"All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered."

Attenzione: rischio contagio

Attenzione: questo post potrebbe essere portatore di germi. Già, perché domenica si è conclusa la mia fortunata serie di giorni sani (che è durata più o meno trentasei ore, un vero e proprio record) e sono tornata da Roma con una serie innominabile di infezioni e infiammazioni. Quindi, leggete a vostro rischio e pericolo. ;-)

Non sono riuscita a fare le scansioni dei due disegni appena finiti, così ho fatto delle foto. O meglio, le ho fatte fare al mio ragazzo perché a me tremava troppo la mano. La macchina non è il massimo ma più o meno le foto rendono l’idea di quanto io non sia capace di disegnare. La prima in alto è il Vento del Sud di cui ho parlato qualche post fa. La seconda è una scena dal Silmarillion di Tolkien (perché delle sue opere mi sto occupando in questo periodo). Il testo accanto è un estratto dal brano riguardante proprio l’incontro della dama con l’elfo fotofobico:

Eöl, though stooped by his smithwork, was no Dwarf, but a tall Elf of a high kin of the Teleri, noble though grim of face; and his eyes could see deep into shadows and dark places. And it came to pass that he saw Aredhel Ar-Feiniel as she strayed among the tall trees near the borders of Nan Elmoth, a gleam of white in the dim land. Very fair she seemed to him, and he desired her; and he set his enchantments about her so that she could not find the ways out, but drew ever nearer to his dwelling in the depths of the wood. There were his smithy, and his dim halls, and such servants as he had, silent and secret as their master. And when Aredhel, weary with wandering, came at last to his doors, he revealed himself; and he welcomed her, and led her into his house. And there she remained; for Eöl took her to wife, and it was long ere any of her kin heard of her again.

Vento del Sud

Aredhel alle porte di Eol

Spooktober

Spooktober 27 – The Black Monk (2)

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Spooktober

Spooktober 26 – The Black Monk (1)

Anton Chekhov (1860–1904) was a Russian physician, short-story writer and playwright, and I’m not particularly fond of him, though he’s widely regarded as one of the greatest masters of modern short fiction and who am I to argue? His work is celebrated for its psychological

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art and fashion

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