Marcelo Halmenschlager Art Gallery

Marcelo prefer natural mediums such as oils and charcoals. Oils have a natural and organic feel, and they are as versatile as his body of work. He believes oils have infinite possibilities. Charcoals are dirty and messy in a sense of execution, but they are also pure and clean as a substance, which he finds to be a contradiction. That contradiction is also a reflection of his own personality, and is represented in his work, where he goes from realism to abstract concepts and imagery.

THE HEXAGONAL BOX SERIES

Coming soon

AUTOMATIC WRITINGS FOR AUTOMATIC DRAWINGS

by Marcelo Halmenschlager

What happens when a psychiatrist sketches while patients speak, and discovers the drawings reveal traumas they never described?

Dr. Alcemor Schlermanlagel made an impossible discovery: his unconscious charcoal sketches during therapy sessions were accessing archetypal wounds that transcended individual experience. When patients saw these "automatic drawings," profound breakthroughs occurred—but the patterns emerging defied everything psychology claimed to understand.

AUTOMATIC WRITINGS FOR AUTOMATIC DRAWINGS documents fifty therapeutic sessions where art becomes portal, and where clinical observation dissolves into something similar to mystical revelation. Each piece is an "Alcemory"—Halmenschlager's innovative hybrid form fusing poetic rhythm with prose narrative, psychological insight with visual art, personal memory with collective shadow.

This isn't poetry, nor memoir. This is unconventional storytelling.

These are visceral fragments excavated from the unconscious through spontaneous creation—raw, unguarded moments where image and word collide to reveal truths that lurk beneath the surface of ordinary experience. From childhood trauma to inherited guilt, from supernatural encounters to family secrets, each Alcemory emerges like developed film from the darkroom of the psyche.

Prepare to encounter literature that operates on depths most books never explore.

An invitation to descend through layers of consciousness where the clinical meets the mystical, where automatic creation becomes conscious revelation, and where reading may become its own form of therapeutic breakthrough.

Step into the darkness. Let the images pull you in. Let the writings sing.

Coming soon

DARK TALES IN 100 WORDS - THE SEVENTH VERTEX

by Marcelo Halmenschlager

 Discovered in the hexagonal attic of a missing psychiatrist, these one hundred tales—each exactly 100 words—appear to be more than mere fiction. The stories form a pattern, a ritual of words that may have opened a doorway to somewhere... else.

Dark Tales in 100 Words: The Seventh Vertex draws readers into an existential labyrinth, offering measured doses of darkness that pull back reality's curtain to reveal the otherness lurking just beyond perception—bittersweet confections of horror and insight that linger long after their brief savoring.

From body horror and ancestral wounds to cosmic justice and predatory hunger, these tales traverse a progression of increasingly profound darkness. Their disciplined brevity sharpens each story's impact, creating fully realized worlds where every word bears weight.

Original charcoal illustrations accompany each tale, their forms not merely illustrating but extending into additional dimensions of meaning. As you move through these pages, you may begin to notice: are you reading these stories, or are they reading you?

Enter at your own risk. The previous owner of this manuscript is still missing.

 Coming soon

THE REDACTED PSALMS -

 Unspoken Fragments from the Alcemor Archive

by Marcelo Halmenschlager

Beneath the sanatorium ruins, they found a vault.

Inside: fragments of erased testimony. Pages that bled when touched. Glyphs that shifted when named. Voices that refused to die.

These are not poems. Not prayers. These are psalms written against forgetting — and they remember you.

Each PSA (Psalmodic Statement of Archive) is a living file: a wound disguised as a page, an echo that learns your name, a mirror that does not forgive. The witnesses contradict themselves.

The margins hum with impossible symbols. And the book itself breathes as you turn the leaves.

Reading is not safe.

The walls will remember what you’ve done.

You will not leave untouched — if you leave at all.

This is not a book. This is a reckoning.