Angadi Galleria Quotes

Trip Advisor: Travel America with Haiku [Texas]
Grackles roosting,
sentinels on miles of phone line.
Don't Mess with Texas.

Austin rush hour, "Go
down Mopac. You don't wanna
mess with I-35."

Athens, Texas,
Blackeyed Pea Capital of the World.
Yup, just another shithole.

Killeen, Texas,
Kill City, Boyz from Fort Hood.
Spending every paycheck.

Texas A&M;,
Aggies football, the wired 12th man.
Too lazy to plant in the Spring.

Fredericksburg, Texas.
Polka Capital of Texas but
I could swear I saw Hitler there.

Ft. Worth, Texas,
Where the West Begins and
a great place to leave.

San Antonio, Texas,
Fiesta! Alamo City! Northstar Mall!
I've been to better tourist traps.

Dallas, Texas,
D-Town, City of Hate.
Don't miss the Galleria.

Lubbock, Texas,
Oil wells, Hub of the Plains.
Stinks like an armpit.

Waco, Texas,
The Buckle of the Bible Belt.
Lossen it up a notch.

Neck dragon tattoo, piercings,
purple haired kindergarten teacher.
Keep Austin weird. ~ Beryl Dov

At the Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica, I stood before Carrivagio's Judith Beheading Holofernes and did not once think about chickens. ~ Tara Westover

My back hit the wall. He closed in with an almost terrifying intensity. His muscular body boxed me in.
"Rogan," I warned. In my head, a song played over and over, singing to me in a seductive voice, Rogan, Rogan, Rogan, sex . . . want . . .
"Remember that dream you had?" His voice was low, commanding.
"Rogan!"
The delicious warmth danced around my neck.
"Where I had no clothes?"
The warmth split and slid over me, over the sensitive nerves in the back of my neck, over my collarbone, around my breasts, cupping them and sliding fast to the tips, tightening my nipples, then sliding down, over my stomach, over my sides and butt, down between my legs. It was everywhere at once, and it flowed over me like a cascade of sensual ecstasy, overloading my senses, overriding my reason, and rendering me speechless. I hurtled through it, trying to sort through the sensations and failing. My head spun.
He was right there, masculine, hot, sexy, so incredibly sexy, and I wanted to taste him. I wanted his hands on me. I wanted him to press himself against the aching spot between my legs.
His arms closed around me. His face was too close, his eyes enticing, compelling, excited. "Let's talk about that dream, Nevada."
I was trapped. I had nowhere to go. If he kissed me, I would melt right here. I would moan and beg him, and I would have sex with him right here, in the Galleria, in public.
A spark of pain drained down my arm, driven by pure instinct ~ Ilona Andrews

The credit for Erté's rediscovery must be given to French writer Jacques Damase, who met the artist when preparing a book on the Parisian music-hall. It was not merely his active presence which astounded Damase, but the fact that neatly stored away were thousands of perfectly preserved drawings representing a life's work. The immediate result was an exhibition at Galerie Motte in 1965, organised with Jacques Perrin, who the following year held another exhibition at his own gallery in Paris. Through the Motte exhibition, Erté was brought to the attention of galleria Milano, which in 1965 included some of his work in a pioneering exhibition of Art Déco. The most prominent event in this sequence was was Erté inclusion in the important exhibition Les Années 25 held at Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Paris, in 1966, which put an historical and artistic seal on Art Déco and the diverse artistic activities of the 'twenties.

It is fair to say, however, that complete international reappraisal only came about after Grosvenor gallery in London became his world agents. Jacques Damase had suggested an exhibition of Erté's work to this London gallery, to which, at that time, I was acting as an art consultant. As a result we were able to prepare his first ever London exhibition in 1967. The remarkable success it achieved was presaged by a smaller exhibition in New York a few months earlier. It had planned to follow the London show with a similar collection in new York, based on work b ~ Charles Spencer