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i-think-pictures · 1 year
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ansrommers-1234 · 5 months
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a2umqk9dsiuhd · 1 year
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Asian non Nude sexy Amateur Smoking Facial Cumshot Compilation COLEGIALA DE PERRITO Petite but hung ladyboy fetish blowjob and anal sex Private sex auditions first time Krissy Lynn in The Sinful Stepmother 21Sextreme GILF Tongues Teen's Anus Lips Big Boobs German Mature Enjoyable twink bareback session with a pinch of deepthroat Wet Pussy Creampies Are The Best La putita de Flor Araceli Olvera se pone cachonda y deja que la monte para meterle la verga
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Valentino Haute Couture Spring 2021
Model: Anneliek Heuvel
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balu8 · 2 months
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January Jones
by Eic Heuvel
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decorumviris · 11 months
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edithshead · 9 months
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Anneliek Heuvel by Emre Dogru styled by Ceylan Atınc for Vogue Turkey, November 2021
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Attributed to Antoon van den Heuvel  -  The Resurrection of Lazarus - 
oil on canvas, 173 × 197 cm (68.1 × 77.5 in)
Sint-Baafskathedraal, Ghent, belgium
Antoon van den Heuvel, Antoine van den Heuvel or Anton van den Heuvel (nickname: 'don Antonio') (c. 1600 – 5 August 1677) was a Flemish history painter and draughtsman. After training and working in Antwerp and Rome, he returned to his native Ghent where he was one of the important creators of altarpieces for the churches in the region.
Antoon van den Heuvel painted mainly religious scenes and portraits. He is usually regarded as a representative of the international Caravaggesque movement. His Lamentation in the Church of Borsbeke relies upon a painting by the Dutch Carravagist Gerard van Honthorst of the same subject for its composition and a number of motifs.
His style is, however, not that easily reduced to the Caravaggesque movement. His early work showed a preference for contrasting colours and strong lighting, with little use of transitional tones. But compared to his contemporary Jan Janssens, one of the foremost representatives of the Ghent Caravaggisti, Antoon van den Heuvel rarely showed Caravaggesque elements. Only in one work, 'Mary with the Christ Child and the Rosary' of 1634 (Church of Nazareth, Belgium, he adopted one of the motifs of Caravaggio: 'The Madonna with the snake' (Rome, Galleria Borghese).
Van den Heuvel's style is in its linear compositions and bright lighting more Classicist in nature and closer to the work of Agostino Carracci, Annibale Carracci and Lodovico Carracci and their followers. He must have seen their work during his residence in Rome.
Van den Heuvel also borrowed motifs and compositions of contemporary Flemish painters such as Rubens and Caspar de Crayer.
His later work between 1640 and 1650 is less colourful and therefore appears less expressive.
Van den Heuvel also made designs for engravings. The paintings (some of them after designs by Rubens) that he (and other painters) made on the occasion of the Joyous Entry of Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand of Austria in Ghent in 1635 were engraved to be included in a publication authored by Willem van der Beke (Guilielmus Becanus). The publication entitled Serenissimi principis Ferdinandi Hispaniarum infantis S.R.E. cardinalis triumphalis introitus in Flandriae metropolim Gandavum was published by Johannes Meursius in Antwerp in 1636. Leading Antwerp engravers Jacob Neefs, Pieter de Jode II and Antony van der Does made the engravings for the publication.
A portrait painting made by van den Heuvel was used by the prominent engraver Paulus Pontius as the basis for his engraving of a portrait of the Flemish poet Jeremias Pierssene.Guillaume Duvivier, an engraver who was active in Ghent in the 17th century, made an engraving after a painting of Antoon van den Heuvel which shows two servant women in a kitchen. This genre subject is atypical for van den Heuvel who mainly painted religious scenes and portraits.
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korewritingandstuff · 2 years
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Tw: homophobia, machism, typical behaviors from the time
The first time he read about John Laurens was at the 3:00p.m, after the lunch, doing the cautious responsability of writing his father biography, what volume was he writing in...? He cannot say, Saint heaven, it will be an eternity reading all his father correspondence and another eternity writing and resuming all and another eternity dividing it in volumens and chapters and god... Why did he accept it? Right, due to his mother, Mother asked him to do it, why him? Maybe she saw him the most proper child to read the mountain of his father correspondence, maybe the historians she was paying didn't satisfy her with their work.
Whatever, now is his turn, his (sometimes) terrible work.
John tries to erase such thoughts of his mind, even if it's true that he's currently possesed by procrastination, that's still not a proper excuse for being a negligent son, Father always work for him and his siblings, Father didn't mind the tiredness if the purpose was the good of the nation.
Now, John's purpose was the good of Father, he knows this biography is important for him, he knows himself, as his son, it's carrying his name and legacy. And over all the things, John knows Father wished his legacy more than the life. More than everything.
There was a time after his death John resented him, of course, this ugly sentiments were a sin just knew for himself and the loniless of his room, if he even could had the chance of rant about his father loud and clear he wouldn't take it. There's always a part of his heart, the heart of a gentleman which admires Alexander Hamilton, the good man compromised with his honour, in a way which John Church Hamilton desires to aspire.
But, there's other side of his heart, one that, despite of no matter how much tried to ignore, ended floating in the surface of his ugliest self, the side which resents Alexander Hamilton because that social and political figure, that politian who were critized in the newspapers as an obsesive, that Alexander Hamilton put off his father. At least, he can say he's luckier than other of his siblings, he still can remember the eyes of his father, his tender smile and touch.
Maybe that's why Mother chose him, a kid enough close to his father to remember him.
John has started organizing the desk for his work, it's better if he focus his mind in what really matters, he should stop of drowing himself in pity and misery, poor of his good father who got such a bad son as him, how did he dare? Alexander Hamilton was a good man, admired and respected, with maybe some debilities but such mistakes must not be judged by him, the son who had promised write his life with his own hands.
Now, he had ready the pill and the ink, the paper ready for annotations and a new amount of letters at his side, this was such a curious pack of letters, carefully inside of his Father's trunk, letters that, he can notice, his father preserved the best he can, inside of velvet and tied with a pretty ribbon, naturally John is curious, his first thought is that a devoted man as his father would keep the letters of his wife in those romantic tones.
With all the interest he can handle to read the romantic letters between his parents, he untied the ribbon which flows like water through his fingers, the velvet isn't different, soft and smooth caresses his palms, he check the letters, 1779.
"From Col. Alexander Hamilton to Col. John Laurens"
Uh? That was... Unexpected, specially because John Laurens is a name he hasn't touched in much time, since he was a kid and Laurens was a heroic man turned into a secret story between him and his father. Maybe the perfect patriot made a home in his memories but John Laurens wasn't something he could talk about with other people. But this letter takes those memories back and now, John Church feels like a child again, curious about his father's war stories and the admirable friends he did in the way.
Then, with the chest bubbling in emotion, starts to read.
"Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships, I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you."
That was a affectionate greeting, different to his letters to the Marquis or Meade, John cannot say why, but his hands started to turn cold and dead.
"I shall only tell you that 'till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me."
John feels as his stomach and soul falling to the ground, he cannot care to stop and lift up those falling pieces of him, he has to continue reading, finding an explanation about why his first tought reading this piece is being a unexpected guest in a love letter.
He's being ridiculous, his father was a good man, a honorable one who died for the defense of that adored honour, he wouldn't had entered in the most deep of sins, his father was good... Even if he was considered a public man and a charming one with women, John knows his attachments were reduced to the weak sex.
He's being ridiculous, his father writes about a wife, asks Laurens for getting him one, as gentlemans do, helping his friends in the sentimental and social life, naturally, two good men wouldn't had been dirted by such an awful action as-
"... that I never spared you of pictures"
Now John is deadly conscieus about his cold hands, similars to a corpse's one, he has to take a breath, feeling how the cold air runs over his mouth, his dry mouth.
For a moment, John thinks he's out of his body, a witness watching a scene where he is possesed by confusion and a feeling of betrayal, his father- No, it's too soon to confirm such wrong suspect, "good man" he repeats in his mind and, possesed with a new spirit, takes the pill, feeling the texture between his fingers, he feels the world stopped to running, the ink isn't falling from his pill, it's just shining, tempting him to a new way of action.
Maybe he shouldn't do this, but his father shoulnd't had loved a man neither, the ink covers the words, desapears them from the history, hide it from the eyes of the humanity, take that words away where nobody can related it with the heros.
And then, still possesed by the fear, betrayal and constipation, he writes, a little annotation to remember even if he thinks he won't have problems forgetting it.
"I must not publish the whole of this"
John needs a breath, now the chair feels like a mortal trap, he's a condenated trying to scape of a non-stop declaration.
And his mind blossoms in betrayal, his father wrote this about the marriage, wrote this perfect features about a wife and then called it "a plague" even before of meeting his mother, he wrote this. He tought this. The family which formed his childhood...
Now, the hate and betrayal about Alexander Hamilton reappears in his mind, that man, that man is removing everything from him, his father, his family, his respect from him.
And... Why does his father had his own letters? John cannot find another explanation than his father doing a copy of it... He dared to do it, he didn't even tought about burning it, letting it in the dark place where the dark affairs belong. How much he kept this letters? How much he spent reading them? How much he spent selecting the beautiful pieces to preserve it and decorate it?
John wants explanations, John wants his father waking up of his grave to explain him why does it looks his favorite tale in his father's favorite sin.
But John cannot have that, because Hamilton searched his death and left him the consequences of it, left him the responsability of carrying with his honour as with his weakness.
So, John continues reading, even if that feels as himself is putting again a knife in his heart, as deep as he can.
"But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued."
John wants to laugh. This must be the most twisted joke his father ever created. He doesn't even care anymore about making annotations about Hamilton's political life, he just wants answers.
"I am guilty. Next fall completes my doom. I give up my liberty to Miss Schuyler. She is a good hearted girl who I am sure will never play the termagant; though not a genius she has good sense enough to be agreeable, and though not a beauty, she has fine black eyes--is rather handsome and has every other requisite of the exterior to make a lover happy. And believe me, I am lover in earnest"
Great, nothing better than reading the disaster of mind of his father and the demolition to his family at the same time.
"In spite of Schuylers black eyes, I have still a part for the public and another for you; so your impatience to have me married is misplaced; a strange cure by the way, as if after matrimony I was to be less devoted than I am now."
John's hearts is bleeding in all the floor, in all the letter, all his childhood was killed by a paper and know, Alexander Hamilton is the butcher of all his respects, dreams and childish plays; such a pity, he won't publish this letter covered with his pain then, hide it away, protect at least the matrimony which formed his first years.
How did he dare? Telling stories at his bedtime, without feeling ashamed that the protagonist was his most personal sin.
Who was John Laurens then? The hero who filled the mind of John with new values, with new hopes, what does happen with that? With his admiration and respect. All of that lost on a sodomite.
John doesn't have time to cry and ask why, he wants answers and the answers are probably inside the letters he got.
"I must not publish the whole of this"
He writes and he's right, what would it be of his father if this sees the light? What belongs to the dark, stays in the dark.
So, he reads, even when all the past nights he refused to work passed his bedtime. He reads all the night. All the letters from his father. Until the room is filled with nothing else than darkness and John doesn't feel different.
But he continues reading and while the hours pass the betrayal and angriness which posessed his heart and mind, starts to dissipate.
He reads the whole night and when the morning arrives he gets off of the room and doesn't touch again the letters.
María hasn't wake up yet, she lays on the bed, calm and ignorant. John is jealous of her, she, full of life and energy with nothing else than him to do, he, who is tied to the gosths and demons of his father. John thought he couldn't sleep after knowing what he discovers, as a assassin after a kill, it's a surprise when he finds himself searching a tear of comfort in his bed, at the side of his wife.
There's things that comfort him better, as his future child is growing in the belly of his Maria Eliza.
— Dear, I think is time to wake up.
John is waked up by his wife, he had been in a better world, one infested with his dreams and better of all, the blank space of his mind sleeping.
— What time is it?
— Almost half of day, I didn't want you to wake up sooner, you deserved a long sleep.
— Thanks dear, but there are things I should do during the day.
— Like studying the correspondence of your father? — John feels his mouth turning sour.
— Yes, you know I am the responsable of writing his biography.
— Which you do devotedly every day but last night you didn't come to bed, you immerse too much in your work.
— If you knew what I know you couldn't have gone bed neither.
— Oh? Try me — Says Maria with a tone full of dare and suspicion.
— I don't think your could understand.
— Try me, if I don't understand then you'll have the right, but if I understand you have an ally, it's all a win for you.
John cannot say why he did accept such childish game, maybe he just need to say it to someone else.
— What would you do if you discover something about your father? —
— Something good?
— Something sinful.
— What kind of sin?
John doesn't desire to break his wife's mind, so he decides to say.
— Something like he wanted someone before marriage.
— There's plenty of gentlemen who desires someone, is this jealousy for your mother?
— No, no but in part maybe it is.
— Anyways, I don't see the problem here, your father as any other man had desires before.
— But what if this desires are bad placed...? To someone whose shouldn't belong...?
— You cannot decide where put your desires, they just set up in your heart.
— Rational men can.
— Unlucky you, the desires do not belong to rational men.
— You look to defend it. Don't you understand? My father wanted someone he shouldn't.
— Did he keep her?
— What?
— Did he keep her? In his life? Your father was a good man, one who did the best for himself. Why would he loved someone who didn't make him good?
— Yes, he kept her. For a long while. But he didn't love her.
— Why do you say that?
— Because he shouldn't!
— If he shouldn't and keep her then I think is the biggest demonstration of love.
—You aren't undertanding... I think he dared to intercurse with her...
— There's plenty of gentleman who do that... That speaks worse of her than him.
— It's sinful!
— Maybe... But does not God forgive all our sins? Why can not you?
— Don't you dare to say that.
— Maybe I'm just understanding it different than you, dear — Maria get off of the room, leaving John alone with his toughts.
He doesn't touch again the letters, that night, he doesn't pass of his bedtime, laying at the Maria's side.
While the warm of his wife invades his heart, he asks to himself how many times John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton layed in the same bed like this, with a war outside of his room. He asks to himself if the peace Laurens bringed to Hamilton was this one, similar to the one his wife brings to him.
But no- They were two sinners in the same hell on Earth.
When John falls asleep, full with contradictory emotions, he dreams with a war.
Second day, John doesn't touch the letters, John doesn't work in his writing.
But John thinks, just for some little moments, how he still can admire the friendship between two of them, he wished the passion wouldn't kill it.
Third day, John cannot say when he will start working again. Today he's impressed by the place his wife has in his heart.
Fourth day, he holds his wife's hand, just in the same way Hamilton wished to hold Laurens.
But that's a ridiculous tought, anyway.
Fifth day, today the anger against his father is almost dessapeared... Maria maybe has a point, if God can forgive all the sins, who is he for ashaming his father?
Sixth day, today he doesn't think at all about John Laurens of his father.
Seventh day, he has to return, see the letters again, hunter a prey reunited again. In other words, Eliza asked him how the work was.
Eight day, he returns to the desk, prepares his ink and pill as a butcher prepares his knife, his heart has already multiple wounds, one more won't hurt.
He read his father's letters, now it's the turn of John Laurens, nothing best than killing his hero.
So he reads, the letters of today are much softer to read, maybe it's because his tired mind, too broken to worry about.
He doesn't take annotations, he just read, the affectionate sentences blossom inside his hands, the letters filled with sweet promises and sentences, just a perfect friendship but there´s more.
When John ended to read, there was entering the night, he is a simply man, he goes to the bedroom and catches Eliza laying in bed, beutifully covered with the thin cloths and the scene brings a flame inside John's heart.
His flame isn't new and he isn't innocent. But the discovery arrives that this same flame inside him, can be easily found in the letters between Laurens and his father.
He wishes to run away, find answers, a signal inside those papers, but Eliza smiles and he's weak.
That night he doesn't dream about anything.
But at least, this time, he doesn't stop of working, he continues devotedly with the correspondance, Colonels, Washington, the aides pass through his fingers, but despite the friendship, respect and love, nothing is similar to what he had with Laurens, John realizes, Laurens was his dearest, the first individual who hold his affections. This declaration doesn't surprise him, even if it hurts.
He keeps reading anyway, their correspondence forgotten in some corner of the room but present in his mind.
It passes two months, filled with his wife and children and every day, the pain is a little less, he doesn't know what to think about his parents, so he prefer do not think at all about it.
And some good day, when the pain isn't reaching him and he considers himself a partial reader, he takes the letters again, watching the dates, he reads those in order. And soonly he's just a viewer of the thing growing between Laurens and Hamilton.
He travels through the devotion, longing, sadness and happiness, but now, there's something else. Something he denied the first times.
There's love, strong and hard to hide, it flourish for the whole room, it melts the snow and impresses the starts and John.
John cries a little bit that night, at the start he thinks is because of him, of his family, but he'd already cried enough for it, now he's crying for the deepest empathy, for the pity of his fathers and his lost lover, cries for the world where their two hearts find the other.
He asks to himself what would if John has survived, what would if of his family and father, he wasks to himself if Father would be happier but those are useless thoughts and he's tired to think about it.
When he finds the comfort of his wife and his bed, he puts a hand over her stomach, her stomach keeping carefully a new live, he has a last question that night, he asks to himself if ever Laurens and Hamilton imagined a similar life to them, a domestic house with children running through the furniture.
He isn't asleep yet when the answer comes.
Yes.
Slowly he realizes the similitures between his love for his wife and the love between them, maybe they got better romantic features, a simililary of minds, a friendship between them, a true one.
When he walks close to Maria Eliza, walking around the street, he thoughts about the dates of them, their romantic escapades and the happiness it bringed, that's a bittersweet thought because his mother isn't easy to forget, but it's a nice one.
When he sees couples dancing, enjoying each other company in public he impresses, because John and Alexander got that all in middle of a war, a island of peace, but in the shadows, now he cannot say if that kind of love belongs to the shadows, wasn't he who discover it? Who bringed the light to them again?
He cannot publish all the letters anyway, those are too compromising for a world which won't understand them, the complexity of their souls, the complexity of their longing and the comsuption of their love. There´s other letters that are too compromising for his mother, for the view the husband she loves so much is giving to her.
Hiding wouldn't be the perfect word for decribing it, maybe "preserving it privately", he cannot show all of them, but he cannot erase all of them, he's a serious historian.
Does packets of letters, keep them inside of velvet and silk, keep it inside a drawer your wife of kids won't search.
And where your kids are ready, show them the secret teasure, keep the story alive, maybe in the dark but a dark lighted with candles,
For now, his son carries with that treasure in his name "Laurens Hamilton"
John has a last question, if Laurens and Hamilton would had ever imagined his names together in that way.
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psychobbabble · 3 months
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viktor & rolf spring 2022, inspired by nosferatu
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i-think-pictures · 7 months
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Shifen, Taiwan (near Taipei city)
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tomorrowusa · 8 months
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Republicans are always on high alert looking for something to hate. Barbie has not escaped their attention.
The Barbie scandal is as manufactured as the dolls themselves. It’s the latest and most absurd example of a trend as old as time: conservatives drumming up unnecessary culture wars because they are incapable of winning over voters with their deeply unpopular policies.
The party which claims that slavery was beneficial and that it has the right to regulate vaginas is always searching for new ways to pump up their gradually shrinking base.
But just because their claims are absurd doesn’t mean they can be ignored. Because even though many so-called scandals perpetuated by the right aren’t based in reality, they can still result in real harm. Just look at how the GOP has ruthlessly targeted trans people: their baseless lies about the dangers of using the “wrong” bathroom or playing the “wrong” sport have led to the stripping away of gender-affirming care, prohibitions against trans people using bathrooms that align with their gender identity, and bans on trans kids kicking around a soccer ball at school. What starts as laughable paranoia can become lethal policy. Back in Barbie Land, Republicans’ insistence on fabricating culture war issues isn’t limited to disputes over territorial seas. Ginger Luckey Gaetz, the 26-year-old wife of Representative Matt Gaetz, knocked the movie because it “neglects to address any notion of faith or family”. She also lamented the “disappointingly low T from Ken,” Barbie’s famously genital-free companion.
Generally speaking, far right fundamentalists hate anything that depicts women other than as baby-making machines.
It’s only natural that they’re targeting Barbie because, as Mattel’s most recent slogan goes, Barbie wants girls to imagine the possibilities – and for conservatives, those possibilities are unimaginable.
Predictably, Sen. Ted "Cancún" Cruz has expanded his war on fictional characters to Barbie.
Sen. Ted Cruz’s Bizarre War on Fictional Characters Moves to Barbie
Ted is up for re-election next year in Texas and is looking for attention wherever he can get it.
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yr-obedt-cicero · 1 year
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I'm seeing a few people show up in my tags thinking JCH had some extravagant sex drive due to how many kids he had, but John Church was actually quite the opposite and seems to have rather been a bit sex repulsed, or maybe just a big prude about the subject.
First of all, 14 kids may sound surprising, but it was common for the time period, especially when your children kept dying while infants. May I remind everyone Eleanor Ball and Henry Laurens? Maria (John's wife) and Johnny suffered with many of their kids dying early on in childhood, so the natural solution was just to have more and hope for the best.
Secondly, John C. was very averse to sexual topics. Not only did he infamously censor his father's raunchy letters to J. Laurens, but he did the same to his own parent's letters. He was a sort of uptight and work (And if not, family) focused man; and probably saw such subjects as inappropriate. Arguing that he completely brushed the Reynolds affair under the rug in his biographies is irrelevant, since I'm highly sure that was done for his mother's and family's sake. But anyway, I don't think he had some driven libido.
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jannekebooister · 3 months
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Bij Vaals - winterfantasie/ Near Vaals - Winterfantasy
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Bij Vaals - winterfantasie/ Near Vaals - Winterfantasy by Janneke Booister Via Flickr: Watercolour on Arches Grain Torchon 300 g/m2. 
Colours used are Cobalt Blue, Sepia, Winsor Green (Yellow shade), Peylene Green; all Winsor&Newton Professional and Lunar Blue; Daniel Smith Extra Fine Watercolours. 
Reference by my husband Peter 
Paper size 38 x 28 cm, available (Contact me) 
Het verhaal van deze aquarel is beschreven in mijn blog / The story of this watercolour is written in my blog jannekesatelier.blogspot.com/
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balu8 · 8 months
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Eric Heuvel: January Jones
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Elizabeth Hamilton to Maria Eliza van den Heuvel, [1830(s)]  
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Mrs & John C. Hamilton
I send you my dear Daughter the promised cap for my Elizth. I fear its too large but she must grow to fit it. After my return home I must make some thing for my Adilade. Remember me to all with you your own
affectionate Elizth Hamilton
Sunday, ___
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