There is an atelier with no address. Some say it is not a place at all,
nbut a pause - the pause a person takes before they forget who they are.

Inside it, a man called the Keeper guards the atelier's greatest secret:
na canvas that belongs to no artist, and yet, somehow, to all of them.
nA canvas that has never been finished.

Every night, when the clock strikes twelve, the door opens. The cave
npainter who first dared to say I am here stands beside Van Gogh, who
ncarried color like a wound. Leonardo meets Michelangelo - reason and
npassion locked in battle. Caravaggio and Rembrandt speak of light born
nfrom darkness. Twelve nights. Twelve conversations. One question that
nkeeps moving closer to home:

What does it mean to leave a mark?

The Keeper has spent a lifetime keeping - recording the artists' words,
nguarding their traces, never daring to create. He has convinced himself
nthat there are people who create, and people who keep. Until the final
nnight, when he finds a line in the lower corner of the mysterious
ncanvas. Barely visible. Unmistakably his own.

Because after the twelfth stroke, there is always a thirteenth - the one
nno clock strikes. The one we must strike ourselves.

The Thirteenth Stroke is a novel for everyone who has ever stood
nbefore a masterpiece and felt it looking back. A book about art and
nseeing, about imperfection and courage - and about the unfinished canvas
nevery person carries within.

Some canvases are never finished. Some conversations never end.

The Thirteenth Stroke

Comentarios