br />'Right!'<br /><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Brook_Watson_And_The_Shark_973.html"><strong>John Singleton Copley Brook Watson And The Shark</strong></a><br /> up there'll be long gone by the time we get there. We must tell the captain.''You think she was killed by the same thing as Hammer hock ?''Yes.' 'There are . . . niner birds.''That's right.''There are . . . one bridge.''Right.''There are . . . four-ten boats.'All right.''There are . . . one tousand. Three hundret. Six-ty. Four bricks.''OK.''There are—''I should give it a rest now. You don't want to wear everything out by counting—''There are – one running man . . .''What? Where?'Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-16557560080093091772009-04-28T00:07:00.001-07:002009-04-28T00:07:56.143-07:00Paul Cezanne Jas de Bouffan the Pool<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Jas_de_Bouffan_the_Pool_5895.html"><strong>Paul Cezanne Jas de Bouffan the Pool</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/House_of_Pere_Lacroix_5893.html"><strong>Paul Cezanne House of Pere Lacroix</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Flowers_in_a_Blue_Vase_5888.html"><strong>Paul Cezanne Flowers in a Blue Vase</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Five_Bathers_5886.html"><strong>Paul Cezanne Five Bathers</strong></a><br />don't know. I've never seen anything like it . . . there was just a great big hole. But I'm going to find out what it was.'<br />'Hmm. Did I mention that Dr Cruces came to see me this morning?'<br />'No, sir.'you to follow two very specific instructions . . .'<br />'Sir?'<br />'You will cease any investigations connected with this theft from the Assassins' Guild. Do you understand? It is entirely Guild business.'<br />'Sir.' Vimes kept his face carefully immobile.<br />'I'm choosing to believe that the unspoken word in that sentence was a yes, captain.'<br />'Sir.'<br />'And that one, too. As for the matter of the unfortunate Mr Hammerhock . . . The body was discovered just a short while ago?'<br />'Yes, sir.''He was very . . . concerned.''Yes, sir.''I think you upset him.''Sir?'The Patrician seemed to be reaching a decision. His chair thumped forward.'Captain Vimes—''Sir?''I know that you are retiring the day after tomorrow and feel, therefore, a little . . . restless. But while you are captain of the Night Watch I am askingUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-61387602303528538782009-04-26T23:20:00.001-07:002009-04-26T23:20:42.292-07:00Dante Gabriel Rossetti Venus Verticordia<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Venus_Verticordia_355.html"><strong>Dante Gabriel Rossetti Venus Verticordia</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Haystack_at_Giverny_267.html"><strong>Claude Monet Haystack at Giverny</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Ingres_The_Source_147.html"><strong>Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres Ingres The Source</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Samson_and_Delilah_130.html"><strong>Peter Paul Rubens Samson and Delilah</strong></a><br />spent the whole day there. When he'd finished, carefully replacing the leafmould as the sun went down, he was quite certain.<br />Ankh-Morpork had a king again.<br />And this was right. And it was fate that had let Edward recognize this just when he'd got his Plan. And it was right that it was Fate, 'Hoping this finds you in Good Health, Yrs faithfully,<br />'Your loving son, adopted,<br />Carrot.'<br /><br />He folded the letter up, inserted the iconographs, sealed it with a blob of candle wax pressed into place with his thumb, and put it in his pants pocket. Dwarf mail to the Ramtops was quite reliableand the city would be Saved from its ignoble present by its glorious past. He had the Means, and he had the end. And so on . . . Edward's thoughts often ran like this.He could think in italics. Such people need watching.Preferably from a safe distance. 'I was Interested in your letter where you said people have been coming and asking about me, this is Amazing, I have been here hardly Five Minutes and already I am Famus.'I was very pleased to hear about the opening of #7 shaft. I don't mind Telling You that although, I am very happy here I miss the Good Times back Home. Sometimes on my day Off I go and, sit in the Cellar and hit my head with an axe handle but, it is Not the Same.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-29212772731714753482009-04-24T00:50:00.000-07:002009-04-24T00:51:36.171-07:00Salvador Dali Argus<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Argus_7141.html"><strong>Salvador Dali Argus</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Little_Street_7107.html"><strong>Johannes Vermeer The Little Street</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Mistress_and_Maid_7103.html"><strong>Johannes Vermeer Mistress and Maid</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Vanitas_Still_Life_7039.html"><strong>Unknown Artist Vanitas Still Life</strong></a><br />sensed unseen figures in the reeking air, and heard the silence of murmured conversations suddenly cur-tailed. At one point he thought he saw a bowl of red hot stones, and then a shadowy hand moved across them and upturned a ladle, hiding them in steam.<br />This can’t be inside the Long Man, he told himself.<br />That’s an earthworks, this is a long tent of skins.<br />They can’t both be the same thing.<br />He realized he was dripping with sweat.<br />Two torches became visible as the steam swirled, their light hardly more than a red tint to the darkness. But they were enough to show a huge sprawled figure lying by another bowl of hot stones.<br />It looked up. Antlers moved in the damp, clinging heat.<br />“Ah. Mrs. Ogg.”<br />The voice was like chocolate.<br />“Y’lordship,” , do you possibly think you are going to get out?” said the slumped one.<br />254<br />I.OR06 fittQ ift0/£6said Nanny.“I suppose it is too much to expect you to kneel?”“Yes indeed, y’honor,” said Nanny, grinning.“You know, Mrs. Ogg, you have a way of showing respect to your god that would make the average atheist green with envy,” said the dark figure. It yawned.“Thank you, y’grace.”“No one even dances for me now. Is that too much to ask?”“Just as you say, y’lordship.”“You witches don’t believe in me anymore.”“Right again, your homishness.”“Ah, little Mrs. Ogg—and how, having got in here<br />“Because I have iron,” said Nanny, her voiceUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-85160321325383798732009-04-22T23:49:00.000-07:002009-04-22T23:51:45.011-07:00Alphonse Maria Mucha Biscuits Champagne Lefevre Utile<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Biscuits_Champagne_Lefevre_Utile_3754.html"><strong>Alphonse Maria Mucha Biscuits Champagne Lefevre Utile</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_First_Outing_3579.html"><strong>Pierre Auguste Renoir The First Outing</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Sleeping_Girl_3573.html"><strong>Pierre Auguste Renoir Sleeping Girl</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Spirit_of_New_York_3527.html"><strong>Thomas Kinkade The Spirit of New York</strong></a><br />has to be at least an approximate conservation of mass. It’s a fundamental magical rule. If something is moved from A to B, something that was at B has got to fmd itself at A.<br />And then there’s momentum. Slow as the disc spins, var-<br />ious points of its radii are moving at different speeds relative<br />181<br />Terry Pratchett<br />to the Hub, and a wizard projecting himself any distance toward the Rim had better be prepared to land jogging.<br />The three miles to suddenly turn up and say all those years haven’t hap-pened.”<br />“Oh, I know they’ve happened all right,” said Ridcully. “I’m the head wizard now. I’ve only got to give an order and a thousand wizards will... uh ... disobey, come to think of it, or say ‘What?’, or start to argue. But they have to take notice.”Lancre Bridge merely involved a faint tug, which Ridcully had been ready for, and he landed up leaning against the parapet with Esme Weatherwax in his arms.The customs troll who had until a fraction of a second previously been sitting there ended up lying full length on the floor of the Great Hall, coincidentally on top of the Bursar.Granny Weatherwax looked over at the rushing water, and then at Ridcully.“Take me back this instant,” she said. “You’ve got no right to do that.”“Dear me, I seem to have run out of power. Can’t under-stand it, very embarrassing, fingers gone all limp,” said Ridcully. “Of course, we could walk. It’s a lovely evening. You always did get lovely evenings here.”“It was all fifty or sixty years ago!” said Granny. “You can’t<br />“I’ve been to that University a few times,” said Granny.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-74920692325723717152009-04-21T00:58:00.001-07:002009-04-21T00:58:43.545-07:00Cao Yong TWILIGHT BY THE FOUNTAIN<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/TWILIGHT_BY_THE_FOUNTAIN_7610.html"><strong>Cao Yong TWILIGHT BY THE FOUNTAIN</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/TRANSAMERICA_PYRAMID_7609.html"><strong>Cao Yong TRANSAMERICA PYRAMID</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/THE_VISION_BEYOND_7608.html"><strong>Cao Yong THE VISION BEYOND</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/SUMMER_BREEZE_7607.html"><strong>Cao Yong SUMMER BREEZE</strong></a><br />be coaxed into making any sound was to lift it up, which made it squeak, and then force it mightily downward, which caused another squeak and, if the visitor was lucky, a faint thud.<br />Shawn took a deep breath and leaned over the battle-ments.<br />“Halt! Who “It’s what I’ve got to say, Mum. It’s official. And then you’ve got to say Friend.”<br />“I’m your mum.”<br />“You’ve got to do it properly, Mum,” said Shawn, in the wretched tones of one who knows he’s going to lose no mat-ter what happens next, “otherwise what’s the point?”<br />“It’s going to be Foe in a minute, my lad.”<br />“Oooaaaww, Mum”<br />“Oh, all right. Friend, then.”Goes There?” he said.A ringing voice came up from below.“It’s me, Shawn. Your mum.”“Oh, hello. Mum. Hello, Mistress Weatherwax.”“Let us in, there’s a good boy.”“Friend or Foe?”“What?”Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-8589789749676595062009-04-20T00:11:00.000-07:002009-04-20T00:12:53.001-07:00Pino WHITE SAND<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/WHITE_SAND_7272.html"><strong>Pino WHITE SAND</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/WHISPERING_HEART_7271.html"><strong>Pino WHISPERING HEART</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/THINKING_OF_YOU_7270.html"><strong>Pino THINKING OF YOU</strong></a><br />Ridcully glared at the Librarian, who was hanging by his toes from the top shelf of Parazoology Ba to Mn.<br />/’Oh, well,” he said, his voice suddenly low and cunning,<br />“it’s a great shame, in the circumstances. They’ve got a pretty<br />good library in Lancre castle, I heard. Well, they call it a<br />45<br />Terry Pratchettup. So I shall be going. Farewell.”<br />Ridcully paused outside the Library door, counting under his breath. He’d reached “three” when the Librarian knuckled through at high speed, caught by the incunibles.<br />“So that’ll be four tickets, then?” said Ridcully.<br />Granny Weatherwax set about finding out what had been happening around the stones in her own distinctive way.<br />People underestimate bees.<br />Granny Weatherwax didn’t. She had half a dozen hives of them and knew, for example, there is no such creature as an individual bee. But there is such a creature as a swarm, whose component cells are just a bit more mobile than those of, say, the common library—it’s just a lot of old books. Never had a catalogue near ‘em, apparently.”“Oook?”“Thousands of books. Someone told me there’s incu-nibles, too. Shame, really, you not wanting to see them.” Ridcully’s voice could have greased axles.“Oook?”“But I can see your mind is quite madeUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-53672262015938797612009-04-17T00:22:00.001-07:002009-04-17T00:22:59.603-07:00Thomas Kinkade Autumn Snow<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Autumn_Snow_6505.html"><strong>Thomas Kinkade Autumn Snow</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Lighthouse_at_Two_Lights_6502.html"><strong>Edward Hopper The Lighthouse at Two Lights</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Tables_for_Ladies_6499.html"><strong>Edward Hopper Tables for Ladies</strong></a><br />piece of cornucopia shrapnel bounced off the roof of the Turtle, which rocked on its spiked wheels.<br />"But why be angry with us?" said Argavisti. "We're doing what they want."<br />Borvorius tried to smile. "Gods, eh?" he said. "Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."<br />Someone nudged Simony, and passed him a soggy cigarette. It was a Tsortean soldier. Despite himself, he took a puff.<br />"It's good tobacco," he said. "The stuff we grow tastes like camel's droppings."<br />He passed it along to the next hunched figure.<br />THANK YOU.<br />Borvorius produced a flask from somewhere.<br />"Will you go to hell if you have a drop of spirit?" he said.<br />"So it seems," As he took it he was aware of the rush of air, a sudden breath in the universe. He looked around in time to see a wave lift a ship out of the water and smash it against the dunes.<br />A distant scream colored the wind.<br />The soldiers stared.<br />"There were people under there," said Argavisti.said Simony, absently. Then he noticed the flask. "Oh, you mean alcohol? Probably. But who cares? I won't be able to get near the fire for priests. Thanks.""Pass it round."THANK YOU.The Turtle rocked to a thunderbolt."G'n y'himbe bo?"They all looked at the pieces of raw fish, and Fasta Benj's hopeful expression."I could rake some of the coals out of the firebox from here," said Urn, after a while.Someone tapped Simony on the shoulder, creating a strange tingling sensation.THANK YOU. I HAVE TO GO.<br />Simony dropped the flask.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-60741709686084969632009-04-16T00:30:00.000-07:002009-04-16T00:32:07.405-07:00Raphael Madonna and Child with Book<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Madonna_and_Child_with_Book_2665.html"><strong>Raphael Madonna and Child with Book</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Women_Friends_2659.html"><strong>Gustav Klimt Women Friends</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Bride_2657.html"><strong>Gustav Klimt The Bride</strong></a><br />?" said Urn.<br />Urn was rubbing his chin reflectively with a hammer. He seemed to be lost in a world of his own.<br />"I said, could journey necessary to get to whatever world Urn was in.<br />He tried looking at the cart, too.<br />"How soon can you have it all finished?"<br />"Hmm?"<br />"I said-”<br />"Late tomorrow night. If we work through tonight."<br />"But we'll need it for the next dawn! We won't have time to see if it works!"<br />"It'll work first time," said Urn.Fergmen make these hydra haulics work?""Hmm? Oh. Shouldn't think so," said Urn, vaguely."Could you?""What?""Could you make them work?""Oh. Probably. It's just pipes and pressures, after all. Um."Urn was still staring thoughtfully at the steam cart. Simony nodded meaningfully at the sergeant, indicating that he should go away, and then tried the mental interplanetaryUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-75765786645079153312009-04-15T00:20:00.000-07:002009-04-15T00:21:49.171-07:00Vincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Rising Sun<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Wheat_Field_with_Rising_Sun_5698.html"><strong>Vincent van Gogh Wheat Field with Rising Sun</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Wheat_Field_1889_5697.html"><strong>Vincent van Gogh Wheat Field 1889</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Road_with_Cypress_and_Star_5696.html"><strong>Vincent van Gogh Road with Cypress and Star</strong></a><br />surely the world is a perfect sphere, spinning about the sphere of the sun, just as the Septateuch tells us," said Brutha. "That seems so . . . logical. That's how things ought to be."<br />"Ought?" said Didactylos. "Well, I don't know about ought. That's not a philosophical word."<br />"And . . . what is this . . ." Brutha murmured, pointing to a circle under the drawing of the turtle.<br />"That's a plan view," said Urn.<br />"Map of the world," said Didactylos.<br />"Map? What's a map?"<br />"It's a sort of "Gods," said Brutha weakly.<br />His mind was on fire. These people made all these books about things, and they weren't sure. But he'd been sure, and Brother Nhumrod had been sure, and Deacon Vorbis had a sureness you picture that shows you where you are," said Didactylos.Brutha stared in wonderment. "And how does it know?""Hah!""Gods," prompted Om again. "We're here to ask about gods!""But is all this true?" said Brutha.Didactylos shrugged. "Could be. Could be. We are here and it is now. The way I see it is, after that, everything tends towards guesswork.""You mean you don't know it's true?" said Brutha."I think it might be," said Didactylos. "I could be wrong. Not being certain is what being a philosopher is all about.""Talk about gods," said Om.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-34930588512134310342009-04-13T23:11:00.000-07:002009-04-13T23:12:26.618-07:00William Blake Nebuchadnezzar<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Nebuchadnezzar_4741.html"><strong>William Blake Nebuchadnezzar</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Jacob%27s_Ladder_4738.html"><strong>William Blake Jacob's Ladder</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Olive_Trees_4721.html"><strong>Vincent van Gogh The Olive Trees</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Fishing_in_Spring_4696.html"><strong>Vincent van Gogh Fishing in Spring</strong></a><br />Novice Brutha?" said Vorbis.<br />Brutha nodded.<br />Vorbis gave a light laugh, the kind made by very intelligent people when they think of something that probably isn't very amusing.<br />"And, of course, one day we shall have to call you Brother Brutha," he said. "Or even Father Brutha? Rather confusing, I think. Best to be avoided. I think we shall have to see to it that you become Subdeacon Brutha just as soon as Brutha nodded. And then, feeling that perhaps this wasn't enough, presented it for inspection.<br />Vorbis laid a restraining hand on the fat man's arm.<br />"I think our young friend is a little overawed," he said mildly.<br />He smiled.possible; what do you think of that?"Brutha did not think anything of it. He was vaguely aware that advancement was being discussed, but his mind had gone blank."Anyway, enough of this," said Vorbis, with the slight exasperation of someone who realizes that he is going to have to do a lot of work in this conversation. "Do you recognize these learned fathers on my left and right?"Brutha shook his head."Good. They have some questions to ask you."Brutha nodded.The very fat man leaned forward."Do you have a tongue, boy?"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-73913968588350649642009-04-13T00:34:00.000-07:002009-04-13T00:35:49.893-07:00Jean Fragonard The Bathers<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Bathers_6112.html"><strong>Jean Fragonard The Bathers</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Mrs_Sheridan_6056.html"><strong>Thomas Gainsborough Mrs Sheridan</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Venus_and_Mars_6042.html"><strong>Sandro Botticelli Venus and Mars</strong></a><br />I've always known what to do!'<br />Rincewind opened his mouth to say that he'd seen some of it, but changed his mind. Instead he said, 'Chin up. Look on the bright side. It could be worse.'<br />Coin took another look around.<br />'In what them once. Er.'<br />Coin nodded, and reached out a thin pale hand towards Rincewind's forehead.<br />'Do you mind-?' he began.<br />Rincewind shuddered at the touch. 'Mind what?' he said.<br />- if I have a look in your head?<br />'Aargh.'<br />It's rather a mess in here. No wonder you can't find things.respect, exactly?' he said, his voice a shade more normal.Um.''What is this place?''It's a sort of other dimension. The magic broke through and we went with it, I think.''And those things?'They regarded the Things.'I think they're Things. They're trying to get back through the hole,' said Rincewind. 'It isn't easy. Energy levels, or something. I remember we had a lecture onUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-32810244538160715502009-04-10T00:11:00.000-07:002009-04-10T00:13:06.594-07:00George Inness Passing Clouds<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Passing_Clouds_6207.html"><strong>George Inness Passing Clouds</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/End_of_Day_6204.html"><strong>George Inness End of Day</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Early_Moonrise_Florida_6203.html"><strong>George Inness Early Moonrise Florida</strong></a><br />There were acurse them in the dark.<br />That could only mean one thing. All right, two things. Three things.<br />All-out. Thaumaturgical. War.<br />And there were of course no alliances, no sides, no deals, no mercy, no cease. The skies twisted, the seas boiled. The scream and whizz of fireballs turned the night into day, but that was all right lot of things on the Disc that owed their origin to the Mage Wars. Sapient pearwood was one of them.The original tree was probably perfectly normal and spent its days drinking groundwater and eating sunshine in a state of blessed unawareness and then the magic wars broke around it and pitchforked its genes into a state of acute perspicacity.It also left it ingrained, as it were, with a bad temper. But sapient pearwood got off lightly.Once, when the level of background magic on the Disc was young and high and found every opportunity to burst on the world, wizards were all as powerful as sourcerers and built their towers on every hilltop. And if there was one thing a really powerful wizard can't stand, it is another wizard. His instinctive approach to diplomacy is to hex 'em till they glow, thenUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-82611083525330689302009-04-09T01:28:00.000-07:002009-04-09T01:30:32.241-07:00Vincent van Gogh The Plain at Auvers<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Plain_at_Auvers_6827.html"><strong>Vincent van Gogh The Plain at Auvers</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Night_Cafe_in_the_Place_Lamartine_in_Arles_6826.html"><strong>Vincent van Gogh The Night Cafe in the Place Lamartine in Arles</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_good_Samaritan_Delacroix_6823.html"><strong>Vincent van Gogh The good Samaritan Delacroix</strong></a><br />'It's too big,' said Spelter under his breath. The world he had lived in hadn't stretched much further than the gates of the University, and he'd preferred it that way. A man could be comfortable in a world that size. He certainly couldn't be comfortable about being half a mile in the air standing on something that wasn't, in some 'Look at the Ramtops, now. You could almost reach out and touch them.'<br />They stared out across two hundred leagues towards the towering mountain range, glittering and white and cold. It was said that if you travelled hubwards through the secret valleys of the Ramtops, you would find, in the frozen lands under Cori Celesti itself, the secret realm of the Ice Giants, imprisoned after their last great battle with the Gods. In those days the mountains had been mere islands in a great sea of ice, and ice lived on them still.fundamental way, there.The thought shocked him. He was a wizard, and he was worrying about magic.He sidled cautiously back towards Carding, who said: 'It isn't exactly what I expected.''Um?''It looks a lot smaller up here, doesn't it.''Well, I don't know. Listen, I must tell you-’Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-12884905637248316722009-04-08T00:52:00.000-07:002009-04-08T01:28:39.718-07:00Salvador Dali Cruxifixion (Hypercubic Body)<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Cruxifixion_(Hypercubic_Body)_1084.html"><strong>Salvador Dali Cruxifixion (Hypercubic Body)</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Tribute_Money_988.html"><strong>John Singleton Copley The Tribute Money</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Death_of_Major_Pierson_985.html"><strong>John Singleton Copley The Death of Major Pierson</strong></a><br />Rincewind, as honorary assistant librarian, hadn't progressed much beyond basic indexing and bananafetchingThe Librarian ambled back down the aisles. He had a face that only a lorry tyre could love and it was permanently locked in a faint smile, but Rincewind could tell by the way the ape crept into his cubbyhole under the desk and hid his head under a blanket that he was deeply worried.<br />Examine Rincewind, as he peers around the sullen shelves. There , and he had to admire the way the Librarian ambled among the quivering shelves, here running a black-leather hand over a trembling binding, here comforting a frightened thesaurus with a few soothing simian murmurings.After a while the Library began to settle down, and Rincewind felt his shoulder muscles relax.It was a fragile peace, though. Here and there a page rustled. From distant shelves came the ominous creak of a spine. After its initial panic the Library was now as alert and jittery as a long-tailed cat in a rocking-chair factory.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-38116264102166981952009-04-07T01:01:00.001-07:002009-04-07T01:01:52.349-07:00Frida Kahlo Thinking about Death<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Thinking_about_Death_3083.html"><strong>Frida Kahlo Thinking about Death</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Suicide_of_Dorothy_Hale_3081.html"><strong>Frida Kahlo The Suicide of Dorothy Hale</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Sun_and_Life_3072.html"><strong>Frida Kahlo Sun and Life</strong></a><br />remembered himself and added, ‘No offence meant.’<br />‘Oh.’<br />‘I’ll be moving along, then,’ said the sergeant.<br />‘Fine. Fine.’,’ he said.<br />‘Bad news?’ said the sergeant.<br />‘That depends,’ said Windle, ‘on your point of view.’<br />‘Oh. Right. Fine. Well . . . good night, then.’<br />‘Goodbye.’<br />Sergeant Colon hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged and strolled on.<br />As he wandered away, the shadow behind him moved and grinned.<br />WINDLE POONS?<br />Windle didn’t look around.<br />‘‘That ch- oh, he’s gone. Tall chap. Bit odd-looking.’<br />Windle unfolded the scrap of paper, on which was written:<br />OOoooEeeeOooEeeeOOOeee.Are you all right, Mr Poons?’‘Fine. Fine.’‘Not going to throw yourself in the river again?’‘No.’‘Sure?’‘Yes.’‘Oh. Well. Good night, then.’ He hesitated. ‘Forget my own head next,’ he said. ‘Chap over there asked me to give this to you.’ He held out a grubby envelope.Windle peered into the mists.‘What chap?’Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-48699180580370930112009-04-06T00:28:00.000-07:002009-04-06T00:29:01.444-07:00George Inness Delaware Water Gap<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Delaware_Water_Gap_6202.html"><strong>George Inness Delaware Water Gap</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Nativity_6178.html"><strong>Lorenzo Lotto Nativity</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Madonna_and_Child_with_Saints_6177.html"><strong>Lorenzo Lotto Madonna and Child with Saints</strong></a><br />of people, but they’re also full of commerce and shops and religions and . . . This is stupid, he told himself. They’re just things. They’re not alive.<br />Maybe life is something you acquire.<br />Parasites spirit they had.<br />He stood up.<br />‘Where’s everyone gone, Librarian?’<br />‘Oook oook.’<br />‘Just like them. I’d have done that. Rush off without thinking. May the<br />gods bless them and help them, ifand predators, but not like the sort affecting animals and vegetables. They were some kind of big, slower, metaphorical lifeform, living off cities. But they incubate in the cities, like those, what are they? those icky newman wasp things. He could remember now, just as he could remember everything, reading as a student about creatures that laid their eggs inside other creatures. For months after he’d refused omelettes and caviar, just in case.And the eggs would . . . look like the city, in a way, so that citizens would carry them home. Like cuckoo eggs.I wonder how many cities died in the past? Ringed by parasites, like a coral reef surrounded by starfish. They’d just become empty, they’d lose whateverUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-57949034065968234262009-04-03T00:44:00.000-07:002009-04-03T00:45:53.031-07:00Pino remember when<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/remember_when_2895.html"><strong>Pino remember when</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Three_Women_2850.html"><strong>Pablo Picasso Three Women</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Seated_Bather_2839.html"><strong>Pablo Picasso Seated Bather</strong></a><br />just stalks. Now he was beginning to recognise the little differences. There was William Spigot and Gabby Wheels and Duke Bottomley. All old men, as far as Bill Door could judge, with skins like leather. There were young men and women in the village, but at a certain age they seemed to flip straight over to being old,<br />these parts this, although it seemed transparent to the others.<br />And Duke Bottomley had been named by parents with upwardly-mobile if rather simplistic ideas about class structure; his brothers were Squire, Earl and King.<br />Now they sat in a row under the hedge, putting off the moment they’d had to hit someone over the head with the shovel. William Spigot was the one that sang when he worked, breaking into that long nasal whine which meant that folk song was about to be perpetrated. Gabby Wheels never said anything; this, Spigot had said. was why he had been called Gabby. Bill Door had failed to understand the logic ofUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-15936682892817136912009-04-02T00:33:00.000-07:002009-04-02T00:34:04.959-07:00Edward Hopper Girlie Show<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Girlie_Show_6455.html"><strong>Edward Hopper Girlie Show</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Early_Sunday_Morning_6448.html"><strong>Edward Hopper Early Sunday Morning</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/The_Guitar_6373.html"><strong>Juan Gris The Guitar</strong></a><br />have . . . ghastly Things from the Dungeon. Dimensions and things, yes? Terrible hazards of your ungodly profession?’ said the Chief Priest. ‘Yes.’<br />‘We have someone called Mrs Cake.’<br />Ridcully gave him an enquiring look.<br />‘us much, does it?’ ‘I suppose there’s not some kind of magic you don’t know about?’<br />‘If there is, we don’t know about it.’<br />‘Fair enough, ‘ the priest conceded.Don’t ask,’ said the priest, shuddering.’Just be grateful you’ll never have to find out.’Ridcully silently passed him the brandy.‘Just between the two of us,’ said the priest, ‘have you got any ideas about all this? The guards aretrying to dig his lordship out. You know he’ll want answers. I ‘m not even certain I know the questions.’‘Not magic and not gods,’ said Ridcully.’Can I have the snare back? Thank you. Not magic and not gods. That doesn’t leaveUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-33639408386080735772009-04-01T00:21:00.001-07:002009-04-01T00:21:43.918-07:00Mark Rothko Violet Green and Red 1951<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Violet_Green_and_Red_1951_5424.html"><strong>Mark Rothko Violet Green and Red 1951</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Untitled_1962_5417.html"><strong>Mark Rothko Untitled 1962</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Untitled_1960_5416.html"><strong>Mark Rothko Untitled 1960</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Untitled_1949_5412.html"><strong>Mark Rothko Untitled 1949</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Two_Sisters_5411.html"><strong>Zhang Xiaogang Two Sisters</strong></a><br />repertoire of small talk relating to women. He leaned down to Windle’s gnarled ear.<br />‘Isn’t there rather a lot of, ‘ he struck out aimlessly, ‘washing things? And making beds and cookery and all that sort , and in any case he had other things on his mind.<br />He kept looking back at the little table.<br />The Bursar was a kindly if nervous soul, and quite enjoyed his job. Apart from anything else, no other wizard wanted it. Lots of wizards wanted to be Archchancellor, for example, or the head of one of the eight orders of magic, but practically no wizards wanted to spend lots of time in an office shuffling bits of paper and doing of thing?’ ‘Not in the kind of, mm, life I have in mind,’ said Windle firmly. The Bursar shut his mouth. The Archchancellor banged on a table with a spoon.‘Brothers -‘ he began, when there was something approaching silence. This prompted a loud and ragged chorus of cheering. ‘- As you all know we are here tonight to mark the, ah, retirement’ - nervous laughter - ‘of our old friend and colleague Windle Poons. You know, seeing old Windle sitting here tonight puts me in mind, as luck would have it, of the story of the cow with three wooden legs. It appears that there was this cow, and -‘ The Bursar let his mind wander. He knew the story. The Archchancellor always mucked up the punch lineUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7718163578253543357.post-48428433709103511192009-03-31T00:30:00.001-07:002009-03-31T00:30:55.687-07:00Thomas Kinkade La Jolla Cove<a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/La_Jolla_Cove_3487.html"><strong>Thomas Kinkade La Jolla Cove</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Hometown_Christmas_3485.html"><strong>Thomas Kinkade Hometown Christmas</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Footprints_in_the_sand_3480.html"><strong>Thomas Kinkade Footprints in the sand</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/Fisherman%27s_Wharf_3479.html"><strong>Thomas Kinkade Fisherman's Wharf</strong></a><a href="http://www.paintinghere.com/painting/elegant_evening_3476.html"><strong>Thomas Kinkade elegant evening</strong></a><br /> got that sort of thing sometimes, he thought, as he poured some water into the cracked basin and had a quick wash. Some wicked old king or wizard gets buried and their spirit creeps about, trying to put things right or something. Well‑known effect. But now there must be a million tons of rock blocking the tunnel, and I can’t see anyone The room was full of the kind of light you got when you woke up on a winter’s morning and knew, by the light, that it had snowed. It was a light without shadows.<br />He went to the window and looked out on a pale silver glow.<br />Holy Wood had vanished.doing any creeping through that.The unpleasantly alive screen surfaced briefly in his memory, but even that didn’t seem so bad now. It had been dark in there, there had been lots of moving shadows, he had been wound up like a spring in any case, no wonder his eyes had played tricks on him. There had been the skeletons, too, but even they now lacked the power to terrify. Victor had heard of tribal leaders up on the cold plains who’d be buried with whole armies of mounted horsemen, so that their souls would live on in the next world. Maybe there was something like thathere, once. Yes, it all seemed much less horrifying in the cold light of day.And that’s just what it was. Cold light.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0