Ultraman in the world of grams

Chapter 65

The line of sight captures the delicate brushstrokes on the distorted horror paintings. Only a painter with superb painting skills and deep insight into nature can draw such exquisite works.

Wilson has seen a lot of strange pictures or works on the Internet, many of which are just adding some miscellaneous things on the human body, making some weird movements, and then putting some blood thorns or blackness in the background.

To be honest, it wasn't scary at all, and it wasn't as exciting as the scary little kid who suddenly popped out of sight.

He admits that the first time he saw pictures of the Uncanny Valley effect, he really felt creepy, but compared with the paintings in front of him, it seemed a little insignificant.

What a genius painter this is, who is able to depict fear so creepily and vividly, using precise lines and proportions to directly connect the instincts sleeping deep in human genes and the terrible memories inherited from generation to generation, using appropriate color contrast and The light and dark effect pricks the abnormal feeling dormant in our hearts.

Wilson has never felt that he has any artistic talents. In his opinion, there is nothing special about those 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 cottage with his own eyes.

He suddenly understood what art is.

The painter wonderfully expresses the oldest emotion of human beings - fear, clearly on the paper, and the distortion of hatred and fear is so tensely presented in front of people's eyes.

Wilson praised and sighed from the bottom of his heart.

The painter didn't answer his question directly, but apparently he seemed to appreciate Wilson's praise.Any artist wants his work to be appreciated.

"Have you always lived in this old neighborhood?" Wilson asked enthusiastically. "It stands to reason that a painter as good as you shouldn't be buried here."

The eerie and restrained artist, who shut himself up in his basement to paint, was clearly 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 it will never find enough value in the man-made streets built by upstarts on landfill."

"Those reclaimed neighborhoods aren't Boston at all—it's too young to accumulate enough memory to attract local ghosts. I'm after human ghosts—ghosts whose past lives are highly organization, they can instantly understand the meaning of what they see when they look directly at 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? Generations of people 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 so-called modern areas."

The painter seemed a little excited as he spoke, with an impassioned tone.

But Wilson touched his chin, hesitant.

How should I put it, should I tell the other party that in his opinion there is no difference between this place and other places?He didn't realize how long the history of this land of the United States is... Maybe a piece of terracotta tile in his previous life's hometown may have such a long history.

If this is true, can throwing a stone across the ocean pass through many ghosts?

Not sure, not enough evidence yet.He is more inclined 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 the things summoned by witches' spells also existed. Cough, look at these people today, in those self-proclaimed painters, groups There's a whole club of guys with pale pink stuff in their skulls, and any painting that transcends the atmosphere of a tea party in the street is enough to make them tremble and twitch!"

The painter expressed his strong dissatisfaction with those people who are now fishing for fame.

"Oh, isn't that the case?" Wilson sighed, "Geniuses are a minority in every era, and mediocre people occupy most of the world. This kind of painting with twisted charm is really not very popular. welcome."

Under Wilson's deliberate efforts, the painter quickly became acquainted with him and almost became his confidant.

The painter showed Wilson a little nervously to see more paintings.

He couldn't specifically describe what kind of paintings these were, the things the artist drew with extremely simple brushstrokes-it was such appalling, profane horror, so abominable beyond belief.The backgrounds of those paintings are generally old churchyards, deep forests, cliffs facing the sea, brick tunnels, old rooms with panels, simple stone cellars and so on.

The characters he depicted in the foreground are full of madness and deformity, not the kind of things that randomly piece together human and animal limbs. Almost none of the characters in his works still retain a complete human appearance, but almost every character And all with varying degrees of human characteristics.Most of them stand upright on two feet and lean forward, looking like a group of dogs; the rubber-like skin makes people disgusted.

If Wilson hadn't seen Silizan's disgusting monster with his own eyes, he would probably feel nauseous when he saw such a painting.

But these paintings seem to reveal more than that. Instead of turbulent, colorful, ephemeral dreams like mayflies, what the painter depicts is a cold, ironic reflection of steady, mechanical, unwavering horror. .

The painter observes the world thoroughly, depicts the world brilliantly, confronts the world decisively, and expresses the world resolutely.

The more Wilson admired these paintings, the more his eyes widened in shock.

He seemed to see a dark and oppressive world unfolding before his eyes.

The answer to the question he asked before seemed to be presented in front of his eyes. These things really existed in this world, alive, bloody, disgusting and frightening.

Some kind of invisible horror and darkness is looking at him coldly through the small canvas, which is just the tip of the iceberg, behind him is a whole sinking and polluted world.

Yes, the painter seems to be depicting the same kind of weirdness from the beginning to the end, so besides this kind of existence, how much else is hidden in this world?
Wilson turned his head and looked into the painter's eyes.

Maybe it's not his illusion, the features and expressions on the painter's face seem to be gradually approaching them in the painting.

(End of this chapter)