Juan Gris The Painter's Window

Juan Gris The Painter's WindowJuan Gris The Open WindowJuan Gris The Mountain Le CanigouJuan Gris The Guitar 1918Juan Gris Teacups
Ordinary magic just moved things around. It couldn’t create a real thing that’d last for more than a second, because that took a lot of power.
But Holy Wood easily created things over and over again, dozens of times a second. They didn’t have to last for long. They just had to last for long enough.
But you had to work Holy Wood magic by Holy Wood’s rules . . .
He extended a swung up into the saddle as it cantered past, then made it rear impressively so that it pawed the air. He drew a sword which hadn’t been there a moment before.
The sword and the horse flickered almost imperceptibly.
Victor smiled. Light glinted off a tooth. Ting. A glint, but no sound; they hadn’t invented sound, yet.
Believe it. That was the way. Never stop believing. Fool rock‑steady hand towards the dark sky.‘Lights!’There was a sheet of lightning that illuminated the whole city . . .‘Picture box!’Gaffer spun the handle furiously.‘Action!’No‑one saw where the horse came from. It was just there, leaping over the heads of the crowd. It was white, with lots of impressive silver work on the bridle. Victor