Jueves naciente. Nuestro héroe inicia la jornada con su característico y probado dinamismo.
(lo pinta Matthew Dow Smith)
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.
(lo pinta Tim Bradstreet)
¡Maravilla!
Apologies if the frequency appears to be spamming, but I have soup to make and wanted to get this into the cyber-ether before I braved the kitchen. The painted version went a bit dark, and Constantine ended up looking more demonic than the sketch, but I figured that suited it as he is a devilish chap inside, and isn’t art supposed to Make Visible The Invisible?
Yo no sé si en este estado se puede patrullar, la verdad. Mi nariz ya no detecta el hedor del crimen. Ay.
(lo pinta Robbi Rodríguez)
