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Updated: May 26, 2025
They had to be artists and at the same time commercial men, a chimerical combination. The expense of maintaining a tapestry factory was an incalculable burden. A man could not set up a loom, a single one, as an artist sets up an easel, and in solitude produce his woven work of art.
Besides, he had the liveliest interest in the astonishing little dog that grew and disappeared, and came back, in some new attitude, on the canvas. He scraped acquaintance with it once or twice to the damage of fresh brush-work. He was always jumping from his pose and running around the easel to see how the latest dog was coming on.
But pride and anger were now her controlling impulses, and with the strong grasp of her resolute will she crushed back her gentler and better feelings, and became more icy and hard than ever. By such choice and action, men and women commit moral suicide. With a cold, white face, and a burnished gleam in her eyes, she went to the easel and commenced painting out the ominous black stain.
The portrait of that civil and decent girl, Christian Talbot Lowry, was finished; it had been conveyed to Mount Music and was there established on an easel in the billiard-room The artist and the model, having raised and lowered blinds and arranged curtains to their liking, or as nearly to that unattainable ideal as circumstances permitted, were now recovering from the criticism of their relations on the completed work.
I believe that in all the days that it lay upon his easel he went to it many times with weariness, because there was monotony in the work, because the work that he had laid out for himself in his fancy was far above what he could execute with his fingers.
It was such a face as could only belong to some high favourite of fortune, defiant of all mankind in the consciousness of his own supreme advantages. But Laura Jocelyn shook her head as she looked at the picture. "I begin to despair of finding my father's portrait," she said; "I have seen nothing at all like it yet." The old man lifted up his bony hand, and pointed to the picture on the easel.
Shove back that easel and bring in that beer it's outside the door in a box. I'll get out the tobacco and pipes." Jack stretched both arms above his head, emitted a yawn that could be heard in his room below, and sprang to his feet. Fred, by this time, had taken down from a closet a tin box of crackers, unwrapped a yellow cheese, and was trimming its raw edges with a palette knife.
Having premised thus far, we beg leave to introduce to our reader's special acquaintance, Evory Easel, Esq., an English Artist and Savan, coming to do a portion of the country, ladies and gentleman, as has been often done before. Batch No. I. Evory Easel, Esq., to Sam Spinageberd, Esq. "Old Spinageberd: "Here I am at last, in the land of fun and fighting -mirth and misery orange and green.
Nevertheless, he seemed able to talk about foreign matters, through it all. He continued to paint in this rapid way, up to the moment of closing the sitting; when he took the canvas from the easel, without giving me time to mark what progress he had made, as he did the last time. The artist is middle-sized, thin, a little stooping, with a quick, nervous movement.
She became irritated with herself, and cried, fiercely: "Shame on your weakness! You are unworthy of your blood and ancestry. I will reproduce that face as it was before he so insolently destroyed it;" and she bent over her easel with an expression not at all in harmony with her work.
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