nathaniel maverick

call me howler.

[natehowler]

zanebishara·:

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      Zane looked over the painting in front of him, dark eyes scanning the composition with a poker face. He was impressed, of course he was, and had expressed so dozens of times to the boy since they’d been working in the same gallery. “It’s unique.” Zane nodded, and then turned his face to look at the other male with a small smirk. “I’ve told you that before, how I feel about it – I think you just wanna hear it again.” He teased Nate, even reaching out for a playful knock against his shoulder. “I love your work. It has a certain theme to it, very macabre, which I think has a very huge, and relevant place in art. Do you like it?” 

     an amused and husky laughter filled the quiet room while he heard the teasing, nodding in pure confirmation. 〝 you’re right. the best artists are flattered by the same compliments everytime. i’ve got to practise, right? 〞green eyes were lit, the words working the right nerves to higher his self-esteem in that new & cold town. but the next question Zane threw at him, made Howler stop whatever he was doing with his hands and darken his expressions, eyes now facing almost blankly at the painting in front of him. he could see the mistakes. the wrong strikes. the wrong blurrs of ink. he was a perfectionist. after a few seconds with furrowed brows and a lot of thinking, Wes stared back at Zane, shrugging.〝 i won’t continue to like it, if i keep looking so much at it. 〞a small, now more sober laughter came across his opened lips. 〝 it’s funny. nobody else seems to see the crooked lines and the defects i see. but i do like it, yeah. maybe because it seems so real and bizarre. it is a truth, you know. that skull. 〞

[natehowler]

byrnethomas·:

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Art is something that Tommy liked to think he took pretty seriously, especially since he got the chance to focus on it more rather than treating it as a hobby. But whoever this guy was seemed to be on a whole other level. The way he was talking about his art and the description behind it all sounded very…smart. He clearly knew what he was talking about and it made Tommy feel a little embarrassed of the few random sculptures he had laying around his apartment from whenever he thought it was a good idea to sculpt while high. It always made him feel so powerful and in control but maybe that wasn’t the case. “It looks beautiful”, he admitted, looking over the painting on the canvas. “It’s very…deep.” Way to sound like an idiot Tommy.

     compliments. Wes liked them, even though he’d heard all this before from different people, different voices. it was a new city, a new beginning, after  all. connections, they all mattered. the smile on his face was genuine, whilst the glow inside his eyes were pure amusement and cold analysis. 〝wanna meet the artist?〞 Howler lifted his right hand, wanting to shake the other’s. 〝i’m Nathaniel. Howler if we’re friends. this one i’ve made during my sleep training last week, I’ve worked for whole three hours and slept in periods of 15 minutes in between brush strokes.〞he laughed remembering the scene of his face covered in dark ink and the ring on the doorbell. 〝it was not a good idea, but it made me think about living. we sleep too much.〞

[natehowler]

    〝 oh i’m not--- 〞 sometimes, sharing his point of view about one’s art was overwhelming. but not to that person, the one listening carefully to what he had to say about the portrait. Howler, in fact, made them think he was the actual painter, lighting a sense of hope inside of him.  〝 i’m not the.. 〞the words froze and died in the back of his mouth, making his tongue bittersweet. Wes wanted it so bad; the recognition, the prestige. the congrats cards from his parents. the money.〝 actually, i’m not the painter. but i do paint, if you want to check out some of my most recent work--- 〞 the lack of confidence in his voice made the person go away, leaving behind a very embarrassed Nathaniel. he bit his lower lip, furrowing his brows while his right hand automatically went up the back of his  head, messing up his hair. 〝 this is really a stone city.〞his voice was low, only loud enough to that other person next to him listen.

@warmvlbes

[natehowler]

     〝 we all are missing this. 〞 Howler’s voice was uppish, after all, it was a subject he mastered in art-school. when talking about something he knew; and he was sure about, his lips curled up in a quirky, yet somewhat charming way.  〝 memento mori. 〞the phrase eternized in that black and white skull in the canvas, which he gesticulated with unconscious movements towards. 〝 the constant reminder that we are all going to die someday. 〞he bit his lower lip for a second, fascinated with the idea; not the idea of death itself, but the idea of living until that day, and enjoying each and every moment of it. his mother said he’d always make such a big deal out of everything, even though she knew he’d always been right about all. an old soul in all the effects.  〝 it’s the more realistic way of saying carpe-diem. you know. for the pessimists like me. 〞finally shoving both of his hands back into his jacket, Howler took a step back, looking at the person visiting his place of painting. 〝 do you like it?〞

[absinthundblut]

[runawaydevill]

"The Audience" (1991) by James Hoff