Stripped | h.s

4. A work of art.

MAIN TRACK: Monster - Joakim Lundell

Harry Styles -

- When the bizarre and grotesque is trapped

in the form of a frozen moment, it's called art.

But when it's alive and breathing,

it's called a psychopath. -

The night air is chilly outside the car and just about thirty minutes ago it had snowed. But now, as I look up the dark sky hovering over the rooftops it's just a plain black, clean sheet of eternity to paint whatever you want on.

I inhale the smoke from my cigarette as we head towards the small venue of Bryony's exhibition, taking place in the very center of London. Small, exclusive and highly awaited by the world of art.

Rhys is in the front, maneuvering the car as I sit in the back with the window rolled down to let the smoke from my cigarette trail out through the small escape route I created for it.

"It's right up ahead." He informs me and looking out the window I can spot cars parked along the street and a small cluster of people are gathered the other side of it.

"Alright." I let him know I heard and I let the cigarette fly out the window before I close it, correcting my dark red velveteen suit jacket under my trench coat.

The car pulls over and I wait for Rhys to get out before me, following the blonde bloke with his neatly trimmed beard with my eyes, as he rounds the car to get my door open.

I'm to meet more than just Bryony here. Andy flew over from The United States and Oliver will be here together with Hannah as well. Even Liam will be attending.

Rhys opens the door for me and the crisp air from outside hits me in the face as I step out of the warm car and I put my hands down the pockets of my coat.

There's a small fenced off area leading to the door at the bottom of a stair leading down into the foundation of the building. Knowing Bryony she chose something small and intimate rather than something light and grand for her exhibition.

With Rhys slightly behind me I pass the cluster of people, being photographers mostly but also fans that heard of their idols attending. Some are so young I wonder how their parents would allow them to be out here all alone.

I can hear my name being called from both photographers and fans yet I avoid them. Partly because I don't feel like answering their questions, they're here for Bryony Rogers and her work. And partly because they tend to get on my nerves ever so quickly.

Rhys' hand is barely touching the low of my back as he guides me past the horde and through the fences, onto the red little carpet leading down from the sidewalk and the stair to the door; the window in it painted black to let no light in and nothing out.

"Harry, what do you think the exhibition will be like?" A man gets my attention just before I take the stairs down and being the only question I feel is relevant, I look to him a short moment.

"It's Miss. Rogers, it will be splendid." Is all I say before I let Rhys guide me down the stairs and I put my hand on the cold doorknob.

Leaving the crunching of snow and peoples voices I'm met with another stair, completely covered in darkness part from the red neon lights going along its sides to show the way down to a dimly lit room.

The walls a rough, red bricks with all kinds of art posters plastered along the stair and the soft music playing in the venue is all too familiar, being a friend of Bryony's. Jozef Van Wissem.