Sharpen your pencils, class. Today, you are going to continue last week’s still life exercises, with a special emphasis on contrast. Study this arrangement, and then capture as best you can the feeling of total stillness, of complete and utter inertia — and then contrast that with the fruit.
Your cat Daniel looks familiar, Tal S. Has he posed for any motel art?
Civilian, please do not touch the animal while I work. I possess a highly skilled craft; you do not. Let my healing hands guide the way to a cure to this terrible problem.
And…Yes, I think I’ve done it. The animal should finally be rid of this very unpleasant case of Singultus.
Dr. McDomineering and patient McPanty might make “Grey’s Anatomy” watchable, Martin I.
No, I haven’t seen him. What do you mean, I look guilty? Maybe he went for a walk or something, I dunno. But I know for sure that I didn’t eat Rubber Ducky. No, definitely not.
When our team engaged specimen (code name “Blow Dry”) with friendly snuggles and delicious alfalfa, specimen exhibited fascinating new “threatening” behavior.
Meet the Puffer Bun.
What’s it like living with Santa Claws, Hillary B.
It was another tear-stained night in the French Quarter, heartbreak hanging over every street like a grieving fog. There was already a row of shot glasses on the bar in front of me, drained like fallen soldiers, but I still had sorrows to drown.
It was Amateur Night, when every cab driver with the ten-spot to get his horn out of hock took his turn in the shadows of Parker and Gillespie. A beady-eyed quartet shuffled on stage; with luck, they’d only butcher a few numbers before slinking away in shame. I ordered another shot and braced myself for the worst.
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