Cavetown Artwork Novels & Stories

He ducked his head to avoid the hard rock up above, marveling at how cold the cave was. "Did you know about this Tink?" "Tink know. House have secrets. Make no sense, but Tink accept." She slid her goggles over her eyes. "Tink see prints." "I'm glad one of use sees something." Mike was busy looking at the random doodles on the cave walls. Some of them looked ancient, animals being hunted by men with spears, drawn with charcoal. Others were the doodle of children, done in crayon and chalk. "Where the fuck are we?"

Something about it pulled her in. As she entered, the smell of new paint and old wood filled her nostrils. The canvases that adorned the walls were vivid and unvarnished with feeling. One in particular, a powerful artwork of a toddler gazing up at a tall metropolitan skyline, caught Cassie's attention. The hues were somber yet hopeful, and the brushstrokes were forceful yet methodical. It had a very familiar feel to it. She was so absorbed that she didn't realize anyone was coming until someone spoke.

The stall owner held an antique painting in his hands. It was a painting of a spotty tiger, with its paw on a rock mountain as it roared toward the sky. There was an elegant-looking tree beside it. It was the painting of the Tiger Roar Mountain. The name 'Thompson' was scribbled at the corner of the painting; there were also a dozen stamps on it. Was it a painting by Watt Thompson? Darryl took a glance and furrowed his brows. Everyone was amazed by the painting. It was a genuine painting! What a treasure—the painting of the Tiger Roar Mountain.

he asked, leaning forward slightly, refocusing on the painting. I signed my paintings with my alias, Abigale Rourke, however, hidden somewhere in all of my artwork where my real initials, HD for Hycinth Diamonte. I pointed to two swirls by the wolf's ear. Luca nodded. My glance drifted away from the painting and landed on another piece of artwork. I hadn't created this one. Instead, we'd found it at a local flea market, and it was one of my favorite pieces in the loft. A massive, metal steampunk-looking clock with interlocking gears. The time on the clock face jolted me out of our softly-spoken moment.

The tattoo on her back was a tattoo that he only shared with her brothers, the Bratva took ranks seriously, and tattoos were a way of marking position, some showed them and were covered in them like her father, her sister had acquired hers recently, Nikolay was covered in them, but the first tattoo the Petrov brothers shared, the mark of their initiation, and if Anika knew them… "Hey" Klaus looked up, after what had happened in the room, the woman had asked him to leave, and he had accepted, retreating to his office, needing a moment to think, his plan had finally begun to take shape, but he had to get more information about the woman, know the truth before proceeding, be careful, get Anika

Kim gloated and I looked down smiling, Michael had turned his body a bit to listen in on their conversation as they sold the idea that this is the ultimate painting everyone should have. "From a professional perspective, I think Laid Down is his best piece, you should go see that one before you decide ladies," I said to them and Gwen cocked her head to the side. "Professional? Are you an artist too?" "Yes, I just graduated though, but I'm also being featured here tonight," I said to them and they gave out impressed expressions. "Oh really?" Kim asked and I almost giggled at the sound of her snappy accent. "And what's the name of your piece miss?"

I'm on my toes tonight, my anxiety ticking so fast, one of my demons might spurt and run free with all these devil pets in sight. Francesca, Caelum's cousin did a very good job at styling me, the dress she put me in is very comfortable and unduly exquisite. The glances I've received from not only the men, but the woman has confirmed this dress will take the marketplace by storm when Francesca finally puts replica's of it in stores. The women gathered by the painting of a nude Adonis by a local artist, another shit endorsed mafia brat of an asshole. His painting is horrible, as opposed to the one I'm looking at. I was only staring at it to avoid socialization but now I find it interesting, it

The origins of most of these paintings could be tracked easily. There was "Cottage of the West", painted by Daryn Talbott, one of the four greatest artists of the Monclair era. Then, there were Zenith Howard's creations, including "The Ten Bamboos", "Great Compendium of Life", and "Scroll of Injustice".

The middle-aged man finished his painting and signed his name in one corner: Roland de Vaal. Satisfied, he passed the painting to Chayne. "This is my message to your enemy. Show him this, and he will stop. Or else." The painting was rather macabre. It depicted a man being tormented by what looked like black hounds emerging from hell. Regarding artistry, the painting sat neatly between masterful and average. Chayne, however, held it like it was a real piece of treasure.

But I noticed something I hadn’t seen before. “Hey honey, come take a look at this,” I called. Carrie came over to where I was standing and grabbed me around the waist, hugging me from behind. She saw right away what I was looking at. On the wall in front of us was some sort of collection of art and other posters created by amateurs or locals— perhaps part of that tour club. There were posters that outlined camping trips with Polaroids of nakedness and sex acts. There were pages that were just some person’s “home page” with articles and photos of themselves.