There Is No Devil Sinners Duet Book 2 By Sophie Lark-pdfread

color, her overalls so battered and stained that I can’t tell if they were
originally black or dark denim. She’s got the legs rolled up mid-shin, bare
feet beneath, paint on her toes as well.
She smells of linen and flaxseed oil, with a sharp edge of turpentine. For this
series and the last one, Mara is using oil paints, not acrylic. The paint dries
slowly over several days, so the pigment is malleable. She can stack
transparent layers, one over the other, to create deep shadows or the
impression of light glowing from within. She can blend shades for seamless
transitions.
Her technique improves by the day.
Her previous series was mostly photorealistic. This new series blends highdetail
figures with rooms and scenery that in places look solid and ultra-real,
while other areas melt and fade away like the edges of a memory. It gives a
soft, rotting effect, as if the whole painting is beset by decay soaking through
the canvas.
This particular piece shows a young girl in a nightgown walking down a
placid suburban street. The roses on the hedges are past their bloom, brown at
the edges. A charred teddy bear trails from one hand. Behind her, a half
dozen birds have fallen dead from the sky. Beneath her slippered feet, the
grass withers away.
“What are you going to call this one?”
“I’m not sure,” Mara says, rubbing the back of her hand across her cheek.
This leaves a fresh smear of pale pink along her jaw—the pink of the roses,
which Mara is touching up in the lower right corner of the canvas.
“What about … The Burial?”
Mara nods slowly. “I like that.”
I’m looking at one of the fallen birds, pitifully laying on its back with wings
splayed.
“What?” Mara says.