Masuk
The story is fiction, yet the artwork is real.
The story does contain some graphic imagery, art terms etc.
'The Anguished Man' is an eerie portrait with an unknown history dating back to presumably, Northern England. It's one of the worlds most haunted painting.
This distorted image depicting a figure howling in excruciating pain's medium is blood. This medium has a conceptual meaning and could represent the artist's identification with life and death.
This nightmarish subject matter has inspired this book 'The Painters Death Wish' after the discovery of the artwork, it is sad to announce, that after completing the artwork, the artist committed suicide.
An example of a blood painting would be this landscape painting done by Merryn Singer, rendering death camps during Apartheid.
All Rights Reserved
© 2019 Bronwyn Lawrence
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Accolades:
The Imperial Awards 2020
The Northern Scribe Award for Genre Champion of the Paranormal Genre:
Certificate:
Review:
THE PAINTERS DEATH WISH/PARANORMAL_PRINCESS
I have read stories with psychological dilemmas however, B.C. Lawrence's Painter's Death Wish shoved my curiosity. The story was written in an emotionally gruesome way. The story revolves of a boy who is in deep aesthetic madness caused by his confusions of real art. "Is blood not thicker than the paint?" Literally, the painting's medium is the painter's blood and flesh. The author's ideology on psychologically troubled individuals is an eye opener for everyone that the horrors they face are not just a typical fears but tormenting nightmares. Every book is not worth comparing to any other stories because it has its own uniqueness and standout at its genre. And this one, the author just nailed it.
The Rainbow Awards:
Third place for Mystery/Thriller:
Review:
The Crown Awards
First place for Paranormal:
Gen Z Awards
First place for Horror
Thank you so much for the support ;D, Happy reading.
She was wearing a classic trench coat, with a fedora and that hid most of her red hair. Sitting across from a concerned family, she stated."Like any private detective, I have seen many things in my years, even previously as a former agent."She took her hat off and entwined her fingers. "But nothing could have prepared me for what was to come." As the husband held his wife in his arms, she wailed as the detective continued. "I am sorry for your loss."
There she was. As a lusting satyr grabbed at a feminine figure, Dona was now the sleeping Hermaphrodite artwork. Approaching her from the rear, Harry thought she represented Venus, but, the front side revealed something unexpected.Why had she been represented as Aphrodite's son and not Aphrodite herself? She was stark naked, posing like a doll with no expression. He wanted to touch her, to stroke her cheek and feel the urgency of the scene in front of him. His chest was caving in, and he found it hard to breathe. The tears st
The doorknob twisted and a light twinkling of metal came from outside. With murderous intent, Harry flung open the door, clinging onto the arch in need for support. Like a cunning serpent, he entered the garden of artworks. Grabbing his phone torch; he lit his way through the gallery.The air was dry, and his sinuses gnawed at him. He sneezed so hard he stumbled into something near the wall. It was wet paint. The gallery was still in the making, the interior design was incomplete, but there were
No matter the room, the smell of rotting flesh followed him like a shadow. He had to steady himself on the walls, trying to escape the voices. Fervent wailing and inaudible speech vibrated all around him. He staggered his way to an unassuming door at the far end of the house.He turned his back to it as soon as he fell, rolling down the door with his stomach clenched. He held his head in his hands, shaken and confused he looked up. Looking down the hallway, the paintings and all their tumult ceased. He was now able to breathe,
*Trigger Warning* This chapter contains graphic contents.Breathless, he stood outside of Tony's residence. His throat was dry, as he swallowed in the sultry rage bobbing around his apple. He kept flicking his forefingers together. It was the witching hour, and he didn't care.
His ribs convulsed with every breath as he sat on the edge of the bed with his hands on his knees. Sweating profusely he tried to stand but rocked his way back to the bed. He felt groggy, a headache, was waiting for him along with the clutter of a new day. He stood and stretched his shoulders, twisted his neck and walked towards the studio.He'd find himself wandering around like a desert wind, without a place to rest. He tried to stay busy with something other than work- he knew that it was a bad idea to be enthralled by the