My dear and talented friends Anna Rose and Jenny Zych are putting together a doujin-style zine called Strange Paradise, based on Asian horror movies.
I love Junji Ito’s comics, including of course his classic Uzumaki (about a town that becomes fatefully obsessed with the spiral form) so I did a piece based upon the movie adaptation. Wow, that is a bad movie.
Hey guys! I’m taking part in “Strange Paradise”, an Asian horror art zine run by Jenny Zych and Anna Rose! I’m very excited to take part. I submitted my House design from a little while back, as it’s never been printed. Check out the tumblr, it’s filled with great art!
Satan Rising from the Burning Lake
William Strang (British; 1859–1921) 1896 Etching In: Paradise Lost by John Milton: A Series of Twelve Illustrations Etched by William Strang (London: John C. Nimmo) The New York Public Library, Print Collection
So stretched out huge in length the Arch-fiend lay, Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence Had risen, or heaved his head, but that the will And high permission of all-ruling Heaven Left him at large to his own dark designs, That with reiterated crimes he might Heap on himself damnation, while he sought Evil to others, and enraged might see How all his malice served but to bring forth Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn On Man by him seduced, but on himself Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured. Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool His mighty stature; on each hand the flames Driven backward slope their pointing spires, and rolled In billows, leave i’ th’ midst a horrid vale. Then with expanded wings he steers his flight Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air, That felt unusual weight; till on dry land He lights—if it were land that ever burned With solid, as the lake with liquid fire. (John Milton, Paradise Lost, Book I)
the bargain is complete and jean-paul, for all his wishing, has no idea what it is like to be dead, to be frozen and still for months. and so he ignores the way erica moves - the slow, shaky steps she takes, the way she convulses when she reaches, the spasms of her neck when she turns her head. movement must take some getting accustomed to, and he puts it out of his mind to concentrate on the black hair tumbling over her shoulders rather than the crack of her bones, rather than the midnights he knows he can hear her, raspy and choked, calling for jacques when she thinks he’s asleep.