Chiaroscuro

By Anna Reith

A shy, socially inept art history student becomes obsessed with a painting of Saint Sebastian in the National Gallery.

But, as Mark finds himself inexorably - and strangely - drawn to the painted saint, his world is changed in more ways than he ever imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frith Books
• Release date: May 15, 2012
• ISBN: 9781907623301

Anna Reith

Anna Reith lives behind a keyboard in the far south west of England. On the very rare occasions she is not writing, Anna enjoys taking long, muddy walks with her dogs, dabbling in her herb garden, and falling off horses. Not all at the same time, obviously.

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Chiaroscuro

Anna Reith

Smashwords Edition

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Published by Frith Books at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Anna Reith

ISBN: 978-1-907623-30-1

Cover art and design by Anna Reith for Frith Books

All rights reserved. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, events, and characters are fictitious or are used fictitiously, a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarities to actual events, or persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

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CHIAROSCURO

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The National Gallery must be one of London’s last sacred spaces. I don’t mean in the same way as the parks or the churches—St. Paul’s or all the hidden gems of nineteenth century synagogues and tiny Gothic buildings, tucked away from prying eyes—because it’s not like that at all. It’s different. It’s a massive landmark, yes, but in a way, perhaps it’s more… I don’t know. Pure?

It’s free. Still free, like it’s always been, and it’s open to everyone. Tourists, locals, art lovers and schoolchildren are all welcome. Even students like me. Repository of the nation’s artistic treasures and, similar to the British Museum, you can just wander in off the street and demand to be transported to another place and time. That’s what happened to me the first time I saw him. The Pollaiuolo Sebastian.

I visited the gallery on a wet Wednesday afternoon, casting around for ideas on which to base my final year undergrad dissertation. Art History. Not a great asset in the current job market, I know, though that’s a bit besides the point. I’d been thinking about saints, because all the symbolism in their depictions—eyes for St. Catherine, who had hers put out, or breasts for St. Agatha, who had hers torn off—would make for an easy essay, with the added interest factor of gore, and because the Renaissance unit of study on my course had easily been one of the most interesting I’d tackled. It all fed into some loose, vapid dream I had to travel, see the whole of Europe instead of my narrow corner of it; maybe even go to Rome and Florence. Not likely to happen when I’d grown up in a Wimbledon council flat and was putting myself through the college degree with a shitty job at Wimpy, but a boy can dream.

Anyway, I digress. This wet Wednesday. Into the gallery, up the wide and echoing staircases,