#this song is a Magritte painting

[l3fool]

I love every single song on Sgt.Pepper but Fixing A Hole is just.. this fucking line just hits me over the head often

[allthedesiredusernamesaretaken]

Le chant de l'orage (Song of the Storm), 1937

- René Magritte

[gordiicore]

Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

[pathofregeneration]

Rene Magritte, The Therapist (1937)

* * *

“O Friend! Hope for Him whilst you live, understand whilst you live: for in life deliverance abounds. If your bonds of ignorance be not broken whilst living, what hope of deliverance in Death? It is but an empty dream, that the Soul shall have union with Him because it has passed from the body. If He is found now, He is found then. If not, we do but go to dwell in Death."

— Kabir, Songs of Kabir

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

See The Road You're On

Elks Chapter 1 Version 2.0

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Chapter Rating: T. (Nothing explicit for the first few chapters.) Chapter Summary: The man you've had a crush on since he showed up to Jackson just so happens to be your favorite student's caretaker.. and he just saw you do a brutal face plant in front of his home. Chapter Warnings: soft jackson joel, outbreak and quarantine zone memories, ellie has a smart mouth, anxious reader, mentions of blood and an injury from falling, everyone lives happily ever after, joel and ellie don’t leave jackson, early 2000’s indie rock Words: 5,500 Header courtesy of @saradika-graphics

Next Chapter

Masterlist Playlist “Caring Is Creepy” - The Shins

The world ended the day after you bought your homecoming dress. You begged your mom for it–a beautiful deep forest green sequined sweetheart a-line gown–the neckline perfectly showed off your prized gold daisy pendant. You felt like a princess, life couldn’t have been better. Your alarm buzzed on the morning of September 26, 2003, the only worry floating around your teenage head was the grade you’d receive on your essay about René Magritte for AP English. While walking home after a typical boring high school day with your guitar slung across your back and headphones on, little did you know you were hearing the final lyrics before everything changed:

“Hold your glass up, hold it in Never betray the way you’ve always known it is One day, I’ll be wondering how I got so old, just wondering how”

Twenty years later, hardened by life in the Denver Quarantine Zone and gently softened by your now comfortable life in Jackson, you’re still waiting for your first dance.

Art and music have always been at the forefront of your life; you’ve never allowed anything to take away your creativity. Continuing to create no matter how much pain the reality of losing everyone you’ve loved to the plague roaming the earth brought you. You create for yourself using art as a way to soothe your thoughts and anxieties, you create for the Settlement of Jackson to give back to the town that has given you a good life for the past five years, and most importantly you create for your students at the school you’ve taught at since your arrival. 

The fifteen years spent in the Denver QZ tried to steal your colors and mute your songs, joy became more difficult to find as each year behind the giant iron gates passed. The only sources of happiness were supplied by your small group of friends and your students in the desolate school you taught at. You never graduated high school, there was no pomp and circumstance, just a teaching job assigned to you because you were young and still remembered most of your high school education. That’s how your career was decided, funny how an apocalypse job search happens.

You tried to carve out as much of a life as you could under the overbearing and always watchful eyes of FEDRA soldiers, but it never felt whole. When the opportunity to leave Denver arrived thanks to your kind neighbor’s sister, you grabbed the few items you could and ran away from the only state you ever called home. Now, five years after your escape through the wasteland of the world to a better existence in Jackson, your life is now filled with art, music and purpose. Art supplied by the jars of paints you learned to make and what the patrollers bring you back. Music from the CD player in your house and the guitar you strum. Purpose from the weekdays spent teaching your impressionable students with actual well-rounded futures no longer doomed to become FEDRA fodder, along with the Saturdays spent working at the library you run out of your classroom. It's a good and comfortable life here, even if the nights are lonely and the only company you have in your small cottage are your cats Ripley and Penny. Some extra lonely nights, when the moon sits high atop the mountains, you can’t silence the thoughts that there’s nobody in your life who creates beautiful things for you. Too many nights you find yourself thinking about the man that lives down the street from you… Joel Miller. 

He’s so intimidating, handsome and caged off, akin to an art piece you’d pay admission to be able to stand near. Your own little museum piece you keep to yourself now that museums are obsolete. You’ve never seen anybody more gorgeous… not even in the faded celebrity magazines you cut up to make collages and art out of. Soft and full lips always hidden under a frowning mustache that rests below a large hooked nose. His dark brown eyes often focused forward, always looking in thought underneath furrowed brows. Wavy hair that matches his eye hue with soft silver streaks painted throughout. His body is strong and broad, often hidden underneath a tan flannel lined jacket. He’s tall and big–so big–somebody who has always been a protector. His hands are also large to match the rest of his features with thick fingers that sit capable and dexterous… you can tell they’re efficient for any task you ask of them. His skin is golden, born that way and bronzed by years spent outdoors. The precious pages of your notebook quickly deplete when you try to sketch and master the lines of his face. Maybe you could get the minute details if only you could stop being so afraid of the feelings he stirs inside of you.  

You’ve been enamored with him since he first showed up to Jackson– your life, and all of those feelings you’ve tried to avoid for years– upended by his presence. 

It was a normal day, like any other, when you walked into the Tipsy Bison to drop off some extra shoelaces and push pins for the community swap basket. Your eyes paused at the long communal table where your friends Maria and Tommy were seated with two strangers. A small teenage girl with a tight pony tail and a tattered sweatshirt was talking animatedly with her mouth full. You know kids well after all your years of teaching, you could already spot her tenacity across the room. Sitting next to her bent over a plate of food untamely clutching a fork was a man with a mess of graying hair and a permanent scowl plastered on his handsome face. You noted his strong jaw as he chewed his food, his eyes stared straight forward void of kindness, you wondered when the last time somebody created something beautiful for him. He was the most handsome man you’d ever seen– so intimidatingly sized even in his seated and hunched stature. You quickly flitted over to the corner where the communal basket sat and deposited your items before turning around to head back to your home when you noticed the handsome stranger looking right at you. His eyes darted away right as your eyes widened at his focus before you made your hasty retreat out of the tense room. That night you wrote a song about a once warm and inviting cabin sitting in the woods now cold and desolate with tattered floor boards and a cracked window.

The girl you saw at the Bison with the handsome stranger showed up in your class the next week. Ellie quickly became your favorite student thanks to her love of art and her smart mouth. She’s always so eager to learn in the mornings before heading out with the other older kids for patrol and community training. She doesn’t shut up about your handsome stranger, he’s Joel, Texas born and raised, he’s grumpy, and he loves coffee. He’s not her father, but he’s her protector, everything she tells you makes you think about him more. 

Sometimes you’ll see him walking down the road headed right towards you, a quick tuck of your head down or dash around the nearest corner helps alleviate the panic of being near him. One night you see him with Tommy at the Tipsy Bison in the corner drinking whiskey, your eyes stared unblinking before you realized how anyone could look over and see the way you’re ogling, you quickly created a reason to your friends why you needed to head home, to overwhelmed by his presence just a couple of rows down. Seeing him stirs up so many foreign emotions inside of you, but you like the rush. You like having your little crush, as long as you can keep your distance from him.

“Jeez, what were they thinking when they named these bands? The Shins? The Strokes? The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Did every band just pick a random word and put The in front of it?” Ellie questions as she peruses your CD collection while you grade papers. With training for the older students canceled due to the winter snow outside, Ellie decided that you needed company in your classroom after school.

“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” you answer. “I’ll have to play them for you one day, those were some of my favorite bands when I was your age.”

“Really? Wicked! I’d love that!” she looks up from your CD book with an enthusiastic smile. You return her smile, happy for the bond the two of you share. “Joel loves music too, wonder if he’d like any of these.” Your pen pauses and your heart rate increases at the mention of his name, you feel foolish for the crush you have on your student’s “father.” 

“I’m sure there’s something in there for everyone,” you say, stacking your papers and capping your pen. “I think we should get going, before the sun sets, El. I’ll lock up.” 

“Aw man, there’s nothing to do at home,” she sighs. 

“Sorry kid,” you shrug. “I’m helping Helen at the Bison tonight and I need to eat dinner beforehand.” 

“Fiiiiiine, thanks for letting me hang with you, this was really fun,” she says as she grabs her backpack and jacket. “Bye Teach!”

Watching her leave, the thought plants in your head that she’s only a couple years younger than the age you were when the outbreak happened. 

The world thaws when winter turns to spring, the sun stays up longer allowing patrollers a better chance to scavenge and bring their finds back. The wish list posted above the communal basket in the Tipsy Bison is filled with requests. Residents ask for a broom, a TV input cable, a glue gun, crayons, and other utilitarian items to help make life easier. You think about writing down the one thing you wish for the most, a new CD player. Your prized possession finally spun its last song a couple days ago making your home fall silent without your constant companion of music. The irony isn’t lost on you that your just as ancient guitar now lays silent against the wall, the crack on the neck finally broke from overuse. You don’t write down your main wish, instead choosing to note that the school needs chalk and you need a new oven mitt. 

“Thought I told you not to touch my stereo kid,” the deep timbre of a Texas accented voice shocks you. Your heart begins to thud against your chest while goosebumps spread along your body; you’re frozen on the floor while you attempt to hide your internal panic. Joel is home. Of course he’s home, this is HIS home and you’re in it breaking HIS rules listening to your favorite mixed CD on HIS stereo system that’s much grander than your pitiful broken CD player. Why did you think letting YOUR STUDENT who’s half your age convince you this was a good idea?

“I know, relax! I’m being active in the community like you asked me to,” Ellie’s response drips with her unshakeable sarcasm. 

Your head turns to find his deep brown eyes boring right into you, he gives you a half smile as you stare back at him, mouth slightly agape. Joel Miller is in Joel Miller’s house with you. 

“This is the teacher I told you about, her stereo broke and I know how important music is to her–kinda like how it is to you. I invited her over so she could play me some of her stuff,” Ellie reasons. The kid is never not convincing. 

You quickly stuff your CD case into your backpack and stand, trying to escape the anxiety of being here in the cozy Miller household with the not-so-cozy-looking Mr. Miller. 

“Mm,” Joel grunts out before turning to you and reaching his hand out. “I‘m Joel.” His big hand envelops yours when you softly grab it to say hello. 

You nervously give him your name, trying to calm your panicked heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries... I-I really appreciate her offering to help me. My stereo broke a couple days ago and she knew it upset me.” You nervously stammer feeling like a thirteen year old in trouble again as you begin to fiddle with the gold daisy chain around your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” he urges before looking at Ellie, “I can look past this if it means means you’re getting out of that damn garage.” 

Ellie rolls her eyes, you wonder if every conversation they have is Joel putting a rule down and Ellie breaking it. “She has way better music taste than you have old man. None of that twangy sad music you try to get me to listen to.”

You start to feel antsy as Joel crowds the small space around you. 

“I-I have to head out, I promised Helen I’d help her at the Tipsy Bison.” You’re not due for another hour but you can’t fathom the idea of being unwelcome in Joel’s house.

“Oh, okay. Well, you’re welcome back whenever you want… right Joel?” Ellie looks at him, angling her eyebrow, knowing she’s going to get the answer she wants from him. 

“Uh— of course. S’pose any friend of Ellie’s is welcome here,” Joel hesitates with a smile, his deep brown eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s ridiculously handsome this close, it’s staggering. 

“Thank you again Ellie, I’ll see you tomorrow, make sure you bring your notebook,” you say, turning to walk out the door. 

You rush home, hoping the distinct woodsy smell of Joel’s house on your clothes will linger for a while. You almost trip when you realize you’ve left your favorite mixed CD in Joel’s stereo.

Weeks pass, and the weather gets warmer. Spring is in the air, the trees are covered in bright green leaves, flowers bloom along the vast gardens of fruits and vegetables, everyone’s days turn longer with more tasks to accomplish. There’s always a hopeful breeze in the air for everyone, no longer bunkered down and locked away by the snowy weather. 

Your mixed CD is now a victim of your inability to be anywhere near Joel. Either Ellie decided to keep it for herself, or Joel's decided for you that you don't want it back, especially since you obviously crossed a line. In an odd way, it’s actually a nice feeling, kind of like old times when you'd forget a CD in your friend's car or in your locker over winter break.  It's not like you have anything to play it on, your house is still silent, save for the purring of your cats or whatever song you can remember to hum to yourself. 

It's a warmer day than usual, the sun shines bright and hot in the clear blue sky; all you can think about is getting home and taking a long bath after helping out at the community garden. Your hurried footsteps pitter patter against the warm asphalt in front of Joel’s house. Your heart always begins to race as it comes into view, once in a while you'll get to steal a glance of him leaving for patrol at the same time you're heading to school– those are good mornings. This sweltering afternoon you’ve certainly lucked out, he’s in his yard working on repairing a broken fence post. Your steps begin to slow as you see him set the hammer down, wipe the back of his hand across his sweaty brow, and stretch his back. Panic sets in at the realization he could look right over and see you in the state you’re currently in. You’ve been up to your knees in soil since school ended, watering and deadheading plants while letting the dirt on your skin bake in the warm sun. Your anxious steps pick up pace, failing to hop over the divot in the road you always remember to avoid. A trip and a fall ends with you landing hard on your stomach knocking the wind out of you. You can just make out the fall of heavy boot steps on the ground over the sound of your lungs gasping for air as you turn over.

“Whoa whoa whoa, you okay darlin’?” Joel asks. His broad body eclipses the bright sun when he bends over your body splayed out on the pavement. “S’alright, s’alright, breathe.” 

You lose even more breath at the sight of him. The sheen of sweat against his skin makes it glow bright. This is the first time you’ve seen him without a jacket or flannel, there’s a constellation of freckles on his neck you’ve never noticed. His biceps strain the fabric of his short sleeves when he reaches to put a comforting hand on your shoulder. You can’t tell if you’re still panicking from your fall or the stress of Joel seeing you as pathetic as you think you look. He called you darling and you feel like a fool. 

“I’m okay–I-I’m sorry…. I’m okay,” gasps out between breaths. You whimper from pain as you attempt to stand but it hurts far too much. 

“Hold on, hold on, there’s no need to rush, you took a mighty fall. Ya’ got a big cut on your knee, let me help you,” Joel’s eyes roam you under brows wrinkled with concern. 

“No, no, I’m okay really, I-I’m really okay,” you try to calmly assert, losing terribly against your rising embarrassment. 

“S’alright now, I have some peroxide and bandages in my house, Ellie’d kill me if she knew I left you injured,” he implores reaching his hand out. "I want to help you, come here."

“I– okay,” you grab his hand, his strong fingers wrap around yours, oh god he’s so warm, “I-I don’t want to bother you.”

“Now, I’ll have none ‘a that, come on,” he helps you stand steadying you with an arm around your waist, the adrenaline of being this close to him makes a bit of the pain fade, though the humiliation remains. 

He slowly leads you up his walkway, his hand lays splayed against your hip holding you tight. Your head rests against him close enough to feel the dampness of his sweaty shirt against your cheek.

He leads you into his house, the realization isn’t lost on you that this is now the second time you’ve been inside his home. Both times you’ve felt like an idiot. What is your luck?

You slowly sit down on his couch, Joel gently helps you settle against the cushions before placing a pillow behind your back for support. "You alright?” he asks, his voice drags heavily with concern. You nod, keeping your eyes focused on your bare legs, marred by dirt and gravel mixed with blood. “Just relax for a second, I’ll go grab everything." He retreats, his loud boot steps get fainter allowing you to take a deep breath and attempt to center yourself. 

The last time you were in Joel’s home you were far too anxious to focus on anything besides Ellie and the music coming out of the stereo. Solitude now allows a chance to look closely at Joel’s living room; for somebody with so many stories swirling around town about his gruffness and irritability, his home sure is warm and inviting. Wood carvings sit on shelves, a couple of tattered sports magazines lay on the coffee table, a chipped owl mug sits atop a book on the side table next to a chair. All of it presents quite domestic and comfortable for a single man and an adopted daughter in the apocalypse. Your eyes roam along the beige walls and pause when you spot a familiar painting hung near the front window. An elk stands alone, amongst a field of flowers, large antlers reach into the light blue sky. You painted it just a few months ago, using your favorite water colors. You gave it to Tommy for Christmas, as a thank you for always making sure you have first dibs of paints that patrollers bring in. Why does Joel have it?

“Don’t have any large bandages but I got a gauze roll,” Joel startles as he takes a seat atop the coffee table across from you. 

“That’s my painting? I painted that… for Tommy,” your inner thoughts escape your mouth, surprising you.

He turns and follows your eyes to the small piece of paper pinned on his wall. “You painted that? S’good. Saw it on my brother’s wall and asked him if I could have it, he was kinda reluctant but I told him how it reminds me of the painting I used to have over my bed before… everything.” The last word comes out as a huff, like he still doesn't know what word to use for these last twenty years.

“I love elks, they remind me of where I’m from… I’ve always liked painting the wildlife I grew up around the most,” your eyes remain focused on your painting. “Herds of elk used to live near my Dad’s home in the mountains, I used to hear their calls during the mating season.” 

“S’nice to remember those small moments, I guess your painting helps me,” he gently muses. 

“I’m glad,” you whisper.

Joel delicately lifts your leg up and places it on his lap, resting it against the soft strength of his thighs. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest when you look down at this intimate moment with your dream man. Your breaths escape your mouth in rapid succession, your only hope is Joel blames your panic on the threat of the peroxide and not his close proximity. 

“S’gonna sting,” he warns before pouring the clear liquid onto your knee. Your breath catches in your throat when it hits your sensitive skin and burns. You suppress a whimper and feel slightly dizzy at the sight of him bending forward and delicately blowing on your wound. His breath cools the heat of your burning skin but lights a fire inside of your body you haven’t felt in years.  He glances up, his dark brown eyes stay focused on your face. “Doin’ alright?” 

You nervously chew on your bottom lip and nod. “Y-yes, yeah,” you mumble, “I-I’m okay it just hurts a lot to move.” Heaven forbid you tell him the truth, that you’re acting this way because he’s the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, and now his hands are on you.

"I know, that gravel is a sucker," he gently reassures, picking up your other leg and placing it on top of his lap. “S’bouta sting again,” he warns. 

You try to focus on the burn of the peroxide and not on Joel’s fingertips resting against the back of your knee. He blows on the peroxide as it bubbles again, your heart skips a beat when his deep brown eyes meet yours again. You get the sense that he knows exactly why you’re responding the way you are. 

He lifts a faded gray wash cloth up and wipes both of your knees with the utmost tenderness. He picks up the fabric bandage, and lifts your knee higher to rest your foot against his broad chest. 

“Place a finger here so I can wrap you,” Joel directs just as gently as his touch, “let me know if it’s too stiff for you.” His hand tightens around your knee as he slowly unravels the gauze around your leg and bandages your wound. “How’s that?” 

You bend your leg back and forth and place it on the floor. “Feels good, thanks.”

“Course,” he says, lifting your other leg higher to start. He smirks when you place your finger on top of the bandage without him asking, and begins to wrap the gauze around your other leg. 

“I’d try to take it easy the next few days, give you a chance to heal,” Joel utters, tucking the bandage in and smoothing it down. 

“I will. Thanks for all your help… you really didn’t have to,” your voice cracks in embarrassment. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Ellie’d kill me if she found out I left you hurt in front of my home,” he cracks a smile at the mention of her name. “She talks about you a lot, I should be thanking you for giving her a reason to love goin’ to school.”

“She’s one of the best parts of my day,” your smile matches his when you think about her smart mouth, “I love having her around, she’s always so eager to learn and give her opinion."

“She's always showing me some new art way she learned from you or talking about a band she wants to hear that you told her about. You mean a lot to her.”

“She’s a special kid.”

“She is,” he says, his deep brown eyes look into yours. You’ve never noticed just how much his dark eyes glisten. Like the perfect color of black coffee. 

The sweet shared moment turns more awkward as you both maintain eye contact and nod over your shared adoration of Ellie. It feels like he’s looking at you under a microscope.

You cut the tension and softly clear your throat before slowly rising from the couch. “Well, I should get going, I’ve already taken up enough of your time. I really appreciate everything.”

“S’no problem at all,” he quickly stands and places a steadying hand on your back before leading you to the door and down his walkway.

You spy his tools laying abandoned and strewn across the lawn. “I hope I didn’t keep you from finishing your fence,” you apologize.

“I’ll manage… take care of yourself,” his hand retreats from your back when he opens the gate for you. 

“Thanks Joel, you too.” You really shouldn’t have looked back at him to get one last glimpse, he’s beautiful, especially now lit by the slowly setting sun. 

Walking away from him as confidently as you can, you feel his eyes follow you the whole way. You’ve never been so thankful to see your little cottage, escaping behind the protection of your front door before you grin and grab your paints and brushes. That night you paint another photo of an elk, this time with golden toned fur and deep brown eyes. 

Saturday mornings are always busy, running your library never allows you the luxury to eat pancakes at the hall like everyone else on the weekends. You’re always turning to the left rushing towards the schoolhouse while everyone takes a right heading to eggs, pancakes, and coffee. This particular Saturday you’re moving slower thanks to your injured knees and the large box of books patrol brought you from their runs. 

“Mornin’," Joel shouts, quickly striding towards you from the hall exit. “Lemme take those for you.” 

“Oh, hi,” you pause in your tracks when he stops in front of you and grabs the box out of your hands. “You really don’t have to take–"

“None ‘a that,” he shushes, effortlessly lifting the box of books higher. "Where are we going with these?"

"Just over to the school house for the library," you nod your head towards the little brick building.

“How are the knees doing?” he asks, slowing his gait to match your slower pace.

“A lot better, thanks.”

“Glad to hear.” 

You fish the key out of your pocket, unlock the door, and let Joel follow you down the hallway to your classroom. You flick the lights on, fluorescent bulbs buzz illuminating your second home. 

You sit in your chair to rest your already aching knees, you’d still be halfway to the schoolhouse if it wasn’t for Joel’s kind assistance. 

“You can put the box on my desk,” you direct, rubbing your sore knee. 

He places the box on your desk before his eyes focus on the bright mural on the wall behind your desk. “Wow, I haven’t seen something like this in a long time. S’beautiful,” he breathes out incredulously. 

A grin lifts your tired face before you swivel in your chair to look at the mural. “Goodness, thank you. I just finished it a couple of weeks ago. I really wanted to make sure the kids had something fun and colorful to focus on while in class. It was hard for me to work in this plain, white room for so long. It took a long time to save up enough paint.” 

He slowly walks over and places his hand on the cold cinder block wall. “Bluebells. The flower of Texas,” he faintly whispers.

His large fingers trace the outlines of your painted indigo petals, you feel like you shouldn’t be allowed to see this type of gentle tenderness coming out of such hard and strong hands. He delicately touched you like this when he bandaged your knees. There was once softness surrounding all of Joel, the permanent grimace and rough reputation for him brought on by the harshness of existing in this world. 

He turns to you, keeping his hand on your mural. “Where you from?” he asks, curiously gazing into your eyes.

“I was in the Denver QZ.”

“No, where were you from before everything?”

“Oh, sorry. Still Colorado, just more in the mountains,” you say, concentrating on the columbine flower next to the bluebell. “Florissant to be exact. It’s a little town famous for dinosaurs. My students, especially Ellie, love to hear all about dinosaurs. I was very lucky to be where I was when everything–happened–just far enough to escape.”

“Nice state, I went skiing there once as a teen, had plans to go again before… everything,” he turns to look back at the bluebells again.

“Big of a Texan to compliment Colorado,” you jest, standing up and grabbing the library supplies from your desk.

He chuckles with a shake of his head. “Good one. Did y’know you forgot your CD at my house?” 

“I did, sorry about that. I figured Ellie just decided to keep it for herself. I don't mind, not like I have anything to play it on right now,” your voice drops thinking about how long it’s been since you’ve heard your favorite songs.

You begin to place down your hand painted placards on the tables. 

He walks over and picks one of the cards up and admires it. “Can I help you?”

“If you want, just pick up a pile of books and put them on their respective tables. Children’s, Mystery, Romance, Non-Fiction, Sci-Fi, Miscellaneous.” 

He dutifully picks up a stack of books. “You do this by yourself?”

“Usually, I sometimes have help but I think everyone here works so hard during the week they like their slow Saturdays, I can’t ask them to give up sleeping in.” 

“Sleeping in, must be nice. Can’t do such a thing. Ellie would sleep all day if I allowed her.”

“You’re right,” you say, squeezing by him to grab a pile of books. “Must be nice.”

He holds up a thick paperback with yellow pages and a burgundy cover, a muscled, orange toned man with long blonde hair holds a wispy brunette damsel. “I take it with a title like ‘Burning Tenderness’ it goes in romance?” Joel winks. You’d never imagine you would ever see someone like him joke.  

“Well, I’d fire you on the spot if you placed it in non-fiction.”

His bellowing laugh echoes across your classroom. You like hearing him laugh. 

The library is set up a half hour before opening thanks to yours and Joel’s expeditious work.

You take a seat on the edge of your desk to rest your knees.  “I’ve never gotten done this early before. Between your help earlier this week and today I feel like I owe you something. Is there any way I could repay you for your kindness?” 

He sighs, glancing back at your mural. “Those bluebells you painted,” he inhales a large breath, “do you think you could paint some of those for me in my house?” 

“Oh my, I’d love to,” your face lights with a smile. You can’t believe he’s asking this of you. “I can start it anytime.”

“D’you want to come over Monday after you’re done at the school? I told Ellie I’d spend the day with her tomorrow.” 

“That sounds great,” you reply, not believing your luck that Joel Miller is inviting you over to his house.

“Great. Should probably head out and start my day. Taking this as payment for my work today,” he says holding up a book.

“‘As I Lay Dying?’ Didn’t pin you as a Faulkner fan,” you muse, opening your logbook to note the title down.

“Liked the horse on the cover.” 

“You’re so Texas. It’s a good book, enjoy it Joel.”

“See you Monday. Good luck today.” 

“Yes, Monday,” you respond, trying not to smile too hard. “Thanks again for all your help.”

“Course,” he nods before walking out the door. 

Today’s going to be a great day, it already started out better than you ever could have hoped.

Back home after a busy day you sit in your favorite chair with your cats on your lap and sketch bluebells until you fall asleep with your pencil in hand.

See The Road You're On (Joel's Version)

[rowanthestrange]

The Master And Margarita Jacket

(Matthew Sweet’s Doctor Who version…but with a frisson of Bulgakov’s)

It’s done! With every bit of unphotographical glittery metallic paint that I can’t capture on camera even if my iphone skills weren’t rubbish.

@spoonietimelordy, @rearranging-deck-chairs, @bearinabandana and everyone else who Did The Reading of that one ‘I Am The Master’ novel but I’ve forgotten to tag because i’m so sleep deprived i can’t think any more but hopefully other people will, assemble!

Detailed closeups and explanations (with some spoilers) below:

Starting front top right side (face on). -Margarita herself, biting a mushroom. A more Cockatoo beak than Macaw, with red face instead of white, to make what exactly she is more mysterious. -The Master Who logo here is just gold, any shading didn’t look right when it was so thin.

Front top right pocket. Purple, of course.

-Next section down are these three. The ‘Never Stop Growing’ patch is my second favourite patch of the bunch. So many Master Themes, and plot relevant. -Then the little ‘Best Buds’ with the heart in the middle. I was inordinately proud of that idea. (Buds, budding, bigenerated vibe). -And then ‘Obscene Lotus’. That’s mentioned early in the book, and while it’s just described as a big purplish lotus, there’s so much sexual charging in that scene that, well, you gotta.

Me, reusing the ‘budding’ pun in a different capacity? It’s more likely than you think.

-The cover of the Penguin Clothbound Classic version of the original The Master And Margarita, that took multiple days to complete and so much agony. -The patch is a blank one that I bought, then painted the design to look like one of those stamps people sometimes put in books. Painted the border the same colour, then tea-stained it to look like old paper. Certainly in real life the colour comes out nicely. I couldn’t find his autograph (and sadly there’s an unrelated artist with the same name lol) but he got his doctorate in Wilkie Collins so I just looked up examples of that guy’s writing and tried to give it a bit of that vibe. Hopefully it’s the thought that counts. But hey, if anyone ever meets him and gets me a signature sample I can just redo it.

General mushroom patch - I like the fire kind of vibe and the looming.

To the other side!

So. You’re asking what’s with the daisy theme. Fair. So Margarita is also another name for a daisy in some languages. I choose to lean into that because it’s also the widely known symbol of Three - with that scene where he talks to Jo and recounts how a hermit living on a mountain helped dispel his depression by getting him to focus on the beauty of the flower (“and it was the most daisiest daisy”). Given that Three is essentially a character in the book, this felt like the vibe we’re going for. It’s perennial. It also is a healer of bruises and wounds, how can that not be relevant meta wise too to the Master’s new companion, hm? And okay yes, Mikhail does say he’s not a botanist, but if you can think of another way to get that message across other than botanical illustration page…

I like the patch because lightbulb, idea, full of mushrooms etc.

-‘I Am The Master’ being the name of the book the story is contained in, plus Fun With Identity. -Next the one bit of Real Art that I attempted to copy in glittery acrylics - Magritte’s ‘The Treachery Of Images’ or more commonly known ‘Ceci n’est pas une pipe’. The story not only of the Master’s experiences recently, but the story’s themes of hallucinations and deceptions; as well as being the symbol of Russian!Brigadier. -This patch is great isn’t it? A play on the Master’s apparent alcoholism or Russian blending in as you prefer, and of course, The Lighthouse of Martin!Doctor fame.

-Mikhail’s guitar for playing Brown Sugar and other ominous inference songs. -The formula triangle of Love, Food, and Music (I couldn’t think of a self-evident way to show his approach to food - Russian dumplings are, well, not exactly distinct). On its side so the glittery pink triangle points in a certain direction because he’s escaped places and I can do ominous inferences too Sweet. -Maybe controversial? There is a failed love story component in here though, that I just couldn’t leave unmarked. The Doctor, K’vo, and Jo all have their parts to play in that.

Now for the arms:

Here’s the right-side looking-on arm. -I repainted this mushroom patch to be the orange and green of K’vo’s. -You’ve already seen the long image of it above, so here’s just a snippet closeup of the motif that goes along both arms. Daisies linked in a chain with the words ‘daisiest daisy’ (if you wonder why everything’s outlined by the way, a) i like the style, and b) it makes glitter infinitely more legible and clearer to see if there’s a dark matt border around it breaking it up, especially with something as variable coloured as denim). There’s the sunflower in the middle because Margarita loves her sunflower seeds.

This is the other arm. Margarita holding a margarita in a margarita. What’s more to add? I used my shittest white (mixed with my fabric medium as everything else has been at every step) rather than @yesokayiknow’s excellent suggestion of Liquitex, which has saved me everywhere else, including those light patches. But here shitty kids basics acrylic is translucent enough to do some excellent work pretending to be glass and ice. The parrot patch has been altered to make the beak entirely black and her face red instead of macaw white, to keep her species ambiguous as literary theme demands.

To the back!

This Master Who logo is bigger, so it has the Master’s purple highlights like bruising.

Here is a small UNIT patch I modified to be a Russian one, globe focused on their continent (roughly). Sweet just translated the word ‘unit’ for Russian!Brigadier’s group, and the text is the re-cyrilliced version of that.

Skipping to the bottom…

Here referencing O’s collection of Doctor Information, Sweet adding to that with having distinct scrapbooks. ‘Manuscripts Don’t Burn’ is a line from Bulgakov’s The Master And Margarita (spoken by Satan in fact, mhmm) and became something of a rallying cry for oppressed Russian artists. I have ‘Author Unknown’ for the obvious meta with his and the Doctor’s memories, and likewise, the fact that flames are clearly present and burning lets the viewer come to whatever conclusion they like. #133 was chosen for the simple fact that in my copy of Bulgakov’s novel, and the one depicted on the front of the jacket, it is page 133 which starts the chapter The Hero Enters, where we meet The Master who has renounced all other names (who is very much, as Interference notes, the Doctor). They are glitter paint titles done on Hemline repair patches, black, brown, white, and navy blue. I know anything too painty on that area of the back will risk a lot of wear, and these are easily replaced when necessary (if still hours of lettering).

To the left most side…

This was the most expensive patch I bought, £12. But worth it. The mushroom stalk is silk.

Here I depicted in silhouette the scene of the Master climbing up to the Doctor on the giant mushroom. I chose silhouette so as not to draw the eye too much. I also added some 2ply black-black glitter cotton as part of his climbing equipment, attached on by some silver stitches for the…things I can’t remember the name of. It gives it a bit more 3D effect, but also keeps the thread close enough it shouldn’t pull on anything.

And at its base we have a reference to Mikhail’s chosen middle name. I chose to believe it’s relevant, Sweet’s too deep into this for it not to be. This is a cover I edited to highlight the namesake who actually travelled Russia and collected the tales of this book, and indeed, it does include the story of Koschei The Deathless. I edited the robe to be red instead of its original yellow, and added the quintessential Time Lord collar. But I think it’s perfectly passable. This is iron on transfer paper (dark) onto a very light grey polycotton to turn it into a patch. It…*cough* hasn’t had its edges finished or strictly been attached yet, but that’s a bit of handwork I can do as and when.

So finally back up to the middle

I’ve expanded out @spoonlesss-artbook fantastic angel-winged Margarita’s Master art. The Redbubble bag was only that big as it was (hemmed with bostik fabric glue like a true pro and attached as a panel) so it cut off a little, and it didn’t go the whole way anyway, so now we get some endings of the feathers, some all the way up to the arm of the jacket. I tried to blend it into the fire, one creature of both. And trying to get a multidimensional feel, boundary breaking. And again, very glittery irl so plays very well with the fire theme. It was fun when it came to colour-matching particularly the blue wing at the top, because the glitter gives it a bit of a sheen. I blunted it with a few careful washes of black so it still sparkles but is the right colour in most angles.

The Redbubble edit cuts @spoonietimelordy’s signature, so I copied it from the original and moved it over to the left side in some sparkly silver. Also internet doxxing my real life self on the bottom of the back as my own signature.

Doesn’t look like the sort of thing that would take weeks when you see it all together, but I’m really happy with it. I’m so grateful for everyone who’s shown their brilliant art to me and shared posts about painting all these years, cus it allowed me to absorb stuff and let me come out of the gate swinging! It feels thoroughly addictive. Even if I only know ‘use tiny brush’ for almost everything and glitter metallic is great for hiding sins. (And a ‘Ha!’ in the face of my mother keeping me away from it my whole life because of mess - I never got even a single speck on any clothes that wasn’t this jacket. I could’ve been doing this for years rather than just picking up a brush at the age of thirty-damn-one. But at least I’ve got it now).

And thanks to Matthew Sweet for feeding the worms in my brain too.

[fromthedust]

René Magritte (Belgian, 1898-1967)

oil paintings

The Castle in the Pyrenees - 1959

The Active Voice - 1951

Song of the Storm - 1937

The Art of Conversation - 1963

The Key to Dreams - 1930

Jupiter in Virgo - 1965

Le Beau Navire (The Beautiful Ship) - 1942

A Friend of Order - 1964

The Sixteenth of September - 1956

Melusine’s Window - 1953

The Empty Mask - 1928

The Banquet - 1958

La Corde Sensible (The Sensitive Cord) - 1960

Le Pain Quotidien (Our Daily Bread) - 1942

Personal Values - 1952

The Voice of Space - 1928

"My painting is visible images which conceal nothing, they evoke mystery and, indeed, when one sees one of my pictures, one asks oneself this simple question, 'What does it mean?' It does not mean anything, because mystery means nothing, it is unknowable." - RM

René Magritte - Flirtatiousness (La coquetterie) - René Magritte at the Jardin des Plantes photo-booth - photography - 1929

[jennamoran]

These are Not Words (2023, Jenna Moran)

These are not words. This is not an experience.

These are not words, but rather, a promontory. Teeth of the stone of the world that jut through time; teeth breaking time like water, forming transitory false surfaces upon its waves. In isolation, yes, we could read meaning into those vibrations, yes, but they are transient and nugatory. Beneath the surfaces of things the holy breathes.

This is not an experience. This moment is not a moment.

And I don’t just mean, here, some Magritte-like “treason” where “experience” is not the thing in itself, but a word; not a word, but a slow, uneven accumulation of apperceptions that burst Into some neuron thing or other (I’m not versed in this)—a “word,” formed, ultimately, by yourself—

This is no experience. There are no edges. This just arises from the surf of time; accrues; the alleged past one piece with the alleged present, one great shelf of rock; and the camera pulls back—well, it’s not a camera—past the shattered hulls of endless sunken ships, to show infinitude.

This moment is not a moment. These are not words.

This moment is not a moment, but a landscape painted on time. Beneath that rococo veneer ... there is a thing there that words can’t speak to. Can’t shape. A ... leaping fish? Sparkling scales, stone teeth, and awe?—not a fish. A ... wordless law?—well, it’s not a law—a great and nameless song.

... not just words. You are here.

[sporesgalaxy]

okay so. There's this poem I started making in 2019 and only just finished this year. And I was thinking about René Magritte paintings. So here we are I suppose

The poem is made of chopped-up lyrics from the following songs:

•••

"First Love/Late Spring" Mitski • "No Children" The Mountain Goats • "Fly In My Room" Kerrin Connolly • "No Surprises" Radiohead • "Hope" ROAR • "The Comfort of a Laugh Track" ROAR • "Emotional Vagrant" The Scary Jokes • "Little Dark Age" MGMT • "How I Survived Bobby Mackey's Personal Hell" Lincoln • "Televised" HUNNY • "Bets Against the Void" The Scary Jokes • "Life on Mars?" David Bowie • "Fluorescent Adolescent" Arctic Monkeys • "Love, Me Normally" Will Wood • "Catabolic Seed" The Scary Jokes • "Puzzle Pieces" Saint Motel

[wings-of-ink]

I have a strong image in my mind of oswin and mc drawn in those paintings of knights and maidens (male and nb mcs could fill the slot as well) where the pining is so palpable. And I'm so curious to see what visuals the other ROs will draw forth when we meet them.

Ex art pieces: Hellelil and Hildebrand, the Meeting on the Turret Stairs by Frederic William Burton and La Belle Dame Sans Merci by frank Bernard Dicksee.

That is cool to think about, Anon! I don't know enough about art to give a more thoughtful response, but after browsing some through the power of the internet, I can see some of these. I really do like the knight themed ones for Oswin.

Oswin: (I have to agree, this one feels especially fitting for him) La belle dame sans merci by Frank Bernard Dicksee 

Zahn:  Natural Magic by Eleanor Fortescue-Brickdale

Duri: Love Blooms in Every Age by Eugenio Zampighi

Rune:  The Love Song by Jean-Antoine Watteau

???:  The Lovers by Magritte

This one was a thinker for me, for sure, and I really enjoyed it! Thank you, Anon! ^_^

[polyphonetic]

This art was painted by a Belgian author

By René Magritte in the summer of '29

He's the guy who drew an apple face

This art was painted oil on a canvas

Surrealist piece, at Los Angeles County Muse-

-um of Art is where it is displayed

It is sixty point three three centimeters by eighty one point twelve

So I bookmark the ticket site

So I'll see it before it is shelved

This is not a pipe

This is not a pipe (The Wind And Song)

The Treachery of Images! *clap clap*

This is not a pipe

This is not a pipe (The Wind And Song)

The Treachery of Images! *clap clap*

Wooh oo-oo-oh (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Wooh oo-oo-oh (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Wooh oo-oo-oh (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Is it a pipe?

The theme of pipes was extended

in an article published in

"La Révolution Surréaliste"

that was called "Words And Images"

It took the theme and extended it

Representing thoughts René Magritte had on verbal /

visual representations

This painting is often used to describe

"The map is not the territory"

So that reminds me how

There's more to be found

In what you see!

This is not a pipe

This is not a pipe (The Wind And Song)

The Treachery of Images! *clap clap*

This is not a pipe

This is not a pipe (The Wind And Song)

The Treachery of Images! *clap clap*

Wooh oo-oo-oh (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Wooh oo-oo-oh (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Wooh oo-oo-oh (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Is it a pipe?

… Real life, words, or pictures? All are empty

Seen or read inside our minds

How I see the world is found within me

More than outside me, I find

Looking in my mind I see the entry

Between what I see, what I've been

Looking out, I could say paralanguage

Modifies meaning, messages in!

Looking out my mind, like I'm a sentry

Flashes of light and what is kin

Looking in, I could say paralanguage

Modifies meaning, message is in!

Wooh oo-oo-oh (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Wooh oo-oo-oh (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Wooh oo-oo-oh (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Wooh woh woh woh

Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Is this, is this?

Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est, Ceci n'est (Ceci n'est pas une pipe)

Is this, is this?

This is not a pipe

This is not a pipe, not a pipe (The Wind And Song)

The Treachery of Images!

Oh, this is not a pipe

this is not a pipe, not a pipe (The Wind And Song)

The Treachery of Images!

No, this is not a pipe

this is not a pipe, not a pipe (The Wind And Song)

The Treachery of Images!

[runicmagitek]

✨people I’d like to get to know better✨

tagged by @violetivy161 🥰💕 thanks for the tag!! I won't be tagging anyone, but if you see this and wanna play along, consider yourself tagged!

Last song: Impossible (Hummed) from the Transistor OST

Favorite color: purple and black

Last book: that I finished? Radio Silence by Alice Oseman. Currently reading The Sky on Fire by Jenn Lyons along with Tress of the Emerald Sea by Brandon Sanderson. I'm also waiting for my library hold on The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers bc I was really enjoying it bug also I'm a slow reader 😭

Last movie: ...... that's a great question bc I genuinely Do Not Remember. I even asked my bf and he also doesn't know 😭 maybe Suzume, back on my bday???

Last TV show: Arcane s2, which I have... mixed feelings on 🧍

Sweet/spicy/savory: savory

Relationship status: been with my bf for almost 20 years holy shit

Last thing I googled: "painting of man with apple in face" bc I have a fucking degree in this shit but couldn't remember René Magritte's name

Current obsession: god so many things.... Ranma 1/2 (again), Disco Elysium, Spy x Family (especially damianya), NieR Automata (also again lol), and Atelier Ryza

Looking forward to: going to bed. I'm tired and it's late (might also explain why I can't remember the last movie I watched)

[anonsally]

Days 2-3 of L.A. trip

On Friday, my uncle and I took a great walk at Sepulveda Basin Wildlife Reserve. It has a small lake with a trail going around it, and there are a fair number of birds to see there--we spotted at least 26 species, even though we were fairly near busy roads. I got good photos of a few of them and saw 3 species I'd never seen before: Cassin's kingbird, western kingbird, and Lincoln's sparrow.

There were also many hummingbirds of at least two species (Anna's and Allen's), some American wigeons, double-crested cormorants (some sitting on nests in trees on a little island in the lake), Bewick's wrens, song sparrows, red-winged blackbirds, a few western bluebirds, yellow-rumped warblers (with plumage that looked a little different from the ones we get in the Bay Area), and pied-billed grebes (the cutest kind of grebe).

There were also a few turtles basking on logs in the water and I saw several little lizards along the trail.

We came back and ate lunch. I had to join a work meeting by phone, but it was pretty short. Then I did a little birdwatching in the backyard--a pair of Eurasian collared doves showed up, one of which was leucistic.

In the evening, a close friend from high school picked me up and we went out for a lovely dinner. It was great fun to catch up with her, but I confess I was rather alarmed to learn that her son is now a senior in high school (time has lost all meaning). They are in the anxious stage of waiting to hear which colleges and universities he got into.

I didn't get to bed until stupidly late because I was going through my bird photos and posting them to ask for input from @lies about what some of them were.

Today I slept in, but eventually my aunt and I managed to leave the house. We decided to go to LACMA. Unfortunately, we had not realised that today was SoCal Free Museum Day so of course it was incredibly crowded, plus only a small part of the museum is currently open while another building is being remodeled. Still, we saw a few interesting artworks. I liked Ai Weiwei's Circle of Animals/Zodiac Heads, a Frida Kahlo painting I hadn't seen before called Weeping Coconuts, Magritte's Ceci n'est pas une pipe, and a soft sculpture by Dorothea Tanning called Xmas.

We looked at some of the La Brea Tar Pits on the way back to the car but didn't go into the museum. I hadn't known that they are still excavating fossils out of the tar pits!

[youngveinsworld]

Magritte - Didier Wampas

Link to the Genius page with the lyrics translated into English

Link to the Genius page with the original French lyrics

About the song 

"Magritte" is the third song on the French album Ryan helped to create in 2011. He plays guitar on the track and co-produced it.

The song is about being in a relationship with a girl who is beautiful, but shallow and unappreciative of things outside of herself. She would prefer to have a new pair of shoes that a painting by the surrealist painter René Magritte, yet despite this, the speaker still has a weakness for her.

It is interesting that the artist mentioned in this song is Magritte because Taisez moi was partly recorded at ICP Studios in Brussels, Belgium. René Magritte was Belgian and lived in Brussels, with two museums in the city dedicated to his art. It is possible that Didier Wampas and his band visited one or both of the museums while in Brussels and were inspired to write the song there. Ryan visited Belgium to record the album in spring 2011.

Although Ryan is not credited as a writer on this track, the first two lines feel like the sort of thing he could have written during the cabin era (in particular it reminds me of I feel as if I’m a figurine / I feel like something on strings / Posed by love's fragile fingers from Velveteen).

Lyrics in English 

I sometimes feel like hope A mechanical storm When I think of this girl A girl who languishes at night When she stupidly forgets She forgets that it's her

A girl who prefers shoes to a Magritte And who cries when she fears that I will leave her

I feel at the back of my mind A great weakness When I think of this girl A girl who believes she sleeps for nothing When she forgets her dreams In the morning upon waking

A girl who prefers shoes to a Magritte A girl who wants a kit for love

Look around you, look around you

A girl who with one smile could crash Wall Street Although she kills me the judges acquit her

Look around you, look around you I no longer hear the night Look around you

[paulgadzikowski]

[Image description: Preview panel for the comic strip at the link. Clark (SUPERMAN) Kent and Lois Lane of Superman comics and River Song and the Doctor, eyebrows incarnation, of Doctor Who stand regarding a painting in an art museum. The Doctor is saying, “It's Magritte's The Treachery of Images. The French means, 'This is not a pipe.'” Unfortunately there are not image descriptions at the main Hero of Three Faces site. End description.]

The Hero of Three Faces is fanfiction crossovers, but it’s comic strips with stick figures, but they’re triangles. Preview panel only. Click here for full cartoon. Or see the on-site navigation tutorial. Or see this blog’s FAQ, or my archive tumblog’s FAQ. Cartoons may contain unmarked spoilers. Cartoons linked from Tumblr 10:00 (Central US time) daily are the previous day’s new update and the posts are pinned to the top of this blog. Cartoons linked from Tumblr 22:00 daily are from the archive and the posts are pinned only during annual summer hiatus of new updates.

[eppysboys]

You seem to know a fair amount about visual art as well as the Beatles, and I'm curious if you know any more about the individual Beatles's art collections? I obviously know that Paul is into Magritte and has at least one. I saw that Stella quote recently about Ringo collecting Condo. And I found out today that Paul has some John Bratby in his collection. I've done a bit of googling to try to get more info without much success. Are there any other artists that they are known to collect? And anything particularly interesting about them collecting those artists? Thanks!

Hey anon! Thank you for such a lovely question! This is by no means a complete list, just a starting point. I encourage people to add on to this post. I'll revisit it and add to it when I can comb through books again 👍

John:

(Brian had owned a few of Lowry's works, and encouraged The Beatles + Cilla to collect art as well.)

John had also kept some Stuart Sutcliffe paintings in Kenwood (Many Years From Now + other sources).

Other than that, I can't find too much about specific artists that John sort out just yet.

Paul:

Lots of history and love between Paul and de Kooning, which you can read about here and here.

"Paul's own taste in art and literature veered towards the proto-surreal. In art he was attracted to the dream landscapes of Giorgio de Chirico, Paul Delvaux and Salvador Dali and he admired the paintings of Max Ernst, but it was the work of Rene Magritte that gave him the most pleasure." (Many Years From Now)

"The Scottish-Italian artist Eduardo Paolozzi, one of the leading figures in the British Pop Art movement, had a previous connection with the Beatles: he taught Stuart Sutcliffe painting at Hamburg State Art College in 1961-1962, after Stuart left the Beatles to live with Astrid Kirchherr. Paul is still in touch with Paolozzi, who is occasionally to be seen at Paul's parties." (Many Years From Now)

"The whole of the offices of MPL Communications Ltd was beautiful with fabulous art… I was so taken with the Williem De Kooning tapestries in his inner office… I don’t suffer from envy but here, I have to admit, I was. These tapestries start at 3 million pounds, but I was not so in awe of the cost but in the glory of them. And that this young lad from Liverpool could own so much. But the first piece of art to startle me was a sculpture by the now Sir Eduardo Paolozzi: that was one of the big images that confronted me in Paul’s office, a Paolozzi sculpture, a stainless steel torso." Pauline Sutcliffe

There's also a section of his website: Paintings on the Wall, which have some lovely information about artists Paul is interested in and art history in general.

Ringo:

Ringo seems like a big collector, but I don't think he's really said much on the subject. So, you can look through this auction, which is full of very interesting art that Ringo owned at some point. It seems like he has a real fondness for pop art, obviously. Roy Lichtenstein pieces pop up all the time.

He also owns several of Yankel Feather's works.

And yes, George Condo is a big one. Here's an interview with Condo, where he mentions Ringo (don't yell at me about the 'John and Yoko were arty' tone 😂')

Rail: It would be a fantastic exhibition to put together. Before we conclude I also wanted to talk about your “simulated found objects.” 

Condo: Well, the idea was simple: could I create something so real that it would look like I found it? One day I was having a conversation with Ringo Starr, and we were talking about the song “I am the Walrus” by the Beatles, and I said, “You know there’s always been one thing I wondered about that song. When all of a sudden it sounds like a radio gets turned on, it sounds like 1920s music. It’s obviously the sound of the radio being turned on, and then you hear the orchestra and George Martin come back in.” I said, “Is that a piece of found music that John had and just inserted into this? Because I know John and Yoko were into that kind of thing.” Ringo said, “No, actually, John composed that piece of music to sound like he had found it." (source)