Thursday, April 30, 2009
This is Ann Wood's theatre diorama. It repays close examination, in the way that small things do. She makes wonderful birds which are available in her shop, and ships that one can only dream of sailing away on.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
I could a tale to the unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porpentine...
Hamlet's father's ghost to Hamlet.
Hamlet resumes next Monday with the contemplation of time out of joint. The rest of the week will be devoted to News of the Tiny - my email is to the right if you have any for me.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Full fathom deep thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea change,
Into something rish and strange.
- Shakespeare,The Tempest, Act 1, Scene 2