neil-gaiman
trevsplace:

Mike Dringenberg & Malcolm Jones IIISandman vol. 1, issue 8, page no. 13"The Sound of Her Wings"August 1989Ink on board.From the collection of Saunter LeeHere’s another photo from the Cartoon Art Museum's Sandman exhibit (held earlier this year). Sandman issue no. 8 is widely regarded as being a key issue in the Sandman series, for it introduces the reader to Dream's sister, Death. More photos are forthcoming. Links to my previous original Sandman art photos, are listed below:
Death: by Sam Kieth
Sandman 70: Which Occurs in The Wake of What Has Gone Before
The Endless: Still Life With Cats
Sandman vol. 1, issue 1, page no. 1: Sleep of the Just

trevsplace:

Mike Dringenberg & Malcolm Jones III
Sandman vol. 1, issue 8, page no. 13
"The Sound of Her Wings"
August 1989
Ink on board.
From the collection of Saunter Lee

Here’s another photo from the Cartoon Art Museum's Sandman exhibit (held earlier this year). Sandman issue no. 8 is widely regarded as being a key issue in the Sandman series, for it introduces the reader to Dream's sister, Death.

More photos are forthcoming.

Links to my previous original Sandman art photos, are listed below:

neil-gaiman

Five almost identically dressed, pale young women walked past him. They wore long dresses made of velvet, each dress as dark as night, one each of dark green, dark chocolate, royal blue, dark blood, and pure black. Each woman had black hair and wore silver jewelry; each was perfectly coifed, perfectly made up. They moved silently: Richard was only aware of a swish of heavy velvet as they went past, a swish that sounded almost like a sigh.

Five almost identically dressed, pale young women walked past him. They wore long dresses made of velvet, each dress as dark as night, one each of dark green, dark chocolate, royal blue, dark blood, and pure black. Each woman had black hair and wore silver jewelry; each was perfectly coifed, perfectly made up. They moved silently: Richard was only aware of a swish of heavy velvet as they went past, a swish that sounded almost like a sigh.

observando
The way she cried wasn’t fancy, It held no charm. It illuminated every trace of beauty in her, it wasn’t poetic as in the way they tell us in books and show us in movies. It’s not rain drops twinkling out of a distant cloudy sky, it was rather a mixture of water and soil. It was mud, dirty, messy and slippery. I’d look away if I hadn’t loved her,but I do look, blankly without doing anything. I hate mud! But then the magic comes and with her I know it always would. The way she dries up pulling her cracked face into a bend smile that crowds all her features enough for her eyes to sink back to her soul. That was weirdly beautiful. A wizardly smile and all of a sudden, just like that, I am in-love with mud. wanting to watch that all over again.
Nada Fallatah (via observando)