#a notary painted this

[cheesynotary]

I've been so busy the past few weeks between moving and working and cleaning and everything. I've barely had time to paint, let alone post anything relatively interesting. But check out my graffiti wall. I'm soooo close to being done!!

[wardensantoineandevka]

sudden idea that made me almost choke on my tea laughing: Spahr's marble bust, the one of "some ancestor of his" that he puts his abacus on, is of Isold

[masgwi]

Pieter Brueghel the Younger created original works largely in the idiom of his father which are energetic, bold and bright and adapted to the 17th-century style. One of the artist's most successful original designs was the painting of The Village Lawyer (sometimes also called the Tax Collector's Office, the Payment of the Tithe, the Lawyer of Bad Cases and the Notary's Office). The different titles of the work indicate that it may have been interpreted in these different ways in the 17th century. The title The Village Lawyer is probably the best suited since the person behind the desk is wearing a lawyer's bonnet, the collection of taxes usually did not occur in such setting and the paperwork and bags on the desk look like those for requests and decrees. The picture also shows peasants lining up with presents such as chickens and eggs to please the lawyer, which was a common occurrence, whereas tithe payments were made in grain. The painting shows his interest in and close observation of village life. Pieter Brueghel the Younger's workshop made many copies of the composition in different formats. There exist 19 signed and dated versions of this work (from between 1615–22) out of some 25 originals and 35 questionable versions.

[legalservices-ks]

Top Commercial Lawyers in Mississauga

[thebrickinbrick]

Preliminary Gayeties, Part 3

The child gone, Grantaire took the word:—

“That is the pure-bred gamin. There are a great many varieties of the gamin species. The notary’s gamin is called Skip-the-Gutter, the cook’s gamin is called a scullion, the baker’s gamin is called a mitron, the lackey’s gamin is called a groom, the marine gamin is called the cabin-boy, the soldier’s gamin is called the drummer-boy, the painter’s gamin is called paint-grinder, the tradesman’s gamin is called an errand-boy, the courtesan gamin is called the minion, the kingly gamin is called the dauphin, the god gamin is called the bambino.”

In the meantime, Laigle was engaged in reflection; he said half aloud:—

“A B C, that is to say: the burial of Lamarque.”

“The tall blonde,” remarked Grantaire, “is Enjolras, who is sending you a warning.”

“Shall we go?” ejaculated Bossuet.

“It’s raiding,” said Joly. “I have sworn to go through fire, but not through water. I don’t wand to ged a gold.”

“I shall stay here,” said Grantaire. “I prefer a breakfast to a hearse.”

“Conclusion: we remain,” said Laigle. “Well, then, let us drink. Besides, we might miss the funeral without missing the riot.”

“Ah! the riot, I am with you!” cried Joly.

Laigle rubbed his hands.

“Now we’re going to touch up the revolution of 1830. As a matter of fact, it does hurt the people along the seams.”

“I don’t think much of your revolution,” said Grantaire. “I don’t execrate this Government. It is the crown tempered by the cotton night-cap. It is a sceptre ending in an umbrella. In fact, I think that to-day, with the present weather, Louis Philippe might utilize his royalty in two directions, he might extend the tip of the sceptre end against the people, and open the umbrella end against heaven.”

The room was dark, large clouds had just finished the extinction of daylight. There was no one in the wine-shop, or in the street, every one having gone off “to watch events.”

“Is it midday or midnight?” cried Bossuet. “You can’t see your hand before your face. Gibelotte, fetch a light.”

Grantaire was drinking in a melancholy way.

“Enjolras disdains me,” he muttered. “Enjolras said: ‘Joly is ill, Grantaire is drunk.’ It was to Bossuet that he sent Navet. If he had come for me, I would have followed him. So much the worse for Enjolras! I won’t go to his funeral.”

[maestroofcringe]

< ру версия | eng version >

〔E. Nygma, Private Investigator〕

Case Nᵒ0: Gotham's Sherlock Holmes.

Finally got courage to post it... Sorry if English is bad, not native language. Have a nice time reading!

synopsis: The brilliant mind of Edward Nygma requires action, but he does not intend to return to crime. Then a plan comes to his mind - to become a private detective. Edward is well aware that he may need help. Harvey Dent and Jonathan Crane agree to participate in the case, also unwilling to continue their criminal activities. However, the plan is not going according to plan at all...

Several months have passed since the Riddler's criminal genius was finally recognized as sane. The doctors, who had previously locked him in a cell, inevitably and independently realized their big mistake and admitted that the Riddler is a wonderful person all by themselves. They have never ever been bribed, and he have not been making fake documents, of course.

Despite the fact that Ed didn't need a job due to his fortune he was dying from boredom. He may have left most of his obsessive "dragging Batman into a game" thoughts behind, but his brain still required a challenge. If he doesn't find a way to entertain his mind, he might snap and start throwing riddles around the city again.

However, his genius had not faded. Not at all. And one day, during regular going through his extensive library, he came across a book of Sherlock Holmes. Eureka! This was what he needed! A private detective was perfect for new job! After all, Edward was an ex-cop, ex-cop undoubtedly superior to the Dark Knight in field of deduction and many others.

Therefore Nygma decided to become Gotham's own Sherlock Holmes. Edward figured out what he would need to do to achieve this goal. He came up with three simple steps to begin career of the city's most brilliant detective. The first step was to "prepare the necessary documents", the second was to find a case, and the third was to solve it successfully, getting interviewed as nice promotion and gaining more cases. And then, everything would fall into right place. Starting is always the hardest part, isn't it?

Paperwork...  No, Nygma never liked to do this, which meant he needs some good lawyer, notary, or at least someone who knows enough about it... Precisely! What better lawyer could be than former District Attorney Harvey Dent?  He heard Harvey is "retired". Ed thought he'd probably bored out of his mind, too.  Moreover, Dent is physically much more prepared. And extra guns never hurt.

Edward immediately picked up his phone and found Two-Face's number in contacts. He called him and invited for a drink at their favorite bar. Fortunately, Dent accepted the invitation.

▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢

Half an hour later, Nygma entered the bar where Harvey was waiting for him. He was holding some papers with schemes and explanations. It seemed like he had drawn the whole diagram by hand, with every single detail painted.

Harvey rolled his eyes and chuckled as he asked: "I thought you invited me here to chat, not to lecture me about your new "genius" plan. To be honest, Ed, I've had enough of it and so have you."

"You don't understand, Harv! It's a win-win option. This time I'm sure on one hundred percent, I did the research and, believe me, I thought it all out. The usual. Yet, you didn't even try to hear me! When some stupid coin offers - you agree and go forward it, but as old friend ask you for help, you immediately "quit". And! AND, it's not about crime! The plan is legal, for note. Believe me, you'll regret your refusal if you won't listen to me. Therefore, let me give you a little tip - listen, or rather write it down. Maybe not only half of your brain will start working! Harv, please, don't be an idiot for the next ten minutes and let me explain. I quitted crime, agree, BUT I'm not going to get rid of my mind in order to meet the standards of society!" Edward quickly interrupted Harvey, not letting him get a word in until he finished his tirade by asking," Which one of us is the brain, after all, me or you?"

Harv frowned, not appreciating the "hints" about his past decisions. He took a deep breath, counted to ten and exhaled. Edward had a point, it was worth listening politely, Dent can refuse any time later.

" Well, let's imagine I believe you," he finally said, adding, "Go on, smart-ass."

"Harvey, what do you think about private detectives?" - Edward's smile returned as if he didn't throw a tantrum five seconds ago.

"Seriously, detective? What's the riddle here, Holmes?"

"Right, like Holmes."

"You're kidding, Ed..."

"Please, remember, I'm not the one to joke about important things. What I said doesn't sound a joke, does it? Sooooo," - Nygma wanted to push his friend to the right conclusion.

"It means you being honest. Let's assume that's not some kind of trick. Besides, your "honesty mania", or whatever it's called..." Harvey paused for a moment, trying to recall the exact word, but alas, no other idea came to mind. "Forget it. How does this relate to me?"

"That's a great question, Harv! Good job! I told you the brain would start working. Fpr why I'm here - I need your expertise. You know the law inside and out, being an expert in document management and stuff. You're the real professional, aren't you? You know how to do good work and I need someone I can trust without fear of back-stabbing," Edward seemed almost sincere for a moment, however he quickly hid behind his sarcastic mask and strange sense of humor. " Harv, I'm going to die of boredom or kill someone! Think about it. You wake up in a trap, failing to answer my riddle and getting HEAD OFF! Not that you use it anyway..."

"Come on, Ed. I was just asking." Former DA sighs, thinking about how it could be beneficial for him, after all he wants to help people again. "Ah, screw it! Will do! I agree 50%. Is that a deal, partner?"

"DEAL! It's a deal!" Edward replied, feeling happy about the success awaiting him at the next step. Of course, success always awaited him, because the unrivaled genius of E. Nygma had never let him down. It was rare to see the Riddler in such good spirits, especially after his career ended. Well, there he was, walking down the street with a happy smile on his face. A suspiciously happy smile...

"You have no idea what a great decision you made, Harvey!" He exclaimed as they walked towards the bus stop, where they would split up.

Harvey smiled, but said nothing. He was still unsure of why Nygma was doing this. It's unlikely that he was doing it out of kindness. Moreover, it was also unlikely that Ed had called him only for the sake of working with papers. Harvey knew it was too soon to hide his colt. "I should keep an eye on him," Harvey thought, waving goodbye as he disappeared into the bus. "I promise you, Gilda, I will not let him hurt anyone else. Not after what happened... not ever".

▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢▢

First step was made. Gotham's own Sherlock Holmes now planning brilliantly solve the case, case waiting for him to be found. No one knew that the case would find them on its own.

[hammerbonk]

What if. The "Canzone" of Giacomo da Lentini but it’s Vernetto. Inspired by that one Vernetto fic headcanon (Sin of Love? I think?) that Sonetto was born in Lentini, the birthplace of Giacomo da Lentini, the guy credited with the creation of sonnets.

English translation of the “Canzone” below. Whoooo boy tumblr formatting made this longer than it had to be so I put it under a break

Wonderfully

a love binds

and possesses me at every hour,

Like one who keeps a model in his mind

and depicts

a similar likeness,

so, beautiful lady, do I,

because, inside my heart

I carry your image.

I seem to carry in my heart,

your painted likeness,

which is not apparent from outside.

O God, how hard it seems!

I don't know if you know

with what true heart I love you,

for I am so timid

that I watch you in secret

and do not show my love.

Having great desire

I painted a painting,

beautiful lady, of your likeness,

and when I don't see you,

I look upon that image,

and it seems you are before me,

like someone who believes

himself saved through faith,

when he cannot see the way.

In my heart a pain is burning,

like to one who keeps a fire

hidden in his breast.

The more he tries to stifle it,

it burns more widely

and cannot be contained.

Likewise I burn

when I pass and do not look

at you, lovely visage.

If do I pass and look at you

and do not turn around

to look at you again,

beautiful lady,

at every step

I cast a sigh

and am filled so much anguish

that I surely recognize

that I hardly know myself,

so beautiful do you appear to me.

I have praised you so greatly,

my Lady, everywhere

for the beauties you possess.

I don't know if you've been told

that I do it just for art's sake,

and that this pains you.

But you may know through signs

what I would say with my tongue,

when you see how I appear.

O fresh and new little song,

go and sing something new.

Rise up early in the morning

before the most beautiful -

the flower of all the lovelies --

blonder than fine gold:

«Give your love, that is so precious,

to the notary

who was born in Lentini.»

[rubbercasing]

your job, should you choose to accept it, is to locate and seek out the nearest visibly disheveled "guy"* in your life who appears viscerally unhappy** in fully masculine settings around "other" men***, especially if they're being particularly misogynistic, but who is oddly comfortable around women and queers, especially when there are other transfems around. you need to ask about "his" hobbies. be persistent: it is likely the people around "him" have been fairly apathetic or outright hostile to how "weird" they are. talk to each other. become friends. once you are friends, you need to start nudging "him" towards trying new hair styles and perhaps painting nails together. test the waters. perhaps tell them they dress like a butch lesbian (if they also turn out to be a lesbian this will be useful leverage for your task later). maybe you can start "joking" about a maid dress. if they accept this, and at some point they possibly will, you NEED to be supportive. it doesn't matter if they look ugly to you (but, to be frank, if you completed the step of becoming friends genuinely, they probably won't). they may cry. they may be embarrassed. they may experience any spectrum of emotions you are not expecting or potentially expecting. unfortunately you must be wary on suggesting being transgender using the word itself; many years of potentially being in survival mode unknowingly have made person likely to reject things that would completely shatter their worldview like this, and internalized transphobia and transmisogyny are the twin cops in the back of every closeted transfem's mind. it's very possible and perhaps likely they'll push back. they could deny that it is ever possible for them to be "like that" (again, twin cops). ease up if you or they wish but never retract the possibility that they look nicer or happier like that. you must be willing to offer the small reassurances as well as the big gestures to back this up. let them sit with it. when the time comes, and you will know from a general shift in demeanor when the time comes, YOU MUST NOT BE AFRAID TO SAY EXPLICITLY, "I THINK YOU MAY BE TRANSGENDER" OR SOME VARIANT THEREOF. if she realizes this, your next step is to help her deal with that fact. it will take a while; perhaps it will never stop being something dealt with. regardless, you must be willing to offer a hand to help. there's a lot for her to catch up on at this point. have a girl's night with her if she wants. get coffee with her. get her something pretty. if all of these steps work, congratulations: you have successfully helped someone out of the closet *footnote 1. this is a closeted and/or unrealized transgender woman or transfem nonbinary person. **footnote 2. being fully dissociated or zoned out or on autopilot at all times counts as "viscerally unhappy". ***footnote 3. cisgender men. not in any way closeted. can be straight or gay from field research conducted. addendum: this briefing is non-exhaustive. please consult your notary for documents regarding other modes of potential presentation and documents regarding debrief.

[fatehbaz]

In 1678, a Chaldean priest from Baghdad reached the Imperial Villa of Potosí, the world’s richest silver-mining camp and at the time the world’s highest city at more than 4,000 metres (13,100 feet) above sea level. A regional capital in the heart of the Bolivian Andes, Potosí remains – more than three and a half centuries later – a mining city today. [...] The great red Cerro Rico or ‘Rich Hill’ towered over the city of Potosí. It had been mined since 1545 [...]. When Don Elias arrived [...], the great boom of 1575-1635 – when Potosí alone produced nearly half the world’s silver – was over, but the mines were still yielding the precious metal. [...]

On Potosí’s main market plaza, indigenous and African women served up maize beer, hot soup and yerba mate. Shops displayed the world’s finest silk and linen fabrics, Chinese porcelain, Venetian glassware, Russian leather goods, Japanese lacquerware, Flemish paintings and bestselling books in a dozen languages. [...]

Pious or otherwise, wealthy women clicked Potosí’s cobbled streets in silver-heeled platform shoes, their gold earrings, chokers and bracelets studded with Indian diamonds and Burmese rubies. Colombian emeralds and Caribbean pearls were almost too common. Peninsular Spanish ‘foodies’ could savour imported almonds, capers, olives, arborio rice, saffron, and sweet and dry Castilian wines. Black pepper arrived from Sumatra and southwest India, cinnamon from Sri Lanka, cloves from Maluku and nutmeg from the Banda Islands. Jamaica provided allspice. Overloaded galleons spent months transporting these luxuries across the Pacific, Indian and Atlantic oceans. Plodding mule and llama trains carried them up to the lofty Imperial Villa.

---

Potosi supplied the world with silver, the lifeblood of trade and sinews of war [...]. In turn, the city consumed the world’s top commodities and manufactures. [...] The city’s dozen-plus notaries worked non-stop inventorying silver bars and sacks of pesos [...]. Mule trains returning from the Pacific brought merchandise and mercury, the essential ingredient for silver refining. [...] From Buenos Aires came slavers with captive Africans from Congo and Angola, transshipped via Rio de Janeiro. Many of the enslaved were children branded with marks mirroring those, including the royal crown, inscribed on silver bars.

Soon after its 1545 discovery, Potosí gained world renown [...]. Mexico’s many mining camps [...] peaked only after 1690. [...] Even in the Andes of South America there were other silver cities [...]. But no silver deposit in the world matched the Cerro Rico, and no other mining-refining conglomeration grew so large. Potosí was unique: a mining metropolis.

Thus Don Elias, like others, made the pilgrimage to the silver mountain. It was a divine prodigy, a hierophany. In 1580, Ottoman artists depicted Potosí as a slice of earthly paradise, the Cerro Rico lush and green, the city surrounded by crenellated walls. Potosí, as Don Quixote proclaimed, was the stuff of dreams. Another alms seeker, in 1600, declared the Cerro Rico the Eighth Wonder of the World. A [...] visitor in 1615 gushed: ‘Thanks to its mines, Castile is Castile, Rome is Rome, the pope is the pope, and the king is monarch of the world.’ [...]

---

For all its glory, Potosí was also the stuff of nightmares [...].

Almost a century before Don Elias visited Potosí, Viceroy Francisco de Toledo revolutionised world silver production. Toledo was a hard-driving bureaucrat of the Spanish empire [...]. Toledo reached Potosí in 1572, anxious to flip it into the empire’s motor of commerce and war. By 1575, the viceroy had organised a sweeping labour draft, launched a ‘high-tech’ mill-building campaign, and overseen construction of a web of dams and canals to supply the Imperial Villa with year-round hydraulic power, all in the high Andes at the nadir of the Little Ice Age. Toledo also oversaw construction of the Potosí mint, staffed full-time with enslaved Africans. [...] Toledo’s successes came with a steep price. Thanks to the viceroy’s ‘reforms’, hundreds of thousands of Andeans became virtual refugees (those who survived) and, in the search for timber and fuel, colonists denuded hundreds of miles of fragile, high-altitude land. [...] The city’s smelteries belched lead and zinc-rich smoke [...].

The Habsburg kings of Spain cared little about Potosí’s social and environmental horrors. [...] For more than a century, the Cerro Rico fuelled the world’s first global military-industrial complex, granting Spain the means to prosecute decades-long wars on a dozen fronts – on land and at sea. No one else could do all this and still afford to lose. [...]

By [...] 1909 [...], mineral rushes had helped to produce cities such as San Francisco and Johannesburg, but nothing quite compared for sheer audacity with the Imperial Villa of Potosí, a neo-medieval mining metropolis perched in the Andes of South America.

---

Text by: Kris Lane. “Potosi: the mountain of silver that was the first global city.” Aeon. 30 July 2019. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[brostateexam]

La Cucina Italiana awarded their Best Pasta Sauce prize to one chef’s Sugo Marinetti, or Marinetti sauce. Said sauce stood out not only for its unique combination of chopped pistachios and artichokes sauteed in butter, but also for its ironic title: the firebrand poet Filippo Marinetti, for whom the pasta sauce was named, was at that very moment fighting to banish pasta from Italy.

La Cucina Italiana, a magazine founded by wealthy, fascist editor Umberto Notari and his wife Delia Pavoni Notari, had helped launch Marinetti’s war on pasta just over a year earlier. In their December 1930 issue, Marinetti published the Manifesto of Futurist Cooking, where he declared pasta to be “an absurd Italian gastronomic religion” and called for its abolition.

The essay was one of many fascist-leaning Futurist manifestos published in the early 20th century that called for the destruction of the old in favor of the new in fields such as poetry, painting, and cinema. Along with his proponents, Marinetti, who founded the Futurist movement in 1909, blamed tradition for Italy’s declining world stature. Futurists embraced technology, war, and masculinity, while decrying museums, libraries, and many other long-held Italian treasures—pasta among them.

[cheesynotary]

Finally, the finished look.

[tfunity]

About: Seekers

Seekers, a colloquial name used for most Vosnians these days, are a basic frame-type common to the floating city of Vos.

The definer of most seekers is the crook-ended wing (up to four), thruster pedes (up to ten per foot), and somewhat excessive ventage (used as identifier). Heads can vary deeply, but the common ones are pictured; sometimes, they even blend. Armor doesn't change much between civilian models and militant models.

Almost all Vosnians are born as part of a trine, or triplets. Traditional structures of the trine place the First Born (one stripe) as leader, Second Born (two stripe) as protector, and Third Born (three stripe) as agrivator. This varies greatly in actual usage but most Trines are run by the first born. Trines are expected to work as a unit with little complaint or in-fighting, a concept often contested by the basic law of siblings.

Head molds vary greatly, but all trinemembers will share the same basic shape. Head molds also seem somewhat influenced by the current ruling party: most younger Seekers are cat-molded, while many older Seekers use the prior King's bird-mold. The ruling trine tends to flip between cat, bird, and visor: no Liege has been snapper or cone.

The name 'Seeker' derives from their initial use in hunting. Many prefer the more modern interpretation of this nickname, where it refers to colony-finders.

Most are Decepticons. Any Seekers who align themselves otherwise are at great risk, as all of Vos was dutied to Megatron's cause. Thus, most have tinted red optics; they naturally have quite the rainbow of shades.

Notable examples:

Two examples of somewhat more unusual models.

Slipstream is a UAV-modeled Seeker, lacking a decorative cockpit. Like most nobles, she has a stone embedded in her helm. Her four-paneled wings allow for excellent maneuverability in the air, well earning her name.

Sunstorm is a Megatronus Throwback, and a rather volitile one at that. His brainwashing was admittingly a little much, leading to the constant smile and seeping rust down his cheeks; but the assureness that he very much loves his Queen is not enough for everyone else, so he gets bomb-collared like the rest. Poor, pathetic thing is about ready to pop anyway. Best to just be careful.

The ruling party is comprised of Starscream (third-born, Queen), Thundercracker (first-born, notary), and Skywarp (second-born, pilot). Unlike most trines, Starscream is not actually related to her siblings: she was brought in before they were installed into their bodies, with the prior third being discarded in her favour. Despite this, she's had her trine modded to better resemble herself and insists on much of their bodyplans.

In fact, she insists on much. Their paint, makeup, and decorative finishes are deeply monitered and enforced. TC wanted rings for her brow: Starscream required garnets, to better match her. Neither is allowed to outshine her, even as she tells them they never would.

Thundercracker is the only non-outlier in this trine. Skywarp's ability as a teleporter gives her unprecedented skill in manuevering through spacebridges, a thing she doesn't even need to bind her eyes for. And Starscream was literally hand-delivered by Primus (or so everyone says), which is awfully special even before you consider her weird spark.

You, uh, can kinda see how that's resting on poor Thundercracker there.

[esamastation]

Second chapter of Gift is posted! Also, do you know what Desmond would be called in that time? Would it be Desmond Auditore Da Firenze, even though they're not in Florence and Desmond has never even been there, or Da Monteriggioni, or da Roma? Or do you know any sources I could look at regarding the naming conventions?

No sources, I'm sorry, I mostly learned by osmosis. It's basically just pointing out where a person is from, and since Desmond wasn't born or is likely to be raised in Florence, "da Firenze" isn't it.

I think Ezio would go with whatever place Desmond is initially raised in - Monteriggioni if that's where they stay, etc. Desmond Auditore da Roma would raise questions in that situation. If, however, Monteriggioni gets razed to the ground by the Papal armies again and Ezio heads to Rome, being from Monteriggioni might paint a target on Desmond's back.

Tho since Ezio claims Desmond officially as part of the Auditore family, it might not be that important to point out where he's from, precisely. Few of the other characters in Ezio trilogy make the point to do it, Mario never does and Leonardo is a "da Vinci" because as a bastard he doesn't have a family name and "son of Ser Piero from Vinci" is a mouthful. (Personally I think the reason it's such a commonly pointed out thing with Ezio is because his family was part of the upper echelon, his father was a notary, and it's remembrance for what he lost... and his enemies use it to mock him, maybe. "Ezio Auditore from Florence... except you're not welcome in Florence anymore, are you?")

[mrdirtybear]

'Portrait of Jacques Wittewronghele' as painted in 1574 by Cornelis Visscher the Elder. Wittewronghele (1531-1593) was a London notary, which is to say that he was the legal official who officiated over the authentication of signatures, one of the oldest recognised roles for lawyers which extends into different areas of law including probates and wills, and the sale and purchase of property. Please left click here for a multi-lingual history of the role of notary. Please left click here to read more about Wittewronghele.

[thepastisalreadywritten]

SAINT OF THE DAY (October 18)

On October 18, Catholics and other Christians around the world will celebrate the feast of St. Luke, the physician and companion of St. Paul whose gospel preserved the most extensive biography of Jesus Christ.

St. Luke wrote a greater volume of the New Testament than any other single author, including the earliest history of the Church.

Ancient traditions also acknowledge Luke as the founder of Christian iconography, making him a patron of artists, as well as doctors and other medical caregivers.

Luke came from the large metropolitan city of Antioch, a part of modern-day Turkey.

In Luke's lifetime, his native city emerged as an important center of early Christianity.

During the future saint's early years, the city's port had already become a cultural center, renowned for arts and sciences.

Historians do not know whether Luke came to Christianity from Judaism or paganism, although there are strong suggestions that Luke was a gentile convert.

Educated as a physician in the Greek-speaking city, Luke was among the most cultured and cosmopolitan members of the early Church.

Scholars of archeology and ancient literature have ranked him among the top historians of his time period, besides noting the outstanding Greek prose style and technical accuracy of his accounts of Christ's life and the apostles' missionary journeys.

Other students of biblical history adduce from Luke's writings that he was the only evangelist to incorporate the personal testimony of the Blessed Virgin Mary, whose role in Christ's life emerges most clearly in his gospel.

Tradition credits him with painting several icons of Christ's mother, and one of the sacred portraits ascribed to him — known by the title “Salvation of the Roman People” — survives to this day in the Basilica of St. Mary Major.

Some traditions hold that Luke became a direct disciple of Jesus before his ascension, while others hold that he became a believer only afterward.

After St. Paul's conversion, Luke accompanied him as his personal physician and, in effect, as a kind of biographer, since the journeys of Paul on which Luke accompanied him occupy a large portion of the Acts of the Apostles.

Luke probably wrote this text, the final narrative portion of the New Testament, in the city of Rome where the account ends.

Luke was also among the only companions of Paul who did not abandon him during his final imprisonment and death in Rome.

After the martyrdom of St. Paul in the year 67, St. Luke is said to have preached elsewhere throughout the Mediterranean and possibly died as a martyr. However, even tradition is unclear on this point.

Fittingly, the evangelist whose travels and erudition could have filled volumes wrote just enough to proclaim the gospel and apostolic preaching to the world.

Patronage: artists, bachelors, bookbinders, brewers, butchers, doctors, glass makers, glassworkers, gold workers, goldsmiths, lacemakers, lace workers, notaries, painters, physicians, sculptors, stained glass workers, surgeons.