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#harry o. morris
weirdlookindog · 5 months
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Harry O. Morris - Halloween in Arkham: Dreams in the Witch House, 1979
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H.P. Lovecraft - Halloween In Arkham (1979) - The Dreams In The Witch House (Harry O. Morris)
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the-evil-clergyman · 1 year
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Illustration from Halloween in Arkham Portfolio by Harry O. Morris (1979)
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𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔦𝔱𝔠𝔥 ℌ𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔟𝔶 ℌ𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔒. 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔰
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sandmandaddy69 · 3 months
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Harry O. Morris
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surfingkaliyuga · 2 months
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“The Dreams in the Witch House” Harry O. Morris 1972 Illustration for a story by H.P. Lovecraft.
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renegade-chaos-druid · 4 months
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Illustration for H. P. Lovecraft. Dreams in the witch house by Harry O. Morris (1972)
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der-unverantwortliche · 4 months
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NESTLED IN DREAD: THE ART OF HARRY MORRIS
It would appear that Harry Morris has the maximum contempt for reality. On the other hand, he has performed the service of distilling away its dross in order to picture its essence: pure dread. So this contempt also pays homage to its object, honoring it with scorn and raw exposures. No decor­ative comforts are allowed in his work, no natural light of day, no human reference points. No, no, no--the cry of a mind protesting its dreadful revelations and at the same time finding them well worth the revel. Dread: both reality and escape from it. Dread: both the sum of things fled from and the ticket out of town. Not to mention the ultimate destination. Next stop, the Haven of Dread. It is not fear that inhabits such a series as Scenes from Lautreamont's Maldoror. Fear implies hope, and these images are as far from hope as they are from the morning newspaper and the evening news, as well as from all the daily agitations which fill the hours between. Neither is it shock or fright, horror or terror that forms the center of these scenes. Or rather, such states so permeate Harry Morris's collagework as to institute them as the norm, to expand these irruptions in reality until they come to fill every square inch of it. And thus reality's volatile moments are smoothed out into an even atmosphere of dread, a climate of all horror and no hope, a place where nothing bothers to move toward or away from doom and desolation. Every­thing already lives there, and there is nowhere else to turn. This is, above all, a stable universe; its scenes, in dread, are forever fixed. Let us look at some of them.
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One of them could be called "Bedside Scene." The "action" is all crammed into the corner of a room where leaden walls meet: one wall displays two four-paned, shutter-type windows; the other wall reflects eight ghostly segments of those panes, through which shine the lights entrusted to illuminate an eternal blackness. (Those two staring pinpricks in the night beyond the windows might, after all, be a pair of moons.) Below all this window business, of which more later, a pallid-faced thing with eyes like huge jeweled broaches lies bedridden. Another thing, with a tiny beaked head out of which grow great corkscrew horns, is nursing the thing in the bed, feeding it a serpentine fluid which gushes from a ruddy-textured bulb. A third thing, headless in the lower right foreground, motionlessly looks on. All three of these things were once good women of the Victorian epoch, this is meant to be known. But whatever identities they may have formerly possessed, whatever creditable activities they may have formerly been engaged in, they are now freaks in a mysterious world where they are compelled to carry out a mysterious ritual--automatons performing the rites of dread. Impossible to tell if this scene depicts a perennial situation of panic or one selected from an infinite series of emergencies. In either case, a reassuring constancy is supplied by dread, the dread which is forever. It is always there watching, like those cosmic dots peering in the windows. Yes, the windows. Where they lead is one of the most engrossing questions of Harry Morris's work. They are not like the windows we know, which always give out onto scenes we know, or think we know. These windows give out onto different scenes. Sometimes there is the suggestion of the star-speckled hollows of space beyond the windows, the vast vacancy of infinity. Sometimes there is only a cluster of splotches or an infernal glare, cluttered cul-de-sac. Whatever the backdrop, open cosmos or blind alley, it is an uneventful and unpopulated empti­ness. Nothing and no one resides there, except perhaps a few eyeless entities of a vaguely destructive bent and demonic mysteries as strange as a thunderstorm in outer space. So don't stray too many steps beyond the scene before you. As in a dream, what you see is about all there is to see. And like the windows of a dream, these windows lead, if anywhere, merely to another set of windows in another dream.
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The next scene—think of it as the "Mummified Wonder"—appears to be about shadows and light and bandages. But possibly the first two phenomena are merely variant forms of the third. Shadows as a first-aid for dreadful illumination. Light as a fine white gauze hiding a great gaping wound that bleeds blackness. What gashes are hidden beneath this wounded one's wrappings? Such dread in her eyes. Or are they his? This is part of its wonder. But what good or evil would it do for this creature to be one or the other? In these scenes, all differentiations and categories of the waking world are defunct or irrelevant. You may be man, woman, or child across the street of sleep, but here--in the land of dread--you are just one more object among many. Is that you tapping on those windows back there? Welcome, sweet companion, dear old thing.
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The last collage to be examined really begs to be given the simple title "Empty Rooms with Decapitated Head." Perhaps this is the same head that was stolen from one of the things in the "Bedside Scene." (Harry Morris's universe seems to have its own laws of conservation of materials.) But actually there are two heads, are there not? That is to say, a head within a head or a head behind a-mask; possibly the relationship is that between core and covering, or could it be some twisted evolution or decom­position going on here? Look at the apples at the base of its neck! Apples, or some kind of bulbous fruit. (Another link with the "Bedside Scene"?) Whatever they are, tempting they are not. At least not in the usual way. Attention should be paid to the windows, once again, and then expanded to take in the whole cryptic architecture of this scene. More than walls seem to have been knocked out, more than rooms have been sunken and split­-leveled. Is this place some hybrid between cathedral and condemned house? Despite the windows and doorways, these rooms offer no way in or out. Cer­tainly not to the wide awake wanderer, that much is sure. But perhaps a sleepwalker could get up those stairs at the back, could climb into the disintegrating glare of dreams. And perhaps only an experienced somnambulist could step out that door at the left and actually end up somewhere. And the artist of these scenes is both. Dream overlaps dream. Dread piles on dread. Thanks to the art of Harry Morris, pure dread finally possesses a geog­raphy, a home deep in some interior landscape where we watch ourselves rave in scenes of contorted glory, where we watch ourselves sleep in the paradoxical peace of perdition, and where we watch ourselves watching ourselves with the infinite eyes of dread.
Thomas Ligotti
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acardinalisred · 5 months
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Halloween in Arkham, collages by HARRY O. MORRIS
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seasons-in-hell · 2 months
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Harry O. Morris
Illustration for The Dreams in the Witch House
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dark-art-666 · 3 months
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weirdlookindog · 6 months
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Harry O. Morris - Halloween in Arkham, 1979
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Halloween In Arkham (1979) - Schizophrenic Dream (Harry O. Morris)
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victusinveritas · 3 months
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Illustration for H. P. Lovecraft. Dreams in the witch house by Harry O. Morris (1972)
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hplovecraftmuseum · 8 months
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Cthulhu on his throne. This ceramic figurine was the work of author, sculptor, and Lovecraft scholar, the late Richard L. Tierney. The image was featured in 2 versions on the covers of NOCTURNE from Feb. 1976. The airbrushed background was the work of Paul Murray. Tierney was one of the most important names in the post Derleth era of Lovecraftian study. The slender publication NOCTURNE was the contribution of Harry O. Morris Jr. NOCTURNE was printed for the Esoteric Order of Dagon, Amateur Press Association and went out to all members. (Exhibit 366)
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sandmandaddy69 · 2 years
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Harry O. Morris
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