Leroy Neiman Elephant Stampede

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How very fascinating.’
The Patrician leaned the other way, to Ginger and Victor. To his mild surprise they were looking extremely tense. ‘But, ah, you make moving pictures,’ said the Patrician kindly.
‘Yes, but we never see them. We just see bits of them, when the handlemen are gluing it all together. The only clicks I’ve ever seen were on an old sheet outdoors,’ said Victor.
‘So this is all new to you?’ said the Patrician.
‘Not exactly,’ said Victor, grey‑faced.
‘Fascinating,’ said the Patrician, and went back to not listening to Dibbler. He had He’d noticed that as soon as they had walked into the Odium. The boy looked at all the ridiculous ornamentation as if it was something dreadful, and when the girl had stepped into the pit proper he’d heard her gasp.They looked as though they were in shock.‘I expect this is all perfectly commonplace to you,’ he said.‘No,’ said Victor. ‘Not really. We’ve never been in a proper picture pit before.’‘Except once,’ said Ginger grimly.‘Yes. Except once.’

Leroy Neiman The Brooklyn Bridge

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Gaspode wondered how you went about mating with a wolf, and what happened to you when you stopped.
Well, that didn’t matter. What mattered was that true dogs didn’t go around going mad with pleasure just because a human said something to them.
Yeah.
He growled at a pile of trash and dared it to disagree.
Part of the pile . ‘I thought you said it was safer on the hill.’
‘Not any more,’ said the cat. ‘It’sh getting too shpooky.’
Gaspode frowned. ‘You’re a cat,’ he said disapprovingly. ‘You ort to be right alongside the idea of spooky.’
‘Yeah, but that doesh’nt exhtend to having golden sparks crackling off your fur and the ground shaking the whole time. And weird voices that you think must be happening in your own head,’ said catmoved, and a feline face with a defunct fish in its mouth peered out at him. He was just about to bark half-heartedly at it, for tradition’s sake, when it spat the fish out and spoke to him. ‘Hallo, Gathpode.’ Gaspode relaxed. ‘Oh. Hallo, cat. No offence meant. Didn’t know it was you.’ ‘I hateth fisth,’ said the cat, ‘but at leasth they don’t talk back.’ Another part of the trash moved and Squeak the mouse emerged. ‘What’re you two doin’ down here?’ said Gaspode

Vincent van Gogh Wheatfield under a Cloudy Sky

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Get what?’ said Ginger and Victor together.
Then Victor noticed Morry sitting on the sand. There was a sizeable chip out of his arm; Rock was trowelling ‘One minute I’m sitting in a tent, next minute I’m breathing camel,’ said Ginger petulantly. ‘Is it too much to ask what is going on?’
But no-one seemed to be listening to them.
‘Why can’t we find a way of getting sound?’ said Dibbler. ‘That was damn good dialogue there. Didn’t understand a word of it, but I know good dialogue when I hear it.’
‘Parrots,’ said the handleman flatly. ‘Your common Howondaland Greensomething into it. The troll noticed Victor’s expression and gave him a sickly grin. ‘Fink you’re Cohen the Barbarian, do you?’ he said. ‘Yeah,’ said Rock. ‘There was no call to go callin’ him wot you called him. An’ if you’re going to go doin’ fancy swordwork, we’re applyin’ for an extra dollar a day Havin’-Bits-Chopped-Off allowance.’ Victor’s sword had several nicks on the blade. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine how they had got there. ‘Look,’ he said desperately. ‘I don’t understand. I didn’t call anyone anything. Have we started filming yet?’

Raphael Saint George and the Dragon

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These six demons here’, he said, pointing cautiously to avoid the claws, ‘look out through the little hole in the front of the box and paint pictures of what they see. There has to be six of them, OK? Two to paint and four to blow on it to goes by, the faster they have to paint. You got to get the speed just right. Very important job, handlemanning.’
‘But isn’t it all rather, well, cruel?’
Gaffer looked surprised. ‘Oh, no. Not really. I gets a rest every half an hour. Guild of Handlemen regulations.’ get it dry. On account of the next picture coming down, see. That’s because every time this handle here. is turned, the strip of transparent membrane is wound down one notch for the next picture.’ He turned the handle. It went clickaclicka, and the imps gibbered. ‘What did they do that for?’ said Victor. ‘Ah,’ said Gaffer, ‘that’s because the handle also drives this little wheel with whips on. It’s the only way to get them to work fast enough. He’s a lazy little devil, your average imp. It’s all feedback, anyway. The faster you turn the handle, the faster the film

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grabbed a handful of hair and pulled himself up, the camel started to trot.
. . . Think fractals . . .
'Ere, you're going to run straight-' the sergeant began.
There was silence. It went on for a long time.
The The two men stared at the stone for a while.
'Like a mirage,' said the Tsortean, helpfully.
'One of them things, yes.'
'I thought I heard a seagull, too.'
'Daft, isn't it. You don't get them out here.'
The Tsortean coughed politely, and stared back at his men.sergeant shifted uneasily. Then he looked across the rocks to the Tsorteans, and caught the eye of their leader. With the unspoken understanding that is shared by centurions and sergeant-majors everywhere, they walked towards one another along the length of the rocks and stopped by the barely visible crack in the cliff. The Tsortean sergeant ran his hand over it. 'You'd think there'd be some, you know, camel hairs or something,' he said. 'Or blood,' said the Ephebian. 'I reckon it's one of them unexplainable phenomena.' 'Oh. That's all right, then.'

Paul Klee Zitronen

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undulated by the fresco of Queen Khaphut accepting Tribute from the Kingdoms of the World.
'Well, yes,' said Teppic, bewildered by the tone. 'He's dead, isn't he?'
'There's that, too,' said Dios, and Teppic realised that he hadn't been referring to something as trivial as the king's current physical condition.
He was lost .
'"Thin eagle, eye, wiggly line, man with a stick, bird sitting down, wiggly line",' he read. Dios winced.
'I believe we must apply ourselves more to the study of modem languages,' he said, recovering a bit. 'His name is Pta-ka-ba. He is king when the Djel Empire extends from the Circle Sea to the Rim Ocean, when almost half the continent pays tribute to us.'in a horrified admiration. It wasn't that Dios was particularly cruel or uncaring, it was simply that death was a mere irritating transition in the eternal business of existence. The fact that people died was just an inconvenience, like them being out when you called. It's a strange world, he thought. It's all busy shadows, and it never changes. And I'm part of it. 'Who's he?' he said, pointing to a particularly big fresco showing a tall man with a hat like a chimney and a beard like a rope riding a chariot over a lot of other, much smaller, people. 'His name is in the cartouche below,' said Dios primly. 'What?' 'The small oval, sire,' said Dios. Teppic peered closely at the dense hieroglyphics

Nicolas De Stael Cap Gris-Nez

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'Don't worry,' said Granny firmly. 'Everyone wants to come and swear loyalty to you. You just nod graciously and ask everyone what they do and if they enjoy it. Oh, and you'd better give them the crown back.'
Tomjon removed it quickly.
'Why?' he said.
'They want to present it to you.'
'But I've already got it!' said Tomjon desperately.
Granny gave a patient sigh.
'Only in the wossname, real sense,' she said. 'This is more ceremonial.'
'You enjoyed their work. They were far more the type of kings who got people to charge into battle at five o'clock on a freezing morning and still managed to persuade them that this was better than being in bed. He summoned them all, and treated Granny Weatherwax to a blast of royal hauteur, pride and arrogance.
'We thought we were talking to a subject,' he said. 'Now do as we say!'mean unreal?''Yes,' said Granny. 'But much more important.'Tomjon gripped the arms of the throne.'Fetch me Hwel,' he said.''No, you must do it like that. It's precedent, you see, first you meet the—''I said, fetch me the dwarf. Didn't you hear me, woman?' This time Tomjon got the spin and pitch of his voice just right, but Granny rallied magnificently.'I don't think you quite realise who you are talking to, young man,' she said.Tomjon half rose in his seat. He had played a great many kings, and most of them weren't the kind of kings who shook hands graciously and asked people whether they

Thomas Gainsborough River Landscape

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awoke, shivering. The room was dark. Outside a few stars pierced the mists of the city, and there was the occasional whistle of burglars and footpads as they went about their strictly lawful occasions.
There was silence from the next room, but he could see the light of a candle under the door.
He went cold water, like toffee.'
'How inconvenient that we didn't think to bring one, Magrat.'
'I think we should begettingon, Esme. The night's nearly gone.'
'Just don't blame me if it doesn't work properly, that's all.back to bed.Across the turgid river the Fool had also awakened. He was staying in the Fool's Guild, not out of choice but because the duke hadn't given him any money for anything else, and getting to sleep had been difficult in any case. The chilly walls had brought back too many memories. Besides, if he listened hard he could hear the muted sobs and occasional whimpers from the students' dormitories, as they contemplated with horror the life that lay ahead of them.He punched the rock-hard pillow, and sank into a fitful sleep. Perchance to dream.'Slab and grue, yes. But it doesn 't say how slab and grue.''Goodie Whemper recommended testing a bit in a cup of

Mary Magdalene at the Tomb

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'Yes, there are a hundred things you could do,' he said. 'But the ending would always be the same.' He drew back. 'I'm not an unreasonable man, I hope,' he added, in cheerful tones. 'Perhaps, if you persuade the people to be calm, I may be prevailed upon to moderate my rule somewhat. I make no promises, of course.'
Granny . I will protect you from the witches! They have agreed to leave you in peace!'
Granny stared at him as he spoke. He's one of these here maniac depressives, she said. Up and down like a woss-name. Kill you one minute and ask you how you're feeling the next.said nothing.'Smile and wave,' commanded the duke.Granny raised one hand in a vague motion and produced a brief rictus that had nothing whatsoever to do with humour. Then she scowled and nudged Nanny Ogg, who was waving and mugging like a maniac.'No need to get carried away,' she hissed.'But there's our Reel and our Sharleen and their babbies,' said Nanny. 'Coo-eee!''Will you shut up, you daft old besom!' snapped Granny. 'And pull yourself together!''Jolly good, well done,' said the duke. He raised his hands, or at least his hand. The other still ached. He'd tried the grater again last night, but it hadn't worked.'People of Lancre,' he cried, 'do not be afeared! I am your friend

Georges Seurat The Models

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The duke rose from his chair and put his arms around the sergeant's rusting chain mail shoulders. He was in a bad mood. He had spent half the night washing his hands. He kept thinking that something was whispering in his ear. His breakfast oatmeal had been served up too salty and roasted with an apple in it, and the cook had hysterics in in fact the case?'
The sergeant wrinkled his forehead. Sarcasm had not hitherto entered his life. His experience of people being annoyed with him generally involved shouting and occasional bits of wood.
'No, sir,' he said.
'I wonder why, then, you did not in fact do this thing that I asked?' the kitchen. You could tell the duke was extremely annoyed. He was polite. The duke was the kind of man who becomes more and more agreeable as his temper drains away, until the point is reached where the words 'Thank you so much' have the cutting edge of a guillotine.'Sergeant,' he said, walking the man slowly across the floor.'Sir?''I'm not sure I made your orders clear, sergeant,' said the duke, in snake tones.'Sir?''I mean, it is possible I may have confused you. I meant to say "Bring me a witch, in chains if necessary", but perhaps what I really said was "Go and have a cup of tea". Was this

Leroy Neiman Cafe Rive Gauche

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and meat – some of Harga's best, if he'd known – that had been strategically placed around the floor. Occassionally Death would pause in his work and scratch one of them behind the ears.
'Happiness,' he views of the city and the Sto plain, which is to say, you could see an awful lot of cabbages.
Cutwell made it as far as the crumbling crenel-lations atop the wall and looked out at the morning haze. It was, maybe, a little hazier than usual. If he tried hard he could imagine a flicker in the sky. If he really strained his imagination he could hear a buzzing out over the cabbage fields, a sound like someone frying locusts. He shivered.said, and puzzled at the sound of his own voice. Cutwell, the wizard and Royal Recogniser by appointment, pulled himself up the last of the tower steps and leaned against the wall, waiting for his heart to stop thumping.Actually it wasn't particularly high, this tower, just high for Sto Lat. In general design and outline it looked the standard sort of tower for imprisoning princesses in; it was mainly used to store old furniture.However, it offered unsurpassed

Rene Magritte The Human Condition

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hauled her bodily into the room, slamming the door shut behind her. As the frightened woman stared everywhere but at Keli she hauled off and fetched her a stinging slap across the cheek.
'Did you feel .'
'What did you think?' snapped Keli. She wasn't shouting any more. Her words came out like white-hot whips.
The maid collapsed into a sobbing heap. Keli stood tapping her foot for a moment, and then shook the woman gently.
'Is there a wizard in the city?' she said. 'Look at me, at me. There's a wizard, isn't that? Did you feel it?' she shrieked.'But . . . you . . .' the maid whimpered, staggering backwards until she hit the bed and sitting down heavily on it.'Look at me! Look at me when I talk to you!' yelled Keli, advancing on her. 'You can see me, can't you? Tell me you can see me or I'll have you executed!'The maid stared into her terrified eyes.'I can see you,' she said, 'but. . . .''But what? But what?''Surely you're . . . I heard . . . I thought. . .

Wassily Kandinsky Farbstudie Quadrate

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REALITY is NOT ALWAYS WHAT IT SEEMS, said Death. ANYWAY, IF THEY DON'T WANT TO SEE ME, THEY CERTAINLY DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU. THESE ARE ARISTOCRATS, BOY. THEY'RE GOOD AT NOT SEEING THINGS. WHY IS THERE A CHERRY ON A STICK IN THIS DRINK?
'Mort,' said Death, fingering a passing canape. I MEAN, MUSHROOMS YES, CHICKEN YES, CREAM YES, I'VE NOTHING AGAINST ANY OF THEM, BUT WHY IN THE NAME OF SANITY MINCE THEM ALL UP AND PUT THEM IN LITTLE PASTRY CASES?
'Pardon?' said Mort.
THAT'S MORTALS FOR YOU, Death continued. THEY'VE ONLY GOT A FEW Mort automatically.IT'S NOT AS IF IT DOES ANYTHING FOR THE FLAVOUR. WHY DOES ANYONE TAKE A PERFECTLY GOOD DRINK AND THEN PUT IN A CHERRY ON A POLE?'What's going to happen next?' said Mort. An elderly earl bumped into his elbow, looked everywhere but directly at him, shrugged and walked away.TAKE THESE THINGS, NOW, said

Gustav Klimt Hygieia (II)

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bits of fur and odd ends of tentacle, very much like a Greek meal. Another was slightly more successful and had begun to shamble uncertainly away before Esk caught it a crack on one of its five shins.
It flailed desperately as it fell and brought down another two.
By then the others had managed to lurch out of her way and stood watching from a distance.
Esk tribe of the K'turni, who invented it. It has no direct synonym, although the Cumhoolie word "squemt" ('the feeling upon finding that the previous occupant of the privy has used all the paper') begins to approach it in general depth of feeling. The closest translation is as follows:
The nasty little sound of a sword being unsheathed right behind one at just the point took a few steps towards the nearest one. It tried to move away, and fell over. They may have been ugly. They may have been evil. But when it came to poetry in motion, the Things had all the grace and coordination of a deck-chair. Esk glared at them, and took a look at the Disc in its glass pyramid. All the excitement didn't seem to have disturbed it a bit. She'd been able to get out, if this indeed was out and if the Disc could be said to be in. But how was one supposed to get back? Somebody laughed. It was the sort of laugh Basically, it was p'ch'zarni'chiwkov. This epiglottis-throttling word is seldom used on the Disc except by highly-paid stunt linguists and, of course, the tiny

Frida Kahlo Diego and I

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"But the river goes there," said Esk, reasonably. "Barges. The Zoons."
"Ah, yes," said the merchant, "but they charge high prices and they can't carry everything and, anyway, no one ?"
"Well, are they supposed to have little white worm things in them?"
"Fiftysev - what?" The merchant lowered his slate and stared at Esk, "What little worms?"
"Wriggly ones. White," added Esk, helpfully. "All sort of burrowing about in the middle trusts them much." "But they're very honest!" "Huh, yes," he said. "But you know what they say: never trust an honest man." He smiled knowingly. "Who says that?" "They do. You know. People," he said, a certain uneasiness entering his voice. "Oh," said Esk. She thought about it. "They must be very silly," she said primly. "Thank you, anyway." He watched her wander off and got back to his counting. A moment later there was another tug at his coat. "Fiftysevenfiftysevenfiftysevenwell?" he said, trying not to lose his place. "Sorry to bother you again," said Esk, "but those bale things ...." "What about them fiftysevenfiftysevenfiftyseven

Francois Boucher Venus Consoling Love

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was odd, because he wasn't very tall and there had always been plenty of room before, but he was certain that whatever happened had nothing to do with the blur of movement from the forge's darkest corner.
Somehow the events set the seal on the day. It became a broken crockery day, a day of people getting under each The two youngest boys looked up from where they were halfheartedly fighting under the table.
"She went out to the orchard," said Gulta. "Again."
"Go and fetch her in, then, and be off." other's feet and being peevish. Esk's mother dropped a jug that had belonged to her grandmother and a whole box of apples in the loft turned out to be moldy. In the forge the furnace went sullen and refused to draw. Jaims, the oldest son, slipped on the packed ice in the road and hurt his arm. The white cat, or possibly one of its descendants, since the cats led a private and their own in the hayloft next to the forge, went and climbed up the chimney in the scullery and refused to come down. Even the sky pressed in like an old mattress, and the air felt stuffy, despite the snow. Frayed nerves and boredom and bad temper made the air hum like thunderstorm weather. "Right! That's it. That's just about enough!" shouted Esk's mother. "Cern, you and Gulta and Esk can go and see how Granny is and -where's Esk?"

Leonardo da Vinci Head of Christ

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Spell stirred in his mind. He felt it trickle into his brain like iced water and brace itself. A cold tingle coursed down his arm.
His arm raised of its own volition, and he felt his own mouth opening and shutting and his own tongue moving as a voice that wasn't his, a voice that sounded old and dry, said syllables that puffed into the air like steam clouds.
Octarine fire the cobbles.
'Magic,' he mumbled excitedly, drunk with power. 'I did magic . . .'
'That's right,' said Twoflower soothingly.
'Would you like me to do a spell?' said Rincewind. He pointed a finger at a passing dog and said 'Wheeee!' It gave him a hurt look.
'Making your feet run a lot faster'd be favourite,' said Bethan grimly.flashed from under his fingernails. It wrapped itself around the horrified man until he was lost in a cold, spitting cloud that rose above the street, hung there for a long moment, and then exploded into nothingness.There wasn't even a wisp of greasy smoke.Rincewind stared at his hand in horror.Twoflower and Bethan each grabbed him by an arm and hustled him through the shocked crowd until they reached the open street. There was a painful moment as they each chose to run down a different alley, but they hurried on with Rincewind's feet barely touching

Juan Gris Teacups

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'Keeping them up is easy,' said the druid, holding up a thumb and squinting down the length of his arm at a distant mountain, The hard part is landing.'
'You wouldn't think so, would you?' said Twoflower.
'Persuasion is what keeps the whole universe together,' said Belafon. 'It's no good saying it's all done by magic.'
Rincewind happened to glance down through the thinning cloud to a snowy landscape a considerable distance below. He knew he was in the presence of a madman, but he was used to that; if listening to this madman meant he stayed up here, he was all ears.
Belafon sat The druids of the Disc prided themselves on their forward-looking approach to the discovery of the mysteries of the Universe. Of course, like druids everywhere they believed in the essential unity of all life, the healing ower of plants, the natural rhythm of the seasons and the burning alive of anyone who didn't approach all this in the right frame of mind, but they had also thought long down with his feet dangling over the edge of the rock.'Look, don't worry,' he said. 'If you keep thinking the rock shouldn't be flying it might hear you and become persuaded and you will turn out to be right, okay? It's obvious you aren't up to date with modern thinking.''So it would seem,' said Rincewind weakly. He was trying not to think about rocks on the ground. He was trying to think about rocks swooping like swallows, bounding across landscapes in the sheer joy of levity, zooming skywards in a—He was horribly aware he wasn't very good at it.

Henri Matisse Interior with Phonograph

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we're the sacrifices," said Rincewind.
"Yes."
"I thought Fate didn't go in for that sort of bargaining. I thought Fate was implacable," said Rincewind.
"Normally, yes. But you two have been thorns in his side for some time. He specified that the sacrifices should be you. He allowed you to escape from the pirates. He allowed you to drift into the Circumfence. Fate can be one mean god at times."
There was a you," said the Lady. "But all I can do is give you one chance. Just one, small chance. The rest is up to you."
She vanished.
"Gosh," said Twoflower, after a while. "That's the first time I've ever seen a goddess."
The door swung open. Garhartra entered, holding a wand in front of him. Behind him were two guards, armed more conventionally with swords.pause. The frog sighed and wandered off under the table."But you can help us?" prompted Twoflower."You amuse me," said the Lady. "I have a sentimental streak. You'd know that, if you were gamblers. So for a little while I rode in a frog's mind and you kindly rescued me, for, as we all know, no-one likes to see pathetic and helpless creatures swept to their death.""Thank you," said Rincewind."The whole mind of Fate is bent against

Andy Warhol Page from Lips Book

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Sometimes there was a brighter glow from a distant light-well.
What was odd, thought Twoflower as he strolled down a wide flight of stairs and kicked up billowing clouds of silver dust motes, was that the tunnels here were much wider. And better constructed, too. There were statues in niches horse face above him.
"What is your name, dragon?" said Twoflower.
I don't know.
"I think I shall call you Ninereeds."
That is my name, then.
They waded through the all-encroaching dust in a series set in the walls, and here and there faded but interesting tapestries had been hung. They mainly showed dragons - dragons by the hundreds in flight or hanging from their perch rings, dragons with men on their backs hunting down deer and, sometimes other men. Twoflower touched one tapestry gingerly. The fabric crumbled instantly in the hot dry air, leaving only a dangling mesh where some threads had been plaited with fine gold wire."I wonder why they left all this?" he said.I don't know said a polite voice in his head.He turned and looked up into the scaley