Showing posts with label figurative abstract painting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label figurative abstract painting. Show all posts

Thursday, December 13, 2007

figurative abstract painting

figurative abstract painting
abstract painting picture
nature abstract painting
decorative abstract art painting
On the day when I was articled, no festivity took place, beyond my having sandwiches and sherry into the office for the clerks, and going alone to the theatre at night. I went to see The Stranger, as a Doctors' Commons sort of play, and was so dreadfully cut up, that I hardly knew myself in my own glass when I got home. Mr. Spenlow remarked, on this occasion, when we concluded our business, that he should have been happy to have seen me at his house at Norwood to celebrate our becoming connected, but for his domestic arrangements being in some disorder, on account of the expected return of his daughter from finishing her education at Paris. But, he intimated that when she came home he should hope to have the pleasure of entertaining me. I knew that he was a
oil paintingwidower with one daughter, and expressed my acknowledgements. ¡¡¡¡Mr. Spenlow was as good as his word. In a week or two, he referred to this engagement, and said, that if I would do him the favour to come down next Saturday, and stay till Monday, he would be extremely happy. Of course I said I would do him the favour; and he was to drive me down in his phaeton, and to bring me back. ¡¡¡¡When the day arrived, my very carpet-bag was an object of veneration to the stipendiary clerks, to whom the house at Norwood was a sacred mystery. One of them informed me that he had heard that Mr. Spenlow ate entirely off plate and china; and another hinted at champagne being constantly on draught, after the usual custom of table-beer. The old clerk with the wig, whose name was Mr. Tiffey,

Sunday, November 18, 2007

figurative abstract painting

figurative abstract painting
abstract seascape painting
abstract woman painting
african abstract painting
There never was such a cross family!' cried Jo, losing her temper when she had upset an inkstand, broken both bootlacings, and sat down upon her hat. ¡¡¡¡`You're the crossest person in it!' returned Amy, washing out the sum, that was all wrong, with the tears that had fallen on her slate. ¡¡¡¡`Beth, if you don't keep these horrid cats down cellar I'll have them drowned,' exclaimed Meg, angrily, as she tried to get rid of the kitten, which had scrambled up her back, and stuck like a burr just out of reach. ¡¡¡¡Jo laughed, Meg scolded, Beth implored, and Amy wailed, because she couldn't remember how much nine times twelve was. ¡¡¡¡`Girls, girls, do be quiet one minute! I must get this off by the early mail, and you drive me distracted with your worry,' cried Mrs. March, crossing out the third spoilt sentence in her letter. ¡¡¡¡There was a momentary lull, broken by Hannah, who stalked in, laid two hot turnovers on the table, and stalked out again. These turnovers were an institution; and the girls called them `muffs', for they had no others, and found the hot pies very comforting to their hands on cold mornings. Hannah never forgot to make them, no matter how busy or grumpy she might be, for the walk was long and bleak; the poor things got no other lunch, and were seldom home before two. ¡¡¡¡`Cuddle your cats, and get over your headache, Bethy. Good-bye, Marmee; we are a set of rascals this morning, but we'll come home regular angels. Now then, Meg!' and Jo tramped away, feeling that the pilgrims were not setting out as they ought to do.