His excellent training as an illustrator is evident in the dimensional sophistication of his paintings. Walker My work is primarily interested in some of the more intangible aspects of the human experience - mood, tone, and the atmospheric nature of how we as humans perceive the world. Paul Brigham Paul Brigham has spent a number of years reading Zen philosophy, practicing Tai Chi, and studying Asian art and aesthetics. I told myself. About Us Help Centre.
This movie shows that! One of my favorite movies, too! If you are a history buff, this movie is one to watch!
I read this book a few months ago and wondered if the movie would generate the same feelings of hope and courage. It certainly did! Skip to main content. Email to friends Share on Facebook - opens in a new window or tab Share on Twitter - opens in a new window or tab Share on Pinterest - opens in a new window or tab. Add to Watchlist. People who viewed this item also viewed. Picture Information. Mouse over to Zoom - Click to enlarge. Have one to sell?
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Of those party to the secret of this art, only Master Electrician Huong Trang could claim to have set foot on the planet glorified by the Artist and Huong stubbornly refused to discuss what he remembered, as if the memories were sweeter for the hoarding. Typically, it was Huong who interrupted her pleasure. Is it not time? The good-natured bickering faltered and stopped.
He recaptured their attention by placing one blunt-fingered hand firmly on the surface of the art.
The sacrilegious hand stayed where it was. Wayne Simmons, shook his mane of heavy gray hair, his eyes troubled behind their thick lenses. You know that, Huong. Huong lifted his hand, prompting at least one sigh of relief, then waved it eloquently over the artwork imprisoned on the table.
Susan felt the blood draining from her face. How dare Huong accuse them of—of what?
We let anyone order a reproduction for their quarters. Susan calmed herself but refused to back down.
He activated the sole control on its surface, turning the blank surface into a one-way view of a room, larger than most of the quarters on the colony ship Pilgrim III. Just as the Artist had done each and every day since they had discovered His existence. Almost ten years ago, yet Susan remembered it as if it had been yesterday.
It was obviously a sim chamber, like enough to the hundreds on the Pilgrim III to be recognizable, if far more elaborate. The planetborn visited the sims regularly, having come on-ship with their private recorded scenes from the verdant world left behind ready to comfort them when the shipworld became too strange to bear. The shipborn entered the chambers as part of their schooling, a refresher course built from open skies, scented winds, and uneven ground.
It was a matter of pride to avoid them as adults, to prefer acclimation to the Ship, though all recognized the coming generations would need the sims and more to prepare for their new home. But no one lingered in the sims more than a day at a time. And there was work to be done, the carefully planned busyness designed to occupy minds tempted to hold on to the past.
Survival for all meant looking to the future, not dwelling on what was now forever beyond their reach. The sim chamber hosting the Artist was quite different from those offering education or a harmless moment of blue-skyed nostalgia. It was capable of full life support even if the Ship failed, of remote functions better suited to quarantine facilities. That had been one of their early fears: that He had been a carrier of some disease perilous to the Ship.
There were recording devices, notes left behind in this secret place. Those had been studied too, though all they offered was a seemingly endless lists of bodily functions, chilling evidence the Artist had indeed been in this chamber every minute since launch. He and Natalie had been utterly convinced and so convincing: Releasing the Artist from his dreams of Earth, replacing them with the here-and-now of the Ship after all this time, would only shatter whatever reality His mind still recognized.
So they resigned themselves to being His keepers, to hiding the dark secret within the bowels of the Ship, and to sharing the Art with as many as possible. How dare he set himself as their conscience! His emotions were becoming embarrassingly public as he aged, perhaps a consequence of outliving most who had walked onto the Ship with him. Randall Clarke, had been able to requisition then hide the construction of this chamber at the edge of livable gravity inside the immense core of Pilgrim III.
Nothing to challenge their assumption that the Artist suffered from some delusional state, some flaw Dr. Huong spoke slowly, methodically, as if to impress each word on them all. Everyone knew she and Randall had been lovers until his death. In fact, Randall was supposed to board with his wife.
Sometimes the thought made Susan weak. No classes of school children seeing His work, awed by their own past made manifest. She shivered. Their attention was distracted by the Artist as he stretched then scratched one wrinkled buttock absently before settling back to his labours.