In Spaces Between from The Great Old Ones (1999).

Some noteworthy pieces of news as the month draws to a rain-sodden and dismal conclusion.

• Frank Woodward was in touch this week to let me know that his excellent HP Lovecraft documentary, Lovecraft: Fear of the Unknown, will at last be appearing on DVD in October. This is a feature-length appraisal of Lovecraft’s life, work and influence, and includes contributions from Neil Gaiman, John Carpenter, Guillermo Del Toro, Caitlin R Kiernan, Peter Straub, Ramsey Campbell and Lovecraft scholar ST Joshi. A number of my artworks are included throughout and they’ll probably also be featured in a gallery section on the disc. The film was shot in HD so it’s being released on Blu-ray as well as regular DVD.

• Also Lovecraft-related, and also due out shortly, is DM Mitchell’s follow-up to the landmark Starry Wisdom anthology of Lovecraft-inspired texts and graphics. That volume was acclaimed in some quarters and condemned in others; I don’t doubt that this new work, Songs of the Black Wurm Gism, will manage the same. Contributors include David Britton, Grant Morrison and yours truly. The cover is Alan Moore’s splendid portrait of Asmodeus.

• Last but not least, Paul Schütze was also in touch this week with news that two more audio works have been added to his online catalogue. Soundworks 01 is his atmospherics created with with Andrew Hulme from the recent TV drama series Red Riding, while Tokyo/Osaka Live is two pieces of improvisation with Simon Hopkins. Both releases are available through iTunes.

Looking at Willy Pogàny’s work last week I was reminded that as well as illustrating books he worked in Hollywood for a while as an art director and set designer. Among those jobs was a credit for “Technical staff” on the only film for which director Harry Lachman is remembered today, a curious 1935 melodrama, Dante’s Inferno. This stars Spencer Tracy as a fairground barker whose talent for drawing an audience helps an old showman boost the attendance at his moralising “Dante’s Inferno” attraction.

Entrance to the fairground attraction.

A hubristic rise and fall follows for Tracy, and the film spends much of its running time in routine business and family scenes. What sets it apart is some striking fairground designs (no doubt Pogàny’s involvement) and a truly startling self-contained sequence when the old showman describes for Tracy the true nature of the Inferno. This sequence takes Gustave Doré’s celebrated illustrations and brings them to life in a series of atmospheric tableaux which even manage to contain brief glimpses of nudity. Hell, it seems, is the one place you can get away with not wearing any clothes. I’ve read many times that this sequence was borrowed from an earlier silent film, also called Dante’s Inferno, but have yet to come across any definite confirmation. It’s certainly possible since studios at that time treated other films in a very cavalier fashion; when a film was remade the studio would try to buy up and destroy prints of the earlier film. If anyone can point to more information about the origin of the Hell sequence, please leave a comment.

Stone tombs from the Inferno sequence.

If the Inferno sequence wasn’t already stolen in 1935, it works so well that it’s been plundered many times since; Kenneth Anger borrowed shots which he mixed into Inauguration of the Pleasure Dome (1954), Derek Jarman did the same for TG: Psychick Rally in Heaven (1981), and Ken Russell slipped some tinted scenes into Altered States (1980). I tinted the entire sequence red and dumped it into the one-off video accompaniment I made for Alan Moore and Tim Perkins’ stage performance of Angel Passage in 2001; it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s been used elsewhere. As with many of Hollywood’s products, Lachman’s film pretends to condemn prurience—Tracy’s character exploits Hell’s lurid attractions for gain—while revelling in the opportunity to show as much bare flesh as the censors would allow. As with Doré, Lachman’s Inferno seems populated solely by men and women in the peak of physical fitness.

Inevitably, you can see the Inferno sequence on YouTube here and here. The film doesn’t seem to be available on DVD but it’s worth seeking out to watch in full. In addition to the infernal delights, you also get to see 16-year-old Rita Hayworth’s screen debut as a dancer on a cruise ship.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Willy Pogàny’s Lohengrin
• Willy Pogàny’s Parsifal
• Maps of the Inferno
• A TV Dante by Tom Phillips and Peter Greenaway
• The art of Lucio Bubacco
• The last circle of the Inferno
• Angels 4: Fallen angels

I drew attention yesterday to the abraded look of the Taking Woodstock poster and mentioned a recent book design of mine which used a similar effect. This is that cover, created for a collection of Joe R. Lansdale’s horror novels coming soon from Underland Press. Lansdale is known mainly for being the writer of the story which Don Coscarelli adapted for Bubba Ho-tep in 2002 (a great film, incidentally) but he’s done a lot more besides. Find out more at his website.

While on the subject of self-promotion, the invent-your-own-band website Figment posted an interview with me as a complement to their cover art competition which I’ve been judging. Results of that will be announced at the end of the week.

And speaking of interviews, I’ll mention again Jay Babcock’s exclusive interview/feature with comic artist Rick Veitch over at Arthur. Rick’s an artist I’ve always had a lot of time for and this piece includes a special intro/appreciation by collaborator Alan Moore. The interview examines the serious business of dreaming, with Rick’s advice on using your dreams for artistic breakthroughs, personal growth, problem solving, and time/space travel.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Sleeve craft
• Finch

Continuing an occasional series.

The poster at the top left is the unused Ministry of Information design created to maintain Britain’s resolve after war had been declared in September 1939. This simple slogan struck a chord recently among Britons sick of the climate of fear, security theatre and authoritarian coercion which, deliberately or not, appears to benefit politicians and the agents of the State more than the populace who pay their wages. The BBC asked whether this was the greatest motivational poster ever. The Guardian noted the popularity of the slogan and its inevitable commercial exploitation:

…one day in 2000, Stuart Manley, co-owner with his wife Mary of Barter Books in Alnwick, Northumberland, was sifting through a box of hardbacks he had bought at auction when he saw “A big piece of paper folded up at the bottom. I opened it out, and I thought, wow. That’s quite something. I showed it to Mary, and she agreed. So we framed it and put it up on the bookshop wall. And that’s where it all started.”

The reworked version at the top right is one of the opening pages from The Black Dossier (2007) by Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill. The crown is replaced by a portcullis and Gill Sans is dropped in favour of Edward Johnston’s sans serif typeface which has been used throughout the London Underground system since the 1930s.

The original poster has been undergoing numerous redesigns, from the jokey to the serious. The green design is one of the better variants by designer Matt Jones.

The blue design is part of an advertising campaign by the British Home Office intended to promote their new “Policing Pledge”, “a set of promises to local residents that not only gives more information about who their local neighbourhood policing team is, but also ensures that communities will have a stronger voice in telling the police what they think is most important and what they are most worried about.”

Laudable as this intention may be, I was very surprised when I saw this poster on a bus shelter earlier in the week. While the Home Office and its advertising people are fully entitled to reclaim a design which originated with the State in the first place, one of the reasons the original poster strikes a chord is because it runs counter to anti-terrorist nonsense like this. It speaks, among other things, to people sick of being lied to by politicians and spied on by police and security services. To see a forgotten design experience a swelling of grassroots popularity then be co-opted by the State itself is as depressing as it would have been had Richard Nixon used psychedelic posters to campaign for his re-election. To see a campaign use slogans which treat the rights of defendants as flippantly as the poster remixers when this present government has spent the past ten years undermining the rights of its citizens is simply a disgrace.

Update: A Flickr pool catalogues the variations.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Design as virus #7: eyes and triangles
• Design as virus #6: Cassandre
• Design as virus #5: Gideon Glaser
• Design as virus #4: Metamorphoses
• Design as virus #3: the sincerest form of flattery
• Design as virus #2: album covers
• Design as virus #1: Victorian borders

Coincidence abounds: on Wednesday I was following a few referral URLs to see who’d been linking here and was led to a Lexic.us page about hermaphrodites which in turn had me looking again at the wonderful Borghese Hermaphroditus in the Louvre. Thursday’s postal delivery brought issue 1 of The Gnostic which prominently features the Louvre sculpture on its cover. Inside there’s my portrait of William Burroughs illustrating a piece about Burroughs’s Gnostic identification by Sven Davisson. (I linked to another essay on the same theme in 2007.) The Gnostic is an excellent publication which, the Alan Moore interview aside, I’ve only skimmed through so far. Alan’s piece is very enlightening since the discussion stays fixed around religion, science and the occult and includes the most thorough extrapolation I’ve seen to date of his long work in progress, Jerusalem. There’s also a transcript of part of his William Blake piece from 2001, Angel Passage. If you want to know more I suggest you order a copy ($12 / £8 / €9) from Bardic Press.

Coincidence further abounds as this arrived just as Pádraig Ó Méalóid publicly announced his discovery of the long-lost and unpublished third issue of Alan Moore’s Big Numbers. This was Alan’s self-published “real life” comic series from 1989 which got off to a great start then fatally collapsed when artist Bill Sienkiewicz, then his replacement, Al Columbia, both dropped out of the project. It’s one of the great lost projects of contemporary comics and seeing the third issue sustaining the quality of the first two is deeply frustrating.

The last piece of Moore news concerns The Mindscape of Alan Moore once again which is now available to buy through iTunes. $9.99 will only get you the feature-length documentary, however. If you buy the double-disc DVD you also get my groovy interface design and an extra disc of interviews with major comic artists.

Update: Alan Moore has certainly ruled the week in this household with the delivery on Friday of The Extraordinary Works of Alan Moore, a new edition of George Khoury’s book-length autobiographical interview with Alan, and an essential purchase for anyone with more than a cursory interest in Alan’s life and work. The book features copious artwork examples by many Moore collaborators including my CD designs and the cover for the forthcoming Moon & Serpent Bumper Book of Magic.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• William Burroughs: Gnostic visionary

Rorschach from The Mindscape of Alan Moore.

The hype over the Watchmen film reached critical mass this week and as a consequence there’s been a spike of interest in the two Alan Moore interviews I posted in 2006, with Empire magazine and other movie sites linking here. I won’t bore you with my lack of interest in the film—read the book, it’s a masterpiece—but it’s worth noting that the feature-length DeZ Vylenz documentary, The Mindscape of Alan Moore, dramatised scenes from V for Vendetta and Watchmen back in 2003, long before Hollywood put either of them on screen. The Rorschach scene is especially interesting for having the opening monologue from Watchmen voiced by Alan himself. I’d never thought of Rorschach having such a gravel-throated delivery until I heard this. If Zack Snyder’s version is the same then you know where they swiped it from.

V’s dressing-room from The Mindscape of Alan Moore.

As I’ve mentioned a few times here, The Mindscape of Alan Moore is available on DVD in Europe and the US and includes a bonus disc of interviews with Alan’s collaborators, Dave Gibbons among them. All the packaging and interface was designed by yours truly.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• The Mindscape of Alan Moore: US edition
• The Demon Regent Asmodeus
• New things for June
• Alan Moore in Arthur magazine
• Watchmen
• Alan Moore interview, 1988

The HAL Project.

January flew by in a blizzard of work so posting here tended to rely more on pictures than words. As usual the things I’ve been designing will be unveiled when they’re closer to being published or released but for now here’s some new or not-so-new items worthy of note.

• The HAL Project screensaver. I’ve never had much time for gaudy screensavers, I prefer something which doesn’t get annoying when I’m otherwise engaged. For a while now I’ve been using the Mac-only Lotsawater which turns your monitor into a vertical water tank with slow motion ripples. I replaced that this week with Joe Mackenzie’s HAL Project screensaver (for Mac and Windows) which throws up random samplings of the HAL 9000 monitor animations from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Sounds a bit dull until you see it in action, very crisp and detailed graphics, many of which mimic the animations of those in the film. I’ve belatedly realised how similar these fields of colour and their lines of white type are to the opening titles of A Clockwork Orange, yet another connection between the two films. Now I can sit trying to figure out some of the less obvious 3-letter codes for the spacecraft’s systems; Stanley Kubrick was so thorough you just know they all mean something.

Via the Kubrick obsessives at Coudal.

• A pair of new blogs. Designer Barney Bubbles should need little introduction here but if you require one then read this. Paul Gorman has been in touch to inform me of a new online companion to his BB book, Reasons To Be Cheerful, which already looks like a treat with displays of Bubbles creations that didn’t make the book.

Writer Russ Kick was also in touch this week with news of his books and book culture blog, Books Are People, Too. Russ is the author of several books for Disinformation and his Memory Hole website notoriously caused a headache for the Bush regime when he forced photos of flag-draped coffins returning from Iraq onto the front pages of American newspapers.

• Songs of the Black Würm Gism. And speaking of books, the much delayed sequel to DM Mitchell’s landmark Lovecraft anthology, The Starry Wisdom comes shambling into the light of day at last. The Creation Oneiros website describes it thus:

The Black Würm Gism Cult – oceanic insect porn – a vortex of cosmic mayhem stalked by ravening lysergic entities – a post-human psychedelic seizure of Lovecraftian text, art and fragments. SONGS OF THE BLACK WÜRM GISM picks up where the acclaimed anthology THE STARRY WISDOM left off and goes beyond – way beyond! – what H.P. Lovecraft dared to show. Editor D.M. Mitchell presents an illustrated brainstorm of visceral deep-sea dream currents, aberrant trans-species sex visions, and frenzied ophidian entropy.

Contributors include: alan moore (cover illustration), john coulthart (introduction), grant morrison, david britton, ian miller, john beal, david conway, kenji siratori, herzan chimera, james havoc, reza negarestani, & many others

Yes, the rather pompous introduction for this volume is mine and the cover is Alan Moore’s psychedelic arachnoid rendering of the demon Asmodeus, the same picture I used to create my little hidden film on the Mindscape of Alan Moore DVD. The Starry Wisdom roused a vaporous fury among the more staid Lovecraft fans so I look forward to seeing what squeaks of outrage this new book inspires. Publication is set for September 2009 but you can order it now from Amazon and other outlets.

• Ghost Box haunts again. And if anything was going to provide a suitable soundtrack to “aberrant trans-species sex visions, and frenzied ophidian entropy” you could do worse than some of the works of the Ghost Box collective, especially the spooky and abrasive Ouroborindra by Eric Zann. Ritual and Education is a new download-only sampler of Ghost Box tracks and probably an ideal place to start if your curiosity is piqued by my recurrent raves about these releases. From An Ancient Star is the latest CD from Belbury Poly which swaps the Pelican Books graphics of earlier works for a convincing piece of crank lit. cover art which wouldn’t look out of place in the RT Gault archives.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• The Demon Regent Asmodeus
• The Séance at Hobs Lane
• Ghost Box
• 2001: A Space Odyssey program

Some work news. I finished this CD design last year but, as is often the case with these things, it’s taken a while to make its way into the world. This was the final piece of the Mindscape of Alan Moore project and it’s probably the last thing I’ll do which makes use of the famous Sigillum Dei Aemeth of Doctor John Dee (1527–1608), wax versions of which can be seen in the British Museum. Alan Moore is a great Dee aficionado and since the sigil appears in the DeZ Vylenz documentary it made sense to use it for the DVD package and interface. This led in turn to a new poster design for the film (below) and—eventually—the soundtrack CD. The latter should be shipping shortly from Shadowsnake Films.

Lastly, and also design-related, the New York Times this week had a short piece about designer Barney Bubbles based around Paul Gorman’s Reasons to be Cheerful book. My quote about Barney’s Hawkwind work being “cosmic Art Nouveau” was borrowed from the book’s text and the piece features one of those slideshow selections the NYT does so well. Once again it’s great to see how Paul’s book is stimulating new interest and appraisal of work which was neglected for far too long.

DVD menu.

Poster design.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• The Mindscape of Alan Moore: US edition
• New things for August
• The Demon Regent Asmodeus
• New things for June

Yes, it’s that film again. The feature-length documentary by DeZ Vylenz about the Northampton Magus receives its official US release through Disinformation on September 30th. I designed the packaging (the original EU inlay is shown above) and the DVD menus.

As I’ve said before, this is a great film—shot on film, not video—a revealing insight into Alan’s life and work. The set includes a bonus disc of interviews with Alan’s artist collaborators: his wife, Melinda Gebbie (Lost Girls), Dave Gibbons (Watchmen), David Lloyd (V for Vendetta), Kevin O’Neill (The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) and José Villarubia (Promethea, The Mirror of Love); also an interview with comics historian Paul Gravett.

Big Shiny Robot interviewed director DeZ this week and there’s a trailer at the Shadowsnake Films site. The Mindscape of Alan Moore should be available from all the usual DVD retail outlets.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• The Demon Regent Asmodeus
• New things for June
• Alan Moore in Arthur magazine
• Watchmen
• Alan Moore interview, 1988

From the Hollywood Gothic series (1984).

Jeff VanderMeer has a great post about artist/illustrator Ian Miller at io9 which prompts me to write a few words about his work myself, something I’ve intended for a while.

Miller is indelibly linked for me with HP Lovecraft on account of his covers for the Panther Horror editions of the 1970s, the first Lovecraft volumes I bought. His sinister and minutely detailed ink drawings were a big inspiration when I started to draw seriously myself, unsurprisingly when my own drawings possessed a similar quantity of detail and macabre atmosphere. I still think his cover for William Hope Hodgson’s The House on the Borderland (below) is one of the most successful anyone has produced for that novel. His Mountains of Madness cover, while not being a direct illustration, perfectly encapsulates the feel of much of Lovecraft’s later fiction.

Jeff’s post has a wide range of work which I’ve avoided duplicating. The items shown here are all scans from my own library. More of Miller’s Lovecraft illustration will appear in the forthcoming Artists Inspired by HP Lovecraft from Centipede Press, along with several pieces by yours truly.

The House on the Borderland (1972).

The Haunter of the Dark (1972).

This much-abused paperback (scribbled on by my younger brother) looks like it was rescued from the catacombs depicted on the cover. This was the copy I used whilst adapting the Lovecraft comic strips which appear in my own Haunter of the Dark.

The Case of Charles Dexter Ward (1973).

At the Mountains of Madness (1974).

Beetle Helm (1976).

From several works featured in a collection of science fiction and fantasy art, Visions of the Future, a repackaging of illustrations from Science Fiction Monthly.

Green Dog Trumpet (1978).

One of the later art books produced by Dragon’s Dream before that company became the more commercial (and less adventurous) Paper Tiger. This was a collection of five wordless comic strips by Miller, crammed with inventive scenes and detail. This book and similar strips running in Heavy Metal magazine made a big impression on me at the time.

The Triwag Chronicles from Green Dog Trumpet (1978).

The Luck in the Head (1991).

Gollancz made a doomed foray into the world of comics in the early Nineties with a series of what they called graphic novels although all the books were only long comic stories with glossy production. The best two of these were A Small Killing by Alan Moore & Oscar Zarate and The Luck in the Head which Ian Miller illustrated from one of M John Harrison’s peerless Viriconium stories. Miller had illustrated Harrison before and was a perfect choice for this even though Harrison himself insists that Viriconium should only ever be regarded as a world of words, not visuals. I agree with that up to a point, some of the scenes in the book lost their power by being illustrated but Miller does a splendid job at capturing the seediness and decay of Harrison’s Pastel City and its inhabitants.

For more of Ian Miller’s work in a variety of media, see his website. There’s more Panther Horror here.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The illustrators archive
• The fantastic art archive
• The book covers archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• At the Mountains of Madness
• Clark Ashton Smith book covers
• Witness my hand and official seal
• Druillet meets Hodgson

Fenella Fielding, May 2005.

A few things of interest in the Coulthart world this month.

• The Independent on Sunday this weekend ran a feature by Robert Chalmers on film and stage actress Fenella Fielding which included some discussion with my Savoy colleague Dave Britton about the recordings Savoy has been making with Fenella for the past few years. I was fortunate to meet Ms Fielding myself a couple of years ago, during one of the sessions at Lisa Stansfield’s studio in darkest Rochdale, north of Manchester. As well as having the opportunity to chat to La Fielding (as Kenneth Williams used to call her), I got to take a few photos outside the studio, the best of which can be seen above. The IoS interview is an interesting one, revealing some details about Ms Fielding’s mysterious past and confirming what we knew already, that she’s not overly enamoured of her work with the ruffians from the North.

• Also in the Savoy orbit, Michael Butterworth and I were interviewed for the second number of Trespass magazine before Christmas and I’m told the issue featuring that interview has now been published although I’ve yet to see a copy. Considering I spent most of my portion of the piece ranting intemperately about the art world, that may turn out to be a good thing.

Trespass–Issue 2: January–February 2008

Alasdair Gray tells us why Lanark took so long to write and what he thinks of Gordon Brown. Savoy: a look at the obscenity trials and establishment outrage that mark this infamous publisher’s history. ‘Transgender Adventures’: a frank account of life in the sexual margins featuring Pia. ‘Not a Pursuit for a Lady’: a modern take on Tennyson’s The Lady of Shalott. ‘Stop Talking and Move’: Nottingham’s parkour crew—a growing subculture. Sarah Maple: vote for her or you’re an islamaphobasexistracialist. Also the best of poetry, art and short fiction, including Catherine Smith, A. F. Harrold, Sascha Akhtar, Bernadette Cremin, David Gaffney and Anthony Cantons.

• And finally, the Savoy boys and myself receive a note of thanks in Elric: The Stealer of Souls by Michael Moorcock, one of a new series of reprints from Del Rey. Elric was and is Moorcock’s greatest fantasy character, not so much a hero as an anti-hero, and for me the early stories, which this first volume features, have always been the best. The books in this new series collect a lot of ephemeral material along with the stories (I helped source the picture of Zenith the Albino, the old pulp character Elric is based on) and all have new introductions. The intro for this volume is by Alan Moore and it’s a tremendous piece of writing. You couldn’t ask for better company.

The Mindscape of Alan Moore; film poster by John Coulthart (2003).

Alan Moore: An Extraordinary Gentleman;
event poster by unknown designer (2008).

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Design as virus #2: album covers
• Design as virus #1: Victorian borders

Proving once again the centrality of James Bond to contemporary British identity, the Royal Mail releases these stamps on January 8th, 2008, the 100th anniversary of Ian Fleming’s birth. If a misogynist state assassin seems an awkward choice of cultural ambassador, Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill present a more iconoclastic view of the super spy in the Black Dossier, the latest volume in their unfolding history of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

Good to see that the stamp designs above include the Pan paperback covers from 1963. (The other examples are the first editions from Jonathan Cape, the 2006 Penguin reprints and what appear to be a set of Seventies reissues.) A friend of mine at school had a collection of the Pan books and they remain my favourite Bond book designs, not least because they were some of the first book covers to strike me as being well-designed rather than well-illustrated. What the Flickr link doesn’t show is the die-cut holes in the Thunderball jacket which made the cover seem as though it was pierced by bullets, the kind of expensive production detail you rarely see on anything other than a bestseller.

And while we’re on the subject of Bond design, Daniel Kleinman’s superb Casino Royale title sequence is on YouTube.

Elsewhere on { feuilleton }
• The book covers archive

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Please Mr. Postman

top left: artist unknown (1969); top right: Patrick Woodroffe (1975)
bottom left: Peter Elson (1988); bottom right: artist unknown (1995)

The Men with snakes post at the weekend finished on a note of Freudian melodrama with a picture of Doc Savage battling a giant python. Lester Dent’s brazen hero has appeared a number of times in the work of Philip José Farmer, a writer who’s spent much of his career laying bare the psychosexual forces which give us stories of pulp heroes struggling with (among other things) enormous snakes.

Farmer is famous—notorious, even—for being the first writer to place sex centre stage in science fiction with his story of a human/alien encounter, The Lovers, in 1952. While subsequent writers have broadened the field in their own way, Farmer is somewhat unique in being equally adept at writing solidly successful sf adventure such as the World of Tiers or Riverworld books, yet with a mischievous and intellectual facility that could be upsetting to what used to be a very conservative sf establishment. Farmer was writing about sex at a time when few genre writers wanted to deal with the subject. He also loves pulp fiction in all its manifestations yet isn’t afraid of examining its characters with the objectivity of an anthropologist. Both these impulses came together (so to speak) in the late Sixties with the outrageous pulp pornography of Image of the Beast and A Feast Unknown. More about these in a minute.

Farmer has a particular enthusiasm for Tarzan and Doc Savage and eventually wrote “official biographies” of the pair with Tarzan Alive (1972) and the splendidly-titled Doc Savage: His Apocalyptic Life (1973). These books saw the beginning of his Wold Newton Universe which sought to connect all the heroes and villains of the late 19th and early 20th century into a vast, incestuous family tree, a scheme which predates similar exercises such as Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill’s League of Extraordinary Gentlemen by three decades or more. His versatility and delight in pastiche was demonstrated in Jungle Rot Kid on the Nod (1968) which rewrote Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan in the style of William Burroughs. There aren’t many writers with a full-enough appreciation of both these authors to pull off such a challenge.

Original Essex House editions, 1968 & 1969. Artist/designer unknown although the cover of Blown is based on Geopoliticus Child Watching the Birth of the New Man by Salvador Dalí.

Image of the Beast (1968), its sequel, Blown (1969), and A Feast Unknown (1969) were all written for sf-porn publisher Essex House, an opportunity which unleashed Farmer’s already fertile imagination. These took a while to be reprinted but are now considered among his best works; they’re certainly favourites of mine and I love the simple graphics of the original covers, such a change from the usual airbrushed sf fare. I produced a cover illustration for the Creation Books edition of Image/Blown in 2001 which, while okay, I now feel could have been better. A Feast Unknown is Farmer’s most gloriously excessive novel, and still surprises when read today. Illustrator Patrick Woodroffe, who painted the cover for the first UK printing, thought the book “dangerous” and complained in his Mythopoeikon collection that there was little he could safely illustrate. The story has a thinly-disguised Tarzan (Lord Grandrith) and Doc Savage (Doc Caliban) set against each other by a group of mysterious immortals. The pair discover that violence gives them erections and killing provokes an orgasm, the cue for a couple of hundred pages of eye-popping, ball-busting mayhem. It’s ironic that during the Seventies when general readers were looking for racy thrills in books by Harold Robbins or Jackie Collins, the real hardcore stuff was over on the science fiction shelves with Farmer’s work, Ballard’s Crash, Samuel Delany’s Equinox, aka The Tides of Lust, Charles Platt’s The Gas, and others.

Farmer wrote two equally crazy sequels to Feast in 1970, Lord of the Trees and The Mad Goblin but unfortunately stripped out the excesses of the former book. I’ve always been disappointed by this and continue to hope that one day the original versions of the sequels will see print. Science fiction may have calmed down a bit (or grown conservative again) since the Seventies but Farmer’s work still exerts an influence. His unveiling of the weird psychosis at the heart of pulp fiction certainly affected the approach I took with the Lord Horror series Reverbstorm, created with David Britton in the 1990s, a series I’ve referred to more than once as a psychopathology of heroic fantasy.

The covers above all come from the official PJF website which also includes my Image/Blown cover design. (And where they also spell my name wrong.)

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Men with snakes
• The book covers archive

A couple of things worth noting this month. I’d already done a poster design for The Mindscape of Alan Moore but Dez asked for some variations. This one uses the John Dee pentacle which was featured throughout the DVD package and interface design. Alan has referred to Dee and his works on many occasions, and the pentacle is seen briefly in the film, so it was a good touchstone especially since Dee’s interests were as wide-ranging as Alan’s. I prefer this design, to be honest, the original one looks too busy now.

Then there’s this sneak preview detail from a very large picture I was asked to produce for an exhibition opening in October. This is Lovecraft-related (no surprise there) which is all I’ll divulge at the moment. Rest assured that all will be revealed in a month or so.

This actually came out looking more accurate than I expected since some smart Flash programming allows for a fair amount of variation. And having a monotonous wardrobe probably helps in my case. In fact the Simpsonizer on the Simpsons movie site makes you realise how much variety there is in the Simpsons character palette even though it follows the relatively narrow range of Matt Groening’s cartoon style. My only gripe was being limited to t-shirt wear since I rarely show off my skinny arms. I also pushed the hair back a bit in Photoshop.

Alan Moore is due to appear in the TV show in October along with Art Spiegelman and Dan Clowes. We don’t know yet how they’ve drawn the Magus of Northampton but fans have been speculating.

The Demon Regent Asmodeus (2006).

Alan Moore fans have finally discovered my little easter egg on the Mindscape of Alan Moore DVD so I can now talk about the creation of this miniature work. Director Dez Vylenz and I thought it would be nice to have a hidden extra somewhere on the main disc and this was the result.

Glykon and Asmodeus by Alan Moore (1994).

I’d always liked the Asmodeus section that Alan reads on the first Moon & Serpent CD and had the idea for some kind of animation based around the reading using his 1994 portrait of Asmodeus for the visuals. I used Apple’s Motion application for the animation of the DVD menus and it was this application that also animated the three-minute film. Alan’s picture was the sole source for all the visuals even though for most of the running time these are a kaleidoscopic mesh of circles and hexagons. The reading (with sound effects by Tim Perkins) works symmetrically, building to a central point then reversing itself so that the words from the first half are read in reverse order. I followed this scheme with the animation; the film begins in abstraction, evolves into the Asmodeus portrait then devolves back into abstraction. There’s also a symmetrical split to the visuals which are matched along a vertical axis in the centre of the screen. I had James Whitney’s Lapis in mind when creating these circular patterns although Whitney’s forty-year-old film remains abstract throughout. Whitney’s film was also done the hard way, one frame at a time, without the luxury of computer filters.

The Mindscape of Alan Moore is available via mail order from Shadowsnake Films.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Alan Moore in Arthur magazine
• Of Moons and Serpents
• Lapis by James Whitney

New and not-so-new work-related arrivals include The Mindscape of Alan Moore DVD which finally arrived after the usual postal delays caused by bank holidays and other trivia. Those interested can order this from the Shadowsnake Films site.

And copies of the CD from metal band Azathoth turned up a few weeks ago but I’d neglected to mention this. My sole involvement was letting them use my Azathoth portrait from The Haunter of the Dark for the cover but they’ve done a nice job with the rest of the design. Their insectile name/logo fits very well with the picture.

…for Miss Melinda Gebbie and Mr Alan Moore on the day of their wedding. I can’t make it to Northampton today but here’s the delightful invitation that Melinda created which features a Fabergé egg adorned with views of San Francisco and the happy couple dancing inside. I hope the weather’s good for them.

Update: Neil Gaiman posted photos.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Alan Moore in Arthur magazine

Glykon and Asmodeus by Alan Moore (1994).

Alan’s lengthy 2003 interview with Arthur magazine is now online if you missed it the first time, wherein he “gives Jay Babcock a historical-theoretical-autobiographical earful about the connection between the Arts and the Occult”. And his equally lengthy piece on the history of pornography from Arthur #25 is also on the Arthur site.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Of Moons and Serpents
• Watchmen
• Alan Moore interview, 1988

• Some of my Lovecraft art is to be featured in a lavish limited edition volume from Centipede Press.

Artists Inspired by HP Lovecraft
Centipede Press is now accepting pre-orders.
A unique art book available in a cloth slipcase edition and leather deluxe edition.

• Cloth edition in slipcase—2,000 copies—400 pages, four color, sewn with cloth covers, enclosed in a cloth covered slipcase. Front cover image, black embossing, two ribbon markers, fold-outs, detail views.

• The first 300 orders will receive a numbered copy with a special slipcase and a hardcover folder with an extensive suite of unbound illustrations. $395 postpaid.

• Leather edition in traycase—50 copies—400 pages, four color, sewn with full leather binding, enclosed in a giant size traycase. Front cover image debossed on front, two ribbon markers, fold-outs, detail views, signed by most living contributors. $2,000 postpaid.

This huge tome features over forty artists including JK Potter, HR Giger, Raymond Bayless, Ian Miller, Virgil Finlay, Lee Brown Coye, Rowena Morrill, Bob Eggleton, Allen Koszowski, Mike Mignola, Howard V Brown, Michael Whelan, Tim White, John Coulthart, John Holmes, Harry O Morris, Murray Tinkelman, Gabriel, Don Punchatz, Helmut Wenske, John Stewart, and dozens of others.

The field has never seen an art book like this—indeed, it is an art anthology unlike anything ever published before. Many of these works have never before seen publication. Many are printed as special multi-page fold-outs, and several have detail views. The book is filled with four color artwork throughout, all of it printed full page on rich black backgrounds. A special thumbnail gallery allows you to overview the entire contents of this 400-page book at a glance, with notations on artist, work title, publication information, size, and location, when known.

HP Lovecraft fans will simply have to have this book. Because of its sheer size and scope, this book will never be reprinted and will sell out very quickly. Twenty years down the road people will be paying huge prices for this book because of its scope and the quality of reproductions. This is the HP Lovecraft fan’s dream come true. Don’t miss it!

Yes, it is indeed expensive but this is a book for serious collectors.

• Bryan Talbot’s new book, Alice in Sunderland, is finally out. Read a review of it here.

• Arthur Magazine is being summoned back from Avalon, which is excellent news. To celebrate, Jay Babcock has posted Alan Moore’s history of pornography in its entirety here.

left to right: Donald Cammell, Dennis Hopper, Alejandro Jodorowsky & Kenneth Anger.

One of my favourite photographs of all time shows four directors at the Cannes Film Festival in 1971, all dolled up in their wildest afghan-and-ascot, hairy-hippy finery, and all of them on the cusp of what should have been majestic, transformative, transgressive careers in cinema that by and large never came to fruition. It was not to be—if only it had been.

• John Patterson tell you why we need Jodorowsky as much as we ever did.

Update: And while we’re at it, Eddie Campbell also has a new book out, The Black Diamond Detective Agency. Great playbill cover design.

The Mindscape of Alan Moore, Shadowsnake Films (2007).

The Adventures of Little Lou, Savoy Books (2007).

Two very different works approaching fruition this month. The Alan Moore DVD I’ve been working on since November but the release date is finally approaching so I’ve added the artwork to the relevant pages on this site.

The Adventures of Little Lou is a work of transgressive fiction by Lucy Swan forthcoming from Savoy Books. I’m currently finishing the interior design and the book should be published later this year. This is the front cover layout; more to follow.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• Of Moons and Serpents
• Watchmen
• Alan Moore interview, 1988

The riddle of the rocks
It was the art movement that shocked the world. It was sexy, weird and dangerous—and it’s still hugely influential today. Jonathan Jones travels to the coast of Spain to explore the landscape that inspired Salvador Dalí, the greatest surrealist of them all.

Jonathan Jones
Monday March 5, 2007
The Guardian

I AM SCRAMBLING over the rocks that dominate the coastline of Cadaqués in north-east Spain. They look like crumbling chunks of bread floating on a soup of seawater. Surreal is a word we throw about easily today, almost a century after it was coined by the poet Guillaume Apollinaire. Yet if there is anywhere on earth you can still hope to put a precise and historical meaning on the “surreal” and “surrealism”, it is among these rocks. To scramble over them is to enter a world of distorted scale inhabited by tiny monsters. Armoured invertebrates crawl about on barely submerged formations. I reach into the water for a shell and the orange pincers of a hermit crab flick my fingers away.

The entire history of surrealism—from the collages of Max Ernst to Salvador Dalí’s Lobster Telephone—can be read in these igneous formations, just as surely as they unfold the geological history of Catalonia.

I sit down on a jagged ridge. What if I fell? Would they find a skeleton looking just like the bones of the four dead bishops in L’Age d’Or, the surrealist film Luis Buñuel shot here in 1930?

Buñuel had been shown these rocks by his college friend Dalí years earlier. It was here they had scripted their infamous film Un Chien Andalou. Dalí came from Figueras, on the Ampurdán plain beyond the mountains that enclose Cadaqués, and spent his childhood summers here, exploring the rock pools and being cruel to the sea creatures. In most people’s eyes, this is a beautiful Mediterranean setting. It certainly looked lovely to Dalí’s close friend, the poet Federico García Lorca, when Dalí brought him here in the 1920s: in his Ode to Salvador Dalí, Lorca lyrically praises the moon reflected in the calm, wide bay.

Buñuel and Dalí shared a baser sensibility. When they composed that screenplay here, they remembered Lorca’s poem—and sneered at it. The opening sequence they devised shows a thin band of cloud crossing a full moon, a beautiful nocturne. Cut to a razorblade slicing an eyeball. Sitting on these rocks, you can just picture Dalí and Buñuel over there on the beach, watching the moon over the water, and sniggering at their hideous travesty of Lorca’s poetry.

Dalí and Buñuel filmed Un Chien Andalou in Paris, and it is admired to this day as the most outrageous 17 minutes in cinema history. More to the point, from its opening image of an eye being destroyed, to its scenes of a man with his lover’s underarm hair in place of his mouth, its priests, and that cyclist dressed as a Dutch girl, it is funny; not drily amusing in an avant-garde way, but laugh-out-loud funny. “Irreverent” doesn’t do it justice; this is blackhearted cynicism.

When we speak of something being surreal, we mean something between funny peculiar and funny ha-ha. It is undoubtedly this comic dimension that made surrealism so popular in the 1920s, 30s and 40s, and still does today. It survives as living culture, not as museum art. You would strain to discern the influence of, say, cubism in contemporary creativity, but it is entirely accurate to call the fiction of JG Ballard, the comic books of Alan Moore, the cinema of David Lynch and the fashion designs of Alexander McQueen surrealist. It’s equally valid to call TV’s Green Wing or Black Books surreal; after all, the surrealists adored the comedy of their day, especially Buster Keaton and the Marx Brothers. Dalí even collaborated on a film idea with Harpo Marx.

Surrealism had brutal humour at its core: the movement’s leader, the French poet André Breton, published an Anthology of Black Humour. And Buñuel said he was drawn to surrealism by a grotesque joke: “I was fascinated by a photo in Le Révolution Surréaliste [the movement's journal] entitled Benjamin Péret Insulting a Priest.” That photograph still fascinates. The bespectacled Péret is shouting at a black-robed priest who turns in fury and shock; what is funny is the priest’s rage, the bad temper of someone not used to being addressed in that way.

Péret was a poet, and it was a group of poets in Paris in the early 1920s who invented surrealism. André Breton, Philippe Soupault, Louis Aragon, Robert Desnos and their friends had been involved with the Dada movement that sprang up in protest at the first world war. The aggressive humour so integral to surrealism is a continuation of Dada; nothing could be more Dadaist than insulting a priest. Started by German draft-dodgers in Zurich in 1916, Dada was a manifestation of contempt for a civilisation whose logic led to the Somme and Verdun. It fought against this by being chaotic, childish and irrational.

The terrible massacre of European youth made people want to rediscover Eros, to assert they were still alive: skirts got shorter, flappers flapped. The surrealists were at the forefront of this 1920s sexual revolution. They also took from Dada the belief that art is dead. Dada replaced art with readymade objects such as a urinal or a bike wheel. Surrealism added its own special intensity to the idea of the “found object” by emphasising the act of finding. A surrealist object cannot be just anything: it must be something that in the finder’s eyes is magical for reasons that can’t quite be put into words. “Only the marvellous is beautiful,” says the Manifesto of Surrealism, written by Breton in 1924. You see this appetite for the marvellous, as well as sex and black humour, in Man Ray’s iron with nails stuck in it, Meret Oppenheim’s furry cup, and Joseph Cornell’s dolls preserved in fetishistic boxes; work by all three artists will be on show at the V&A’s Surreal Things exhibition later this month.

The French poets and intellectuals who dominated the surrealist movement acted like an elite revolutionary organisation that met in cafes and apartments for long, bitter debates and miniature show trials. Breton’s Manifesto cites an amazing cast of surrealist predecessors, from Dante to Poe, but most of all Sigmund Freud. It might seem that what drew the surrealists to Freud was his insistence that sexuality is the driving force of personality. Yet what intrigued them equally were the Viennese doctor’s analyses of how dream images are formed and how the subconscious causes slips of the tongue.

The surrealists were inspired by Freud to try to tap into the unconscious, to find a new kind of image. Breton called this “psychic automatism”. He was amazed to encounter the work of the artist Max Ernst, believing that, working independently in Cologne, the German had discovered through collage a new “automatist” way of making visual art. And so Ernst became the first “surrealist artist”.

So many artists followed Ernst into the movement that surrealism is now remembered essentially as an art movement. Joan Miró, in the 1920s, made paintings according to automatist principles; their perfect sense of space gave depth and reality to an amoebic creature that’s just a couple of black lines and blobs in blue space. Belgian René Magritte painted in a deliberately flat, conventional style that makes images such as 1928’s The Lovers, with its veiled, suffocating faces, all the more obscene. And yet surrealism had yet to discover its full potential. It had yet to encounter Dalí.

The reason I am at Cadaqués is, ultimately, to try to understand the most famous surrealist of all, the artist who became its moustached icon. In the hard, clear paintings that followed Un Chien Andalou, Dalí turns his unconscious into grand opera, confessing to every deviation mentioned in Freud’s Three Essays on Sexuality. His paintings, objects and cinema are lurid and excessive, their Freudianism so explicit it can seem a cheap put-on.

It is strange to stand here watching boys throw pebbles into the sea at Cadaqués. In Dalí’s painting The Spectre of Sex Appeal, he portrays himself as a child in a sailor suit on this same beach, looking up at a monstrous mutilated body whose pink rounded flesh is his remembered introduction to the world of adult desire. There is nothing wholesome about any of Dalí’s memories, or his vision of this landscape. One peculiarly shaped rock near Cadaqués lent its silhouette to his perverse composition The Great Masturbator.

Dalí saw no difference between the avant-garde and popular culture, and excelled at the art of sensation: when a surrealist exhibition was staged at the New Burlington Galleries in London in 1936, it was Dalí who made the papers by giving a lecture wearing a deep-sea diving suit complete with brass helmet—and collapsing.

Dalí projected his dreams so clearly they fascinated fashion designers and Hollywood, where he worked with Alfred Hitchcock and even Walt Disney. He happily designed the lip sofas that feature in the V&A show and, in his one-man museum in Figueras, created an entire room whose furniture forms itself into Mae West’s face, with sofa lips. None of this was the betrayal of surrealism that Breton and his comrades accused him of after they threw him out of the movement in 1936, for confessing to a fascination with Hitler. Surrealism was an attempt to release “the marvellous” into everyday existence. Dalí, a clever man, saw that this connected it with architecture, which shapes our everyday environment.

His hero was the Barcelona architect Antoni Gaudí. At Figueras, you see Dalí’s desire to create a total environment of fantasy such as Gaudí’s rapturous house Casa Batlló. This is what Dalí’s Mae West room, lip sofa and telephone with a lobster for a receiver try to do: replace reality with fantasy, as Gaudí’s architecture does. Nothing could be more surreal. Dalí did it in a way anyone could respond to. Soon designers were making surrealist dresses, Cecil Beaton taking surrealist fashion photos. Dalí travelled far from home and, some say, lost his soul painting portraits of rich Americans. To track him back to his childhood haunts among the Catalan rocks is to discover his authentic surrealist soul.

As soon as you hit the Ampurdán plain, you start to sense how honest, how intense, an artist Dalí is. The obsessions that fill his art are all too real. Take Vermeer’s painting, The Lacemaker; when Dalí was old and rich and widely seen as a hack, he sat down to copy it in the Louvre and drew a rhino horn. Yet his fascination with this image of a woman working was perfectly real. In Figueras, there is an early painting, Woman at the Window in Figueras. Made in 1926, it portrays a girl working with her needle in front of a view of the Ampurdán hills. Vermeer’s Lacemaker itself appears in Un Chien Andalou.

The journey east from Figueras to Cadaqués takes you across an immense open space that, with its tall sky and fringe of hills, is instantly recognisable from Dalí’s 1930s paintings Spain and Soft Construction With Boiled Beans (Premonition of Civil War). For Dalí, this becomes the plain of La Mancha across which Don Quixote wandered in his madness, a dry and dusty space in which he sees Spain’s tragedy. But it is only when you descend to Cadaqués that you realise something crucial. Whatever else he is, Dalí is Spain’s landscape artist. Like John Constable, he was in thrall to his “early scenes”. It is the persistent reappearance, endlessly metamorphosised, of the rocks and cliffs of this unique coast that anchors his art in a real, physical context of memory and longing. I collected a horny crab shell in a rock pool at Cadaqués; looking at Dalí’s portrait of the surrealist Paul Eluard, I realised a lion’s head in the painting is based directly on the shape of this crab.

Freud liked to compare his method with that of an archaeologist who digs down to expose layer upon layer of buried pasts all existing in the same mind. This image of textured depth could easily be a description of surrealist art. In Ernst’s paintings of swarms of barbarians, savage forests and lost cities, you get that archaeological sense of texture, just as you do in Giorgio di Chirico’s melancholy classical cities, where it is always a dead moment in a Mediterranean afternoon.

Surrealism is about time. It is about the tantalising and unreliable nature of memory, about the melting fabric of experience. The rocks at Cadaqués are remarkable not only for their biomorphic shapes at a distance, but even more, their layered, crumpled texture up close. These rocks are remains of a vast lava flow from an ancient volcano. Flowing between north and south, the white hot river settled in a series of layers that were then blasted, eroded and exposed along the seashore. The rocks are not only fractured in strata but perforated by huge gas bubbles made when the stone was hot and flowing. Telling the earth’s time in their apparent fluidity, they are Dalí’s soft watches.

I took that horny Dalínian crab shell from the sea at Cadaqués, along with a sea urchin, perhaps related to the one on Dalí’s shaved head, in a photograph that makes him look like the inventor of the mohican; but by the time I got them home, they were just a pile of dust in my bag. Surrealism as we experience it today—when we speak of a surreal advert, a surreal sitcom—is just the dust, the shards of Europe’s last great revolutionary art.

• Surreal Things: Surrealism and Design is at the V&A, London SW7, from March 29 to July 22. Details: 0870 906 3883 and www.vam.ac.uk. Un Chien Andalou and L’Age d’Or will feature in Dali & Film, at Tate Modern, London SW1, from June 1 to September 9. Details: 020-7887 8888 and www.tate.org.uk.

Previously on { feuilleton }
• The persistence of DNA
• Salvador Dalí’s apocalyptic happening
• The music of Igor Wakhévitch
• Dalí Atomicus
• Las Pozas and Edward James
• Impressions de la Haute Mongolie

It was a year ago today that I sat down and wrote some words of Charles Fort’s, “One measures a circle beginning anywhere…”, as a headline for the first entry on this page. Some posts over the ensuing year have been more popular than others (and it should be pointed out that the “most popular” list in the sidebar has only registered hits since a new plugin was activated). Referral links and Del.icio.us adds are a good guide to popularity so here’s the top five:

• Watchmen (June 24th). An old Fantasy Advertiser interview with Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons about their graphic novel masterwork. I knew this would be popular, not least because it’s one of the best interviews I’ve read about Watchmen, and one conducted quite soon after the story had been completed. Good to be reminded that the book’s creation owed as much to the artist as it did to the writer. As Alan Moore’s popularity has grown there’s been a tendency on the part of critics to see him as the sole author of his comics, all of which are collaborations with different artists who invariably contribute to the work themselves. From Hell artist Eddie Campbell has recently been showing examples of these working methods on his excellent weblog, The Fate of the Artist.

• Atomix by Nike Savvas (August 5th). A big surprise this. I spotted pictures of this installation in passing on a Yahoo! news page, thought it looked interesting so made a little entry about it. Many hits later people are still searching for pictures. Ms Savvas would be advised to tour this artwork, people love it.

• Aldous Huxley on Piranesi’s Prisons (August 25th). Another scanned article and another surprise. I remember thinking ?no one will want to read a long-dead writer talking about a long-dead engraver.? The moral, then, is never underestimate your audience.

• The boys (various dates). Despite the groaning tubes of the interweb being stuffed with every shade and variety of porn, some pictures of unclothed young men remain more popular than others. So people arrive here searching for Eugen Bauder (very popular indeed), Felipe Von Borstel, Brian Joubert and others. I often feel as though I should apologise for not having any exclusive material but surfers of the one-handed variety are probably only stopping by for a moment before flitting elsewhere.

• Barney Bubbles: artist and designer (January 20th). Very gratifying that this has been received with enthusiasm as this is the kind of post I like best, something that makes up for gaps in the pool of web data. These entries take time to prepare so it’s good to know that people appreciate the effort; I’m hoping there’ll be more to come (work allowing) in 2007.

Thanks for reading!

John x