See what I did there?  (Try saying it out loud.)  Whatever.  There is a fair amount of “art” here in the MSC–this is where we’ve come to look at glass paperweights and cameo glass and other vitreous doo-dads.  There are also some odd sculptures and quite a few paintings.

Sigyn is admiring a rather nice painting of some buildings in various stages of disrepair.


The human female has opined that it is a Canaletto and has begun to blather about famous landscape paintings and What I Saw In London, and so on.

Do you know what?  I do not care.  I do not care where she has been or what she has seen, and the last laugh is on her, because…

…this is not a painting.


Look, Sigyn!  It is made of tiny, tiny pieces of glass.  Spun enamel, the card says.  How interesting!  Would you like to have your portrait made in this fashion?  You would be beautiful no matter the medium employed.

That picture was up on the second floor.  Now were are back downstairs again, taking a little rest on a bench here.  Sigyn is delighted with the upholstery.


Yes, my love the black and white spots are quite attractive, and the shaggy surface is indeed unlike the sofa back home.

Poor dear.  I haven’t the heart to tell her that it’s pony hide

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