His eyes captured the delicate brushstrokes on the twisted and terrifying paintings. Only painters with excellent painting skills and profound insights into nature could paint such exquisite works.
Wilson had seen a lot of strange pictures or works on the Internet. Many of them just randomly added some miscellaneous things to the human body, made some weird movements, and then made some bloody thorns or black patches in the background.
To be honest, it wasn't scary at all, and it wasn't as exciting as the scary kid suddenly popping out of sight.
He admitted that when he first saw pictures of the uncanny valley effect, he felt really scared, but compared with the paintings in front of him, it seemed a bit insignificant.
What a talented painter this is, he can actually depict fear so horribly and lifelike, using precise lines and proportions to directly connect to the dormant instincts deep in human genes and the terrifying memories inherited from generation to generation, using appropriate color contrasts and
The light and dark effects prick the strange feeling dormant in our hearts.
Wilson has never felt that he has any artistic talent. In his opinion, there is nothing special about works of art that can be auctioned for hundreds of millions, especially that ridiculous banana.
But until today he saw the paintings in this old cabin with his own eyes.
He suddenly understood what art was.
The painter brilliantly expresses the oldest emotion of mankind - fear, clearly on the paper. The distortion of hatred, fear and tension are presented before people's eyes.
Wilson praised and sighed from the bottom of his heart.
The painter did not answer his question directly, but it was obvious that he seemed to be very pleased after hearing Wilson's praise. Any artist hopes that his work can be appreciated.
"Have you always lived in this old neighborhood?" Wilson asked enthusiastically, "Logically speaking, a painter as good as you should not be buried here."
This weird and reserved artist who locked himself in the basement to paint was obviously moved by Wilson's enthusiasm and couldn't help but say: "I like to capture inspiration here, which is very helpful for my creation. My work
It is the meaning of capturing the soul, and you will never find enough value in the artificial streets built by the nouveau riche on landfills.”
“Those reclaimed neighborhoods don’t count as Boston at all—its history is too short to accumulate enough memories to attract local ghosts. What I’m after are human ghosts—ghosts whose previous lives were highly charged.
They are so organized that they can instantly understand the meaning of what they see when they look directly into hell."
"Oh?" Wilson asked enthusiastically, his eyes full of inquiry, "Do ghosts really exist in this world?"
"Of course, this old North Point area was not created, but grew up little by little. Generation after generation of people have lived, felt, and died here. The long history accumulated here lasts for two and a half centuries.
The time is definitely not comparable to those in so-called modern areas."
The painter seemed a little excited as he spoke, and his tone was impassioned.
But Wilson touched his chin, hesitant.
How should I put it? Should I tell the other person that in his opinion, there is no difference between this place and other places? He didn't realize how long the history of this place in the United States is... Maybe he just touched a piece of clay in his hometown in his previous life.
It has such a long history.
If this is really true, would it be possible to throw a stone through many ghosts on the other side of the ocean?
Not sure, there is not enough evidence yet. He is more likely to be the painter's fantasy.
"How much do modern people know about life and the power behind life? In the past, witches existed, and things summoned by witches' spells also existed. Well, look at these people today. Among those who call themselves painters, group
The craniums of clubbers are filled with pale pink, and any painting that transcends the atmosphere of a tea party in the street is enough to scare them into trembling and convulsions!"
The painter expressed his strong dissatisfaction with those who seek fame and reputation nowadays.
"Well, isn't it always like this?" Wilson sighed, "Geniuses are in the minority in every era, and mediocre people occupy most of the world. This kind of painting with its twisted charm is really not very popular.
welcome."
Under Wilson's deliberate efforts, the painter quickly became familiar with him and almost became a confidant.
The painter took Wilson to see more paintings with some trepidation.
He could not describe specifically what kind of paintings these were. The things painted by the artist with extremely simple brushstrokes were so horrifying, full of blasphemous horror, and unbelievably abhorrent. The backgrounds of those paintings were mostly old people.
The church cemetery, the deep forest, the cliff facing the sea, the brick tunnel, the old paneled room, the simple stone cellar, etc.
The characters he depicts in the foreground are full of madness and deformity. They are not the kind of things that are randomly pieced together with human and animal limbs. Almost none of the characters in his paintings still retain a complete human appearance, but almost every character
They all have varying degrees of human characteristics. Most of them stand upright on two legs and lean forward, looking like a group of dogs; their rubber-like skin makes people feel disgusted.
If Wilson hadn't seen the extremely disgusting monster like Cilizan with his own eyes, he would have felt sick to his stomach when he saw such a painting.
But these paintings seem to reveal more than that. What the painter depicts is not a shaky, colorful, short-lived dream like a mayfly, but a cold, ironic reflection of a stable, mechanical, and unwavering terror.
.
The painter thoroughly observed the world, painted the world brilliantly, faced the world decisively, and expressed the world resolutely.
The more Wilson admired these paintings, the more his eyes widened in shock.
He seemed to see a dark and depressing world unfolding before his eyes.
The answer to the question he asked before seemed to appear before his eyes. These things really existed in this world, were alive, bloody, and abominable and terrifying.
Some kind of invisible terror and darkness was looking at him coldly through the small canvas. It was just the tip of the iceberg. Behind him was an entire world of sinking and pollution.
Yes, the artist seems to be depicting the same kind of weirdness from beginning to end. So besides this same existence, how many more are hidden in this world?
Wilson turned his head and looked into the painter's eyes.
Perhaps it was not his illusion, but the features and expressions on the painter's face seemed to be gradually moving closer to those in the painting.