The Night Watch

If art has the ability to capture your soul, what happens when those souls want to get out? Why, in a house of hundreds of portraits, does one portrait stand unfinished? Is there space on the walls for more?

A “Kirsten Anne McKenzie” FILM
WRITTEN BY Kirsten Anne McKenzie

Michelangelo said “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free”.

And its possible that Michelangelo wasn’t the only artist to set loose into the world images conjured from within their mind. Unfortunately, not all artists confine themselves to cherubs and the Madonna.

As the junior clerk for Lloyd’s Auctions, Anita is dispatched to appraise and catalogue an obscure collection of portraits bequeathed to the National Gallery. The remote location of the estate, and the sheer scale of the collection mean a lengthy stay is required.

Anita arrives at the gothic revival house, perched on a barren windswept coast. Knocking on the heavy oak door, she’s chillily greeted by the lawyer handling the estate . Entering the house, she steps in front of an audience...

An audience of eyes, immortalised in portraits, clustered on every wall, Oil paintings, sketches, water colours of men, women, children.

With a sigh at the task ahead, Anita allows the solid door to close behind her. Reasoning that the house appears comfortable, and remembering she’s planned for friends to join her that weekend, she’s sure it’ll be fine.

As night approaches, Anita can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Surrounded by hundreds portraits from centuries past, its natural to feel watched by the souls depicted in pigment. Isn’t it? She’s finally appraised a dozen portraits. These lay stacked in a corner of the lounge. Yawning, Anita dozes off...

Whilst she sleeps, an image from one of the catalogued portraits, a young man, his face partially shadowed, shimmers, as if caught in candlelight. He eases himself up off his chair, and out of the frame...stretching, released from his slumber. He slowly walks over to the sleeping Anita, tucking her hair behind her ear, his intentions unclear, whispering...