Monday: Covers from the Hall Collection

masonw001.jpg

A certain visitor to this blog (indeed, the only known visitor), who, for the sake of anonymity, we will refer to only as “W.”, is having a birthday, so this cover goes out to him. This one reminds me of the wax-loss bronze he did of that old guy telling shanty stories to the little girl. Okay, there’s no pointed pipe to emphasize a moment in the yarn , instead a finger, and there’s no little girl, but this guy is sitting down and looking a little bit brown and rustic. Put down those paint brushes and celebrate, Uncle “W”, if that is your real name. Happy Birthday!

-E. Scripsi

 

You can find more Covers from the Hall Collection here.

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Published in: on June 4, 2007 at 5:46 pm  Comments (1)  

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One CommentLeave a comment

  1. “…indeed, the only known visitor”…? What? This is outrageous! :( For months, here I squat, leaving insightful entries–spelled out to the n’th degree so you can enjoy the depth as well as the breadth of my intricate deliberations–and you don’t even acknowledge my warty butt?!? This ‘Uncle W’ clown…he must write in disappearing ink!… Where’s all his so-called ‘contributions’? You’ve found a new level of ‘ghost writing’, evidently.

    And toads have birthdays, too!…you know. As a matter of fact, we have TWO: one when we popped out of the egg, and the second when we metamorphed from tadpole to juvenile. It’s called being born in a CIVILIZED fashion, not just plopping out on a delivery room floor and squirming around in a big pool of ‘afterbirth’.. gads, whatever that is. Humans don’t appreciate anything.

    Nonetheless, I will rise above all of this rude and thoughtless tripe, and join in offering a flip of the middle toe to this mysterious “Uncle W”…if for nothing else, then for managing to extort yet another year out of his undeserved life. Check out Uncle W in the photo on the book cover above (those are photos, aren’t they?.. Mother Toad forgive any artist who would decide to draw a portrait of this fat blowhard.) There he sits, bothering all the tavern patrons as they try to plot a raid on the local haberdasher; that one guy in the back has a knife in his hand. It’s the only hopeful part of this entire sorry Mercantile entry.

    Hoppie Toad


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