I started with Lovecraft<\/a>, and then was commissioned to paint Poe. I think the final in the creepy series should be Stephen King.<\/p>\n I loved when we got to read Poe or other creepy things growing up, it is probably the reason I am so strange as an adult.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n And just because I can:<\/p>\n Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,<\/p>\n Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only, Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer `Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! – `Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! `Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting – And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting [singlepic id=235 w=320 h=240 float=center] Edgar Allen Poe, oil on panel, 11×14, 2013. For\u00a0sale at : Aradani Studios Gallery I started with Lovecraft, and then was commissioned to paint Poe. I think the final in the creepy series should be Stephen King. I loved when we got to read Poe or other creepy things growing … Read more<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[18],"tags":[55,4,19],"class_list":["post-751","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-artwork","tag-horror","tag-new-art","tag-painting"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/751","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=751"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/751\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=751"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=751"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=751"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nWhile I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
\nAs of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
\n`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door –
\nOnly this, and nothing more.’<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAnd each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
\nEagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
\nFrom my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore –
\nFor the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
\nNameless here for evermore.<\/p>\n
\nThrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
\nSo that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
\n`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –
\nSome late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; –
\nThis it is, and nothing more,’<\/p>\n
\n`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
\nBut the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
\nAnd so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
\nThat I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; –
\nDarkness there, and nothing more.<\/p>\n
\nDoubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
\nBut the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
\nAnd the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
\nThis I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
\nMerely this and nothing more.<\/p>\n
\nSoon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
\n`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
\nLet me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
\nLet my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; –
\n‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’<\/p>\n
\nIn there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
\nNot the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
\nBut, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door –
\nPerched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door –
\nPerched, and sat, and nothing more.<\/p>\n
\nBy the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
\n`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
\nGhastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –
\nTell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
\nQuoth the raven, `Nevermore.’<\/p>\n
\nThough its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
\nFor we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
\nEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door –
\nBird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
\nWith such name as `Nevermore.’<\/p>\n
\nThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
\nNothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered –
\nTill I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before –
\nOn the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
\nThen the bird said, `Nevermore.’<\/p>\n
\n`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
\nCaught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
\nFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore –
\nTill the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
\nOf “Never-nevermore.”‘<\/p>\n
\nStraight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
\nThen, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
\nFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore –
\nWhat this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
\nMeant in croaking `Nevermore.’<\/p>\n
\nTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
\nThis and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
\nOn the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
\nBut whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
\nShe shall press, ah, nevermore!<\/p>\n
\nSwung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
\n`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
\nRespite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
\nQuaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
\nQuoth the raven, `Nevermore.’<\/p>\n
\nWhether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
\nDesolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted –
\nOn this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore –
\nIs there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
\nQuoth the raven, `Nevermore.’<\/p>\n
\nBy that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore –
\nTell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
\nIt shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
\nClasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
\nQuoth the raven, `Nevermore.’<\/p>\n
\n`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
\nLeave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
\nLeave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
\nTake thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
\nQuoth the raven, `Nevermore.’<\/p>\n
\nOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
\nAnd his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
\nAnd the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
\nAnd my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
\nShall be lifted – nevermore!<\/p>\n![\"eapoe_web\"](\"http:\/\/michaelbielaczyc.com\/blog\/wp-content\/gallery\/color-illustration\/thumbs\/thumbs_eapoe_web.jpg\")
<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"