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#lance calkin
moonstoast · 2 years
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—sleep
philip geiger // michael mao // lance calkin // jeremy lipking // eugene louis boudin // vincent giarrano // nick alm // richard schmid
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random-brushstrokes · 11 months
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Lance Calkin - The Patchwork Quilt (1887)
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octarinespill · 8 months
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Lance Calkin - In the Land of Nod
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fishsticksart · 2 years
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Lance Calkin, In The Land of Nod
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mrdirtybear · 7 years
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‘David Powell governor of the bank of England (1840-97)’ painted in 1892 by Lance Calkin.
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Some paintings with dogs
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Adolf Ulrik Wertmüller, Portrait of the young Henri Bertholet-Campan (1784-1821) with the dog Aline
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Sebastiano Ceccarini - Portrait of a noble lady with a lapdog
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Giacomo Ceruti 1698 - 1767 A YOUNG LADY WITH TWO DOGS
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Lance Calkin
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Louis Rolland Trinquesse A LADY PLAYING GUITAR AND A CHILD PLAYING WITH A DOG IN A GARDEN
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Giovanni Maria Butteri 1540 - 1606 PORTRAIT OF GIOVANNI DI PIERO BINI, HALF LENGTH, WEARING A BLACK DOUBLET AND HOLDING A DOG
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Rosenboom, Albert Interieur mit junger Frau und ihrem Hündchen
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La Parisienne 1880 Alfred Stevens
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Portrait of A. G. and A. A. Lobanov Rostovsky Vladimir Borovikovsky
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Йозеф Дорфмейстер
Мария-Луиза Неапольская-Сицилийская
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centuriespast · 7 years
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'All pass away as the glimmer of day while others as fleet are born' [1888]
Lance Calkin (1859–1936)
Wollaton Hall
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Words that can change lives
My father introduced me to Rudyard Kipling when I was a young child. He did not introduce him literally of course, since Kipling died 21 years before I was born, but he did introduce me through the words delivered here most eloquently by Paul Scofield.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=84zRuFdChAA
These words are just the beginning of a long piece, that to this day says so much about our world.
 OH, East  is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and  Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;
But there is  neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
When two  strong men stand face to face, tho’ they come from the ends of the earth!
Kamal is out with  twenty men to raise the Border side,
 And he has lifted  the Colonel’s mare that is the Colonel’s pride:
He has lifted her  out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day,
And turned the  calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away.
Then up and spoke  the Colonel’s son that led a troop of the Guides:
“Is there never a  man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?”
 Then up and spoke  Mahommed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar,
“If ye know the  track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are.
At dusk he  harries the Abazai—at dawn he is into Bonair,
But he must go by  Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare,
So if ye gallop  to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly,
 By the favor of  God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai,
But if he be  passed the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then,
For the length  and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown with Kamal’s men.
There is rock to  the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
And ye may hear a  breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen.”
 The Colonel’s son  has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
With the mouth of  a bell and the heart of Hell, and the head of the gallows-tree.
The Colonel’s son  to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat—
Who rides at the  tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.
He ’s up and away  from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
 Till he was aware  of his father’s mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
Till he was aware  of his father’s mare with Kamal upon her back,
And when he could  spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack.
He has fired  once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
“Ye shoot like a  soldier,” Kamal said. “Show now if ye can ride.”
 It ’s up and over  the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go,
The dun he fled  like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.
The dun he leaned  against the bit and slugged his head above,
But the red mare  played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove.
There was rock to  the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
 And thrice he  heard a breech-bolt snick tho’ never a man was seen.
They have ridden  the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn,
The dun he went  like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
The dun he fell  at a water-course—in a woful heap fell he,
And Kamal has  turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.
 He has knocked  the pistol out of his hand—small room was there to strive,
“’T was only by  favor of mine,” quoth he, “ye rode so long alive:
There was not a  rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
But covered a man  of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.
If I had raised  my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
 The little  jackals that flee so fast, were feasting all in a row:
If I had bowed my  head on my breast, as I have held it high,
The kite that  whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly.”
Lightly answered  the Colonel’s son:—“Do good to bird and beast,
But count who  come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
 If there should  follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away,
Belike the price  of a jackal’s meal were more than a thief could pay.
They will feed  their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered grain,
The thatch of the  byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain.
But if thou  thinkest the price be fair,—thy brethren wait to sup,
 The hound is kin  to the jackal-spawn,—howl, dog, and call them up!
And if thou  thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
Give me my  father’s mare again, and I ’ll fight my own way back!”
Kamal has gripped  him by the hand and set him upon his feet.
“No talk shall be  of dogs,” said he, “when wolf and gray wolf meet.
 May I eat dirt if  thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath;
What dam of  lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death?”
Lightly answered  the Colonel’s son: “I hold by the blood of my clan:
Take up the mare  for my father’s gift—by God, she has carried a man!”
The red mare ran  to the Colonel’s son, and nuzzled against his breast,
 “We be two strong  men,” said Kamal then, “but she loveth the younger best.
So she shall go  with a lifter’s dower, my turquoise-studded rein,
My broidered  saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain.”
The Colonel’s son  a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end,
“Ye have taken  the one from a foe,” said he; “will ye take the mate from a friend?”
 “A gift for a  gift,” said Kamal straight; “a limb for the risk of a limb.
Thy father has  sent his son to me, I ’ll send my son to him!”
With that he  whistled his only son, that dropped from a mountain-crest—
He trod the ling  like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest.
“Now here is thy  master,” Kamal said, “who leads a troop of the Guides,
 And thou must  ride at his left side as shield on shoulder rides.
Till Death or I  cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed,
Thy life is  his—thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.
So thou must eat  the White Queen’s meat, and all her foes are thine,
And thou must  harry thy father’s hold for the peace of the border-line.
 And thou must  make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power—
Belike they will  raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur.”
 They have looked  each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault,
They have taken  the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt:
They have taken  the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod,
        On the hilt and  the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God.
The Colonel’s son  he rides the mare and Kamal’s boy the dun,
And two have come  back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one.
And when they  drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear—
There was not a  man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer.
 “Ha’ done! ha’  done!” said the Colonel’s son. “Put up the steel at your sides!
Last night ye had  struck at a Border thief—to-night ’t is a man of the Guides!”
 Oh, East is  East, and West is West, and never the two shall meet,
Till Earth and  Sky stand presently at God’s great Judgment Seat;
But there is  neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
 When two  strong men stand face to face, tho’ they come from the ends of the earth
 Oh how Kipling had a way with words – The Ballad of East and West.
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fleurdulys · 12 years
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The Young Shepherdess - Lance Calkin
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mrdirtybear · 6 years
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‘Portrait of the Governor of the Bank Of England, David Powell’ as painted in 1892 by  Lance Calkin (1859-1936). 
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guinilde · 14 years
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In the Land of Nod, Lance Calkin
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