My true given name escapes all living memory, including my own. The moniker of Hieronymus was a conceit of my dear friend Theodore, now lost to this world, which has reflected my ardent passion for Bosch.

Election to the Dark Gift came to me at Ysabel's embrace in 1933. Thenceforward, the blood that courses through my veins is and ever shall be the blood of the Toreadors.

Over the years my path through this world has variously delighted me with the beauties of sweet Italy, the expansive vistas of wild America. I have come to rest, at long last, in Toulouse in the south of France at the grace of a kindly vampire family who opened themselves to me and took me to their bosom.

Here are some of my works, those that escaped the ravages of time and the hazards of travel ...

Souvenir

In 1928, I was inspired to do this image of a statue in the Père-Lachaise cemetery in Paris. Back then, I would often haunt that magical place and would have passionate posthumous discussions with Alan Kardek, Oscar Wilde or Docteur Gerard Encausse.

Hommage à Boecklin

I've been obviously deeply impressed by the famous swiss painter. In a private collection in Paris, I once had the opportunity to see a little known version of his Isle of the Dead.

Ysabel

Another early work, one of the only representations of my Sire that I saved. Completed in Paris, 1932.

Visage

I would often accomodate female models in my small parisian studio, and Ysabel knew how to make them comfortable. She would caress them in a subtle manner, raising out their most secret inner beauties. Sketched in Paris, around 1933.

Félicien

Commissioned portrait done in Vienna, 1946. The person represented was vampirical by nature, but he ignored the fact that I am also Kindred. When this portrait was finished, he really detested it. But he did come to understand that I was not simply another mere mortal. It was only with sad reluctance that I left the Austrian capital.

Ladislas

A high ranking Malkavian dignitary I met in Florence in 1947. He loved this portrait of himself so much that the only thing he thought befitting to offer me in gratitude was the picture itself!

Marian

A beautiful Toreador princess that some might recognize ... But I really can't bear to say any more about her. This picture means so many things to me ...

The High House in the Mist

At the end of the fifties, the very first Lovecraft works, yet not translated, made their appearance in Europe. Like the main character of this short story, I was seeking after a realm of unspoken mysteries...

New York

In 1960, I disembarked at New York, the first stop for my intended wanderings in the New World. Naive as I was then about all the politics within vampire organisations, I had hoped simply to enjoy that fabulous city. It took only a few days to realize that the idea had to be abandoned...

Oeuvre de chair (Flesh work)

A few days after my return from New York, an odd sort of fellow came to see me. He engaged me to paint, and thereby to immortalize, a number of his own sculpted pieces. Throughout the commission, he would never divulge to me the details of the strange techniques he must have employed to give his material so precise a resemblance to tortured flesh ...

Lord Whipple

A Brujah prince I met somewhere in the states in the sixties. When he saw the finished picture, he said to me, 'This is the work of a great Toreador !' I was unaware then of the vampirical significance of 'Toreador', and I started laughing right in front of the mortified prince. It took six months for my wounds to heal.

Chicago

In 1974 I explored the catacombs and passages under the streets of Chicago. It was there I met those strange vampires who were searching in the mire for answers to long-forgotten questions.

Anazalea

Some of my very last steps in the New World were taken through the more somber regions of New England. There, in a small, marshy triangle called Canaan, I made the acquaintence of this magnificent ebon goddess who practiced the tenebrous art of witchcraft. She condescended to offer herself to my brushes ... in exchange for some drops of my own blood.

Eurydiale

One of the most mysterious people I ever met. She used to haunt the London punk clubs in the late seventies. She had been Aleister Crowley's lover and Sire.

Allégorie de Notre-dame

1978. I was back in Paris after forty-five years. The city had become strange to me; I couldn't get my bearings. And those vampires who harassed me for kneeling before their patriarch ...

Lacrima

1984. Homage to Theodore, my childhood friend who died in 1978. I hadn't seen him at all since I received the Vampire Gift. Yet, when I ran across him at that exhibition in Paris, even after half a century, he knew me immediately.

Renaissance

An allegory on the myth of Isis and Osiris. The model was my human lover Catherine. She had this deadly disease but she would never accept the Gift. Painted in Dordogne in 1987.

Lac de sang impur (A Lake of tainted Blood)

Drown in blood abysses... Despair and anger, the mark of Cain is on my brow ! Done in 1990.

Mesmerisme

Dreamlike vision, this creature came to visit me for several days. She would stand there right before me without a word, just piercing me with her terrible gaze. The night my dearest friend Gabriel met his destiny, the dreams stopped. April 1997.

Saturne

From a seven painting series, completed in seven nights. Each symbolizes one of the seven clans of the Camarilla, but also the seven alchemical planets. Here Clan Nosferatu is pictured as the planet of pain and ugliness. Painted in june 1997.