As the museum burned the police watched Hobbs and his statuary carefully.
As wax dripped and ran, twisting and warping into esoteric and erotic poses, steel and aluminium wire was laid bare.
"Using human beings as armatures?" Hobbs laughed. "God how beastly. Not to mention graceless and impractical."
Lighting a tallow candle he gazed lovingly around his room. "Painting has always been my love, the anatomy and mechanics of the strange my muse."
Blasted landscapes from which twisted smoking limbs curled strangely under multiple moons, outré and gibbous.
Corpse-like portraits, amoeboid, bloated and obscene, painted in livid intestinal shades cast baleful gazes.
Hobbs smiled broadly as the police dismissed his paintings with disgust.
Each blasphemous canvas rendered lavishly in thick, lustrous pigment; bone white, blood red, spleen mauve.
Pigments rendered from the living flesh of Hobbs's many, many victims.
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