Guts Artwork Novels & Stories

He looked down at his knees, and I frowned, seeing him as torn as he was before he looked up at me. “I don’t know, but I do know one thing, something is not right.” Arturo said, seeming annoyed and under stress. I looked at him, studying his expression for a few seconds before walking toward him. He sighed and extended his arm for me. I wrapped my arms around his neck as I stood between his spread legs, laying his head on my stomach as I gently ran my fingers through his hair. He sighed in contentment, and I couldn’t help the smile that formed on my face at the fact that he was allowing himself to reveal how he was feeling in front of me.

“What are you doing to them?!” “I’m making carrot art,” Gavin said proudly. “You’re ruining them,” Axel replied, taking one from his hand. “This looks like a crime scene.” “I’m an artist, okay? You wouldn’t understand.” “You’re about to be banned from touching vegetables,” Julian laughed. Gavin held up a lumpy piece. “I call this one ‘carrot that lost the will to live.’” “Accurate,” Axel muttered. “Don’t be jealous of my creativity.” “I’d rather be jealous of a blender.”

Heavy stock, embossed lettering. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> Julian Harcourt. Fine Artist. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> My stomach dropped. This was the artist. The one whose work was currently hanging all around us. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "You're Harcourt," I said. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "I am. And you are?" _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> "Adrian Volkov." _*]:min-w-0 gap-3">

“They’re beautiful. Imagine the stories they could tell if they could talk.” Arthur said, "I bet they wouldn’t tell as good a story as Gina Gentlehammer.” I laughed. Mia laugh-snorted. “Daddy, you’re being silly. I didn’t know you could be silly.” “I can be silly,” Arthur said, but something grabbed his attention, and he was distracted. “Let’s go in.” Arthur had found a small painting, barely bigger than my palm. It was a mother and daughter looking at a mama and baby swan. “I’ll take it,” Arthur told the gallery clerk in Italian. He looked at me and then at Mia. “So we can remember this trip.”

Abstracts that spoke of turmoil, portraits that whispered secrets, landscapes that yearned for escape until something made him stop. It was artwork—huge, striking, and undeniable. Illuminated by a gentle golden spotlight, it was positioned at the distant end of the gallery, resembling the pinnacle of a tale. And it was him. It wasn’t a precise representation, no. However, it was undeniably him. The distinctive shape of his jawline, depicted with a depth and intimacy that only someone who truly knew him could express. His eyes, often described as aloof and tactical in the business world, were filled with warmth and feeling. The subtle crease on his forehead, the shape of his mouth—each detail

By Friday, I was a jagged edge of nerves. This was my debut as a solitary wolf, without the Alpha’s ring weighing down my hand. The work I had bled into over the last seven weeks—pure, unadulterated fury—screamed from the walls. The centerpiece, a chaotic sprawl of crimson and black titled The Final Howl, was splattered with actual droplets of my own blood. I had pricked my fingers until they were raw to get the shade right. It was primal, a stark departure from the polished, soulless portraits I’d painted to please the Graves family.

He wiped me down with clumsy care, taught himself to cook plain porridge, and slept on a narrow folding chair by my bed every night, fully dressed, just to be near. The day I was discharged, sunlight bathed the seaside town in gold. Nathan pushed my wheelchair, a cashmere blanket he had bought draped over me. Six months later, he rented the only art gallery in town and sponsored my very first solo exhibition. He named it 'Rebirth'. The bright, spacious hall was filled with the work I had poured my soul into for half a year. Storm-dark seas before a tempest. Iridescent light shimmering on rocks after rain. A daisy blooming toward the sun from a bookstore window.

So she ran and climbed the seat beside me, and the other one pouted and went to the seat beside Jagat. She pouted her lips, and the baby girl showed her tongue out to her. They are both doing catfights, and we are all smiling seeing them. They did that for more than 5 minutes, and we had to divert their minds. After a few minutes, our chef came forward with pizza and plates. He kept it there and went. My choti maa came and served all of us. Seeing our girls there, she smiled and said, “My guess was correct. I know you both will come here.” We all smiled and dove into our pizza.

He was known for his impeccable taste, and many artists aspired to have their works showcased in his collection. I was starstruck, to say the least. I had read about Hermes in many art magazines and books, and to have him standing in front of me was a dream come true. "I'm a big fan of your work, Kimani," he said with a smile. I was taken aback by his words. "Thank you, Mr. Gustavus. That means a lot to me," I said, trying to hide my excitement. He smiled, his eyes shining with amusement. "Please, call me Hermes. And may I say, you are quite talented yourself. Your paintings have a unique perspective, and I find that quite refreshing."

"Okay, this artwork is called ‘Disintegrating Reality.’ Quite a unique name, if I should say so myself." Julian turned his gaze to Leslie, his lips tilting up at her eagerness. The MC unveiled the painting, and gasps could be heard throughout the entire auditorium. Leslie’s eyes widened in horror as they landed on her painting. The beautiful piece she’d spent weeks creating was marred with a disgusting green, runny liquid that looked a lot like green dye or paint perhaps. "Ugh, what is it?" the MC questioned, repulsed. "Is this a joke arranged by the organizers?"