Author: Gwendolyn Wom
Release Date: 4/28/2015
Internationally famous and reclusive artist Bryan Pierce has a secret. He paints memories of people who have lived in the past. His whole life he has suffered from these recalls. To keep his sanity he paints the dreams and hides from the world—until at an art opening, Linz Jacobs sees one of his paintings that is identical to a recurring nightmare she’s had her whole life. When they meet it becomes the catalyst for Bryan to begin to remember the life of a neuroscientist who died in an accident along with his wife in 1980, right as they were on the brink of curing Alzheimer’s. Solving the mystery of their deaths will lead Bryan and Linz to an even greater legacy buried deep in the past. Both a thriller and a timeless love story, THE MEMORY PAINTER spans six continents and more than 10,000 years.
Have you ever had that moment after reading a book when you realize that you've just been effected emotionally & mentally. Like a hangover, but on a literary level?? Well that's how I felt after reading The Memory Painter.
The entire story was a beautifully written & entertwined between mystery, danger & love. Being an artist who paints memories seemed like such a unique ability to me, though I know most people wouldn't group this with anytime of "ability", I absolutely will. The more I read, the more I become consumed by Bryan & Linz's mission. Their complete resolve to figure this mystery out was refreshing.
Yes, love played a part in the novel, it didn't quiet over-take the book like most would think. The author was able to balance out each aspect of this plot extremely well. Every detail was high lighted in it's own way, but never to the point that makes you feel like you've been staring at the same thing for wayyyyyy too long. Overall I have to say I was very much surprised by how far I fell into this book. Taking me away from reality and thrusting me into this mysterious world of danger really made me appreciate the abilities of Ms. Wom. If given the chance, I will be hunting for her other works in the very near future.
Linz looked around the room. “This is quite a turnout.” In fact,
she could feel the buzz in the air— this was an event. For the first
time, she became curious. “Who’s the artist?”
The crowd had started to swell, and the noise level in the room
had amplified. Derek had to lean in and raise his voice. “Bryan
Pierce, came out of nowhere and made a huge splash in
.” New York
“Huge splash,” Penelope agreed, eyeing an older gentleman in
the corner making pencil notes on his card. “Buyers are even in
Europe and we have the exclusive.”
Linz glimpsed a dramatic painting of a Japanese woman in an
elaborate kimono. Her black hair fell like a silk curtain and trailed
to the ground as she knelt at a koi pond, a lotus flower dangling
from her hand. A reflection shimmered in the water as a man stood
watching her from the bridge above.
The artist had signed his name in Japanese. Linz nodded to the
painting. “He’s Japanese?”
Penelope shook her head. “He signs each work with a different
name. He won’t explain why. We’re guessing it’s whoever’s point
of view the painting is from.”
“Pretty wacky but original,” Derek chimed in. “Part of his mystique.”
Linz glanced around at all the men. “Which one is he?”
“Our man of the hour isn’t here,” Derek said, signaling a circling
caterer to go refill his tray.
When a group of people moved aside, it offered Linz a glimpse
of another painting nearby: the
under construction. Palace of Versailles
The detail in the sprawling image captured the transformation
of King Louis XIII’s hunting lodge to Louis XIV’s opulent palace to
perfection. Hundreds of workers had been painted in miniature,
draining swamps, clearing trees, and expanding the building’s core.
On the periphery, the geometric expanse of the gardens was beginning
to take shape, with the king himself overseeing its design.
Overcome by the urge to see everything, Linz abandoned her
friends. “I’m going to take a look around,” she murmured and wandered
toward the first wall.
She lingered at the Versailles painting. The longer she stared at
it, the more she was filled with a strange desire to be in seventeenth century
France. The painting was signed Louis Le Vau, and she
wondered if he existed. She’d have to look him up when she got
Next, she moved to a rendering of Machu Picchu, the Lost City
of the Incas, as it would have appeared in the fourteen hundreds.
The artist had conjured a breathtaking vista thick with people in
motion, in the midst of some kind of religious ceremony. Again, it
was as if time had opened a portal so she could peer into the past.
She bent down to study the signature. Instead of a name, it was a
symbol of an eagle with a tiny feather in its claw.
The next canvas told another story, of a bedouin family on their
way to lay offerings at the Treasury in
. The dawn light cast Petra
golden embers over the city, which was carved within a mountain.
A young man stood high on a cliff, playing a wooden pan flute to
the girl down below as she walked with her parents and her brothers.
The girl was looking back at him, her head tilted upward with
a smile. The moment had been captured so vividly; the song the
boy played resonated in the paint.
Every painting was a masterpiece— even Linz could tell that.
She assumed the artist must have traveled to each location in order
to paint with such authenticity. But it wasn’t just their beauty—
something about the images pulled at her, making her want to be
alone with them in the room.
She turned the corner, where a freestanding wall had been erected
to hold a single painting, the largest and most dramatic piece in
the gallery. The moment she saw it, her thoughts vanished and she
was suddenly standing on a mental precipice that was threatening
to give way.
Minutes stretched to their breaking point. Every brushstroke
screamed back at her. Somehow this artist had reached into her
mind and captured something known only to her.
“So what do you think?” Penelope had joined her.
Linz had trouble speaking as she tried to grasp what she was seeing.
The horrific image looked as real as any photograph. It was a
painting of a woman tied to a stake while a sea of prisoners and
Roman soldiers watched her burn.
“He brought this one in two days ago,” Penelope said. “It’s magnificent.”
Linz was still struggling to find her voice. “P, I know this sounds
weird, but did you tell this guy about my dream?”
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Ships in US only. Must be 13+ Top Enter