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Book: "Gustav Klimt, 100 Drawings"
mignon (name of these waffels): süß, lieblich, sweet, lovely
Part of the sets: Vienna: Secession, Fin de sieclé, Jugendstil, Art nouveau, Art deco - Wien um 1900 - die Schnitten des Gustav Klimt // "an apple a day keeps the doctor away - An ENSO (Japanese: circle, Japanisch: Kreis) a day .... " Aktion Kreis Tagebuch A circle diary - Start of the 365-days Project: 1. September
panasonic DMC-GH3 - P1030182 - 2015-04-25 - lumix
#schnitt #schnitte #frau #woman #modell #sexy #nude #akt #klimt #manner #stephansdom #bed #bett #sleep #schlaf #violett #veilchen #blau #schnittmuster #sewingpattern #entwurf #skizze
schnitte: Konjunktiv II, 1. u. 3. Person Singular von schneiden.
die Schnitte: Singular Dativ, Plural Nominativ Genetiv Akkusativ von der Schnitt
die Schnitte (Singular Nominativ): Süßigkeit, Mehlspeise, Waffel
die Schnitte (Singular Nominativ): Schnitte Brot
die Schnitte (Singular Nominativ): attraktive Frau
(Deklination: die Schnitte, der Schnitte, der Schnitte, die Schnitte, die Schnitten, der Schnitten, den Schnitten, die Schnitten)
+++ DISCLAIMER +++
Nothing you see here is real, even though the conversion or the presented background story might be based on historical facts. BEWARE!
Some Background:
The Ki-38 fighter was designed by the Tachikawa Aircraft Company Limited (立川飛行機株式会社, Tachikawa Hikōki Kabushiki Kaisha) near Tokyo, an aircraft manufacturer in the Empire of Japan, specializing primarily in aircraft for the Imperial Japanese Army Air Force. The Ki-38 prototype was produced in response to a December 1937 specification for a successor to the popular fixed-gear Nakajima Ki-27 Nate. The specification called for a top speed of 500 km/h (310 mph), a climb rate of 5,000 m (16,000 ft) in five minutes and a range of 800 km (500 mi). Maneuverability was to be at least as good as that of Ki-27.
When first flown in early January 1939, the Ki-38 prototype was a disappointment. Japanese test pilots complained that it was less maneuverable than the Ki-27 Nate and not much faster. Even though the competition was eventually won by the Ki-43, service trials determined the aircraft to hold sufficient promise to warrant further work, leading to the adoption of an expanded and strengthened wing and a more refined Mitsubishi Ha-102 (Army Type 100 1,050hp Air Cooled Radial) 14-cylinder air-cooled radial piston engine. During spring 1939, following the completion of further proving trials, an order for a pre-production batch of 25 aircraft was placed.
As a whole, the Ki-38 was an all-modern design consisting of all-metal skin and understructure construction with low-set monoplane wing appendages. The wings were straight in their general design with rounded tips and set well-forward of amidships. The engine was fitted to the extreme forward section of the fuselage in a traditional manner, powering a three-bladed propeller installation. Interestingly, the cockpit was also situated well-forward in the design, shortening the visual obstacle that was the engine compartment to some extent. However, views were still obstructed by the short engine housing to the front and the wings to the lower sides. The fuselage tapered at the rear to which a single vertical tail fin was affixed along with mid-mounted horizontal tailplanes. The undercarriage was retractable and of the "tail-dragger" arrangement consisting of two main single-wheeled landing gear legs and a fixed, diminutive tail wheel leg at the rear.
The series-production Ki-38-I was further modified to enhance its performance. These changes involved a major weight saving program, a slimmer and longer fuselage with bigger tail surfaces and a new, more streamlined bubble-style canopy that offered, even while bearing many struts, the pilot a very good all-round field of view.
In addition to good maneuverability, the Ki-38-I had a good top speed of more than 500 km/h (310 mph). The initial Ki-38 was armed with four 7.7 mm (0.303 in) Type 89 machine guns in the wings, but this soon turned out to be insufficient against armored Allied fighters and bombers. Quickly, the inner pair of weapons was, after just 50 aircraft, replaced with 12.7 mm (0.50 in) Ho-103 machine guns in the Ki-38-Ib (the initial version subsequently became the Ki-38-Ia), of which 75 were built. On board of the following Ki-38-Ic, the inner weapons were replaced with a pair of even heavier and more effective 20 mm (0.787 in) Ho-5 cannon, which required fairings for the ammunition under the wings and made this version easy to identify. The Ki-38-Ic became the most frequent variant, with 150 examples built.
All types also featured external hardpoints for a drop tank under the fuselage or a pair of bombs of up to 250 kg (550 lb) caliber under the wings. Late production aircraft were designated Ki-38-II. The pilot enjoyed a slightly taller canopy and a reflector gunsight in place of the earlier telescopic gunsight. The revised machines were also fitted with a 13 mm (0.51 in) armor plate for the pilot's head and back, and the aircraft's fuel tanks were coated in rubber to form a crude self-sealing tank. This was later replaced by a 3-layer rubber bladder, 8mm core construction, with 2mm oil-proof lamination. Some earlier aircraft were retrofitted with these elements, when available to the field workshops, and they dramatically improved the aircraft’s resilience to enemy fire. However, the bladder proved to be highly resistant only against light 7.7 mm (0.303 in) bullets but was not as effective against larger calibers. The Ki-38-II’s armament was the same as the Ki-38-Ic’s and 120 aircraft were built.
Ki-38 production started in November 1939 at the Tachikawa Hikoki KK and at the 1st Army Air Arsenal (Tachikawa Dai-Ichi Rikugun Kokusho) plants, also at Tachikawa. Although Tachikawa Hikoki successfully managed to enter into large-scale production of the Ki-38, the 1st Army Air Arsenal was less successful – hampered by a shortage of skilled workers, it was ordered to stop production after 49 Ki-38 were built, and Tachikawa ceased production of the Ki-38 altogether in favor of the Ki-43 in mid-1944.
Once it was identified and successfully distinguished from the IJA’s new Ki-43 “Oscar” and the IJN’s A6M “Zero” (Oscar), which both had very similar outlines, the Ki-38 received the Allied code name “Brad”. Even though it was not produced in the numbers of the Ki-43 or the A6M, the Ki-38 fought in China, Burma, the Malay Peninsula, New Guinea, the Philippines, South Pacific islands and the Japanese home islands. Like the Oscar and the Zero, the Ki-38 initially enjoyed air superiority in the skies of Malaya, Netherlands East Indies, Burma and New Guinea. This was partly due to the better performance of the Brad and partly due to the relatively small numbers of combat-ready Allied fighters, mostly the Curtiss P-36 Hawk, Curtiss P-40, Brewster Buffalo, Hawker Hurricane and Curtiss-Wright CW-21 in Asia and the Pacific during the first months of the war.
As the war progressed, however, the fighter suffered from the same weaknesses as its slower, fixed-gear Ki-27 "Nate" predecessor and the more advanced naval A6M Zero: light armor and less-than-effective self-sealing fuel tanks, which caused high casualties in combat. Its armament of four light machine guns also proved inadequate against the more heavily armored Allied aircraft. Both issues were more or less mended with improved versions, but the Ki-38 could never keep up with the enemy fighters’ development and potential. And as newer Allied aircraft were introduced, the Japanese were forced into a defensive war and most aircraft were flown by inexperienced pilots.
General characteristics:
Crew: 1
Length: 8.96 m (29 ft 4 in)
Wingspan: 10.54 m (34 ft 7 in)
Height: 3.03 m (9 ft 11 in)
Wing area: 17.32 m² (186.4 sq ft)
Empty weight: 2,158 kg (4,758 lb)
Gross weight: 2,693 kg (5,937 lb)
Max takeoff weight: 2,800 kg (6,173 lb)
Powerplant:
1× Mitsubishi Ha-102 14-cylinder air-cooled radial piston engine with 1,050hp (755 kW),
driving a 3-bladed variable-pitch propeller
Performance
Maximum speed: 509 km/h (316 mph, 275 kn)
Cruise speed: 450 km/h (280 mph, 240 kn)
Range: 600 km (370 mi, 320 nmi)
Service ceiling: 10,000 m (33,000 ft)
Time to altitude: 2,000 m (6,600 ft) in 3 minutes 24 seconds
Wing loading: 155.4 kg/m2 (31.8 lb/sq ft)
Power/mass: 0.182 hp/lb (0.299 kW/kg)
Armament:
2× 20 mm (0.787 in) Ho-5 cannon with 150 rpg
2× 7.7 mm (0.303 in) Type 89 machine guns with 500 rpg
2× underwing hardpoints for single 30 kg (66 lb) or 2 × 250 kg (550 lb) bombs
1× ventral hardpoint for a 200 l (53 US gal; 44 imp gal) drop tank
The kit and its assembly:
I always thought that the French Bloch MB 150 had some early WWII Japanese look to it, and with this idea I recently procured a relatively cheap Heller kit for this conversion project that would yield the purely fictional Tachikawa Ki-38 for the IJA – even though the Ki-38 existed as a Kawasaki project and eventually became the Ki-45, so that the 38 as kitai number was never actively used.
The Heller MB 150 is a vintage kit, and it is not a good one. You get raised panel lines, poor details (the engine is a joke) and mediocre fit. If you want a good MB 150 in 1:72, look IMHO elsewhere.
For the Ki-38 I wanted to retain most of the hull, the first basic change was the integration of a cowling from a Japanese Mitsubishi Ha-102 two-row radial (left over from an Airfix Ki-46 “Dinah”), which also received a new three-blade propeller with a different spinner on a metal axis inside. The engine also received some more interior details, even though the spinner blocks most sight.
The next, more radical move was to replace the MB 150’s spinal cockpit fairing with a bubble canopy and a lowered back – I found a very old and glue-tinted canopy from a Matchbox A6M in the spares box, and it turned out to be very suitable for the Ki-38. However, cleaning the clear piece was quite challenging, because all raised struts had to be sanded away to get rid of the old glue and paint residues, and re-polishing it back to a more or less translucent state took several turns with ever finer sandpaper, polishing paste and soft polishing mops on a mini drill. The spine was re-created with 2C-putty and the canopy was blended into it and into the fuselage with several PSR turns.
Inside, I used a different pilot figure (which would later be hard to see, though), added a fuel tank behind the seat with some supporting struts and inserted a piece of styrene sheet to separate the landing gear well from the cockpit – OOB it’s simply open.
The landing gear was basically taken OOB, I just replaced the original tail skid with a wheel and modified the wheels with hub covers, because the old kit wants you to push them onto long axis’ with knobs at their tips so that they remain turnable. Meh!
The fairings under the guns in the wings (barrels scratched from the MB 150’s OOB parts) are conformal underwing fuel tanks from a late Seafire (Special Hobby kit).
Painting and markings:
The initial plan was a simple green/grey IJA livery, but the model looked SO much like an A6M that I rather decided to give it a more elaborate paint scheme. I eventually found an interesting camouflage on a Mitsubishi Ki-51 “Sonia” attack plane, even though without indications concerning its unit, time frame or theater of operations (even though I assume that it was used in the China-Burma-India theater): an overall light grey base, onto which opaque green contrast fields/stripes had been added, and the remaining light grey upper areas were overpainted with thin sinuous lines of the same green. This was adapted onto the Ki-38 with a basis in Humbrol 167 (RAF Barley Grey) and FS 34102 (Humbrol 117) for the green cammo. I also wanted to weather the model considerably, as a measure to hide some hardware flaws, so that a partial “primer coat” with Aluminum (Revell 99) was added to several areas, to shine through later. The yellow ID markings on the wings’ leading edges were painted with Humbrol 69. The propeller blades were painted with Humbrol 180, the spinner in a slightly lighter mix of 180 and 160.
Interior surfaces were painted with a dull yellowish green, a mix of Revell 16 and 42, just the inside of the landing gear covers became grey as the outside, in a fashion very similar to early Ki-43s.
The decals came form various sources, including a Hasegawa Ki-61 sheet for the unit markings and some stencils and hinomaru in suitable sizes from a generic roundel sheet.
Some dry-brushing with light grey was done to emphasize edges and details, and some soot stains were added with graphite to the exhausts and the guns. Finally, the kit was sealed with matt acrylic varnish, some more dry-brushing with aluminum was done, esp. around the cockpit, and position lights were added with translucent paint.
An unexpected result – I was not prepared that the modified MB 150 looks THAT much like a Mitsubishi A6M or the Ki-43! There’s even an Fw 190-ish feel to it, from certain angles. O.K., the canopy actually comes from a Zero and the cowling looks very similar, too. But the overall similarity is baffling, just the tail is the most distinguishing feature! However, due to the poor basis and the almost blind canopy donor, the model is far from stellar or presentable – but some in-flight shots look pretty convincing, and even the camouflage appears to be quite effective over wooded terrain.
March is Women's History Month
The Library of Congress, National Archives and Records Administration, National Endowment for the Humanities, National Gallery of Art, National Park Service, Smithsonian Institution and United States Holocaust Memorial Museum join in paying tribute to the generations of women whose commitment to nature and the planet have proved invaluable to society.
The bronze stauette was created by Hal Lincke of Evergreen, Colorado. It's original title is Saturday Morning. See: www.linkesculpture.com/about-harold.html
Aspect ratio: 3:2.
All images in this portfolio are copyright protected (© HY-TEC Images). The materials contained may not be reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted or downloaded in any manner. All rights are reserved. Copying, altering, displaying or redistribution of any of these images without written permission from the Artist is strictly prohibited.
A very difficult old wooden puzzle. No original box, title I got is ‘Drei Männer im Schnee’ (German for three men in the snow). It is very difficult, because it is not only cut with very ‘sharp’ pieces which can go anywhere, but it is also shade line’ cut (since there is only grey….) and has 50 shades of grey! 😜
I think it dates from the 1930s-1940s.
The puzzle has 236 pieces (and to complicate it even further there was a replacement piece that was extra, because the original piece is also present). It is rather small: 22,4 x 29,9 cm, but a very nice complicated puzzle (I had made it about 15 years ago and remembered it was difficult, but didn’t want to look at the picture…)
As my holiday is over now, this was a nice one to ‘finish’ with, I’am afraid I won’t have a lot of time in the next few weeks.
Here's a self-portrait by Hans Manner-Jakobsen in homage to the old west mythos and the final frames of the movie Shane, where Alan Ladd rides off to the Grand Teton mountains of Wyoming, which are seen in the background. Framing the image, as he does, in the window of old abandoned prairie home also evokes for me the final frame of John Ford's film, The Searchers, as John Wayne leaves the family home to return to the wilderness.
See also my album: portraits when passing by and... you are welcome to visit my profile You should have a look on my Faves too.
English summary of the text: Gustav Klimt and his models for nude drawings.
They were from low social classes. One of them who was having his baby, wanted a marriage He did assure to sponsor the child, but did not marry her, as a marriage with a woman from this social class was not appropriate at that time.
Buch: "Wally Neuzil, ihr Leben mit Egon Schiele" (Leopold, Pumberger, Summerauer. Leopold Museum. Brandstätter. S. 38, 39 + Abschrift S. 40)
Gustav Klimt: sitzender weiblicher Halbakt in gemustertem Kleid .... 1910
Part of the sets: Vienna: Secession, Fin de sieclé, Jugendstil, Art nouveau, Art deco - Wien um 1900 - die Schnitten des Gustav Klimt // "an apple a day keeps the doctor away - An ENSO (Japanese: circle, Japanisch: Kreis) a day .... " Aktion Kreis Tagebuch A circle diary - Start of the 365-days Project: 1. September
panasonic DMC-GH3 - P1030889 - 2015-05-05lumix
#schnitt #schnitte #frau #woman #modell #sexy #nude #akt #klimt #manner #green #grün #frühling #spring #maigrün #schnittmuster #sewingpattern #entwurf #skizze #ornament
Title: Beyond the Pale
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This is the final part of the story Started with Carpe Diem, and continued with Uncanny
Caution, The tale told below is not for the squeamish. It is both dark and disturbing. It is only recorded in these chronicles to serve as a caution tale…..
Remember… You have been Advised.
Follow the innocence, for whom the darkness dealt,
Swishing vibrancy vanished into the cruel abyss so very svelte,
Who dare to enter, without any fear felt?
Unbeknownst what beyond the pale dwelt.
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This recorded incident occurred at the now eastside Walden Oak Social Club. A once respectable west end private club founded almost 150 years ago. But due to the now decrepit neighborhood its reputation and membership has lessened. But it is a beautiful building, and its cheap rent for it’s still lavishly regal ballrooms will always attract upscale events for those too wealthy to know better.
It was late fall, when the evening light fades, rather early that this tale of woe takes place. The year will remain shrouded, as will the known names of the players.
A wedding reception had been going on since late afternoon. Anyone who had noticed the guests ( and they were watched) would have seen by their dress, the manner upon which they carried themselves, and the jewels of the gowned ladies, that this was a gathering of the wealthy privileged.
The girl (Marissa) was clad in the flowing designer gown her mother had bought for her when she entered her daughter in a American Hollywood style Children’s beauty Pageant.
It was a long gown of rich red satin with rhinestone straps and a large shimmering broach. Marissa had promised that if she was allowed to wear it to the reception that she would not soil it. She was to wear it in a Children’s beauty pageant to be held in Surry the next month ( and try to do better than third this time, Marissa, she was lectured) Marissa was also wearing the Swarovski crystal diamond set she would be wearing at that pageant ( her mother had bought it hoping it would give her daughter an added edge).
Marissa had done her best to behave, but as the party grew old, and her mother grew less watchful, she began to join into play with her younger cousin ( Samuel). Sam was quite a rumbustious lad who had been in the bridal party as a ring bearer, although he was a lot older than normal for the role. The pair soon started chasing each other around the spacious ballroom. And then down the hall, and finally out the double front doors and running around the twilight lit building.
At one point Sam chased Marissa to the corner, tagging her and then running back, with Marissa giving chase. He turned the corner, circled the building, outdistancing poor Marissa. He reached the front door, panting, waiting to let Marissa see him before running off. But Marissa did not reappear around the building.
He soon went looking for her, retracing his steps, but no sign of Marissa was to be had. There was nothing for it, he had to tell Marissa’s, mother, a task he did not relish. So after calling one last time, with still no response, he headed inside. Finally he admitted defeat and went inside to tell Marissa’s Mother( he never called her Aunt) that Marissa would not come inside.
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This tale has been brought to the light of day for two reasons:
Number One:
For the opportunity to have a rant at the type of parents who take a fairly immature child and with heavy makeup and costuming try to make them look and act like young adults, which they are most assuredly not. Then these same parents appear angry when the child does not seem to conform , accept or feel gratitude for their parents actions, especially when she is caught acting like her real age.
Not only can this be emotionally stressful, but as seen in the story about to be told, downright dangerous when they fall victim to those dwelling on the outer fringes of society.
Number Two:
Due to the names and influence of the victim’s relatives, the whole affair was hushed up.
Which in itself is a crime, but not apparently for the wealthy.
A final Caution:
The following is a darkly disturbing sequence of events. Please do not read further unprepared!!!!!
What happened to Marissa was not pleasant…
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In her words:
Marissa had been running full tilt after Sam when she passed an old alley that had been an old coal and ice delivery path back in the day when those things needed to be brought in. It was now overgrown and deserted. She had already passed thrice as she had been chased by Sam.
This time, as her eyes were on Sam disappearing around the corner, someone moved from the shadows and grabbed her, pulling her struggling. slippery figure back into the shadows of the path. Marissa had disappeared totally without trace. She was dragged squirming up the path, a cold, roughly hard hand pressed over her mouth, stifling any sound she may have produced. Soon they left the path and entered into some old patch of woods.
Inside an old shed he dragged her, where she was grabbed by a second figure, that of an old haggish lady who’s body ordure smelled strongly of old cigars and booze.
The first figure( a man) left her to the simpering woman. Who then ordered the whimpering girl, writhing in her grasp, to shut up, with a wickedly lisping snarl.
The haggish lady took the petrified girls purse and looked through it, eagerly eyeing its contents. Then she looked over at Marissa, smiling wickedly. She dragged herself over, placing her grubby hands upon Marissa and began to pluck off the shiny Jewels she had been wearing. Searching her meticulously afterwards to make sure nothing had been missed.. Placing the purloined, glimmering pieces she found into Marissa’s satin handbag, like trick or treating in reverse.
The witchy lady than loomed over the girl, pinching and prodding the sobbing poor soul, as she prized Marissa’s gown. Slipping the rhinestone straps over Marissa’s shoulders, she carefully pulled off the gown, like a gamekeeper skinning the fancy pelt off some desirable creature he caught in a snare. Then the matching shoes went next. Shivering in her silken slip, Marissa could do nothing, paralyzed by fear. As she watched the hag letting her shiny gown flow through her grimy hands, a chilling thought swept along her body, she wasn’t the first person this ugly hag had stripped valuables from. She wondered what had happened to the others, and who they had been.
The old Hag reached over and pulled over an old ratty bag to her and rummaging through it she pulled out a decrepit old long coat. She made Marissa put it on, now looking like a pauper rather than the princess she had resembled only a ½ hour ago. Then, taking the child’s hands, she roughly tied them in front of her, and attached a short length of rope. Then the girl was gagged mute.
Grabbing the Bag and a few other odds and ends, the hag grabbed the rope and started to drag her captive behind her. They had started down a path when they both heard two people talking, moving along the path. The old lady tied Marissa to a tree. They both watched, soon the beggar who had grabbed Marissa, came down the path, Marissa’s mother in tow. They both went into the shack, passing only a few feet by the pair watching from the darkness. The old hag, leaving her prize tied to a tree, while she squirmed trying to call her mother, than followed the pair inside the shack.
Muffled yelling could be heard, and then all was silent, as Marissa watched in horror. Soon the beggar and the old hag came out, he was holding her mother’s gown, the old hag held her mother’s priceless jewelery. Placing the jewels In Marissa’s silk purse, and stuffing their victims gown into the bag. Grabbing Marissa they hurriedly headed off into the woods.
Eventually they dragged Marissa into the back of an old saloon. She was thrown onto a smelly old couch, and bound hand to foot. The pair went out into another room, the door failed to catch properly had opened a crack. Marissa could see the pair showing the gowns to a rather nicely dressed man. He did not question where shiny articles of clothing came from. She could overhear them haggling over a price as the man examined them, the haggish lady pointing out the desirable attributes of the two expensive satin gowns. He took them off their hands, Coins were exchanged and Marissa overheard him asked what else they had to show em. Cackling the old hag opened Marissa’s purse, spilling its contents, glittery with flickers of colour, onto the table. He picked up the pieces, examining them. Then with a start, Marissa heard the man explain to the pair that they were all cheap trinkets, not worth anything. He offered them a sum for the purses, and pittance for the jewels. They took him at his word, and again, money was given and the loot handed over. Marissa squirmed, wanting to say something, but couldn’t. She knew her Mother’s jewels alone had cost too much, or so her father had mumbled on more than one occasion.
The pair then leaned towards the man and they all began to talk in undertones. Marissa only made out the words scuttlery maid, as the haggish old lady seemed to try to make a selling point over something. With cold fear, Marissa realized the item trying to be sold was her, and a cold sweat broke over her bound figure. The man seemed hesitant at first, but then his eyes lit up, and he whispered something into their eager ears.
They rose, the man shaking hands with the pair, the nicely dressed man took Marissa’s and her mother’s purloined possessions, and left. The two, after talking amongst themselves for a minute or two, came back into the room where Marissa was laying bound, and the man, throwing her easily onto his shoulder, followed the old hag out the back door. Scampering down pair of long back steps, then into a series of dark alleys, they came to the back of an old abandoned apt house. Going inside via a broken door, they went into the celler where they dumped Marissa in a corner, mice, and worse, scurried from view at their appearence. The two fell fast asleep on either side of her. Marissa spent an extremely uncomfortable night. For they were not the only ones there, and as her captors slept, more than one shadowy form crept up and checked Marissa over, it is assumed for any valuables such an obviously upper-class child should posses. Her captors never even budging their slumber during the night.
Marissa eventually did fall asleep, only to be rudely awakened as she was once again hoisted up unto the mans shoulder. She became aware of the klaxon horns of police vehicles, and she was dropped in a hallway as her captors left her behind making good their escape…..
And so… by the mere coincidence of a man hunt for a suspected tavern robber, the police literally stumbled up a totally different scenario.
The constables found Marissa, deserted by her captors. They quickly were able to reunite her with her mother, who was resting in the hospital, on the mend from the blow that had rendered her helplessly unconscious.
No one, as was stated earlier, was ever caught or brought to trial, none of Marissa’s or her Mother’s valuable possessions were ever recovered.
Marissa, having been fitted for a new gown and bought new shiny frills, still performed in the beauty pageant, finishing fifth. It is to be believed that her Mother,ignorantly not understanding why her daughter had not managed to do better, made good on her promise to punish her.
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This is the true story that inspired the two tale versions we based Mae ( the fortune teller ) on.
(See Album Mae)
Possibly we are wrong for our reasons to bring this story to light.
If so, we do apologize for any upset our opinions may have caused to arise.
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Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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DISCLAIMER
All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents
The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.
No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.
These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.
We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.
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***************************************************************************************************************************************************************************
All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents
The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.
No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.
These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment only, and should never be attempted in real life.
We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.
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On an winter evening as Durham gears for festive season, a melancholy of colours hit the canvas in subtle manner.
Parco dello stelvio, Italia
***© All Rights Reserved - No images may used in any manner without my permission.
Any use of my images without my permission is illegal.***
Zdzisław Beksiński was a renowned Polish painter, photographer, and sculptor who is best known as a fantasy artist. Beksiński executed his paintings and drawings either in what he called a 'Baroque' or a 'Gothic' manner. The first style is dominated by representation, with the best-known examples coming from his 'fantastic realism' period when he painted disturbing images of a surrealistic, nightmarish environment. The second style is more abstract, being dominated by form, and is typified by Beksiński's later paintings. Beksiński was murdered in 2005.
Zdzislaw Beksinski was born in Poland in the town of Sanok near the Carpathians Mountains in 1929. After a childhood was spent during the Second World War, Beksinski went on to university where he studied architecture in Cracow. Subsequent to this education he spent several years as a construction site supervisor, a job he hated, frought with pressures and countless boring details. He would soon throw himself into the arts. In 1958, Beksinski began to gain critical praise for his photography, and later went on to drawing. His highly detailed drawings are often quite large, and may remind some of the works of Ernst Fuchs in their intricate, and nearly obsessive rendering.
Beksinski eventually threw himself into painting with a passion, and worked constantly, always to the strains of classical music. He soon became the leading figure in contemporary Polish art.
Beksinski and his family moved to Warsaw in 1977. The artist had many exhibitions throughout his native Poland and Europe. He rarely attended any of them. Bekinski's art hangs in the National Museums Warsaw, Sanok, Crakow, Poznan, and the Goteborgs Art Museum in Sweden. Zdzislaw Beksinski was murdered in his home during a robbery attempt in 2005.
"I have quite simply been trying, from the very beginning, to paint beautiful paintings."
Beksinki's remarkable drawings possess a strength in both mood and subject matter. Like his later paintings, they are intensely haunting and mysterious. The drawings, particularly, project a nightmarish quality reminiscent of the surrealist, Bohemian master, Alfred Kubin.
"I react strongly to images that have no obvious answer to their mysteries. If there is a key to their construction, they are simply illustration."
Beksinski began painting in oils on masonite around the year 1970. His ability to manipulate the effects of light quickly became a hallmark of his work, and can only be compared with the renown abilities of William Turner. Beksinski's paintings aremasterfully rendered, monumental enigmans. One thing they share is an aesthetic of beauty so potent that it overpowers any desperate nature of the given subject matter, as is similarly the case with Swiss artist, H.R. Giger. The paintings as a whole are wonderfully dark, and allow the viewer to interperet them as they will, as they will certainly get no help from this particular artist. As Magritte said: "The purpose of art is mystery."
"The blend of vivid colors in relation to other more subdued colors in my paintings is like a musical theme. As in a symphony, a motif occurs, is blurred, comes back in crescendo, is finally accentuated and becomes pure and complete."
Paintings from the 1980s
"Meaning is meaningless to me. I do not care for symbolism and I paint what I paint without medating on a story."
Paintings and Computer Graphics from the 1990s Beksniski's paintings have grown less representational over the years and now seem almost abstract in nature. Color and texture and now the proncipal themes in themselves. Not so odd, as the artist began his career in the abstract realm. His recent computer art, however, continues the lineage of fantastic realism, and the artist never allows the technology to get in the way of that he is attempting to convey creatively.
A now thoroughly excited Beth walked up the hill. Her prickling senses becoming more alert with each step. Innocently unaware that she was no longer playing a role in Dare’s game.
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We appreciate the courtesy of Chatwick University Archives for letting us use the journals in our research, and for permission to use parts for the genesis of “Dare’s Game”.
Dare’s Game
Beth, eagerly looking for Dare, walked straight into Seth’s cunning snare…..
Suffix, circa late 1900’s. It was during this time a fanciful young lady, whom we will call Beth, started a journal which she would faithfully keep over the course of almost 50 years. She led quite an adventuresome life for a lady of that time, and her journals were filled with many tales and observations of her exploits. The following story is derived from events that she penned down in the early years in her journal.
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Beth had known Dare since their childhood. Dare was a handsome free spirited youth only two years her senior, who lived for the games his life had to offer. As his cherished nickname inferred, Dare was always trying to find the thrill out of anything he could think up, relishing to go beyond the pale in anything he attempted. Dare always a little different, harboring feelings and ideas way beyond his years, almost as if he had lived a previous life and retained something from it in his being.
Beth would remember times playing dress up with Dare’s sister Diana in some old gowns of their mothers. It was always then that Dare and his friends seemed to appear and talk them into playing hide n seek, tag or cops n robbers. Dare seemed to take pleasure in cajoling the girls into playing with them in this manner. Eyeing them as they played with a far off look that suggested the game they were playing had more meaning to him than he could ever venture to say. It was hard for Beth to explain it, but she did find it pleasurable (almost erotic using a word whose term she would learn much later) to be observed by him in this way.
One warm fall day Diana and Beth headed down to an old shack located near some railroad tracks at the back of a cornfield. Diana was dressed in a long satin play gown with her mother’s jewelry, which Dare had called rhinestones. Beth, herself dressed in a long flowing dress, loved the way Diana’s jewels twinkled and sparkled as she walked. They were going to pretend the shack was a ballroom and they were one their way to a fancy dance, like Beth’s and Diana’s parents had recently attended. Diana wasn’t supposed to be wearing her mother’s jewelry outside the house, but as a result of Dare’s teasing, had done so anyway.
They had reached the shack, an old white brick building with a wooden roof half fallen in, when a man’s voice suddenly said behind them, what are you two ladies up to? Turning they were confronted by a happily sneering drifter. The grubby man looked around, alone is we, and advanced towards them. The two girls stood petrified, he reached out and probed Diana along her side, pretty dress missy, he said, sparsely toothed mouth grinning like a pumpkin. He suddenly reached up and tore the necklace away from Diana’s throat, sending her falling backwards. Beth screamed bloody murder, as the vagrant turned heel, running off towards the tracks. Suddenly Dare appeared, and Beth, meaning to yell for help, exclaimed instead “help honey” to Dare. Dares eyes took on a very different look, almost of a burning yearning. Beth told him what had happened and he took off down towards the tracks in hot pursuit. For Beth, the look he had given her and the way he had dashed off excited her beyond measure. Even for someone that young, Beth now knew what Dare meant to her. From then on, playing games with Dare took on a heightened meaning for Beth.
But, nothing really changed in their relationship until Beth’s sophomore year of high school. Beth was sixteen at the time, a whimsical being, passionate, innocent, not particularly attractive, but radiating with a love of life. A living free spirit, developing into a very sexual being by the time her and Diana decided to attend their schools prom in their sophomore year. Beth dressed in a fuchsia coloured satin dress with dangling rhinestone earrings that had been” borrowed” from Diana’s Mother, the same ones Diana had been wearing when they had run into the drifter at the shack. Diana slipped into the slinky blue spaghetti strap gown and matching cover-all that she had worn as her cousin’s bridesmaid. She was wearing sapphire costume jewels patterned after the hope diamond. Their parents had given them a hard time when they saw their made up girls in their gowns and finery , admonishing them for looking way too mature. They smiled, consoling their parents fears, and went off on their adventure.
Their eyes were dazzled by the display of lights, the cheerfully student filled room, the band. They had stopped and were letting it all sink in, when Beth felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned and came face to face with Dare, who once again had the same yearning fire in his eyes as on that fateful day at the old shack. A veil was lifted from between the two, and Beth spent the whole evening encompassed in Dare’s arms. Soon after that the two had begun seeing much more of one another. Their relationship was still going strong eight years later.
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8 Years Later
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Come on Dare, let’s go to the Riverside, it will be fun she urged. She had been trying to get her fiancé’ to take her to the exclusive five star resorts for some time. And now she had a free overnight room card she had won at work! Dare looked into Beth’s wide, hope filled eyes, knowing her passion for attending these types of affairs. Ever hopeful she would see someone rich. Dare knew how to use this to his advantage. Finally he buckled, all right, only if we play the game afterwards he bargained. She squirmed inwardly with passion, nodding her agreement. Beth found the game exciting, though she would never let on to Dare. And, you must wear the gold bridesmaid gown and jewels you wore to your friend’s wedding last week , he added, a wistful smile lighting up his thin face.. Okay she agreed, trying to sound reluctant, but truthfully feeling multiple tingles of delight.
Dare was handsome, in a scrawny, thin bearded, sort of way ( From an old photo that survives he resembled a young Johnny Depp… the eds), with a witty writers imagination and a playful disposition. He could always make Beth laugh, feeling his excitement as he drew her into his stories and games. She would never admit to it, but found the game delightfully erogenous. She smiled to herself, so Dare had liked the satin gown after all, he had not shown any interest in her wearing it since the wedding. And the jewelry, the small rhinestone pendent and earrings had been pretty, but Beth soon came up with another idea. She would knock his socks off by wearing the glittering diamonds and emeralds that had been inherited from her grandmother. The set had laid collecting dust in a safety deposit box all these years, unworn. She had never told Dare about them, waiting for the perfect occasion. She could just imagine the look in his eyes when he saw her wearing them. Okay then, game on, Beth thought, wickedly sending shivers up and down her spine.
Dare’s Game was based on role playing:
Dare would give Beth money to purchase a new outfit, something rich and shiny, like silk or satin. With the new outfit, Beth would wear the good gold jewelry she had received from Dare on her birthdays. The idea was to acting like a bored rich girl out for a good time, alone and vulnerable.
Dare would be at the hotel bar, waiting for Beth to make her entrance, then make her acquaintance , playing a debonair, suited gentleman with a mysterious past and a hidden agenda. They would make a date later, usually to dance and have drinks.
Then that evening, she would go down to the bar. Dressed in one of the long gowns Dare favored, fitting in with the usual spillover from a wedding reception that had been held in one of the Ballrooms. Sometimes she would wear the rhinestone jewelry they had purchased together at various antique stores. Then Beth would wait for Dare to make his entrance, signaling the time for Dare’s game. He would assume one of several roles, or possibly a new one that Beth had never seen. In the past Dare had played:
A spy who would dance with Beth, then disappear. Sending a note to Beth via a third person that would have her meet him clandestinely in a remote location…
A highwayman who would come across Beth on the castle grounds , usually the resorts empty gardens at night….
A rich millionaire looking for romance…
A kidnapper hired by an evil uncle, who after tying up Beth and removing her valuables would have a change of heart….
A Jewel thief who would be cunningly after her valuables…
A handsome prince rescuing Beth’s damsel in distress ….
Or Dare’s favorite, centered on their old childhood game of cops and robbers. Dare would play the thief, and steal something from Beth, usually while dancing. He would then leave preset clues around the grounds that she would have to follow to catch him.
All of the games usually led to some playful groping and then escalating into the upper echelons of erotic pleasure. Sometimes they never made out of the woods, or barely out of the ballroom. Beth shivered at these thoughts, wishing she didn’t have to wait….
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Three weeks later at the Riverside Resort.
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In the Bar:
At the bar, Dare smiled to himself, pleased. He had dropped Beth off to check in by herself. She would change into her new outfit and wear it down to the bar for lunch. She would come in acting like a complete stranger to the area. Dare would make her acquaintance, invite her to lunch, and make plans to see her that evening at the resorts dance room. There were two wedding receptions going on, and that dance room should be filled with well-dressed patrons. Beth would fit right in; clad that pretty gown she had promised to wear.
Dare had been sitting at the bar, thinking about ways to play out the game that evening, when the answer came to him, in the form of a stranger who had come with his drink and sat next to him. The stranger introduced himself as Seth, and shaking Dare’s hand sat on the stool next to him. After they had had couple of drinks, they had become quite chummy. Seth explaining he had come up for one of the weddings, and assumed Dare was doing the same. Seth did not fail to observe Dare’s secretive smile, but did not question it. Their conversation was distracted only when a newcomer appeared at the entrance. Beth walked in, a long flowing silky skirt swishing down to her leather sandals. A shiny, long sleeved satin top fitting tightly along her perky figure, with bright gold jewelry complementing the ensemble. Real gold, Seth observed silently to himself.
Beth went to a table, both men going silent as they watched her move through the room. Good-looking one, that, Seth commented, looking at Dare who was deep in thought as his eyes were fixed on the sexy newcomer. Seth teasingly offered Dare a penny for his thoughts. Dare smiled mischievously, letting lose his plans. Seth listened to the young man, smiling as a light went on in his steal grey eyes. When Dare finished he offered up a suggestion as to how Dare could make it really interesting for Beth. The two co-conspirators worked it out: Seth told Dare about a stone hut and wall that was located on the back nine of the resorts golf course. He suggested that he, Seth, would meet Beth that evening and pass a note onto her from Dare saying that he was in trouble and needed her help, with directions to the spot. Dare liked the idea, and wrote the note on a cocktail napkin, cementing the plan by handing it to Seth.
Off you go old chap, let Uncle Seth take care of his end, he said grinning, giving Dare a sporting clap on the back. With a wink, Dare left his fellow collaborator, and went over to Beth, who had since been seated by a male waiter, now standing drooling over her shoulder as she looked at the menu.
Later that same evening, inside the crowded club:
Seth had stopped by the bar for a last drink. His business venture had been concluded earlier than he had expected. With the change in his plans, he had checked out early, his kit packed, boot loaded and the car ready. He now sat at the bar Causley watching young lass of about seventeen who had literally ran into him at one of the receptions. He watched her flirting about the club, weaving in and out of the guests. With a long swishing gown flowing provocatively along her lithe figure, abundant, solid white gold chains swinging out in an alluringly eye catching manner as she scurried about. A diminutive gold ring its half caret diamond flickered playfully from the petite pinky it loosely surrounded once again welcomed his contemplation. The lass presented quite an intriguing gold feathered fledgling, just begging to be plucked. He looked around, spying her parents on the dance floor. The father/husband, despite being an excellent dancer, gave him no interest. It was his partner, the wife/ mother, decked out in a iridescent suit and long swishing satin skirt upon which he now was reexamining. He again studied under the bright dance floor lights her fine pearls dangling from her ears, throat, and wrists. But it was the Ladies’ two rings that stole the show for him; an engagement ring with a rock of at least 2 carets surrounded by numerous shimmering half caret stones and a pinky ring similar to her daughters, that proudly displayed a single white solitaire diamond of at least one caret that had garnered his consideration. He also reconsidered the facts that he had been able to garnish about the lady who wore them, and her husband. The wife/mother was a heavy drinker who would not be expected to make any kind of appearance before noon. Hubby was a golfer, who would be out for breakfast at five am before being on the links at 6 am the next morning . At 5 :15 Seth was planning to pay a visit to his suite, and relieve his two ladies of their expensive trinkets. It should be an easy straight forward caper, that had Seth bristling with anticipation at the prospect.
As he was tossing down the last of his drink he remembered about Dare and the note he still had in his pocket. Setting down the empty glass, he pulled the note out and looked at it, kids he smirked, and was preparing to crinkle toss it on the bar and leave, when his eyes caught sight of Beth. He had felt his breath taken away when he saw her. Not at all what he had expected, he would say to Beth much later in the evening. He looked over the note, stirrings of a plan began formulating. All thoughts of the dancing couple and his plans fled his mind, as He rose, throwing a fiver on the bar and went off to intercept Beth.
Seth held Beth in his arms, she was a vivacious little thing he thought, while smiling charmingly into her eyes. She seemed a little apprehensive at first, but had settled right in when he had told her this had been set up by Dare, remember me at the bar with him this afternoon he had consoled her, she had smile brightly into his eyes in answer. He relished in the feel of her warm satin gown, and allowed himself to be mesmerized by the shimmer of her diamonds.
It reminded him of the diamonds that had been worn by one of his dance partners earlier that evening at a reception. He had forgotten her name, but not her diamonds, one of which now resided in a hidden compartment of his roadsters boot, along with the diamond pin he had slipped off the satin cape he had cordially help a well-dressed lady put on. He had also shelved his plans for his 5:15 am “meeting” at the golf playing husbands hotel room, Beth’s jewels were a much more lucrative prospect.
When the dance had ended he took her to the bar and sat her down, ordering her a drink. She seemed a little perplexed, Seth kissed her gloved hand; wait for it he told her mysteriously, winking into her eyes. Beth had winked back, the fire in her heart reflecting deep in her eyes. Seth left, smiling cleverly to himself as he took in his surroundings. He looked around as he walked away, now where had the little imp gotten off too?
He had decided that the seventeen year old in the long flirting gown would play a very different role in his plans. He approached her, with Dares note and a twenty. Thought for a moment about the pair of thick platinum gold chains dangling from her throat down the open neckline of the girl’s glossy gown, then banished the though, he had bigger fish to filet. The twenty caught her attention and she eagerly listened as he explained to her what to do, pointing out Beth sitting, waiting in earnest at the bar. Wait until she finishes her drink, Seth told her as she listened eagerly. She took the twenty into her hand, the half caret diamond on her pinky ring flashing, and her gold chain bracelets jangled as she grasped it. Seth left, figuring he had about twenty minutes to stop at his car, get a few items from the boot, and put his plan in motion.
Beth had curiously received the note from the attractively shy young lady, clad a slinky gown that made her appear years older. Reading it she folded it and was just getting up when a man wearing a suit came up to her and offered to let her dance with him. It took her some time, before she was finally able to ward him off and leave the brilliantly lit clubroom for the dark, forbidding grounds outside.
Now, a thoroughly excited Beth walked up the hill. Her senses becoming more prickling alert with each step. Innocently unaware that she was no longer playing a role in Dare’s game!
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Epilogue:
As Seth walked away admiring the shimmery necklace, his thoughts travelled back to the gold burdened impish youngster in the swirling gown, and her pearl and diamond laden mother. Revisiting his original plans he decided that he liked the odds, especially since they would be against him. With the father leaving early to meet his cronies for breakfast the Mother should be still sleeping off her drink induced stupor, the hyperactive girl should still be out cold, but presented no risk if she awoke, he had more rope. The ladies jewels should be lying about in the apartment, or handedly on their persons( the pairs of diamond pinky rings, as well as the multi-diamond engagement ring flashed once again across his memory with all their brilliant glory),as he caught fire with the vision. There could be a safe he reasoned, but with a tied up daughter and a knife in his hand, the mother should have no issue opening it for him, or disclosing anywhere else her jewels may have been hidden . But if there was no safe, and the rings, pearls and solid white gold chains were somewhere in the room, he knew he would be able to noiselessly break in, find and slip the jewels from wherever they were perched, and be safely on his way without even causing the slightest stir from the sleeping woman and her daughter. It was a road Seth had travelled down many times. He prickled at the thought, as he foresightedly tallied up the potential haul while making his way to the car. The Mother/wife’s diamond rings, would easily fetch him at least three grand, probably close five with her pearls and the whelp’s jewelry added in. About a quarter of what he probably would get for the jewels now in his procession, so he mused inquisitively to himself, so ,was it worth the risk of his 20,000 bird in hand? Yes he answered himself, as all too familiar and welcome tingling sensation overwhelmed Seths muscular body. Like Dare, Seth like to play risky games, especially those which promised to be somewhat profitable. It would be a tantalizingly chancy gamble of his own; to wait a safe distance away while things cooled down and then return to break into the un protected sleeping ladies chamber.. He knew just the place to hide , and it would be a perfect spot to watch events unfold around Beth and Dare, while making his plans! It also afforded a nicely secret hiding nook for the ill-gotten gains collected so far that evening in case something went wrong, which it wouldn’t..
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Courtesy of Chatwick University Archives
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DISCLAIMER
All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents
The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.
No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.
These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment and/or educational purposes only, and should never be attempted in real life.
We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.
********************************************************************************
All rights and copyrights observed by Chatwick University, Its contributors, associates and Agents
The purpose of these chronological photos and accompanying stories, articles is to educate, teach, instruct, and generally increase the awareness level of the general public as to the nature and intent of the underlying criminal elements that have historically plagued humankind.
No Part of this can reprinted, duplicated, or copied be without the express written permission and approval of Chatwick University.
These photos and stories are works of fiction. Any resemblance to people, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.
As with any work of fiction or fantasy the purpose is for entertainment only, and should never be attempted in real life.
We accept no responsibility for any events occurring outside this website.
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fat-walda:
In this manner did the First Blackfyre Rebellion begin, in the year 196 AC. Reversing the colors of the traditional Targaryen arms to show a black dragon on a red field, the rebels declared for Princess Daena’s bastard son Daemon Blackfyre, First of His Name, proclaiming him the eldest true son of King Aegon IV, and his half brother Daeron the bastard.
happy birthday @dalekofchaos!
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harkstede (nl), 2012
from the unpublished series 'the gruno manner'
(pentax 67, kodak portra 400 film, reflecta mf5000 film scanner)
Smoking a pipe in the gargantuan fish, the swallowed sailor was remarkably cavalier despite his predicament.
©2008 Lisa Falzon all rights reserved
Which means: Don't use this in any manner or repost it without my permission. That is my sole right as the creator, which I choose to retain.
Turn of a Friendly Card
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Based on a true adventures of a rogue active in the waning years of the 1930’s as discovered in the criminal archives of Chatwick University.
Act 1
I begin my tale in the present…
That afternoon a soiree was given as part of the purchase price of the tickets for the annual Autumn Charity Ball to be presented later that evening at the manor’s great house. Since I was alone, I just went mainly for the free food and to rub my elbows with the wealthy guests who would be in happy attendance there, and at the Ball. I was alone, but certainly not bored. There was a game I enjoyed playing to pass the time at these affairs that entailed scoping out by their dress and day jewels worn, those ladies whom would be most likely to be wearing the better costumes and sparklers that evening. It often proved to be a most beneficial insight into the actions and mannerisms of the very rich. I walked amongst the cheerful guests, eying one here ( a lady in satin and pearls) and another there( a high spirited girl with a diamond pin at the throat of her frilly silken blouse). It was as I was passing the latter that the friend she had been talking too (dressed like a vamp), bumped up against me. I caught her, steadying her as they both giggled. I didn’t mind, for the lassie’s too tight satin sheath tea dress had been an enticement to hold, and the gold bracelet that had been dangling from her gloved wrist had been a pleasure to observe. I kissed her gloved hand, rings glittering, as I apologized gallantly for my clumsiness. Her eyes were bright, almost as bright as the twin necklaces of gold that hung swaying down pleasantly from between her ample bosom. I left them, moving on to greener pastures, and it was very green, all of it….
It was then that I detected another pretty lassie. It was her long fiery red hair with falling wispy curls that first captured my attention. She was wearing a fetchingly smart white chiffon party dress that commanded me to acquire a closer examination. She appeared to be a blithe spirit, seemingly content with just being by herself and roaming about with casual elegance, the extensive grounds of the manor proper. I began to discreetly follow her at a distance. Although she did not wear any jewelry, her manner and the eloquent way she moved is what attracted me the most. It would be very interesting to seek her out later that evening and she what she would have chosen to decorate herself with. I followed her as she sojourned into the depths of a traditional English garden with a maze of lushly green trimmed 8 foot high hedges
As I strolled through the hedgerows in her wake I allowed my mind to wander its own course. Suddenly I straightened up, my reverie broken by an epiphany of sorts. I allowed myself to grin and the lady whose enchantment I was swollen up in, at that moment turned, and seeing my beaming smile assumed it was for her and gave me a rather cute nod of her head. I answered in same, as I headed en route to a nearby stone garden bench to allow my thoughts to think through themselves.
But before I go on, allow me the pleasure to sojourn and reminisce about an incident that occurred several years prior:
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I was still working unaided in those days, travelling on to a new next quest that would take me just outside of Surrey.
I had just purchased my train ticket and had seen my luggage safe on board when I decided to rest in the lounge, it being some 45 minutes before allowed to enter personally aboard. Being so early the lounge was almost deserted, only one other occupant. I assumed she was waiting for someone on an incoming train due to the fact she carried no luggage. She was obviously well off, well dressed in satins and lace, and her jewels shone magnificently in the dim lights. Especially one of her rings, noticeably lying loosely around a finger, it sparkled with an expensive brilliance. I had seen one like it in a tiffanies store, worth almost 250 pounds. But she did not appreciate the show her jewelry was putting on under the lounge lights, for she was fast asleep.
I circled around her, aiming for a seat next to her, eyeing her and her possessions carefully. I noticed her purse had fallen off her lap and lay on the floor. An idea popped into my head, and I picked the purse up, and looked around carefully, before placing my plan into action. But I was thwarted as an older, matronly lady was spotted heading our way. I slipped the purse into my jacket and moved off before I was noticed. Of course she came in and took the empty seat across form the sleeping princess, and soon busied herself with knitting. As the older lady had sat down, not quietly, the wealthy lady stirred waking up at the noise. I went into a corner and sat, waiting. The two ladies soon fell into conversation; the minute’s ticked by excruciatingly slow. Soon I noticed we even had more company.
He was a lad of only fourteen, but with a devilish look about him that marked him a kindred spirit to meself, and his quick eyes were darting about taking it all in as he stood outside the paned glass window.
It was as the first announcement of boarding the train that I saw a chance for opportunity to strike.
The older lady folded up her knitting and clinching her bag, bid adieu to her new friend,( befuddled a little by the old ladies constant stream of gossip), and headed to the train. I was twenty steps ahead of her and was standing behind the youth as she left the lounge. I tapped him on the shoulder; he looked around at me suspiciously, and then caught sight of the shilling I was holding in front of his nose. I quickly whispered a few words into his ear on how he could earn it, and his grin spread as he bought into my story. I still held onto the shilling as he darted around and inside the lounge. I watched as he ran up behind the lady, circling her, then running in front of her he tripped over her leg, as she helped him up, her hand with the ring reaching down, he turned and spat onto the wrist and sleeve of that hand, than standing he ran away. Running alongside me, I handed him the shilling in passing as he ran off, disappearing in to the street.
I went inside and approached the astonished lady, as she was looking for her purse to get a handkerchief, confused as to its absence, while she held up her soiled hand( ring glittering furiously) in utter disbelief. I approached, catching her attention by the soothing words I uttered to her. I took her hand, unbelieving with her at just had happened, and I as I apologized for the youth of today I produced my own silk handkerchief and starting with her silky sleeve, began to wipe it off, continuing my tirade of displeasure and contempt at what had just occurred to the dear lady as I did so. As I finishing wiping her down, ending with her warm slender fingers, I kissed them, just as the last boarding announcement came over (perfect timing!) I let her go, explaining that I must catch my train. I turned and without looking back made the train just as it was letting off steam before chugging off.
I gained my private carriage just as the train began to lurch away. It wasn’t until after the train began its journey that I casually removed my silk handkerchief from my pocket and unwrapped it carefully, admiring up close the shimmering, valuable tiffany ring that was lying inside. I pocketed it, and then remembered the purse. I took it out and examined its contents: coin and notes equaling a handsome amount, a gold (gilded) case, embroidered lacy handkerchief, small silver flask of perfume, and ( of all things)a large shimmering prism , like one that would have dangled from a fancy crystal chandelier. A prism?, I questioned with interest as I examined it. It was pretty thing, about the circumference of a cricket ball, but shaped like a pendulum, it shimmered and glittered like the most precious of jewels. Why she had it in her purse? I couldn’t guess, and I saw no value in it, so I pocketed it and allowed it to leave my mind.
As I settled into my seat I began to think of the lad I had just met, I had been right on the money as far as his eagerness for mischief. Actually he reminded me of myself at that age, and I wondered if that lad with the shifty eyes would also turn out to follow the same course I had explored.
Which Begs the question, what had I turned out to become. And since I’m still reminiscing
I’ll give little background material about me, hopefully I don’t come across as being too conceited about my self-taught skills..
I had never been one to take the hard road, and even at a young age I was always looking for angles, or short cuts to make some money.
Once, while watching for some time a street magician and his acts. I observed a pick pocket working the crowd. He approached a pair of well-dressed ladies in shiny clothes, and standing behind them bided his time and then lifted a small pouch from one velvet purse, and a fat wallet from a silken one, then he moved on. Now both ladies were wearing shiny bracelets, one with jewels. I thought that he could have realized a greater profit if he had nicked one or both of the bracelets first, than try for the contents of their purses. The bracelets’ alone would have realized a far greater profit than what he lifted from their purses. It further occurred to me that by mimicking some of the sleight of hand tricks and misdirection that the magician was using on his audience, it could be accomplished. A hand placed on the right shoulder and as the lady turned right, whisk off the bracelet from her left wrist, and excuse oneself, that sort of thing.
So, I practiced (on my sisters, who proved to be willing accomplices to “my game”) and learned to pick their purses and pockets. I than moved onto their jewelry, starting by lifting bracelets and slipping away rings, before advancing to the brooches, necklaces and earrings they were wearing. After I was satisfied at my skill level, I went out and worked the streets. Sometimes using my one sister who was also hooked on what I was doing as a willing partner.
But I found myself still not being satisfied, in the back of my mind I thought there had to be a more lucrative way to turn a profit.
I’d found my answer when an attractive lady in a rustling satin gown zeroed in on me while I was “visiting” a ballroom. She was jeweled like a princess right up to the diamond band she wore holding up her piles of soft locks like a glimmering crown. The more she drank, the closer she got and I decided that her necklace would definitely help pay my expenses more than the contents of her purse (although I had already lifted the fat wallet from her small purse), and I did have very expensive tastes to pay for. So I took her onto the dance floor.
I was amazed at how easily I had been able to open the necklace’s clasp , slipping it over her satiny shoulder, lifting it off and placing it safely in my pocket with almost no effort. Then she decided to be playful once the song ended and brushed up against me. She felt the necklace in my pocket and before I could act she had her hand in and pulled it out.
The silly naive twit thought I was teasing her and told me that for my penance I had to go up to her suite in order to put it back on for her. I kept up the charade as best as I could.
And that’s where we ended up. A little bit of light fondling began as I placed the necklace back around her throat. I began to tease her, plied her with more and more alcohol as I tried to keep my distance, and virginity. Finally she passed out in a drunken stupor, but not before I had learned where she hid her valuables by suggesting she should lock her jewels up for the night..
With her safely unconscious, I began to strip her clean off all her jewels, reclaiming the necklace first. Then I visited all her jewelry casket and began looting it. I even took her small rhinestone clutch with the diamond clasp; of course I already had liberated its small wallet.
When I’d left her lying happily asleep in bed, still in her satin gown( the only item left to her that shined), I knew I had found a much more profitable line of “work”
So I began making circuits around to the haunts of the very rich, I still kept may hand in pickpocketing, so to speak, but centered only on those “pockets” containing mainly jewelry. I also began to carefully explore new ways of acquiring jewels” in masse”, so to speak.
Soon I had accumulated many tricks and tools, having them at my disposal to put into action once required, and for the remaining years up till the present had managed to live quite comfortably off of the ill-gotten gains using them allowed me to acquire.
Which brings me back to the train ride, my prism, and the rest of my background story before I retun to the present tale. Please be patient.
*****
So, anyway, I reached Surry without any further incident and disembarking, made my way out to the large country house where I would be staying to take a short rest, vacation if you will. But, pardon the play on words, for there is never any rest for the wicked, is there?
I had become acquainted with a servant of the old mansion ( almost a small castle, really) , that was about a mile off. I managed to learn a great deal, and soon found myself, on the pretense of visiting her, exploring the grounds. There was to be a grand ball taking place a couple of weekends away , and the maid had filled my ears with the riches that would be displayed by the multitude of regal ladies making an appearance. I began to think about trying to make a little bit of profit from my vacation. I am not sure how the idea developed, but the prism that I still had in my possession, came up centrally into my plans.
Late on the evening of the regal affair, I snuck over, covered head to toe in black, with my small satchel off tools by my side. I set up a candle behind an old stone ivy covered wall in a far corner of the rather large and intricate English garden that surrounded the inner circle around the mansion. I than strung the jewel-like prism in front of it. Standing behind the wall, I would strike the prism with a long stick I was holding whenever I observed sparkles emanating from silkily gowned ladies walking in the distance, solitary or in pairs. The prism would flash fire, sort of like a showy lure being used when fishing in a crooked trout stream. Only I was fishing for far sweeter game than trout. My objective was to trick certain types of jeweled ladies (scatterbrains some may call them) by luring them down onto the path beyond the wall, using their natural curiosity to my advantage.
I had at least two strikes rise up to my lure in the second hour.
On was a pretty lady in flowing green satin number, decorated with plenty of emeralds, which, hidden in the shadows, I observed were probably paste. I let her wonder about; as she looked and played with the shiny toy, remaining hidden until she grew bored and wandered off.
The second was a slender maiden wearing a long sleek black gown with long ivory silk gloves. I had never before seen a lady so decked out in jewels, literally head to toe. With the exception of the rhinestones adorning her heels, the rest of the lot was real, so valuably real that I could feel my mouth salivating at the thoughts of acquiring her riches. Now in Edwardian times only older, married ladies would be allowed the privilege of wearing a diamond Tiara. But in these modern times, it had become culturally acceptable for any well-to do lady, single or otherwise, to wear one out in society. Even so, they were still rarely worn, and seldom seen outside the safety of large gatherings. But there it was, a small, delicately slender piece of intricate art that glistened from the top of her head like some elegant beacon. That piece alone was probably worth more than I had made all the last four months combined!
I began to skirt around in the shadows, placing myself in position to cut off her retreat. Her diamonds blazed as she approached, eyeing the swinging prism with total concentration. Which was unfortunate, because as I was about to leave the shadows, she walked into the thorns of a rose bush, screeching out, and attracting the notice of a pair of gentlemen who had just crossed the path quite a ways off, called out when they heard the commotion. She started to become chatty with them, obviously coming on to her rescuers, my prism all but forgotten. Than before I knew it, in a swishing of her long gown, she was gone, “swimming” off before I was able to set me ”hook”.
Which I was able to do on the third strike, almost an hour later, just as I was beginning to ponder wither I should call it off and head back home..
They were a pair of young damsels in their young twenties. They may have been sisters, or cousins at the least. I still remember how my heart leapt into my throat as they observed my colourful prism and turned down the old flagstone path. I had not seen anyone out and about for some time, so I knew they would be no would be rescuers around to come to their aid
And, best of all, they were both dressed for the kill!
One, the blonde, was clad in a black velvet number that one could cannily describe as quite form fitting. As were the small ropes of pearls that hung from all points of interest, pretty with a matching pricelessness.
But her cousin, as I will refer to her, out shone black velvet quite literally.
This one, a stunning raven haired beauty, wore a long streaming gown of liquid ivory satin. A diamond brooch sparkled as it held up a fold of the gown to her waist. The fold allowed her to show a rather daring amount of a slender bare calf. The brooch was not paste, but a real jewel that had been added for the nights festivities ( To be successful, one learns to read these signs accurately) Her ears and neckline were home to a matching set of pure white diamonds. A wide diamond bracelet graced a bare right wrist ,so she must be left handed I instinctively thought, an observation that would have aided me if I were planning on having a go for slipping the bracelet from her wrist, but tonight I was planning a much more daring attempt to empty the entire jewel casket, so to speak.
They went to the prism, playing with it a bit, I had begun to circle around, when I noticed black velvet pointing out with multiple ringed fingers, to something further down the path past the wall.
With a clicking of heels I let the pair pass, they apparently wanted to see what was on the other side of the wall. I followed; it was not hard, because the necklace the raven haired one wore, diamonds fully encircling her throat, rippled and sparkled from their perch, caught in the full harvest moon’s cast, giving me more than enough light to shadow them quietly .
After a while they caught on that something/someone was following them, but as they turned they could see nothing. I was in black, and hooded, invisible to them in the shadows of the trees. They whispered amongst themselves, now worried, realizing that there were dangers lurking beyond the pale, in their case, the safety of the gardens , especially for ones decked out as they were. They then turned and headed right back from where they had come, right into my waiting arms.
It is interesting what good breeding does for young, poised ladies. For, as I stepped out of the shadows, a finger of my right hand to my lips, my Fairborn in my left hand, its black blade glinting wickedly in the moonlight , they did not scream out or shout for help. Instead the pair merely let out small gasps, and then they both, in a quite charming synchronized display of disbelief, place each one hand over their open mouths, and the other upon their perspective necklaces.
And as I flourished my wicked looking Fairbairn–Sykes blade in their direction, they unquestioningly reached around and undid those pretty necklaces, tremblingly handing them out to me, like actresses following a well-read script. I took the little pretties and after stuffing them into my satchel, held out again my free hand, my fingers beckoning. Not a word was spoken between us, as the frightened pair of young ladies began removing their shimmering jewels and added them in a neat little growing pile along my open palm. The raven haired girl even undid her brooch without me having to command her to do so. Once I had stashed it all away, I motioned for them to turn back around, than with a little helpful prodding on my part, they began moving forward back down the hill, away from the garden. The one in white hobbling a little now as she kept tripping over the hem of her dress, now no longer held up by the stolen brooch.
After we had traveled about 200 meters I had them stop, and take off their high heels. Then picking the pretty things up, I motioned them to turn back around and made them walk back the way we had come in their bare feet, watching the pair awkwardly hobble barefooted down the wooded path. They would be quite a while on their journey back, allowing me more than ample time to make me escape. I threw their shoes off to the side and went briskly the other way, reaching the place was staying at , gaining my room without notice. But not before I had hidden the jewels inside an old stump to retrieve them at a later date. I never really heard so much as a whisper of the incident, other than from the pretty lips of my friendly maiden. The wee hours of the morning before my early departure for the train station found me revisiting the stump and retrieving my satchel and its precious cargo. After hiding it all in a false bottom of my case I laid my head on the pillow and drifted off to sleep as I wondered what had happened to the little prism, marveling at how useful it had ended up proving to be.
So, how does this story (journey rather) relate to the one I had already started? Please read on, and enrich your curiosity… my dear readers.
****************************************************************************
Act 2
So, with apologies for my lengthy elucidation, but I now return you back to the garden party I was now attending on that warm fall day. But, as you will see, my prism story needed to be told in order to add a bit of flavor to what was about to unfold.
As I sat on the garden bench I formulated my plans. I should be able to acquire the main piece tonight at the Ball, I would have time this afternoon to retrieve my ever handy satchel and its array of tools and have it hidden at the spot I had already selected. It was perfect, located at the end of the path I had found, or rather the charming lady in the smart chiffon dress had found for me. A gas lamp would provide adequate light for my “lure”, and it led to a back wood where I could lead any victims away and liberate them of their valuables before making my escape. I rose, just enough time to walk my escape route, before setting up and then be dressed for the evening’s festivities. I looked around, I was alone now, my lady in white had disappeared, following her own course, whatever it may have been.
The Autumn Ball that evening was in full swing by the time I arrived. Being a cool fall day, most of the women were wearing long gowns and dresses, and that, for whatever the reason, usually meant they were decked out with more layers of jewelry than say , if it had been the middle of summer. In order to put my plan in action I need and intrinsic piece of the trap, a prism. The one I had once had was long ago lost, a minor pawn in a game to take a pair of princesses.
I knew exactly the type of prism required for my plan, and so began mingling amongst the guests with that in mind.
I started out by walking through to the chamber like ballroom where a full orchestra was starting to play. The first person I saw from the garden party was the little tramp who had been wearing the too tight satin tea dress. That dress had been replaced with a long silky gown, her gold jewelry replaced with emeralds; including a thin bracelet that had taken the place of the gold one that she had so obligingly dangled in my larcenous path. I decided to avoid her In principle, and in doing so spied someone quite interesting.
That someone was a pretty lady in a long velvet gown standing off to one side, idly watching the many dancers out on the floor. The dancing couples were forming an imagery of a rainbow coloured sea of slinky swirling gowns and with erupting fireworks of sparkling jewels, ignited by pair of immensely large chandeliers that hung over the dance floor, setting them off. I made my way, skirting the dance floor to reach her, my eyes on her jewels, which were making pretty fireworks of their own. I happened to walk up just as a waiter with a tray of drinks was passing by. Plucking off a drink I offered it to the lady with one hand, my other hand placed on her back as If to steady myself. She laughed prettily, and taking the drink I met her eyes, as she was focused on reaching and holding the glass in her slippery gloved hand, mine was on the ruby and diamond necklace. My hand behind her had flicked open the simple hook and eye clasp of the antique piece and was in the process of lifting it up and whisking it away from her throat. As I said a few words to her, I pocketed it, while also taking in the rest of her lovely figure and its shiny decorations, before biding adieu. She smiled, her pale bare neckline now quite glaringly extinguished of its fire.
It was about an hour later, after spotting, but unable to make inroads with several likely candidates, that I finally struck gold (figuratively). It came in the form of a young couple arguing between themselves in a far corner of the chamber. She was lecturing a rather handsome man in a tux, her jeweled fingers flying in his face. If she hadn’t been moving about in such an animated fashion as she lectured, I may not have even noticed her. But as it happened I did, especially noticeable was the sanctimonious lady’s wide jeweled bracelet that was bursting out in a rainbow of colorful flickers as her hand was emphatically waving, as her long gown of silk swished around with every movement she made. Perfect. I watched for a bit, and sure enough they moved off, the man heading for the patio leading outside, the wealthy girl following him, still giving him lashes with her tongue. I moved and managed to have her bump into me simply by stepping on the hemline of her long gown. For a few seconds I was the one on the receiving end of her wrath, but I took it like a man, I could see in the eyes of her tongue lashed husband, that he was grateful for the respite. I was also grateful; grateful for the quite wide, very shimmering, bracelet that I had removed from her wrist and now was residing in my pocket.
I began to leave the patio, but was stopped by a matronly lady in ruffles, laces and pearls, her breath heavy with alcohol. She started to question me on what the couple had been on about. Then without waiting for an answer she launched herself into a tirade of her own, her gem encrusted, silken gloved fingers, waving in my face for emphasis. It was almost ten minutes before I was able to make my escape. Which I did, but not before slipping off one of the lecturing ladies vulgarly large cocktail rings.
I headed onto the patio; the time was getting ripe for my plan, which I was now ready to put into motion, now having acquired its most essential piece. I went to the end of the large patio, weaving in and out of the by now well liquored guests whom had assembled there. Across the way I saw a lady tripping over her own gown. By the time I reached her she had fallen down, giggling merrily. Two of us rushed to her aid, she was busy gushed her thanks to the rescuer she knew, while ignoring the one she didn’t! Which was unfortunate on her part, for by ignoring me, she also was ignorant of the fact that I was busy lifting the small stands of black pearls from her wrist. I left unnoticed, much like a shadow fading out of the light, or at least that’s how it seemed. Finally I reached the patios outer edge without further incident, or gain. I went on the grass and turned a corner with the intention of going, post haste around the house to reach the gardens by the long way, hoping not to be seen by anyone. But I no sooner turned the corner, when I realized that it was not to be the case.
It was my blithe spirit in white chiffon from the garden party, pardon me, soiree. She was unescorted, looking up at the moon above a stone turret with one lit window, so intently that my presence had not been noticed. I had been absolutely correct in my observation of her as far as what she would be wearing for the evening. For what she had lacked in ornaments at the soiree, she had more than made up for in the evening festivities. She was absolutely gorgeous, resplendent in as beautiful a silvery satin gown that I had ever witness. It was just pouring down, shimmering along her delightful figure. Her long blazing red hair was still curling down and free, but now a pair of long chandelier earrings cascading down from her earlobes, were peeking out every now and then as they swayed with her every movement. Her blazingly rippling necklace was all diamonds, dripping down the front of her tightly satin covered bosom, twinkling iridescently like an intensively glimmering waterfall. Her slender gloved wrists were home to a pair of dangling diamond bracelets that were almost outshone by her many glistening rings. All in all she was quite a lure all too herself
I came up to her, starling her from her reverie. Taking up her hand, I looked into her startled, suddenly blushing face. I complimented her on the fine gown she wore. She thanked me, and I could see I that she suddenly remembered she me as the chap who she thought smiled to her in the garden. She seemed to accept my compliment quite readily. I chanced it( although Lord knows I was short on time) and asked her to a dance. I did not think she would agree, so it was with a little bit of surprise, hoping she would politely decline and walk off, leaving me free to go about my business unobserved. But she accepted, and I will admit that my heart leapt as she agreed (although in the back of my mind I knew I should be off if my plan was to work). The music had stopped so we made small talk as we slowly walked back to the ballroom. Her name was Katrina. It seems she was waiting for someone, which suited my plans, but he was late and so she had time. Which may have sounded dismissive, but from the apologetic way she said it, it was anything but the sort.
The orchestra started to tune back up as we entered, and taking her offered hand up, was soon lost in the elegance of my appealing partner. It was a long dance, and a formal one, but I could tell she was subtly anxious to be off on her meeting, as I was to be off to my own adventure. But Katrina did not really allow it to show, which was very uncharacteristic of her someone with her obvious breeding. So I was ready when the by the end of the music she begged her condolences and took flight. I watched her as she fluidly moved away, her jewels sparkling, all of them. On her mission to meet Mr. X I thought, for whom I was already harboring a quite jealous dislike. I should be off I thought to meself.
But I stood, still as stone; totally mesmerized by the way Katrina’s swirling silvery satin gown was playing out along her petite, jewel sparkling figure. It wasn’t till the last of her gown swished around a corner out of sight that I moved, but not without having to shake my head to clear the thoughts of her out of it. Well old son, focus. For by now the guests were starting to wander a bit afield in the waning hours of the Autumn Ball, and my small window of opportunity was closing fast. If my little plan was going to have any chance of success it would have to be now.
I walked out and made my way to one of the outside exist of the garden wall. Reaching into my pocket as I did so, fingering the bracelet, now cold, that had belonged to the quarrelsome lady,and soon would be playing another role, far from one its former mistress would ever have dreamed off. I also felt my new acquisition, still warm from my dance partner’s body. I will admit that I had felt a twinge of regret for taking it from a lady I had found to be most charmingly captivating. But slipping off the diamonds up and away from her throat had been as temptingly easy as it had been automatic. I had advantageously made use of the sleekness of her scintillatingly silky gown, and with the distractions created by the movements of the dance, successfully managed to keep Katrina’s attention safely diverted from the reality of why my fingers were ever so gently, caressingly sliding along her slippery gowns neckline. The truth was I had originally placed my hand there because it had felt so right, and I was a little startled when my fingers had subconsciously started playing with her necklaces clasp. Before I knew it, they had flicked open the gemstone clasp of her obviously expensive diamond necklace, and had lifted up. As I watched out of the corner of my eye, almost like I was a spectator, as opposed to being the perpetrator, I saw the chain move up and over her shoulder; its diamonds sparkling with is as the necklace disappeared from view behind her back.
It was a favored technique that I had perfected to the point that by this stage of my career I nearly always acquired my objective. But, as odd as it sounds, I was not happy with myself on this occasion.
But I did not long dwell on my mixed feelings on taking the charming lass’s diamonds, for by now I had reached my place of ambush. It was in one of the farthest reaches of the garden, at a bend on the end of a long path that, with a gas lamp at its beginning just off the patio, would allow me to see from some distance off. Behind me was a break in the hedge wide enough for a person to walk through comfortably. It was here, off a tree limb, underneath a second ornate cast iron gas lamp, which was now lit, that I hung the shimmering bracelet that I had sought out and acquired for just that reason
I walked around and saw that it could be seen flickered off in the distance from the woods, Perfect! Earlier I had hidden my satchel with a hood and knife and bit of rope in the hollow of an old tree. I now retrieved them, and after getting ready, found my position and waited. At 10 minutes past the first hour of my wait, with nary a single glimpse of anyone, I started to fidget. My corner may be just a bit too desolated I was beginning to admit to myself. It seemed that most of the guests were staying by the patio. I was starting to think that I should pack it in, possibly rejoining the guests for one last parting( of someone from her Jewelry). I was just reaching down to pick up my satchel when I suddenly saw something flash under the gas lamp at the beginning of the path, and my senses immediately perked up. I watched as the wisps of rich shimmery satin moved closer, I stiffened, drooling with anticipation, the game was afoot.
I could see clearly the flickering jewels she wore, and by their blazing sparkles of rippling fire, I knew that my long vigil would not have been in vain. As the lady drew I recognized her gown of silvery satin! I knew who was making those tantalizing flashes of appealing treasures. Katrina!
I watched as she approached, in all her glittering elegance. My heart and conscious was in turmoil, but I knew I probably would not get a second chance. I could not let her get away unscathed. Beside, from the shock of being confronted with a masked scoundrel wielding a wicked blade, she would be in no shape to recognize her assailant. She stopped, apprehensively looking back towards the bright lights of the Manor, Then turning back I saw she had a self-satisfied smile creeping upon her face. She reached up, and undoing her hair, shook it down, curls of softness cascading down, hanging loosely down. It was as she performed this provocative act, that I saw her eyes open wide in curiosity; she had spied my pretty little “prism”. The charming fish was hooked.
I waited, watching her approaching ever closer to fate, and from my concealment, I basked in her glow. My heart beating fast, my adrenaline pumping, for the remaining jewels (I thought of her necklace in my custody) that she possessed I already had witnessed were quite valuable. She passed my hiding spot and went to the hanging, shimmering object. As she reached up, looking around, she failed to see me approaching in the shadows. I came up from behind, jabbing a finger in her back as I reached her, I gruffly in no uncertain terms, snarled for her to freeze and make no sound. She stiffened under my touch, but made no move or outcry. I went around; pointing my knife in her direction, looking into her sad doe wide eyes as she realized what was going to happen next. She was trembling; from fear I guessed, and knew I had her right where I wanted. As I made my demands upon her, gimme them jewels sister, she, not surprisingly, was very compliant in giving them up to me. She reached for her necklace last, and looked entirely shocked to find her throat bare, as she searched the neckline of her gown I saw her look into my hand, now dripping with her precious jewelry, almost as if to see if she had not already removed it. She looked apologetically into my eyes, startled; almost pleading that she didn’t know what had happened to it. I just played dump. She than spoke for the first time, sir, may I ask to keep my purse? Her words would have instantly melted even the coldest chunk of ice, I looked down at the little silvery clutch hanging from her arm on its rhinestone chain, I nodded, indicating that she could, and saw relief wash over her face. I told her she now needed to turn around and walk off into the woods ahead of me. She hesitated, and I told her no harm would befall her, I had no intentions along those lines.
About 5 meters in I stopped her, and had her remove her shoes, as she bent over to undo the high heels rhinestone clasps I watched her gown tightly outlining her figure. She tripped on the hem of her gown, and as she attempted to keep her balance, accidently let her purse slip off her shoulder. Without thinking I reached down to pick it up for her as she tried reached for it simultaneously
The small purse was far heavier than it should have been. Curious I opened it, finding that it contained a rather extensive array of mismatched jewelry, glittering in unbelievably expensive fire . I looked into Katrina’s horror struck eyes dumb founded, as she looked guiltily into mine. The gig was up. The jewels belonged to the lady of the manor, my muse in silver was a thief, a female version of me very self.
Aye, what’s this than luv? I questioned her as she looked into my eyes, hers large with a mixture of fright and disbelief. She melted before me, fainting, I caught her in my arms, and it was no ruse. I held her as she came to, holding her warm, silky figure lovingly to mine. I did not know what to think. Nor could I ever explain what possessed me to do what I did next. As she came to, her eyes opened, and I removed my mask, looking back into them deeply.
Oh, she gasped, I’m glad it was you, startled that she had said the words out loud. She than started to coyly blushes, quite demurely. Something sparked in me, and unless she was an incredibly good actress, it did also for Katrina. Our eyes both looked into the others, melting away in the lust of the moment. We embraced, deeply, and I held her squirming warm slick figure tight in my enveloping arms. I looked over her shoulder, eyeing the glistening bracelet hanging from its branch. To catch a thief, the thought suddenly opened in my mind, what a great title for a novel I thought to myself, as I buried my nose into Katrina’s luxuriously soft hair.
We talked for a bit, walking off into the woods, then she looked into my eyes again, a coy, look that melted me on the spot, and that was the end of it, we embraced again, and wholly gave ourselves to one another. What about your man I asked suddenly remembering, my man she questioned , than oh, you mean the Lord, I was waiting for him to come down from smoking in his tower study, that’s where the lady’s jewels are kept. She broke into an Irish brogue as she said the last bit, and that I guessed was her natural tongue. she laid a hand on the side of my face, thanks for being jealous though, me lad.
I should collect my lure I said, which made her smile; it was such an enticing smile at that. We started to head back and watched as it dangled in front of us flickering. With a far off look in her green eyes, Katrina spoke as if in deep though.
The daughter of the house, she has a bracelet on like the one you have dangling, a bracelet of diamonds that I had taken a fancy to, wishing it had been in the safe along with the rest of the ladies of manors jewelry. I knew who she was talking about. The one in green taffeta I asked? Aye lad, that’s the one. Actually her necklace would be just as easy, and worth more I said. Just then her bright green eyes gleamed, Give me about a half an hour, she told me, we will put your little lure to use again. She noticed my hesitation, don’t worry luv she said soothingly placing a gloved hand to my cheek, no longer was it sparkly with its stolen bracelet and rings. I’ll leave my purse with you, can’t very well be carrying it around now can I? I nodded my consent, my mind burning with the thoughts she had alluringly placed there.
She turned, and then hesitated; turning back she said I probably should not go back in naked luv. I smiled, reaching in I pulled out her necklace and placed it around her throat. With a little gasp she blurted, so it was you, I was wondering who and when it had happened. It’s not the first time I’ve had me jewels lifted, but it’s a bloody annoyance to have to let them get away with it, crawls under my skin to have pretend not to notice so that I don’t draw any attention to me self before making my move to steal the posh ones jewels.
But you, mister, I never felt as much as a prickling. I was ready to assume my pretties had been a victim of a broken clasp this time. I gave a little nod in acceptance. That wasn’t exactly a compliment lad, she said in what I hopped was a subtle jest. Just last summer some clumsy bugger slipped of me earrings, my favorite pearls, as we were danc… she stopped, seeing the guilt in my eyes. Men! As thieves you are all of the same skin she spat out angrily, or attempted to sound angry, for the look in her eyes to me she wasn’t. I best be off, before I change me mind about out little endeavor.
With that she swirled around on her heels, and started off, but not before turning and giving me an extremely coy look of interest. As she swirled back around I heard her say loud enough for my ears, I’ll learn me self to be a picker of pockets, see how males like to be taken advantage of in their vulnerabilities! She nodded to herself as she said it. Then suddenly she stopped, than twirled on her heels, her gown swirling enticingly along her figure. Looking me dead in the eye she said, “Vie ne est pas d'attendre que la tempête , mais d'apprendre à danser sous la pluie” !
What does that mean? I questioned in a low voice, perplexed.
Maybe, Mon Cheri, someday I will tell you… And with that she turned on her heel, her gown once again swirling about, and went, determinedly, swishing her way back up the path. I just watched. I had never heard anyone speak French with an Irish Brogue and I had found it to be rather provocative!
I watched as she swished and swayed her way back through the hedge and regained the path leading back to the manor. Her plan was simple; she would lead the daughter of the house to my corner and as she had done, go out with her to look at the swinging charm. I would then make my appearance, rob both ladies of their finery, and telling the daughter to wait until I released her friend, walk off with Katrina as a hostage, and we would both take off and make good our escape. A simple plan, so simple it should actually work.
So, there I was. Holding a purse with a small fortune in jewels, my pocket full of more jewels worth an additional pretty farthing, and her charms were wearing off by her leaving. And my thieving nature coming back, reawakened from the spell they had been under!
The devil of my conscious crept out on my shoulder, the angel markedly absent from the other.
Look mate, she may not be all she seems, and possibly has some other game in mind. Maybe she does have a male confidante helping her out… and was actually on her way to fetch him. He said in my inner ear. And, after all, you took her diamonds twice, didn’t ye now? Do you really think shell forgive you of that me lad?
And there is no honor amongst thieves, as the saying goes, he added as a closing argument...
I rolled it over in my mind…I could leave, absconding with it all, book a cruise to the states or down under where there lay untried fertile grounds to ply my trade. Not to mention working over my fellow passengers aboard the cruise ship while they attended the fancy affairs that were always going on, or so the brochures always seemed to show……
Then In the distance I caught a wisp of Katrina’s long silvery gown. She was coming, and not only with the daughter of the manor, but also with a spare. For I could see a purple coloured gown swishing alongside with the prey in rustling green taffeta.. I watched as all three ladies, resplendent with the rippling fiery gems they all possessed, came up the path, gowns sweeping out , shimmery from the now misty distance.
The thought of making my escape with all the loot continued to haunt me, there was still time now to take off without notice, or I could rob all three, and leave with purple silk as my hostage, Katrina would not be able to say anything on chance of giving up her part of the game, or I could just be a good lad and sty with the script that Katrina had written. Take a chance, roll the dice and believe that she was all she had me believing she could ever be.
As they came closer I knew my time was running out. The thoughts of just looking out for myself kept coming up playing the devil with my conscience as the precious seconds ticked away…
No honor amongst thieves…
What will it be, old boy I challenged myself,
What will you have it be?........
To see what his decision ultimately was, and the eventual path it led to, see the album question answered)
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Life is not about waiting out the storm, but about learning to dance in the rain.
Vie ne est pas d'attendre que la tempête , mais d'apprendre à danser sous la pluie .
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ROMA ARCHEOLOGICA & RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA: 'Roma - Una bellissima passeggiata nel Foro Romano, ricostruito in 3D.': Prof. Arch. Gilbert J. Gorski & Prof. James E. Packer, 'The Roman Forum: A Reconstruction and Architectural Guide', Cambridge University Press (2015 [Forthcoming]), pp. 1-474; 60 b/w illus. 247 colour illus. Foto: Cambridge University Press (05|2015).
"...Thus, while millions of casual tourists visit the site [of the Roman Forum] each year, most carry away only vague ideas of how the shattered ruins before them actually appeared in antiquity; and relevant literature in English usually provides little more." (...) "Since our new, restored model of the Forum is three dimensional, we were able to document the site in a realistic manner." (...) "With these digital materials and our texts, we anticipate that future visitors to the Forum will find the site more comprehensible – and, we hope, far more rewarding – than has ever previously been the case."
-- Prof. Arch. Gilbert J. Gorski & Prof. James E. Packer [2012-13] in: PREFACE, xv & xviii, Prof. Arch. Gilbert J. Gorski & Prof. James E. Packer, 'The Roman Forum: A Reconstruction and Architectural Guide', Cambridge University Press (2015 [Forthcoming]), pp. 1-474; 60 b/w illus. 247 colour illus.
The Roman Forum was in many ways the heart of the Roman Empire. Today, the Forum exists in a fragmentary state, having been destroyed and plundered by barbarians, aristocrats, citizens and priests over the past two millennia. Enough remains, however, for archaeologists to reconstruct its spectacular buildings and monuments. This richly illustrated volume provides an architectural history of the central section of the Roman Forum during the Empire (31 BCE–476 CE), from the Temple of Julius Caesar to the monuments on the slope of the Capitoline hill. Bringing together state-of-the-art technology in architectural illustration and the expertise of a prominent Roman archaeologist, this book offers a unique reconstruction of the Forum, providing architectural history, a summary of each building's excavation and research, scaled digital plans, elevations, and reconstructed aerial images that not only shed light on the Forum's history but vividly bring it to life. With this book, scholars, students, architects and artists will be able to visualize for the first time since antiquity the character, design and appearance of the famous heart of ancient Rome.
- With over 300 illustrations, the majority of them in color, this is the most complete and visually striking treatment of the Forum to date.
- Authored by an expert team of illustrator and Roman archaeologist.
- The reconstructions of every monument in the Forum constitute the handsomest, most complete, most attractive series of Forum images ever done.
Table of Contents
Part I. Architecture in the Roman Forum during the Empire: A Brief History:
1. The Augustan Reconstruction
2. From the Tiberius to Phocas (14–608 CE)
Part II. The Monuments:
3. The Temple of Antoninus and Faustina
4. The Temple of Caesar (Aedes divi Iuli)
5. The Basilica Aemilia
6. The Curia
7. The Arch of Septimius Severus
8. The West Rostra
9. The Temple of Concord
10. The Temple of Vespasian
11. The Tabularium
12. Portico of the Dei Consentes
13. The Temple of Saturn
14. The Basilica Julia
15. The Arch of Tiberius
16. The Schola Xanthi
17. The Diocletianic Honorary Columns
18. The Temple of Castor and Pollux
19. The Parthian Arch of Augustus
20. The Temple of Vesta
Part III. Conclusions.
Look Inside
- Index (PDF = 159 KB)
- Marketing Excerpt (PDF = 16615 KB)
- Copyright Information Page (PDF = 136 KB)
- Front Matter (PDF = 30244 KB)
- Table of Contents (PDF = 144 KB)
Authors
Gilbert J. Gorski, University of Notre Dame, Indiana -
Gilbert J. Gorski is a licensed architect and the project designer for numerous buildings including the World Headquarters for the McDonald's Corporation in Oak Brook, IL, and the Oceanarium, a major addition to the John G. Shedd Aquarium in Chicago. In 1987 he was designated the Burnham Fellow by the Chicago Architectural Club and was awarded an associate fellowship to the American Academy in Rome. Since 1989 Gorski has headed his own firm specializing in design and illustration. His drawings and paintings have been included in numerous publications and exhibits on architecture and illustration. He was twice awarded the Hugh Ferriss Memorial Prize, the nation's highest singular honor in architectural illustration, by the American Society of Architectural Illustrators. He is also the recipient of an Institute Honor for Collaborative Achievement, awarded by the American Institute of Architects. He presently is an associate professor at the University of Notre Dame and holds the James A. and Louise F. Nolen Chair in Architecture.
James E. Packer, Northwestern University, Illinois -
James E. Packer is Emeritus Professor of Classics at Northwestern University. He is the author of the three-volume The Forum of Trajan in Rome (1997); of numerous articles in journals, including the American Journal of Archaeology, the Journal of Roman Archaeology, the Bullettino della Commissione Archeologica Comunale di Roma, the Maryland Historian, Natural History, Croniche Pompeiane, Technology and Culture, Curator, Inland Architect, Archeo, and Archaeology; and of articles in collections, including the Lexicon Topographicum Urbis Romae (1993–2000). He is the recipient of many grants, including those from the Samuel H. Kress Foundation, the Getty Grant Program, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. He has excavated at Pompeii, in the Forum of Trajan (Rome), and in the Theater of Pompey (Rome). 'The Forum of Trajan' exhibition at the opening of the new Getty Museum in Los Angeles (1997) was based on Packer's work.
FOTO | TEXT | FONTE | SOURCE:
- Prof. Arch. Gilbert J. Gorski & Prof. James E. Packer, 'The Roman Forum: A Reconstruction and Architectural Guide', Cambridge University Press (2015 [Forthcoming]), pp. 1-474; 60 b/w illus. 247 colour illus.
www.cambridge.org/je/academic/subjects/archaeology/classi...
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s.v.,
-- ROMA ARCHEOLOGICA & RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA: “Un marmo sopra l’altro così rialzeremo le colonne del Foro di Traiano”, LA REPUBBLICA (15|04|2015). The Forum of Trajan, comments by prof. James E. Packer | FACEBOOK (15|04|2015).
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“…Imperial Rome appears to be a golden, semi-mythical city filled with splendid monuments whose ruins still regularly attract hordes of annual visitors. Yet these tourists see only battered walls,fragmentary pavements, broken columns and piles of marble fragments mutely recalling past grandeur but giving little reliable information on the layout and visual or propagandistic effects of the originally elaborately decorated buildings. (…) Consequently, most visitors to Roman sites still rely either on simplified guide books or on ‘local’ professional guides who may or may not give their audience accurate (if limited and strictly verbal) information about the sites visited.”
Prof. James E. Packer, Digitalizing Roman Imperial architecture in the early 21st century: purposes, data, failures and prospects. JRAS 61 (2006), pg. 309 & 312 [of pages 309-320].
…His [Prof. Packer’s] interest in the monument [of the Forum of Trajan] was sparked in 1972,[1] while he was preparing to guide some Northwestern University [Illinois, USA] alumni on a tour of Rome, little had been published about the forum, he found. This did not surprise him. He had just finished his dissertation of the archaeological records of Ostia, the ancient port of Rome, and “it was extraordinary how much little had been done on Ostia,” [2] he says. “So it was not surprising that the same situation existed in Rome.” In fact, all of the Imperial Forums were “kind of forgotten” – collapsed, buried and hard to get into, he says.’ In a sense, Dr. Packer’s had been preparing for much of his life to play a role in the uncovering a key part of Roman history. “Ever since I was a child, I have been fascinated by Roman buildings,” he says. “I wanted to have something to do with them, but for a long time I wasn’t sure what.” As a boy, he made three-dimensional models of such buildings as the Forum of Pompeii, the Pantheon at Ostia, and the Round Temple of Baalbek in Lebanon. Growing up in Williamsburg, Virginia he was impressed by the town’s architecture. “My mother said, ‘if you like neo-classical architecture, wait until you see the real thing.’” Certainly the Forum of Trajan bore her out.’[2] & [4].
Notes: 1,2,3, & 4 in, see: ROMA ARCHEOLOGICA & RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA: Prof. James. E. Packer, (ed. it.), Il Foro di Traiano a Roma. Breve studio dei monumenti (Roma 2001). “[Prof. Packer] Passeggiata virtuale nel Foro Romano [e Traiano],” LA STAMPA (02|01|1998), p. 17.
wp.me/pPRv6-2Ut & www.flickr.com/photos/imperial_fora_of_rome/5189852726/
— ROME ARCHAEOLOGY & RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA: THE ROMAN FORUM – Prof. James E. Packer & Prof. Arch. Gilbert J. Gorski, “The Roman Forum: A Reconstruction and Architectural Guide,” Cambridge University Press (forthcoming [2014]), Pp. 550. Foto: Prof. James E. Packer, scholars and students visiting the Forum of Trajan in Oct. 2013.
— ROMA ARCHEOLOGIA e RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA: Prof. James E. Packer, Il Foro di Traiano. Breve studio dei monumenti | Prof. Packer, una lezione affascinante in inglese sul Foro di Traiano Roma (10|2013). [ENGLISH] VIDEO YOUTUBE [1:00:13].
— ROMA ARCHEOLOGIA & RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA: Prof. James Packer,”Digitizing Imperial Rome: A computerized Approach to the Architectural History of the Roman Imperial Forum.” James Packer, Professor Emeritus Northwestern University (2010).
— ROMA ARCHEOLOGICA & RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA: PROF. ANDREA CARANDINI, “IMAGO URBIS – Lazio , Roma e Suburbio,” LA SAPIENZA UNIVERSITA` DI ROMA | Arcus S.p.a | SSBAR (2015). Review of “ATLANTE DI ROMA ANTICA, Vol. I & II (2013),” by: T. P. Wiseman & J. E. Packer (2013).
— ROMA ARCHEOLOGICA & RESTAURO ARCHITETTURA: Roma – I Fori Imperiali (1995-2008). The Forum of Trajan. Excavations & Related Studies (1998-2008). Prof. James. E. Packer, (ed. it.), Il Foro di Traiano a Roma. Breve studio dei monumenti (Roma 2001). [04|2008].
www.flickr.com/photos/imperial_fora_of_rome/2517676103/
— ROMA ARCHEOLOGIA e RESTUARO ARCHITETTURA: James E. Packer, Report from Rome: The Imperial Fora, a Retrospective [Relazione da Roma: I Fori Imperiali, una Retrospettiva]. AJA 101, April 1997, [PDF] 307-330. *
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Note: A very special thank you to both Prof. James E. Packer and Prof. Arch. Kevin Sarring, they were kind enough to meet with me here in Washington DC in late October 2009, prof. Packer more then generously shared with me the outline of his preliminary work for the current book: ‘The Roman Forum: A Reconstruction and Architectural Guide (2015); M. G. Conde [05|2015]
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Although both TrentBarton and NCT operate in and around Nottingham, in a broadly similar manner with prominent route branding, their choice of vehicles tend to be only loosely connected. Both, however, really went to town with the Optare Solo and bought sizable numbers of them as their preferred midibus. Since the initial intakes from around 1999-2002, later versions of both the classic and SR Solos have also ended up at the two operators.
From those original style Solos, characterised by their tuneful Allison gearboxes, here's a Corgi code 1 model of TrentBarton FG02 BGO, which is a really nice and detailed model from 2006, and my code 3 model of NCT Y238 LRR, which is about what you'd expect from a fairly low budget representation that's half made of paper.
Both happen to be spare buses that aren't branded for any particular route, instead just filling in where a normal branded bus isn't available to run the service. 238 managed to last in this role quite far beyond what NCT's route branded Solos did, with it and twin 237 bowing out in 2019. The last of the slightly older Locallink branded ones were withdrawn a few years before, and even the 57 plate ones (which were 2nd hand) went around 2016.
I'm not sure about 466, but the majority of TrentBarton's remaining early Solos were swept away in the late 2010s. The single, final example numbered 462 is somehow still going at Sutton depot, but with the Ilkeston area network shrinkage (which, as I write this on 29.9.22, is in three days time) and impending withdrawal of the final Wright Solars, I wouldn't be surprised if 462 was gone by this time next week.