Illuvatar University

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Post by Eldorion Thu Jan 21, 2016 11:41 pm

It had seemed settled for a while, but I suppose with Kafria gone... Razz
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Post by Mrs Figg Thu Jan 21, 2016 11:56 pm

Shocked flippin ecky thump!
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Post by The Archet Bugle Sun Jan 24, 2016 10:50 pm

7

There were some people who thought the Needlehole Art Gallery to be not  a patch on the Tate or the Louvre, but who listens to pompous old art critics anyway; though pomposity in some is rather stylish, just not in art critics.

"Now, Orwell," Julia Figg instructed that young and feckless hobbit of Ozhobbitstani extraction, some say gay. "We are about to enter a house of fine artistic repute. I myself work as a part time hat girl here and am well aware of the proprieties one must follow. So, no burping, farting or 'accidental' contacts with trolley boys or grey bearded art critics, okay..."

"Hey, those contacts were accidental!"

"Just so. Didn't I just say so?" Julia reminded him with a rather fetching smile and a gaze of pure steel. "My point is - and I make it quite sternly - do... you...under... stand...me?"

"Yes, Miss."

Then Julia entwined her elbow in his elbow and escorted him through the double doors of that salubrious institution.

"I am curious to know how a visit to an art gallery will help you find out who the Carrot Wielder is. Ooh Carrot Wielder! Sounds very mysterious and, what with his proneness to carrot violence, dangerous..."

"Oh yes, very dangerous," Julia answered drily. "I think we'll go to the local artists first."

Presently they were looking at a work by the noted local artist, Petty McPainter-Fellowe, who though born a Scotshobbit had an English mother, or so he claimed, though he did not claim to know the name of this fine Lady as his Father was in an altered state at the time and never asked her name, being a mystic some said, and a drunk according to more prosaic folk.

"I find this painting of a tree fascinating," Julia sighed taking Orwell's hand and giving it a fond squeeze.

"It looks like four paintings..."

"Well in one sense you're right: four panels showing the Four Seasons. See how it is a tree, the same tree. In Winter it has branches like bare arms and fingers, grasping plaintively at the ashen sky, begging in supplication to the sun for it's return closer to Forumshire, or perhaps physically trying to bring it closer with clawing desperate fingers. What do you think?"

"Looks like the sky is silver-grey to me.."

"What do you think ashen is?"

"More a whitish-grey I might have thought."

"Oh you might be right," Julia smiled, delighted that Orwell appeared to at least be trying to say something sensible for a change, even if he had no clue about colour. "See now, we have Spring, but see how the leaves are all different colours: blues, greens, yellows, orange, deep black, puce...."

"Deep black? Are you sure that's not a deep mahogany?"

"Perhaps, but let's not strain the friendship. Henceforth, just agree with me and have done so as not to risk a great injury due to any dispute we may have regard colour, or more broadly, hue."

"Yes, Miss. Hey! Those are funny leaves, look more like butterfly wings. A bit stupid, but it is Petty McPainter-Fellowe. I heard he was a bit imaginative - for a Scotshobbit..."

"Well you're right on both accounts!" Julia trilled, very happy that Orwell was at least trying to have a proper conversation. "They are butterfly wings and Petty McPainter-Fellowe is imaginative, some say too imaginative at times and should really think twice about what he creates. Just saying. Especially his cruder works. No Lady likes crude works."

"Some say he can be as crude as the great writer Ol' Anon, except he is crude with paint where Ol' Anon is crude by word. Did you ever see Petty's painting The Naked Ambassador and Her Boy'? Very crude, though Her Boy was rather shapely..."

"Wasn't she depicted nude and in a compromising position?"

"I can't quite recall, but Her Boy was certainly naked and compromised."

"Now, look at the Summer panel."

"Hey! They aren't leaves at all, they're butterflies! You know, I've always liked butterflies. They're very pretty. Not white cabbage butterflies though..."

"Even white butterflies are Eru's creatures, Orwell."

"Well, they do destroy one's cabbages. At least Petty McPainter-Fellowe had the good manners to not have any white butterflies. Even Scotshobbits respect cabbages it seems."

"Yes, and how profound of you to say so," Julia said sweetly, if a little abruptly. "Let's move on now shall we, as cabbages are a common vegetable where butterflies are symbols of life and beauty..."

"Why-eye, them cabbages be mighty fine symbols, damnabbit!" Piped up a voice of heavily stereotypical American quality, if somewhat exaggerated, distorted and misused.

Julia and Orwell turned to see what might be described as a bucolic and bearded country gentleman of the American North.

"Good morning to you both," says he. "And pleased I be to meet you. Me name's Dave Cranberry, Eru Presbyterian and cranberry grower. I me self likes carrots - big Nelson Reds truth be known - but you shouldn't be denigrating the humble cabbage. What? You'll be denigrating grits next - and hard tack and bully beef."

"I meant no offence to cabbages," Julia said with dignity as she ever so slightly looked down her nose at Dave, though in a very Ladylike fashion so as not to seem posh or superior. "I was merely trying to focus Orwell's wayward attention on the beauty of butterflies and not burdening ourselves with rants about cabbage butterflies. My! Are you wearing orange lipstick?"

"No, no," laughed Dave. "It's all them carrots I be eating. Would you like one, Miss? I have a spare in me haversack."

"No, that'll be fine."

"Oh dear!" Orwell oh-deared suddenly. "In that fourth panel, Julia! The butterflies are dying. It's like they're dying and falling like leaves on the ground."

"That's right. The dying butterflies represent dying leaves, perhaps alluding to The Fall, possibly as Autumn, prosaically speaking, but perhaps also representing the spiritual Fall of Eldo the Uptighteous's disciples when they joined the winning side after he was crucified or beheaded in a time when Forumshire was somewhat biblical. My main point  is that the painting probably symbolises many things. The cycle of life mainly, I guess."

"But those butterflies don't appear to have reproduced," Orwell observed. "How will the cycle continue?"

"Well, they obviously have reproduced, but you must intuit it."

"Where is it intuited?" Orwell wanted to know as he squinted harder and studied every detail of the painting. "No! I can't see any sign of reproduction, intuited or not."

""You can't see intuitions, you dear silly person," Julia laughed gaily. "You can only sense them."

"You mean like hearing or touch?" Orwell asked with his face scrunched up in the effort of actually thinking more deeply than he was used to.

"Yes - you can 'hear' and 'touch' intuitions," Julia said between gritted teeth. She gathered herself quickly though, remembering she was in an Art Galleryl where loudly calling Orwell an uncultured brain dead moron was not proper, irrespective of how true such an assertion might be. "Perhaps we can move on from this painting and find one that is a bit more mundane and digestible for you, Orwell."

"Carrots are digestible," Dave put in. "And there is a picture of one, buckaroos. Painted it me self. Like to see it? I call it 'Carrot for Eating and Weaponry.' I warn youse, it be quite arty-farty, hombres."

"Something's been nagging at me ever since I first saw this tree looks," Orwell mused, ignoring Dave's kind offer. "And now the penny drops. It looks like the tree outside the front gate of Our Lady of the Anklelength Frock Girl's School. You know the one where the Masked Toucher used to jump out and molest..."

"Let's not go there," Julia said sternly. "I really want to be in a story that isn't puerile for a change. Now, let's go and see some more art."

And Julia stepped away looking very elegant, dignified and comely.

"She looks a fine quality lass," Dave said as he and Orwell watched her walk away. "She's not the kind of lass I'd be knocking unconcious with a big Nelson Red, no. Not unless I got real desperate, sonny. Only if I really had to do it to become Dux of Illuvatar University, buckaroo."

"Nor me," Orwell agreed with a sigh. "You know, I am having some rather queer thoughts about that woman at the mo which I usually reserve for handsome young men, artistically speaking."

And Orwell followed Julia like he was her puppy dog. Dave tagged along stroking a large carrot he bore while carefully but surreptitiously watching Orwell very very closely.
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Post by The Archet Bugle Tue Jan 26, 2016 11:27 pm

8

"Oh look at this!" Julia exclaimed down the hall a little. "Here's another one by Petty Paintings-Fellowe. It's his famous work, 'Thaw'."

Orwell and Dave idled up.

Orwell said: "I heard it was just a rendering and he only called it 'Thaw' because he couldn't be arsed thinking up a better name. But, actually, I think it a good name. I guess it's like calling your new CEO a Dark Mistress, and then thinking how sexy she suddenly is, when before you only ever thought of her as a Grasping Powerhungry Conspirator and not ever so sexy."

"What are you going on about?" Julia groaned. "No, never mind. It is a rather nice rendering if rendering it is. Let's move on though, before you start coming up with stupid thoughts about it. You have a wonderful capacity to disrespect art and artists I'm discovering."

"Why thank you," Orwel beamed. "'Wonderful', Mister American chap. Did you hear that?"

"I did," Dave said. "My teeth are smilin' sonny, but they be daggers in me eyes."

They followed Julia into the Fjordianlandian section of the art gallery.

"Oh gawd! Will you look at that!" Julia positively squealed.

Orwell blinked. "Well, I'll be! Isn't that the famous work by the Fjordianlandian Nou Vogue Bohemian Goth painter, Thuglyffe? I think it is.. Oh yes, look at the information sheet on the wall beside it. 'Horrible Beast Hobbit on a Cabin Bed.' It was donated by Thuglyffe's great great grand daughter, Nora Fowlenmouth. And to think, it made it's way all the way here to our humble Needlehole Art Gallery."

"What a horrible sight!" Julia cried. "An ugly, gnarly, warty, foul, naked Scotshobbit! Why would you?"

"I as heard he did it for a barrel of Buckie," Dave grinned.

"I think it's rather... Err... evocative..." Orwell commented, studying the painting closely and looking a bit dreamy just then.

"Oh my gawd! Is that a huge red penis thrusting boldly out above  great hairy testicles?"

"Or a veritable Tree of Life with attendant nuts painted in a rather gaudy Autumn tone?" Orwell sighed.

"What a body! It's misshapen and covered with what looks like haggis fur, not hardly hairlike at all!"

"I think it is a symbolic depiction of the Scotshobbit landscape made personal," Orwell suggested appreciatively.

"Let's move on. I think I'm going to be sick."

"You know me buckaroos, he reminds me of my fellow student, Petty, who just last night had his study handbook stolen by a mysterious student outlaw," Dave said, his eyes gleaming darkly.

"Oh no," Julia was quick to say. "I find Petty rather rough and hairy, but he is muscly and has a strong jaw, and gets more attractive with every Old Wynyard. But enough. Let's move on. I'm feeling ill... Orwell! Stop staring!"

"Sorry, Julia. I just find that painting darkly stirring - artistically speaking."

"Well, I don't. It's burning into my consciousness! How can I even think of investigating the true identity of the Carrot Wielder with such an image in my head!"

"Never Ye mind, lass-girlie," Dave drawled sardonically. "Any Carrot Wielder chap you may be imaginin' I do as presume is too cunnin' by half to be caught by a buxom birdie like yerself."

And the grin he gave her made Julia flinch. "Err.. Okay then... Let's move on."

Julia took a moment soon after when Dave wasn't looking to whisper in Orwel's ear, "I really don't like that fellow. There is something decidedly unpleasant about him."

"Oh Julia, don't be so dramatic'" Orwell laughed. "It's like you never saw a naked Scotshobbit before."
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Post by Eldorion Tue Jan 26, 2016 11:34 pm

Orwell said: "I heard it was just a rendering and he only called it 'Thaw' because he couldn't be arsed thinking up a better name. But, actually, I think it a good name. I guess it's like calling your new CEO a Dark Mistress, and then thinking how sexy she suddenly is, when before you only ever thought of her as a Grasping Powerhungry Conspirator and not ever so sexy."

Clearly Orwell hadn't been paying close enough attention to her before this. No
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Post by Orwell Tue Jan 26, 2016 11:43 pm

The fictional Orwell may seem a bit slow on the uptake, but the Real me always had his suspicions. Very Happy

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