Gallery Note The spider, dressed immaculately in crushed velvet and faint disapproval, arranged six glasses in an elegant semicircle—each filled to the rim with something red, obscure, and possibly sentimental. Her guests, though unsure whether they had arrived or been summoned, drank cautiously while laughter rose like fog in a funeral parlor. Somewhere, a clock chimed thirteen. No one was surprised. Artist Inspiration To webs well spun and wine blood-red, Six hands, six glasses, secrets fed.Let laughter curl like smoke at night, And every hour dim with strange delight. by Paul Reeb Artist
