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Because I can’t resist a map…

11 May

I spent most of my week doing my final combthrough with Liam. It was a weird experience since I haven’t really seen it since I submitted it back in… whenever. Last year sometime. Had a great time with it, though. Getting all excited.

Anyhow, I’ve got vamps on the brain, and I’m still kind of wistful about Italy, so I figured I’d do a little combo post. One of my kind of back-of-the-brain things the whole time I was 0n vacation.

So of course the Italian word for Florence is Firenze–the outdated version being Fiorenza. In the books, the growing “family” of vampires would be the Fiorenzas, which if you’ve seen the website will be abundantly clear. A lot of times I just pick names because they sound right, but that one was deliberate. They’re from Florence originally–which is pretty rare in the US, as most of the Italians who came in the early 1900s were southern or Sicilian. A namechange at Ellis Island was standard (see the “O”s and “Mc”s getting dropped off Irish names and Italians ending up named after their hometown all over the place), but combined with their weird provenance, probably indicative that they weren’t your average immigrants, this well-dressed guy in his late twenties and his three-year-old nephew. Not just looking for a new start, but running from old troubles.

This is not why I wanted to go to Florence, for the record–I’m sure when I made up this whole backstory, I had no idea I’d ever actually go there, though I totally wanted to. I was living in a shitty frat house (no really), surviving on ramen and Camel Lights, and pretty sure it was going to stay that way until I dropped. But that didn’t stop me giggling when B told me the name of the place he wanted to stay:

Seriously, he picked it, not me. Good though, look it up if you’re ever in town!

Anyhow. There’s not much about it in the books because Gianni has been long-forbidden by his uncle to go back to Italy, let alone the actual city. (Why, and why he actually listens, well, all will be revealed. Eventually.) But like all Americans, there’s a certain amount of clinging to “home” as somewhere else. So every now and then in Italy I’d see something  that’d make me stop and think of them. Because this is what being a writer is, and we all know it: random imaginary friends invading every aspect of your life, to the point where sometimes you can’t even watch TV or look at a painting without thinking, “Huh, bet Liam likes this.” Insert-your-character-name.

Rosselli's "Fiorenza"

19th C. Copy of Francesco di Lorenzo Rosselli’s Pianta prospettica della Catena, c. 1471-1482 in the Museo Firenze com’era.* If you click to enlarge and look really close, you can even see the names of some of the landmarks written on it. “The so-called Pianta della Catena, attributed to Lorenzo Rosselli, is the first known exemplar in the history of cartography which is intended as a complete representation of the city with all its buildings and the dense network of streets and squares.”**

In Liam (and all subsequent books), there’s a wall-hanging in the Fiorenza living room in New York that’s meant to be a map like this, almost exactly. I wrote it before I even knew this painting existed and was semi-famous–in Florence, anyhow. So you know when I saw this thing on every damn coffee mug, mousepad, and everything else ever while wandering around on vacation, I stopped and grabbed the prettiest print (at the Accademia, as it happened) I could find, brought it back here, and looked that shit up.

So one of the fun things I got to do with my Liam runthrough was describe the wall-hanging much, much better than I had originally.

Yeah, I don’t know, I thought it was fun.

I bought this little map too, which is super cool, but wasn’t precisely what I needed for the book. It’ll look kickass framed on my wall, though.

Okay, I’m off to WV for the weekend. Happy mother’s day, all y’all moms out there. <3

*I didn’t go to that Museum, so I had to come home and research the fuck out of it to figure out what it was and where it was from. That sounds like I’m complaining, but no. This is my idea of a good time.

**Source: Official site of the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi, which I did in fact visit and adore, as I may have already mentioned.

So Long, Firenze

2 May

Apologies for all the automation and lack of attention to bloggy goodness these past weeks. I’m back, and now that my time is my own again, I’m back on it. Red Penny Papers, Fae Awareness prep, fundraising, and certain submissions that have left me feeling like I ripped my own heart out–more on that next time–demanded immediate attention upon my return. And apart from that last thing, they were all rather delicious, so there are no complaints here. Hell, that fundraiser actually restored some of my faith in humanity. Props, humanity.

Italy was, of course, wonderful. I say Italy, I should say Florence, because that’s all we saw. We had vague intentions of taking a side trip to Rome, but failed to tear ourselves away. There are a million and one reasons I chose Florence as my very first time ever Europe trip. (Yes. I have been to Tibet, but never set foot on the European continent–which is, incidentally, much easier to get to. Who knew?) I’d be lying if I said an affection for Tuscan wine wasn’t one of them, but we all know I drank my way through the vino della casas of Florence, I’m sure.

Honestly, though, it was the art and the Medici. I took a class on early Italian renaissance when I was an undergrad and sort of scoffed at the idea. God, Italian ren, it’s all been done, change the fuckin’ record. Yeah, obviously I fell in love with it, in spite of it being rather an early class and my professor having a low, soothing radio announcer’s voice that made me want to fall asleep in the dark of the museum auditorium. Convention says that the renaissance was initiated with the contest to decorate the Baptistery doors in Piazza del Duomo, just before the big old cathedral.

Ghiberti's Baptistery Doors, Florence

Ghiberti's Baptistery Doors, Piazza del Duomo, Florence. Click to embiggen.

Yeah, that’s B in the yellow jacket. He was following along with the little guidebook, reading the panels like a comic. (Life of John the Baptist. Of course.)

Extra cool points: two panels from the competition survive, those submitted by Ghiberti and Brunelleschi (who famously designed–well, everything, but the cathedral’s dome is a big one) for the honor of decorating these doors are in the Bargello, so we saw those a few days later. I remember writing an essay comparing and contrasting them in class and talking about why Ghiberti’s was so important from a compositional point of view. Ah, memories.

We also got to compare Michelangelo’s powerful David, famously ensconced in the Accademia gallery, but once placed before the Palazzo Vecchio as a symbol of the Awesome of Firenze, with Donatello’s smaller, sweeter one, which is considered to be the first nude figure of the renaissance. I thought I knew these two sculptures. Okay, I thought everyone did. But I gotta say, even knowing how huge Michelangelo’s was, I was still extremely O.o and way more impressed than I thought I’d be with how perfect the thing is. That said, I prefer Donatello’s, which B considered blasphemous.

Palazzo Veccio

Entrance to the Palazzo Vecchio in the Piazza della Signoria. Copies of Michelangelo's David and Bandinelli's Hercules and Cacus.

Fun fact: this is also the piazza where the Bonfire of the Vanities was held. I found a good book about Savonarola last year on the sale table at the National Gallery, which is the only reason I know this. I’m sitting there staring at this after a long ass day at the Uffizi (in which I saw every awesome painting ever, kinda) and suddenly thought of that and was like, “Holy fuck, I’m in FLORENCE.”

Anyhow, I was never much of a sculpture person when it comes to western art, more into paintings. But all the gorgeous Donatello was a highlight, and I consider myself a convert.

(And yes, I was singing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles theme a lot. “Leonardo leads, Donatello does machiiiiines… Raphael is cool, but rude, Michelangelo is a party dude!” I so so much stuff by all of them omg. Er, not the turtles, I mean–oh, nevermind.)

The other big highlight for me was the whole area around San Lorenzo–which was my favorite church of the whole visit, but it also helps that this spot, moreso than the rest of the city, is super heavy in Medici awesome. And yes, another historical obsession of mine, the Medici family, because they were fucking boss. The Medici Chapels are really popular and groovy, but there’s also  the Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana on the second storey of the cloister at San Lorenzo, which is one of the coolest places I’ve ever been, or ever will be. It’d be hard for any book person not to get excited over a 500 year old research library with manuscripts of  The Divine Comedy (Dante being a favorite son of Florence) and Horace as annotated by Petrarch (another favorite son).

Desk label from the Laurentian Library

Desk label with Petrarch and Alighieri mentions. Yes, I searched them all for this. I admit it.

And there was much more Medici awesome to be had, but the thing I think people probably miss out on if they only have a day or two is the Palazzo Medici-Riccardi. The supposed improvements committed there by the Riccardi family, who owned it later, are super florid and uninteresting to me (B: “It looks like the conference room at the Hilton…”), but it’s right across the square and totally worth the entrance fee just to see Gozzoli’s frescoes in the Magi Chapel. It’s this wonderfully intimate little room, somehow preserved through all the meddling in the centuries after the Medici moved to the Palazzo Vecchio.

I admit that I did a lot of amusing myself by reconstructing historical events in the courtyards and crap like that–hell, the whole time I was in the duomo all I could think of was Giuliano de Medici getting stabbed to death during high mass and  bleeding out on the floor. But that’s what I get for reading a book about the Pazzi conspiracy on the plane, I reckon. What can I say, that ugly bastard Lorenzo is another of my historical boyfriends.

Me and Il Magnifico

Me chillin with Lorenzo de Medici "Il Magnifico" outside the Uffizi.

In spite of being there for eleven days and ten nights, we didn’t get to see everything. But the souvenirs are nice. If you’ve ever had a letter from me, you might know I’m obsessed with Italian paper, particularly that popularly exported from Florence, so I had a field day there. Also, I now smell like Catherine de Medici. Otherwise, most of my souvenirs consist of guidebooks from various museums and churches… and a bunch of AC Fiorentina stuff. See the above picture for me with my scarf.

Also, I am not sure I can ever eat pizza again. Florence spoiled me utterly. God, the food. THE FOOD.

We did have one night in Milan–we got there early enough in the afternoon to walk down to the cathedral, passing La Scala and walking through the Gallery on the way, all of which were magnificent. But the highlight there was totally getting to have dinner with Zoe Whitten and husband.

And now back to your regularly scheduled diet of mean fairies, thirsty vampires, and similar nonsense.

Distraction Part 3: The Violence (sort of)

21 Jul

So I thought, “Hey, one more of those posts and I’d have one of my favorite Stereophonics albums! Guess Violence doesn’t count though…” (Language. Sex. Violence. Other? Right. Sorry. You know I can’t help myself.)

Violence doesn’t count as much as language and sex, though. In fact, it’s cool in most situations if violence is the story. Yeah, you get the odd complaint about children playing Rock Star Games like GTA (which, uh, this is a parenting issue, I’m thinking). But we all know it’s not the same, and it’s funny. Not funny “ha-ha” but funny sad. I’ve had this conversation with my brother repeatedly, but it can apply to so much stuff I’ve read. [ETA: A Book of Tongues for one. No one’s complaining about Chess randomly shooting people for looking at him sideways, I notice.] For all the violence, emotional and physical, in Scripped, you know what we both* warn certain interested parties** to beware if they pick it up when the time comes?

The sex. Like I say, it’s far from graphic. While there are awkward moments, the main relationship is the only (almost) bright spot in the story. Yet we know goddamn well it’s more likely to make people scream at my unsuspecting parents than the maiming and torture. Admittedly, part of that is the bisexual aspect, but the horse died yesterday, so yeah, even leaving that to one side, it says something.

I know this is not a new point. Hundreds, probably thousands have made it better than I could. but I think about it a lot, how it’s all over the media, ideals, biases, just in terms of the overarching western human culture that–while it varies from place to place–ties many of us together.

Mutilated corpses on prime time network television are a-okay. Yay, violent, willful destruction of human life!

But the f-bomb? OMG! Think of the children! (No one’s suggesting Sponge Bob should start swearing, man. For real.) Two consenting adults expressing their hormonal compulsion–er, I mean, love? Blasphemy! (Okay, some people aren’t comfy with physical intimacy on display. Perhaps they should avoid such shows. Just an idea.)

Really good comment that touches on that on the whole “sex as shame” issue here. I had a heart-breaking experience talking to some teenagers about slut-shaming recently, and… man. We wonder why kids are so screwed up.

I have no problem with fictional violence, clearly. I’m just saying. Priorities.

Thanks to everyone who’s dropped by with opinions, thoughts, and stories so far. As @Rhube also pointed out today, this is stuff that can really get people in a twist. The handful I usually get to talk with here aren’t like that. Everyone’s intelligent, and even more importantly, respectful of the intelligence of others–cuz you can’t have a conversation without having respect for someone else’s ability to form rational opinions of their own. But feel free to chime in anywhere along the line if you’ve got more to add, because this is still really good!


*My brother’s my greatest advocate. It’s not even his genre. Don’t let him fool you, he’s not as cynical and world-weary as he seems–he’s the nicest guy ever.

**Obviously we don’t warn everyone of this, just our parents’ friends, as a courtesy to Mom and Dad. The book isn’t for everyone–it isn’t even for most everyone, but screw anyone else who has a problem with it on those grounds. We just don’t want our parents, who worked their asses off for years to get to their current happily retired state of being, to deal with everyone bothering them to bring me to church and save me every Sunday for the rest of their lives.

Believe me, they tried. Didn’t take.

Contest update! Bonus content! Needless exclamation points!

15 May

Don’t forget, tomorrow (Monday) afternoon, I’m going to draw random winners for the Strange Love Contest. The entries kick so much ass, you guys. I love you. You can enter if you already have Cthulhurotica, too!

I’m always very interested in making weird pairings work. Anyone who ever read my fanfiction could tell you that, I guess. Poor traumatized dears.

I’m way too distracted just now by sundry edits and brilliant reads, so I’ll direct your attention to things that are far more interesting than, uh, me:

Here’s a video that will fuck with your head (warning: abusive relationship. It’s not going to Blue Velvet* lengths or anything, but I don’t want to trigger anyone):

I mostly just like that scene near the end with the dude’s hand twitching. And the slow-mo interior of the car crash. Duuuuude.

(What? I write horror! … most of the time.)

Also, I got my copy of Paul Duffield’s SIGNAL this week, and Jesus. I know I’ve gone on and on here about FREAKANGELS, but this is his one shot self-published comic. 14 pages. No words. Pretty pictures. So good. Like ouch good. He’ll even sign it for you if you ask. And he donated the originals to SETI to auction off! Come on!

K, done fangirling. See you tomorrow!

*Though there is kind of a David Lynchy aesthetic to Interpol… or not. Maybe it’s just because of that picture I saw of Paul Banks wearing a shirt with Dennis Hopper on it that said, “Don’t you fucking look at me!” [ETA: Found it! ‘Cept I can’t remember where it came from :/] I am sure the two are unconnected, but still. If I see any of them wearing an Eraserhead shirt I’ll consider it a thing.

Goddesses and Other Fearsome Things

12 Mar

Let me just get this super awesome thing said right here and now:

Ishtar will be out in November!

Ishtar from Giglamesh Press

You can click the scary gorgeous goddess for info (haha I typed “lick the scary gorgeous goddess first”… I’d say it’s Freudian on my part, but frankly it’s just Ishtar on the brain, for we’ve become, er, close recently). But the long and short of it is that these three remarkable authors–Kaaron Warren, Deborah Biancotti, and Cat Sparks–have created something beautiful. It’s a triptych, past, present, and future, all about Ishtar, the goddess of love and war and–

Well, I’ll let you find out. As the cover my co-editor and pal Amanda Pillar designed suggests, it’s a beautiful book.

Personally, I’m super invested in the project not just because I happen to work for Morrigan Books (Gilgamesh Press is a Morrigan imprint, the Little Brother/Sister, as it were) and be, you know, one of the eds , but because I have a goddess thing. I’ve mentioned several thousand times that my focus in school was South Asian art history, and the best parts of my last couple of years were devoted almost entirely to studying goddess ritual and temples. Obviously, Ishtar falls well outside my academic area (though not outside Amanda’s!), but there’s a certain kinship among goddesses, a thread that ties us to them and them to each other. Sometimes they love it, sometimes they hate it, but I’m glad for it, anyhow.

So that’s exciting news I’ve been wanting to drop, since I’m so into it. If I’ve seemed distracted you know why. Ishtar owns me. And that’s not a complaint :D

I am also learning Aussie slang, as I’m the odd American out. Bonus prize!

In the meantime I’ve been editing up a few of my own little stories–one that was published three years ago (the third one I ever sold! Nostalgia!) and another that has not been published yet–for the purposes of making up a little chapbook to give anyone mad clever enough to pre-order Scripped here in a few months.

Katey, you say, that’s so far off! Relax!

Oh, but it’s not, my friends. If all goes well, pre-orders begin in two and a half months!

And if Ishtar distracts me, that idea makes me an absolute basket case. And so I keep as busy as possible… but I really need to ask: any tips and tricks for relaxation (minus drugs and alcohol. I’m too old for drugs and I’ve got the other bit covered.) that y’all can share with me, my fellow writers? Because my back is feeling the bad effects of my unspeakable, irrational terror, and massages are effing expensive, you know.

I’d rather spend it on pretty paper and art for this chapbook. I like making pretty things. :D

I was gonna write about E-Book week and what’s been going on there, but I’m about to drop, and I think I get to go to Philadelphia tomorrow. And so I leave you with this, before it’s all over:

ebook week promo

It’s your last day to get Belfire e-books half off, y’all!

Now playing: Duke Yellman & His Orchestra – My Troubles Are Over
via FoxyTunes

Art, theater, writing

22 Feb

…and everything else awesome in the world.

Well, okay, maybe not everything. This whiskey on my desk is pretty damn good too–and there’s other stuff that comes to mind, but I’ll spare you.

So first, art. Anyone not viewing this in their rss reader will by now have noticed the presence of a new decoration–if we can call him that, poor little dear–at this here site. I talked to the magnificent C. Bernard (she did the Magdala portrait for The Red Penny Papers and our first cover based on Aaron Polson’s Abraham Reaver) about the possibility of a little sketch. See, I’ve had this character since I was 13 years old, and I always kind of wanted to get someone awesome to draw him. Someone awesome = Courtney.

As the sidebar now proves. So anyhow, that’s Aldo, and I posted a bigger version of him to twitpic earlier–it’s worth seeing to appreciate the full awesome. He’s been with me long enough and inspired enough stories (not to mention a tattoo) that he leveled up from Character to Official Muse ages ago. It’s only right then that he should be the poster boy for the blog.

So, sorry if your workplace gets mad if you have man nipples on your screen. For what it’s worth, he doesn’t think he should be without a shirt in public either. And he’s probably right, but his tattoos are important, dammit.

Also in art, I saw a prelim compositional sketch for some Scripped-related art my aunt is working on. Yeah, my aunt. My family is awesome, I know. But let’s just say I’ve been squeeing with art-loving joy all weekend, man.

Theater! I regularly spam this blog with tales of trips to the opera and other such theatricals, so no one will be surprised by this. We went to visit my parents for the long weekend, and my brother’s girlfriend, the remarkably talented and adorable Kassidy, was in a production of The Laramie Project at her university. Again, no surprises that I loved it–but even my husband, who is very wary of anything depressing, and my father, who is easily bored by drama, fell in love. If you ever get a chance to see it, please do. It’s fucking brilliant.

Helped that the production was fucking brilliant, though. As a fun side note, The Westboro Baptist dumbasses were supposed to stage a protest on campus–as they often do when this particular show is produced, both because of the subject matter and because Phelps is portrayed in all his genuine lunacy in the play. They were coming to the Sunday show… and failed to realize it was a matinee. I don’t know if they showed up at 6pm as they’d planned, but I hope they enjoyed finding out that the show was over and done with and no one gives a crap what they think.

Writing! I edited a bunch last week–final preparations for the RPP spring issue have been good to go for some time, but I’m also working on exciting things for Morrigan Books (said exciting things will be announced soon!), so life is good to me just now. But in my spare time–because this is my idea of a good time–I wrote an outline for a story for a project some may or may not have noticed me discussing with the lovely Carrie Cuinn on twitter. Yay for new stories!

I also saw The King’s Speech (which I loved), played Fable III (which I need), and ate at Primanti Bros (which is magic). So that’s me after the long weekend. How are y’all doing?

Now playing: Autour De Lucie – L’eau qui dort
via FoxyTunes


21 Nov

As she was scraping her needle over my arm, the tattoo artist asked me why I chose what I chose. I told her the long version, since we were kinda stuck there for a while, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing she’d ever heard. Her reaction proved me right, and I said, “Man, you must have a lot of really crazy stories about this stuff. You could write one hell of a book.” Which of course she can’t, since that’d be stealing other peoples’ stories, but still. I’ve read a lot of good horror stories about tattoos too.

There’s something about them that causes violent reactions in people. Like my brother thinks they’re gross. He says the human body is a perfect thing, and it’s impossible to improve on it, so it’s like ugly graffiti on a beautiful building. I mean, he has a point.

Intense curiosity, too, causing even the WASPiest of individuals to overcome their crushing politeness. I’ve had random middle aged dads with their kids in tow ask me on the beach what my tramp stamp says (and what language it’s in, which is always a fun conversation. It’s in Quenya, which is like… Tolkien Elf Latin). Older women in bars who catch a glimpse, relatives who roll their eyes, you know, that kind of thing. Ha!

Admiration, addiction, regret, whatever. It’s forever, and some people don’t like things that last forever. I, however, love things that last forever–or at least, as long as I will. There was a really cool article on Chris Ranier’s book about world tattoos in a recent issue of Smithsonian and the parting quote starts with: “We live in a culture where everything is disposable…”

I liked that. (Also, great article, check it out for some beautiful pictures.)

So by request, if you wanna see the new one, I’m gonna link it because tattoo pictures are really just close-ups of skin and that’s pretty gross. It’s my first tattoo for the muse, and that’s why it’s “upside down”, so I can see it. Obviously said muse is an alienated 15 year old kid, and I’d rather not forget him, especially now that I’ve pretty much outgrown whatever minimal angst I had at that age myself.

But props to Amy the awesome tattooist, who listened to me talk about my muse as if it were a living, breathing person, and never batted an eyelash.

If anyone who’s not a writer asks, though, I can always say it’s a Manic Street Preachers tattoo. I knew I wanted a muse tattoo right there for years, but it was This Joke Sport Severed that gave me the perfect word!

Plus, as a horror writer, it’s kind of fun to have that particular word across my radial artery, let’s face it.

Pet Project Art

27 Aug

Like the rest of you, I have a Pet Project. You know. My first Big Girl Book. The Book That Taught (and Is Still Teaching) Me How to Write Books. The book that’s staring down the barrel of an 11th draft and doesn’t flinch. The book I drafted in, wait for it, 2001. Before I knew what paranormal romance meant, I was churning out a big old lovefest chock full o’ blood and violence uncomfortably juxtaposed with Austen-esque moments. (See, I’ve come back around and I’m doing it again… sort of. Anyhow.)

It’s the book that I queried first, thinking f@$k it, it’ll be a learning experience. People were so unexpectedly encouraging that I didn’t despair at the rejections– even the ones that came after partial requests. If anything, it convinced me that if I worked, I’d get there some day. I wrote a bunch more books, but kept editing this one with both the advice of those total strangers who were nice to me, and my friends who’ve been helping me out all along.

It’s a tough sell– paranormal romance is popular now, and there’s a market for LGBTQ (nothing like a little bloodlust in your homoeroticism. I think Braham Stoker would agree with me there…), but only the first book is remotely relationship-centered. The second one is meant to be action/adventure. The third weirdly philosophical. The fourth is pure batshit angst. The final is the clusterf@$k that brings it all together and blows up the(ir little) world.

Hard sell indeed. Glad I didn’t know that back then, or I might never have started. And I’d be so bored without it.

Not sure if I’ll ever query it again, or if it’ll just be my baby, but at this point, does it matter much? It’s not going anywhere. So when I saw how pretty the rad Izzy Illustration looked on the page for The Audio File project, there was really no way this wasn’t going to happen. All projects need love, and some more than others, so I asked the lovely and talented Corinne Duyvis to cook one up for the MC of my pet project, which for now goes by the overarching epic title The Family.

Even if you hate pretty vampires and paranormal romance on principle (which you probably should, all things considered), have a look, because Cory is a wizard at character interpretation. He’s a bookworm and a gamer and a sociopath, and honestly kind of a stupid son of a bitch. But he makes a nice decoration, I think you’ll agree. Witness the blond glory of Liam Corchoran.

ETA: Full disclosure. I just re-read that paragraph that said, “I might never have started it” and got a little voice in the back of my head going, “Yeah f@$king right.” This is what I mean about being bored without it.

Now playing: Felix Mendelssohn – The Hebrides Overture, Op.26, “Fingal’s Cave”
via FoxyTunes

Pictures at an Exhibition

7 Aug

Today will be the final day of my family visit– it’s been my brother and a sort of bonus sister. We’ve done all the usual DC things, plus some unusual ones, plus watching a metric ass-ton (yep, metric) of Mystery Science Theater 3000. Yesterday was the National Gallery, and I was trying to twitpic things from there, but got denied. Because of course the one day I want to twitter while they’re here, twitter is dead. So here we go– more pictures from my crappy camera phone. Since I always talk here about how the Nat Gallery makes me want to write, this is why (click for huge versions):

Jean DuBuffet, "Bertele as a Blossoming Bouquet, Sideshow Portrait"
Jean DuBuffet, Bertele as a Blossoming Bouquet, Sideshow Portrait

Brassaï, "The Imp, Belleville, Paris"
Brassaï, The Imp, Belleville, Paris (This picture doesn’t really do it justice– it’s a photograph of something he found on a wall in Paris, though.)

Sandro Botticelli, "Portrait of a Youth"
Sandro Botticelli, Portrait of a Youth (Does anyone else have the edition of Machiavelli’s “The Prince” with this on the cover? I saw it in the Gallery a few years ago for the first time and was overly excited by the association.)

Pretty random selection from the very little we got through yesterday, now that I see them together, but hey, whatever works. Inspiration is a weird, addictive creature.