Jack Vettriano Good Time GirlsJack Vettriano Good Days' SunshineJack Vettriano Girls' Night
tutorial.
'You better fetch 'em,' he said. 'The fact is, I seem to have lost my faculty.'
'For what, Archchancellor?' said Ponder, politely.
'What?'
'Sorry?'
They looked at a
dressmaker's dummy from Mrs Whitlow, the
housekeeper.
He'd made some changes to the design that had buzzed around his brain. For one thing, a wizard in his very soul is loath to wear any garment that doesn't reach down at least to the ankles, so there was quite a lot of leather. Lots of room for all the studs.
He'd started with: DEAN.one another in incomprehension, two minds driving opposite ways up a narrow street and waiting for the other man to reverse first.'The faculty,' said Ridcully, giving up. 'The Dean and whatnot. Gone totally round the corner. Been up all night, playing guitars and whatnot. The Dean's made himself a coat out of leather.''Well, leather is a very practical and functional material–’'Not the way he's using it,' said Ridcully darkly . . .[. . . the Dean stood back. He'd borrowed
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
Paul Gauguin The Yellow Christ
Paul Gauguin The Yellow ChristPaul Gauguin The Vision After the SermonPaul Gauguin Spirit of the Dead WatchingPaul Gauguin Hail Mary
resembling the stalagmites of some monstrously ancient cave. Almost lost among them was the player's pulpit, with its three giant keyboards and the hundred knobs for special sound effects.
It wasn't often used, except for the occasional civic affair or Wizards' Excuse Me.[9]
But the Librarian, energetically pumping the bellows and making occasional little 'ooks' of excitement, felt there was a lot more He hesitated.
He lowered his hands again and pulled out the Vox Humana, the Vox Dei and the Vox Diabolica.
The moan of the organ took on a more urgent tone.
He raised his hands.that it could do.A fully grown male orang‑utan may look like an amiable pile of old carpets but he has a strength in him that would make a human of equivalent weight eat lots of rug. The Librarian only stopped pumping when the lever was too hot to hold and the air reservoirs were farting and whistling around the rivets.Then he swung himself up into the organist's seat.The whole edifice was humming softly under the enormous pentup pressure.The Librarian locked his hands together and cracked his knuckles, which is impressive when you have as many knuckles as an orang-utan.He raised his hands.
resembling the stalagmites of some monstrously ancient cave. Almost lost among them was the player's pulpit, with its three giant keyboards and the hundred knobs for special sound effects.
It wasn't often used, except for the occasional civic affair or Wizards' Excuse Me.[9]
But the Librarian, energetically pumping the bellows and making occasional little 'ooks' of excitement, felt there was a lot more He hesitated.
He lowered his hands again and pulled out the Vox Humana, the Vox Dei and the Vox Diabolica.
The moan of the organ took on a more urgent tone.
He raised his hands.that it could do.A fully grown male orang‑utan may look like an amiable pile of old carpets but he has a strength in him that would make a human of equivalent weight eat lots of rug. The Librarian only stopped pumping when the lever was too hot to hold and the air reservoirs were farting and whistling around the rivets.Then he swung himself up into the organist's seat.The whole edifice was humming softly under the enormous pentup pressure.The Librarian locked his hands together and cracked his knuckles, which is impressive when you have as many knuckles as an orang-utan.He raised his hands.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Thomas Kinkade The Rose Garden
Thomas Kinkade The Rose GardenThomas Kinkade Sunset on Lamplight LaneThomas Kinkade Sunday OutingThomas Kinkade Studio in The Garden
bounding up to the ridge.
'You can put me down right now,' said Gaspode. 'Right now this minute! Here they come!'
The leading dogs arrived on the opposite roof, saw the gap, and tried to turn. Claws slid on the tiles.
Angua turned, poodle accelerated out into space, powered less by muscles than by whatever it was that burned in his soul.
His forepaws touched the slates, clawed for a moment on the slick surface, and found no hold. In silence he skidded backwards down the roof, over the edge—
—and hung.fighting for breath. She'd tried to avoid breathing, during that first mad dash. She'd have breathed Gaspode.They heard Big Fido's irate yapping.'Cowards! That's not twenty feet across! That's nothing to a wolf!'The dogs measured the distance doubtfully. Sometimes a dog has to get right down and ask himself: what species am I?'It's easy! I'll show you! Look!'Big Fido ran back a little way, paused, turned, ran . . . and leapt.There was hardly a curve to the trajectory. The little
bounding up to the ridge.
'You can put me down right now,' said Gaspode. 'Right now this minute! Here they come!'
The leading dogs arrived on the opposite roof, saw the gap, and tried to turn. Claws slid on the tiles.
Angua turned, poodle accelerated out into space, powered less by muscles than by whatever it was that burned in his soul.
His forepaws touched the slates, clawed for a moment on the slick surface, and found no hold. In silence he skidded backwards down the roof, over the edge—
—and hung.fighting for breath. She'd tried to avoid breathing, during that first mad dash. She'd have breathed Gaspode.They heard Big Fido's irate yapping.'Cowards! That's not twenty feet across! That's nothing to a wolf!'The dogs measured the distance doubtfully. Sometimes a dog has to get right down and ask himself: what species am I?'It's easy! I'll show you! Look!'Big Fido ran back a little way, paused, turned, ran . . . and leapt.There was hardly a curve to the trajectory. The little
Monday, May 4, 2009
Cao Yong WINDS OF LOVE
Cao Yong WINDS OF LOVECao Yong Walk In GardenCao Yong VILLA ENCANTADA
ten days ago,' said Boffo. 'It's through here, past the pie range.'
'He'd forgotten Beano's name, but he did know the room. He didn't know the number but he went straight to it,' Carrot went on.'It's historical,' said Boffo the clown.
All those little heads . . .'
They stretched away in the candlelight, shelf on shelf of them, tiny little clown faces – as if a tribe of head-hunters had suddenly developed a sophisticated sense of humour and a desire to make the world a better place.'That's right. I expect Dr Whiteface told you,' said Boffo.'I've spoken to Dr Whiteface,' said Carrot.Angua felt she was beginning to understand the way Carrot asked questions. He asked them by not asking them. He simply told people what he thought or suspected, and they found themselves filling in the details in an attempt to keep up. And he never, actually, told lies.Boffo pushed open a door and fussed around lighting a candle.'Here we are then,' he said. 'I'm in charge of this, when I'm not on the bloody gate.''Ye gods,' said Angua, under her breath. 'It's horrible.''It's very interesting,' said Carrot.
ten days ago,' said Boffo. 'It's through here, past the pie range.'
'He'd forgotten Beano's name, but he did know the room. He didn't know the number but he went straight to it,' Carrot went on.'It's historical,' said Boffo the clown.
All those little heads . . .'
They stretched away in the candlelight, shelf on shelf of them, tiny little clown faces – as if a tribe of head-hunters had suddenly developed a sophisticated sense of humour and a desire to make the world a better place.'That's right. I expect Dr Whiteface told you,' said Boffo.'I've spoken to Dr Whiteface,' said Carrot.Angua felt she was beginning to understand the way Carrot asked questions. He asked them by not asking them. He simply told people what he thought or suspected, and they found themselves filling in the details in an attempt to keep up. And he never, actually, told lies.Boffo pushed open a door and fussed around lighting a candle.'Here we are then,' he said. 'I'm in charge of this, when I'm not on the bloody gate.''Ye gods,' said Angua, under her breath. 'It's horrible.''It's very interesting,' said Carrot.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
John William Waterhouse Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
John William Waterhouse Gather ye rosebuds while ye mayLeonardo da Vinci Leda and the SwanLeonardo da Vinci St John in the WildernessLeonardo da Vinci The Last Supper
walking rocks.
He'd sought advice about troll food from Chryso-prase, who was also a troll, although you'd hardly know it any more, he'd been around pies! Get them while they're hot!'
This was by way of a warm up. The chances of a human eating anything off Dibbler's barrow unless it was stamped flat and pushed under the door after two weeks on a starvation diet was, by now, remote. He looked around conspiratorially – there were always trolls working in the docks – and took the cover off a fresh tray.
Now then, what was it? Oh, yes . . .humans so long he wore a suit now and, as he said, had learned all kindsa civilized things, like extortion, money-lending at 300 per cent interest per munf, and stuff like that. Chrysoprase might have been born in a cave above the snowline on some mountain somewhere, but five minutes in Ankh-Morpork and he'd fitted right in. Dibbler liked to think of Chrysoprase as a friend; you'd hate to think of him as an enemy.Throat had chosen today to give his new approach a try. He pushed his hot food barrow through streets broad and narrow, crying:'Sausages! Hot sausages! Inna bun! Meat
walking rocks.
He'd sought advice about troll food from Chryso-prase, who was also a troll, although you'd hardly know it any more, he'd been around pies! Get them while they're hot!'
This was by way of a warm up. The chances of a human eating anything off Dibbler's barrow unless it was stamped flat and pushed under the door after two weeks on a starvation diet was, by now, remote. He looked around conspiratorially – there were always trolls working in the docks – and took the cover off a fresh tray.
Now then, what was it? Oh, yes . . .humans so long he wore a suit now and, as he said, had learned all kindsa civilized things, like extortion, money-lending at 300 per cent interest per munf, and stuff like that. Chrysoprase might have been born in a cave above the snowline on some mountain somewhere, but five minutes in Ankh-Morpork and he'd fitted right in. Dibbler liked to think of Chrysoprase as a friend; you'd hate to think of him as an enemy.Throat had chosen today to give his new approach a try. He pushed his hot food barrow through streets broad and narrow, crying:'Sausages! Hot sausages! Inna bun! Meat
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Paul Gauguin By the Sea
Paul Gauguin By the SeaPaul Gauguin Breton Girls DancingHenri Matisse The MoroccansHenri Matisse Still Life with Oranges
'And that was in a tree.'
'Where are we?'
'Not even a tree near here. What?'
Gaspode sniffed the air. His nose could read the city in a way reminiscent of Captain Vimes' educated soles.
'Junction of Scoone Avenue and Prouts,' he said.
'Trail's dying bear across the snow, wearing the landscape like a skin—
Gaspode glanced sideways. Angua was sitting on her haunches, staring.
'Yer tongue's hanging out,' he said.
'What? . . . So? So what? That's natural. I'm panting.'
'Har, har.'
Carrot noticed them, and stopped.
'Why, it's the little mongrel dog,' he said.out. It's mixed up with too much other stuff.'Angua sniffed around for a while. Someone had come up here, but too many people had crossed the trail. The sharp smell was still there, but only as a suggestion in the welter of conflicting scents.She was aware of an overwhelming smell of approaching soap. She'd noticed it before, but only as a woman and only as a faint whiff. As a quadruped, it seemed to fill the world.Corporal Carrot was walking up the road, looking thoughtful. He wasn't looking where he was going, however, but he didn't need to. People stood aside for Corporal Carrot.It was the first time she'd seen him through these eyes. Good grief. How did people not notice it? He walked through the city like a tiger through tall grass, or a hubland
'And that was in a tree.'
'Where are we?'
'Not even a tree near here. What?'
Gaspode sniffed the air. His nose could read the city in a way reminiscent of Captain Vimes' educated soles.
'Junction of Scoone Avenue and Prouts,' he said.
'Trail's dying bear across the snow, wearing the landscape like a skin—
Gaspode glanced sideways. Angua was sitting on her haunches, staring.
'Yer tongue's hanging out,' he said.
'What? . . . So? So what? That's natural. I'm panting.'
'Har, har.'
Carrot noticed them, and stopped.
'Why, it's the little mongrel dog,' he said.out. It's mixed up with too much other stuff.'Angua sniffed around for a while. Someone had come up here, but too many people had crossed the trail. The sharp smell was still there, but only as a suggestion in the welter of conflicting scents.She was aware of an overwhelming smell of approaching soap. She'd noticed it before, but only as a woman and only as a faint whiff. As a quadruped, it seemed to fill the world.Corporal Carrot was walking up the road, looking thoughtful. He wasn't looking where he was going, however, but he didn't need to. People stood aside for Corporal Carrot.It was the first time she'd seen him through these eyes. Good grief. How did people not notice it? He walked through the city like a tiger through tall grass, or a hubland
Monday, April 27, 2009
Piet Mondrian Composition 2
Piet Mondrian Composition 2Steve Thoms PoppiesEdvard Munch Puberty 1894
was just going back to the Guild,' said Beano.
The hooded that hard! I only wanted you out of the way!'
'Why'd you have to hit me at all?'
And then the feeling stole over Beano that Edward wasn't exactly looking at him, and certainly wasn't talking to him.
He glanced at the ground, and experienced that peculiar sensation known only to the recently dead -horror at what you see lying in front of you, followed by the nagging question: so who's doing the looking?
KNOCK KNOCK.
He looked up. 'Who's there?'figure nodded.'Are you OK?' said Beano.'I'm sorry about th-is,' it said. 'But it is for the good of the city. It is nothing p-ersonal.'He stepped behind the clown. Beano felt a crunch, and then his own personal internal universe switched off.Then he sat up.'Ow,' he said, 'that hur—'But it didn't.Edward d'Eath was looking down at him with a horrified expression.'Oh . . . I didn't mean to hit you
was just going back to the Guild,' said Beano.
The hooded that hard! I only wanted you out of the way!'
'Why'd you have to hit me at all?'
And then the feeling stole over Beano that Edward wasn't exactly looking at him, and certainly wasn't talking to him.
He glanced at the ground, and experienced that peculiar sensation known only to the recently dead -horror at what you see lying in front of you, followed by the nagging question: so who's doing the looking?
KNOCK KNOCK.
He looked up. 'Who's there?'figure nodded.'Are you OK?' said Beano.'I'm sorry about th-is,' it said. 'But it is for the good of the city. It is nothing p-ersonal.'He stepped behind the clown. Beano felt a crunch, and then his own personal internal universe switched off.Then he sat up.'Ow,' he said, 'that hur—'But it didn't.Edward d'Eath was looking down at him with a horrified expression.'Oh . . . I didn't mean to hit you
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