Attack of the Grampire
Attack of the Grampire measures 9”x 12” (Has Border, severed finger not included).
Giclee print on bright white 255gsm archival Epson Somerset Velvet.
It’s a 100% cotton fine art paper with a smooth surface and a matte finish.
If you want to learn more about the Grampire, read below…
_______________________
Grandpa was missed by many people: friends, neighbors, even old lovers.
He left a large hole in his community when he died, with many courtesies and deeds left uncompleted.
The things that you missed were simple: quiet hours spent by the fire in his company, the scent of Old Spice and the soft sounds of emphysema taking its toll on his aged system.
And then there was his old farmhouse, a drafty structure to be sure, but since you’d moved in you hoped to find some trace of him there: perhaps some strain of his voice, a familiar scent, a shadow.
And yet the house felt disappointingly empty, sadly devoid of ghosts…
As illogical as it was, you’d hoped against hope that someday, somehow, you’d see Grandpa again, even if it were only in the kind of dreams described by some dreamers as “realer than reality.”
You had wished for dreams and got nightmares instead, the kind you can’t wake up from.
But there he was: shuffling through the tall grasses, bathed in the light of strange moons…
Tearing, gasping….he beat on the old wooden door, a hollow blow that resonated deep in the blood.
This wasn’t the Grandpa you were hoping to meet at the door…
Attack of the Grampire measures 9”x 12” (Has Border, severed finger not included).
Giclee print on bright white 255gsm archival Epson Somerset Velvet.
It’s a 100% cotton fine art paper with a smooth surface and a matte finish.
If you want to learn more about the Grampire, read below…
_______________________
Grandpa was missed by many people: friends, neighbors, even old lovers.
He left a large hole in his community when he died, with many courtesies and deeds left uncompleted.
The things that you missed were simple: quiet hours spent by the fire in his company, the scent of Old Spice and the soft sounds of emphysema taking its toll on his aged system.
And then there was his old farmhouse, a drafty structure to be sure, but since you’d moved in you hoped to find some trace of him there: perhaps some strain of his voice, a familiar scent, a shadow.
And yet the house felt disappointingly empty, sadly devoid of ghosts…
As illogical as it was, you’d hoped against hope that someday, somehow, you’d see Grandpa again, even if it were only in the kind of dreams described by some dreamers as “realer than reality.”
You had wished for dreams and got nightmares instead, the kind you can’t wake up from.
But there he was: shuffling through the tall grasses, bathed in the light of strange moons…
Tearing, gasping….he beat on the old wooden door, a hollow blow that resonated deep in the blood.
This wasn’t the Grandpa you were hoping to meet at the door…
Attack of the Grampire measures 9”x 12” (Has Border, severed finger not included).
Giclee print on bright white 255gsm archival Epson Somerset Velvet.
It’s a 100% cotton fine art paper with a smooth surface and a matte finish.
If you want to learn more about the Grampire, read below…
_______________________
Grandpa was missed by many people: friends, neighbors, even old lovers.
He left a large hole in his community when he died, with many courtesies and deeds left uncompleted.
The things that you missed were simple: quiet hours spent by the fire in his company, the scent of Old Spice and the soft sounds of emphysema taking its toll on his aged system.
And then there was his old farmhouse, a drafty structure to be sure, but since you’d moved in you hoped to find some trace of him there: perhaps some strain of his voice, a familiar scent, a shadow.
And yet the house felt disappointingly empty, sadly devoid of ghosts…
As illogical as it was, you’d hoped against hope that someday, somehow, you’d see Grandpa again, even if it were only in the kind of dreams described by some dreamers as “realer than reality.”
You had wished for dreams and got nightmares instead, the kind you can’t wake up from.
But there he was: shuffling through the tall grasses, bathed in the light of strange moons…
Tearing, gasping….he beat on the old wooden door, a hollow blow that resonated deep in the blood.
This wasn’t the Grandpa you were hoping to meet at the door…