Naamit (prime)
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[[Category: Giantman player characters]]
Naamit DMVMD-Braggiani (formerly DMonica) is a giantman bard and devout follower of Mularos. She resides at an estate outside the elven city of Ta'Illistim. She is an avid collector of whips and among her extensive collection, Holy Scourge is the most famous. She took the last name Braggiani in deference to apparent human ancestry in her bloodline, which she confirmed after obtaining the legendary weapon.
Described by some as an iron fist in a silken glove, Naamit is both charismatic and ruthless. She has a particular dislike for the smell of roses and if left long enough, the scent will drive her into a maddened rage. She is keenly interested in learning secrets so Loresinging is a natural fit for her. Naamit does not, however, sing for pleasure or audience.
Naamit is a Master Painter.
History
Rumored to have been born on Eorgaen 12, 5061, Naamit took up residence in Wehnimer's Landing in 5096. She was married to Lord Tabalt Valkiryan, a dwarven warrior, until his unexpected death following a lucrative business deal in the following year. In the summer of 5098, she married Lord Reveko Mwani, a giantman ranger, to solidify a business venture, however he vanished under questionable circumstances sometime thereafter. She moved to Ta'Illistim in 5101, but still owns property in Wehnimer's Landing. Naamit was given the mark of Mularos in the form of a scar upon her neck on 23 Charlatos, 5102, presumably by the Painlord Eryael just prior to his arrival to Ta'Illistim. She fought on the side of the Dark Alliance during the Griffin Sword War and grew close to Harith Caerines, the self-ascribed Whip of Mularos. Harith appointed Naamit as proxy Whip, in the event unfortunate circumstances befell her, which they eventually did. Naamit rescued Harith's soul (albeit temporarily) from the Pale in 5103, but was unable to maintain control of Ta'Illistim in Harith's stead. She also formed a close friendship with Ysharra, and their affinity persists beyond the pain of time.
Naamit previously led a cult known as the Harem Dzosch; the group faded into obscurity upon her disappearance sometime between 5104 and 5106.
Naamit returned to the Elven Nations in 5116 after a decade-long journey of searching for any possible remnant of her former mentor, Harith. She took up residence at an estate outside the elven city of Ta'Illistim and restarted a small, but rewarding private business there. She was officially recognized as a Master Painter in Ivastaen, 5117, and granted Grand Lady status in Lumnea of the same year. Naamit was briefly bonded to Heartfire Durden, a giantman guardian, following a bloodbath in the Duskruin Arena trials of Phoenatos, 5117. In the year 5118, Naamit acquired a piece of black ora shaped curiously like the hilt of her whip; the antithetical artifact turned her neck to ruin, rendering her singing voice to sound like the piercing wail of a banshee. Storms are said to precede her arrival ever since.
During 5119, Naamit forged a sanguine bond with a Meek (protector of balance) named Aahlara, or The Bloody, who presided over the Blood World version of an Elanthian alternate reality. The blood eagle Meek gave her a special device that would cause the Fallen Meek named Nazhor great harm. On Lumnea 15, Naamit confronted and killed Nazhor, after solving a series of complex puzzles meant to shield his location but she did not use the device the Blood had created. On Koaratos 22, he indeed returned with demons at his side, just as he'd sworn he would as he lay dying some months prior. With aid of the Blood nullifying agent, adventurers were able to oust Nazhor and silence him once and for all, solidifying the seat of a new Meek, Elspie, in this dimension.
Appearance
- It is difficult to get a good look at Naamit due to the number of mirror images of her nearby.
- You see Mistress Naamit DMVMD-Braggiani the Harbinger of the Harrows.
- She appears to be a Giantman.
- She is shorter than average. She appears to be youthful. She has piercing vibrant green eyes and pale, alabaster skin. She has thick locks of long, glossy black hair flowing down her back beneath the drape of a sparkling black lace mantilla. She has an angular face, a prominent nose and a fleshy, muscular build with generously proportioned hips. She has a myriad of thin chain-shaped scars running across her exposed flesh.
- She has a deep black cuff of finely polished glaes in the middle of her nose, a deep black ring of finely polished glaes in her lip, a faint scar on her neck, some cross-like blackwork extending from the neck downward past her collarbone, and a tattoo of a crimson heart pierced with a silver dagger on her chest.
- She is holding a barbed white ora whip with a cross-like handle in her right hand and a red chaos whip in her left hand.
- She is wearing a writhing black ora cross, a sable lambswool cloak trimmed with ebon-tipped ermine tails, a black iron symbol wrapped in white leather and embossed with a blood-red heart, a firm hourglass girdle of black onyx samite over a lustrous cloth-of-eahnor gown awash in shadowy patination, and some sanguine velvet chopines lofted on scarred ebonwood heels.
Biographic excerpts
| Descent, a window into the Nazhor Chronicles |
http://forums.play.net/forums/GemStone%20IV/Cities,%20Towns,%20and%20Outposts/Mist%20Harbor/view/2007 Descent I -- Early Lumnea, 5119 Naamit struggled to make it back that evening. Her body was broken and mind laid to waste. But made it, she did. She had to. Sacrifice was an exigent rite. She was bound to... Where? Night sank around her as she lowered herself into the hot spring that feeds Wraithenmist, yet her worries were not washed away so easily. Nazhor. She could have bound and nullified him. Or whipped him harder and pressed for information. Why did he thank her as his body hit the floor? Why did she ki.. Damn, the way those lifeless ale brown eyes stared back at her. Should she be proud of herself now? She hadn't even used the trick the Adversary had given her. She didn't feel very proud. Instead, she was filled with foreboding doom and the keen sense her brain was deeply addled. But knowing everything was wrong meant she wasn't mad, right? Wrong. She should have done many things. She was bound to... What? But some things did make sense, and that was what she learned: Nazhor would be back. A Reckoning was at hand and demons waited in the wings. Elspie also required help to ascend and it needed to come in the form of others. Foci for her power. Nearly two months had passed since Darcena learned her past and the door to Nazhor's laboratory had been revealed. Nearly fifty days had passed since Elspie took up the challenge. Naamit hadn't even the capacity to count properly when she told Elspie about the renewed sense of urgency. But she knew, if Elspie failed, Nazhor would regain his position. Naamit knew she couldn't let this happen. She was bound to... When? Naamit ducked beneath the warm water, wondering who Nazhor's acolytes had been. She watched the amber lanterns waver as her air supply dwindled, their scant light distorted by the ripples above her. His shadows were everywhere, dancing even there, just beyond the hawthorn boughs. She considered naming them as her breath expired. Bubbles escaped her lips as she whispered underwater, "needful little things." She was bound to... Who? She rose from the spring and descended deep within the mountain, clad in nothing but darkness. Down, down, down. But the demons followed. Naamit prepared herself for the rite and pierced her shoulders with the razern hooks. She swore she saw them, Little, Things, and Needful, there in the shadows as they skirted the brazier's light. It couldn't be. Not here in the shrine of her Master. But still, she felt something watching her as she hung like a bird, suspended by the meat hooks driven neatly into her flesh. Crimson luminescence flitted upward from the cracked glaes orb upon the shrine's altar in response to the blood dribbling down her back, readily receiving her sacrifice. "Blood? Are you there?" The silence grew deafening as the shadows crept ever closer. Descent II -- Early Koratos, 5119 http://forums.play.net/forums/GemStone%20IV/Cities,%20Towns,%20and%20Outposts/Mist%20Harbor/view/2045 Naamit struggled to sleep that evening. Sacrifice was an exigent rite and her mind just hadn't been with it. Hadn't been with it for days. Something was missing. She was missing... Where? Night sank around her as she lowered herself into the hot spring that fed an unfamiliar place and her worries were not washed away even with the passing of the midnight hour. Knowing everything was wrong meant she wasn't bad, right? Wrong. She should have done many things. She should have done many things differently. She was missing... What? Feeling nothing but regret after the moment when triumph had struck left her deeply disturbed. Was that the same feeling the Crimson Hawk felt when he slayed her sister? Did the man go mad, or believe himself a hero? And yet it was for naught: the hole in her heart was too great. The portion of her soul, once sacrificed and now lost forever. She should have known better. Oh Harith. How I love thee even still. She was missing... When? The needful little things upon the Isle. So helpless and incapable of doing what was needed. But what they needed wasn't necessarily in her best interest, either. Not then, and clearly not now. Such a curious conundrum. If only they could be put to a better purpose with a more focused cause. She was missing... Who? She rose from the spring and knelt upon a flat rock in the adjacent weeds and selected several bulrush. Plucking the tender stalks, she soaked their lengths in the water and braided them into a makeshift flog and began a second nightly ritual. The little lash barely left a red mark, despite her best intentions. So, she located a small, jagged rock and began to flay her flesh upon the soles of her feet. And yet she felt nothing. Dipping hand into pool, she cupped a fist of sand and rubbed it into her wounds. Still, nothing. On hands and knees, she bashed her own face upon her perch in desperation. Once. twice, three times, and then: **CRUNCH.** Ocular socket and nose fractured, blood began to flow from her face and mar the wet boulder beneath her and then she collapsed. In a faint but harsh voice Naamit croaked, "Blood? Are you there?" The silence grew deafening, pierced only by the quiet cries of her own lonesome sobbing as her pleas went unmet and unanswered. Tune for your thoughts? -- Late Koaratos, 5119 http://forums.play.net/forums/GemStone%20IV/Cities,%20Towns,%20and%20Outposts/Mist%20Harbor/view/2085 Naamit enters the tavern and orders a drink. Tea. So typical. She selects a barrel chair across the way and watches the bartender squeamishly help another customer with a bowl of viscous broth. "Heard any new news, friend?" No response. Naamit watches the bartender hum idly to himself without rhyme or reason as he moves on to sweep the floor of his tavern needlessly. She mutters bitterly, "Needful. Little. Things." The shadows knew she knew, she saw them looming overhead as she inspected the damage to Socius's office. She sips her tea, ruminating over the destruction she found in Hale Hall. "TOO FAR," those words seemed to read, though clearly the implements used to scrawl those plank walls were not suitable for further explanation. Pity. Catching the man between his chores, she offers, "Say, let me teach you a tune. It ought to be easy enough to pick up." Naamit skillfully croons, "Hmmm hmhm Hmmm... Hm mmhm mmhm Hmm Hmmmm." Greth pays her little mind as she repeats the simple troll once, twice, and a third time. He goes on to assist other customers, nodding to a trio of half-elven women as he is always wont to do. Tea finished, Naamit rises from the barrel chair and strolls out the doors, a perfect little angry death march sustained upon her pursed lips. Descent III -- Late Koaratos, 5119 http://forums.play.net/forums/GemStone%20IV/Cities,%20Towns,%20and%20Outposts/Mist%20Harbor/view/2045 Naamit slumps down at her rosewood desk and began to pen a letter. Brow furrowed deeply, lips turned down, leaving it clear she was a jumble of anger, resentment, disappointment and loss. "Dear Socius, I want to let you know.." Does he even care? She struck through the few words, crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the wastebasket, only to begin anew. Pleasant fragrance from the cup of tea beside her filtered past her nostrils invitingly, but she ignored its wanton offering. "Socius, come back. You cannot aban..." Would he even get the letter? She struck through the few words, crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the wastebasket, only to begin anew. Her quill pressed far too hard to the parchment, she scratched a few short words: "Socius. You F...!" No. no he wouldn't. And there was nothing more to be said. Naamit rose from her desk, folding the paper in half, then tore it in two. She tossed each end into the fireplace, but the right half missed its mark, fluttering to the front of the hearth, safe from imminent immolation. The sequestered word scrawled upon the scrap burned against her eyes with the smoldering backdrop, worse than the red rage that gnawed at her heart and her gut. It stared right back at her mockingly, as if the inanimate object was capable of such bizarre indignation. That word... "FOOL" And with that, there was nothing more to be rote. Descent IV -- Early Imaerasta, 5119 http://forums.play.net/forums/GemStone%20IV/Cities,%20Towns,%20and%20Outposts/Mist%20Harbor/view/2085 [Darkened Hall, Oculus] This space is perfectly round, with a gently sloping ceiling that rises to a small opening at its peak. Through this opening, the light outside comes through and strikes a deeply-flawed crystal mounted in the floor. The floor underneath is firmly packed dirt, and the walls are sheer stone, but the room is curiously bereft of the echoes one would expect from such a space. her also see a narrow doorway. Obvious exits: none. Naamit turned her albumen dagger toward her heart and bowed her head, eyes cast downward. Naamit growled, "Blood, hear my call! A sacrifice, I give you!" With careful precision, Naamit used her albumen dagger to slice a long, deep line across her left palm. Blood immediately pooled along the surface of the cut. She retrieved a piece of parchment from her bag and clenched her fist upon it, adding to the sanguine stain already present upon its wax-sealed grain. Albumen dagger held high, Naamit threw her head back, arching her body severely as she released a heathen scream -- She then plunged the dagger into her her heart! Gurgling gasps replace her heretical howl, as she collapsed upon the crystal. Naamit harshly croaks, "So that we may finish what we started..." As her light faded, the blood from her mortal wound seeped into the deeply flawed crystal positioned centrally in the chamber, filling its once-empty heart with a freshly sanguine, viscous core. The bloodstained parchment fell from her fleeting grasp and disintegrated before hitting the floor, winking out of existence with the same wrenching anguish from which it had been borne. Nothingness ensued for quite some time as the woman laid dead, the susurrus of a constant rain reverberating through the Oculus. And then at last, midnight struck and the distant screech of an avian presence broke through the din. Descent V -- Late Imaerasta, 5119 http://forums.play.net/forums/GemStone%20IV/Cities,%20Towns,%20and%20Outposts/Mist%20Harbor/view/2100 Naamit returned to her estate in the far northeast region of the DragonSpine in the early hours of Volnes. Nothing about Restday had gone as hoped, save for her absence on the Isle of Four Winds. She couldn't bear to watch the culmination of her actions. Providing them with the key to nullify Nazhor, was the right decision in the eyes of some. In the hole where her own heart and soul languish, it was dead wrong. The blood eagle meek known as Aahlara was Naamit's kindred spirit. Blood they each called themselves, in an existence where this-world Naamit was likely meant to reign. They gave to each other, and cared for each other -- insofar as any Blood truly could. Eye to eye, the two souls met and found a common bond. But they had to FEED. They had to FEED the bond, despite the connection. It was a delicate dance rife with pain, carefully sowed through nights of anguish toward a common goal. A loyalty of the heart. Naamit recalled an argument she had when Ceyrin confronted her over a business matter. His words bit at her, as she'd laid bare her soul: "I'm sorry that you've never truly experienced love" How wrong he was, for the price of progress was steep. Naamit disrobed and approached the hot spring, her former mentor Harith keenly on her mind. She traced the steps of her descent with each inch of the water rising as the heat baked into her fresh scars. The blood rite was seen as blasphemous to tender minds. For better or worse, they only knew the half of it and had seen a mild demonstration of the months of sacrifice she endured. They didn't understand what she had sacrificed so balance could be restored. Harith lived on in the Blood world as Aahlara confirmed, when first they met in the parallel world. By calling on Blood and forging that bond, by resetting the balance, Naamit could no longer cling to a hope--no longer grasp onto a dream that she and her mentor, Harith Caerines, would be reunited in the world of her kindred spirit, Blood. And in the process, she lost another bond. Now that the rift was repaired, Aahlara the Bloody and Harith the Whip of Mularos were gone from her forever. Hope and Love: the ultimate sacrifices she could give. |
Publications and assorted stories
| Mularosian Cadance. Gloumerrick Publishing House, 5103 |
a scarlet glaes tome >look tome Dark and pale silver inlay combine with the translucent scarlet glaes to produce the crest of Mularos upon the surface of the tome. The lines of text on the first page can dimly be glimpsed through the cover, shadowed in sanguine light and faintly touched by the glaes's natural iridescence, though they are not visible enough to be read. A teardrop-cut black diamond has been set into the spine, and engraved letters running down the spine read, "Mularosian Cadence, by Naamit D. Monica". > Naamit D. Monica Mistress of the Harem Dzosch Years ago, I sought answers and information on my master, Lord Mularos. In these endeavors, I encountered Lord Stumo, who spent many of his own years seeking the answers and clarity I so desired. It is then, that I began to learn all that I could from the man. Years prior, a hooded man came to Wehnimer's Landing and spoke of Lord Mularos. During that visit, Lord Stumo learned of the fate of Mularos - The explanation for His silence.The lore Lord Stumo came across those years ago is the basis for what has since become known as the beginning of Mularosian Cadence. I have said innumerable times that the Mularos we think of today was not the Mularos of times passed. For long ago Phoen, Kai, and Mularos were allies. Their relationship however, was not of equal portions; Phoen and Kai held a much closer bond. Their natures were vastly more competitive and brutish than that of Mularos. Yet within this, Mularos possessed the charm and physical beauty the other two lacked - Perhaps as a result of his less barbaric nature. For some reason, (one which I care not to speculate on too heavily lest it be grossly incorrect) Kai specifically took a disliking for Mularos and thus Kai sought to destroy him. Mularos was set to the rack and given lashings by Kai's favored minions. It was enough to destroy most anyone; yet oddly, Mularos did not perish. He was wounded, doubt you not! After a time, with each lashing, he grew from the suffering. When it was announced to Kai that his methods were appearing unsuccessful, he sought the assistance of his brother Phoen. In turn, Phoen suggested a visit to Eonak, metalsmith of the Arkati, for further assistance. In the meantime, Mularos continued growing from the repeated torture and broke free of his bonds and moved to strike out at Kai! M'Lord struck him such a blow, such an infliction, that Kai was fairly undone for a time. As a result of his own actions, Mularos was further empowered. But not done is the tale, for Phoen saw the happenings and sought out Eonak himself. Phoen rushed to Eonak with a plan for some enclosure to keep Mularos from destroying them all (mind you, Phoen failed to relay the whole story to Eonak). Disgusted with what had transpired, the metalsmith set to create the cell of Phoen's request- One that would keep Mularos at bay for all time. A trap was set; Mularos was captured and then forced into the cell forged by Eonak. Shortly thereafter, Mularos nearly escaped as his strengthening power had been underestimated by the metalsmith. Eonak couldn't let his creation be undermined that easily, no! He reinforced the tomb with glaes, a magical volcanic glass, and placed upon this tomb, a lock of the strongest magical material he could possibly create. The chamber was placed in the Sea of Fire, a desert region rather well-visited by the likes of the Sun. This place was chosen so that a close eye could be kept on the chamber to ensure Mularos would not again escape. The tomb was so strong that indeed, Mularos could not escape. Due to the translucent nature of the material Eonak used to reinforce the tomb, Phoen's fury literally baked Mularos's flesh for half of each day! But again as before, Mularos's ways and powers were underestimated and misunderstood by those who meant to destroy him. The Sea of Fire, by its very nature, harms. The situation Mularos was placed in, while seemingly irrevocable, is nearly ideal. Lord Mularos continues to grow and strengthen within the impenetrable tomb; not only through his own suffering, but through the pain of others, just as he had in times passed. As Stumo set out to answer years ago, I too wish an end to my master's imprisonment. Yet, I know that this is impossible - For His continual suffering is the truth in the binding rhythms of His sacrifice. He bleeds for us, as we bleed for him. The inevitability of this dual servitude cannot be undone. |
| Menya. Ebon Gate Storytelling contest, 5117 |
Naamit takes a few steps in a small circle. (Naamit screws up her face a moment and shakes her head.) (Naamit stares a moment at her warm rooibos and assumes a somber, emotionless countenance.) Naamit tilt your head up. Naamit slowly begins, "Last night I had a dream.." Roblar smiles at Naamit. Naamit says, "Seven years ago, I was found injured. I do not remember how it happened or where I was exactly. A woman picked me up, nursed me back to health she was like the sister I never had. I think. My childhood is a blur, but faint memories of a pine forest and a small brood of girls happily watched by a tall, broad-shouldered man, this is what plagues my memories despite being dreams." Naamit closes her eyes for a moment. Naamit glances away. Naamit simply states, "The woman who saved me in the dream, Menya, she was an average-statured woman with brunette hair, so wavy and long. She wore it in a tousled bun and long tendrils perpetually waved around her freckled face." Naamit distantly says, "Menya's eyes, those pale grey eyes, framed with a spattering of freckles. I will never forget them. She may have been a stranger, but never will I forget her love for me. I don't know how or why she saved me. How I miss her." Naamit takes a few steps back. Naamit wistfully says, "Menya used to say, "I love you like my own, love me for who I am. I have saved you and will call you my Leskelle, my happy love." Menya used to say I smiled as she was nursing me back to health. She said I knew her caring was from the heart." Naamit nods slowly. Naamit tilts her head down. Naamit sincerely says, "I believe it was true." Naamit sighs. Naamit solemnly reveals, "Menya indeed nursed me to a fit state, having mended what remained of my left arm which was severed at the forearm. Menya said she would take care of me. She said I could still love, even with one arm. She said I could become a productive warrior. I never wanted to fight anyone, but she didn't ask that." Naamit ponders. Naamit adds, "At night she would tie me to a tree as I slept to keep me safe. From the bears, she said." Naamit sadly muses, "Menya taught me how to speak without my voice. We moved together, silently. Menya brought me to her people. Other women, who, like me, were afflicted with terrible wounds. These women were all beautiful beyond compare. Not even the maimed were unskilled." Naamit traces the lines of her faint scar. Naamit curiously says, "I noticed after a time, those injured women seemed to follow the unflawed. Menya told me the women were merely obedient in the face of authority. She told me who I should watch out for." Naamit takes a few steps back. Naamit continues, "Months and years went by with Menya. I loved her as a sister, I loved her as she was." Naamit's lower lip trembles slightly. Naamit regretfully says, "Menya left me most tragically. We had left the brood to hunt the red stag. How I enjoyed hunting red stag. We were taken down by a pack of bears. She was mauled terribly." Naamit's eyes suddenly flash with a pale grey glow. Naamit tightens her grip on her warm rooibos. Naamit remorsefully cries, "My Menya was dead when I awoke, her parts torn asunder. What I thought were bears had been very hairy men." Naamit inhale sharply, hissing through her teeth. (Naamit glares around the audience, eyeing each man carefully.) Naamit points at Roblar. Naamit spits, speaking vehemently to Roblar, "You. I did not know who you were then, but you professed to have been saving me from the twine and bondage. From certain imprisonment and the filth of womanhood." Roblar pulls the ivory-fanged bear head hood of his bear hide greatcloak over his head, gaining coverage from the gelidity. Roblar narrows his eyes. Naamit scrubs her hand through her lustrous charcoal black hair in frustration. Roblar cracks his knuckles! Roblar's stomach growls. Naamit angrily curses, "Had Menya not died, I would have run away with her. She was what I loved and not You! Are YOU that bear, of this I am stil not certain!" Naamit takes a deep breath. Naamit turns away from Roblar, ignoring him. Naamit mumbles, speaking cryptically to herself, "But it is Visne, he calls me now. I am not Leskelle for my Menya and my women, she and they are no more." Naamit sighs. (Naamit takes a moment to compose herself.) Naamit confusedly speculates, "I still think he was lying when he claims I was once his wife. It is irrelevant at this point. That was years ago and he treated me well. He states he nursed me back to health and will love me always. He has, and in this I must put my faith." Naamit suddenly reveals, "I remember brief glimpses of something. A brood of girls and a tall man wearing bear skin. And then, there are only women. They serenade a disboweled and broken man just before they are flung to the wind, each upon the back of a golden eagle. They look down upon the earth in triumph, but their names and faces are gone and the seance is ruined." Naamit raises her hand. Naamit hurriedly gushes, "I can only hope to someday remember who they -- Who I -- Truly am in any of this." Naamit vaguely concludes, "And tonight, perhaps I will dream of another broken man." Naamit glances at Roblar. Naamit takes a few steps back. Naamit bows. Roblar gazes at Naamit with a deadpan expression and applauds in slow motion. Roblar pushes the ivory-fanged bear head hood of his bear hide greatcloak onto his shoulders, exposing himself to the frigidity. |
Painting
By way of a painting easel.
| Portraiture |
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A Heroic Giantkin Male Portrait
A Sultry Aelotoi Male Portrait
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
a pewter fillet-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
a scalloped ivory-framed painting
a scalloped ivory-framed painting
a scalloped ivory-framed painting
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| Landscapes and Still Lifes |
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A Bench Painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
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| Experimental |
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
an elaborate gold-framed painting
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