Marcel's Art: INTO THE VOID

This painting by Marcel was commissioned by a friend of mine, Sammie Sleevi. If I recall correctly, she wanted something bleak, composed of black and white (to match her decor), and a fair amount of morbidity. Marcel's answer was the world depicted here in Into The Void.

At first glance, maybe you think the winged creature hovering in the foreground is some kind of angel. After all, like most depictions of angels it has human limbs and proportions, plus the necessary wings. But if this was ever an angel, at this point is has long since fallen from grace. Its wings are tar-smeared black and waft the sickly-smell of what's left of its decomposing body into the air. Chunks of flesh are missing to expose a rib, an entire pelvis. It's face is a mask of indistinguishable features, and its fingers have warped into long talons.

The creature puts those talons to good use: for this is hell, and the small amounts of red Marcel allowed himself to place in the painting (if you can find them) must surely be human blood.

Somewhere in the dirty-white void of nothingness that is these creatures' domain, there is a deep dark pit. A massive tree grows on its precipice, it's roots burrowing deep into the the sides of the hole. How deep it is- what goes on inside- nobody knows. But it must be much worse than what awaits the humans on the surface, for they keep trying to climb out, scaling the tree's roots in a futile attempt to escape. The humans scuttle out of the hole, hoping to sneak past the creatures and reach the nothingness beyond, because surely that must be better than what they endure on the inside.

But the creatures will have none of that - no one has ever escaped. They are efficient guardians, and nobody gets past. Their massive wings carry them in circles around the hole, and if any human manages to reach the top, within moments he or she will be airborne, seeing the talons they have been impaled with and and are being carried on before they actually notice the pain - it all happens so fast.

Then they are tossed back into the hole whence they came from, screaming, falling - who knows how far.

Or, if the creatures are so inclined, they feast on the bodies, wrapping any bloody remains in cocoons of tar and feathers that keep them preserved and hanging in the tree for later. Leftovers. A snack.

But that's not all...for if this is hell, then the humans are already dead and cannot die a second time. They remain conscious, wrapped up and immobile in a tree. With every passing brush of wings, with every hint of airborne decay that passes their nostrils, they fear that their time on the surface is over. For as much as they don't like being eaten (who would?), it is nothing compared with the terror they must face deep within the hole. Only something so terrible it is beyond our imagination could send them up to the surface and certain capture, welcoming the angelic embrace of the void's dark creatures.