Art can be beautiful and disturbing. Sculptures can be made from clay, but never flesh. In this circumstance, art is debated and adored. Will an artist be able to put himself into his work with no self-portrait?

Donatella Claire, an art student, and blogger who sought out new material for her website. Finally living the dream and discovering artworks of all kinds, she stumbles upon an artwork drenched in solitude. The Louvre has many historical works on display but refuses to publicize one in particular. 

'An artwork without emotion is no artwork': Edvard Munch.
But one may ask, what then, is art?: Marcel Duchamp.

Her love for art threatens her relationship, her passion for it causes her to face her mistakes. Her determination drives her into the supernatural. What happens next, is left on the sketchpad.

The Painters Death Wish

The interior of her studio represented her personality. Vintage and classy. She wore an elegant bustier with a cropped jumper attachment. Her eyes were always hooded-mysterious as a rose leaf. She moved swiftly with a model-strut and her hair waved in a sea of red. She sat down on a lip-shaped cushion and she had the casualty of a flower blooming in winter. 


"I'm sorry for coming so late. "Dona fluttered. She wore her most casual outfit, others would argue that she walked in with pyjamas. She did feel out of place among all the artworks, Madame Alice was one herself. 


"No, bother." She waved her hand in the air. 


"Your studio is amazing. "Dona walked around, peering at each canvas that spread across the walls. 


"Thank you doll."Madame got up, swayed her hips to her minibar. 


"Tell me."She poured them both glasses of wine. "Do you wish to discuss the case?" 


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