Edward Scissorhands Artwork Novels & Stories

We rushed up the stairs to his loft, following the trail of Edwards scent. The second the door opened, we froze in the entryway. It looked like war. Paintings were shredded. Canvases were gutted, torn in jagged spirals across the floor. Glass crunched under my shoes. My breath caught in my throat as I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the damage. Jude wouldn’t do this. He would never destroy his own art, especially not the paintings of me. I saw one where half my face had been shredded to ribbons, slashed through like it offended him to look at.

he says and I chuckle quietly. Kyrah smiles. "Well, if beauty is in the eye of the beholder, why not art? Although I honestly don't see anything special, it's just a blob, right? Snow would have done better with his tail dipped in a can of paint!" We laugh and people stare at us. "Let's not attract too much attention okay?" Scott asks and we nod moving to the next piece of art, a sculpture of a woman with no arms, with a baby on her lap.

The hands were young, but the grip was fierce like a professional. Aurora moved closer. The sketch was signed in the corner. "E.V. 2019". She touched the frame. It was real charcoal, smudged in places where fingers had pressed too hard. It hung among million-dollar paintings like it belonged there. Eleanor Vale 2019. She said to herself sure it was his sister's work She kept walking.

Zahra's POV Halfway along, I notice a small side passage I’ve never paid attention to before. Edwardo turns down it without comment and stops at a door at the end. He knocks once, then pushes it open into a small studio. There’s a reclining chair in the centre of the room, a tray of equipment beside it, and artwork covering the walls. By the window sits a small, wiry-haired woman with glasses, a sketchbook balanced on her knee. Her arms and hands are completely covered in tattoos. I stare despite myself.

Then the eyes. Then the grief. Layer by layer. Emotion by emotion. Memory by memory. By the time she finally stepped back, dawn was approaching. The portrait looked unfinished. Raw. Yet powerful. Pain radiated from the canvas. Honest pain. The kind people rarely showed the world. Jessica stared at it for several moments. Then something caught her attention. A small cut across one finger. She must have caught it on something while working. A single drop of blood rested against her skin.

My gaze drifted over sculptures, over a grand piano I ached to play, over framed sketches that looked suspiciously like concept art for famous fantasy films. Then I turned a corner into a smaller hallway and stopped dead. There, dominating the wall, was a portrait. A huge painting of him. Mr Evander stood in a moonlit forest, shirt open at the throat, gray eyes staring straight out at the viewer with that half-smile that haunted me. Snowflakes caught in his dark hair, and behind him, barely visible in the shadows, the suggestion of a massive wolf. My mouth went dry. I couldn’t move. I just stared, drinking in every detail, the strong line of his jaw, the veins in his forearms, the way the ar

His hand grips the gear shift hard enough that his knuckles are white and I watch those sculptor's fingers and think about what they could do to flesh instead of stone. His studio occupies a converted warehouse with a rolling metal door he unlocks with hands that are visibly shaking. He hauls the door up and pulls me inside, hitting the lights. The space is massive and filled with bodies. Sculptures everywhere in different stages of completion. Wet clay figures still on their armatures. Marble blocks with forms half-emerged like they're being born from the stone. Bronze casts waiting for patina treatment. Some pieces are draped with canvas. Others stand completely exposed and devastating.

My fingers twitched, an inexplicable urge to touch it immediately seizing me. I walked towards it, my gaze fixed on the sculpture. It was undeniably beautiful, yet it possessed an unsettling, almost explicit quality. The way it curved, the slick, dark surface, the subtle ridges that were carved into its length, it was clearly designed to be held, to be appreciated for its somewhat tactile sensation.

Ethan had always been the kind of person who doesn't give up easily. Her fingers lingered above the ribbon, pausing for a fleeting moment. Taking a deep breath, she gently untied it, removing the layers of the wrapping. Her pulse quickened as the box gradually opened, disclosing its contents. Inside lay a fragile crystal sculpture-a stunning, detailed representation of a wolf howling at the moon. Cecilia's breath was halted in her throat. She extended her hand, her fingertips gliding over the sleek surface of the crystal. The artwork was breathtaking, graceful in its straightforwardness, yet the meaning behind it was obvious.

After we arrived at Moli's dusty condo, I ordered her to go and buy some grocery for us because I'm starving. Now, I just finished cleaning her d*mn hell dusty condo unit. I was about to sit on the single couch when I saw a protruding paper. I wrinkled my forehead and took it and I was just so shocked to see what it was! It’s not a paper, it's a picture! A picture of two people. They look like boyfriend and girlfriend because the man is holding the woman's waist while the woman is turning her back so I can't see her face while the man the looking down. I can't see who it is because the photography is also blurred, it looks like it was just stolen!