Trevor Henderson Artwork Novels & Stories

She offered her hand to him. "I'm Bernard Holland," his voice echoed off the walls; smooth and deep. He shook her hand. "Please call me Bernie. I manage a gallery in New York City. I heard about your sister's great work and wanted to see it for myself. These are extraordinary," he held one of the larger framed full color landscapes out for her to see. "I like how she captures the true nature, almost three dimensional, as if the leaves are lifted by the breeze." "Yes, they are quite good, aren't they?" Morgan at a loss for words; unbelievable. She regarded some of the framed art on the walls. "Like this one, you mean?" She pointed to a largest one on the wall of the Grand Tetons Mountain rang

He even went to the extent of paying a private investigator, everything was yet the same. It was as if she had disappeared from the surface of the earth. That damned woman! Trevor grunted and tugged his hair in frustration. She added to his miseries and he wondered when it would stop. Glaring at the large mural which was supposed to calm him - as the artist who painted it had said- whenever he was bloodthirsty, it did little to no good. Rather, it seemed blander as he stared at it and felt no strange warmth that was supposed to come out of it after staring intently.

The maiden has been staring at the saved images of Death's painting while sitting on a bench under the big beach umbrella. Trevor approached closer to her place. Standing in the back, he curiously peeked at the maiden's phone. Various kinds of paintings appeared to him. A disturbing exquisite art of dark and madness, that's what he concluded. His presence remains unnoticed by the maiden. "Ah, you love that kind of painting," Trevor opened up. Sumire quickly stared up at him. The young man strides with his chair and placed it next to her. They were seated under the same umbrella.

I picked up a few small bobble head turtles for the girls at work. Outside the stalls an artist sat on the street corner in paint splattered shorts and t-shirt painting ocean landscapes. They were simple in nature, but Trey was taken by them. The clipped pace he'd been leading down the main road slowed until we passed the area with small canvases lining the street. At the last piece, Trey turned and started back toward the artist with me on his heels.

he mumbled and lifted half the wood carved statue out of the box. “It’s a mid-century Baga A-Tshol African headdress statue,” Selena said shyly. “I remembered you had said that you loved wood carvings especially rare pieces.” “Selena,” Trevor began in a deep tone as he pulled the rest of the statue out of the box. “This is . . . this is . . .” He trailed off as he stood. He was speechless. Selena couldn’t tell if he liked it or not. Trevor sat the statue down on the coffee table and approached her. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll cherish it.”