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Zeitpunkt              Nutzer    Delta   Tröts        TNR     Titel                     Version  maxTL
Fr 26.07.2024 00:01:07    37.314     +12    3.596.686    96,4 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500
Do 25.07.2024 00:01:05    37.302      +5    3.594.257    96,4 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500
Mi 24.07.2024 00:01:06    37.297      +8    3.591.703    96,3 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500
Di 23.07.2024 00:00:36    37.289      +4    3.589.133    96,3 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500
Mo 22.07.2024 00:01:10    37.285      +9    3.586.572    96,2 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500
So 21.07.2024 00:01:07    37.276      +1    3.584.128    96,2 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500
Sa 20.07.2024 00:01:11    37.275      +5    3.581.812    96,1 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500
Fr 19.07.2024 13:59:22    37.270      +5    3.580.286    96,1 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500
Do 18.07.2024 00:01:08    37.265      +7    3.576.970    96,0 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500
Mi 17.07.2024 00:01:10    37.258       0    3.575.025    96,0 Mastodon.ART              4.2.10     500

Fr 26.07.2024 15:05

THE MULE (1985)
Acrylic on Canvas 32" x 20"

Once again there was a clear choice for the central subject. Outwardly a buffoon, the Mule is the greatest concentration of power in a single individual in the Galaxy, the one variable Hari Seldon overlooked in his massive plan. 1/3

A once grand planetary metropolis falls into ruin as massive pillars crash in every direction. Standing casually in the wreckage, an emaciated figure in harlequin garb leans back with knee raised as he plays a futuristic string instrument. A ridiculous ruffled collar makes him look clownish as does the clashing pattern of stars on his shirt and checker board pants, all white on red satin. A tattered pink handkerchief is tied about his calf, but his boots sparkle. His short blonde hair is tussled over a brow raised in question. With his head tilted, his eyes catch the viewer in a knowing glance. His lips are curled in an almost smile.

A once grand planetary metropolis falls into ruin as massive pillars crash in every direction. Standing casually in the wreckage, an emaciated figure in harlequin garb leans back with knee raised as he plays a futuristic string instrument. A ridiculous ruffled collar makes him look clownish as does the clashing pattern of stars on his shirt and checker board pants, all white on red satin. A tattered pink handkerchief is tied about his calf, but his boots sparkle. His short blonde hair is tussled over a brow raised in question. With his head tilted, his eyes catch the viewer in a knowing glance. His lips are curled in an almost smile.

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