An Interview with Artist Erin Silver

We at Grimoire Magazine are delighted to feature the work of Houston-based painter Erin Silver. We caught up with Erin recently to discuss influences on her work, the appeal of superstition, and the best kinds of ghost stories.

To begin, could you speak to your influences — what artists have made the most impact on your work, and how?

 I think I was 13 or 14 when a school field trip to the art museum brought the early surrealist painters onto my radar. It introduced me to the type of art that truly captured my attention and made me want to pick up a paint brush. I loved the eerie landscapes and spaces created by Dali, Max Ernst, and Frida Kahlo. As with so many others, they were my gateway drug into art. I fell in love with surrealism because it seemed you could hide deeply personal symbols and ideas into a painting and they would be disguised by the absurdity of the bigger picture. I found that idea liberating; there was security in the fact that nobody else had to understand the full meaning. Later on I became interested in figural work and the two artists that stood out to me were Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele. The way they played with flat vs. fleshed out and well rendered was endlessly inspiring to me and has had a huge impact on the way I paint— always combining the two looks, some of the elements more rendered and three-dimensional, while other aspects are flat patterns or just broad expanses of blank background. These are the artists that I return to again and again for direction and inspiration.

"What I Received in Return" by Erin Silver

You work seems to be interested in the symbolism and superstition of the Victorian era. What is it is about that era, and about superstition in general, that appeals to you?

When a society sets out to repress or make taboo certain aspects of humanity, those very aspects just end up becoming obsessions. I think that the Victorian era was all about appearing pleasant, proper, and above certain base interests and instincts...but sex, death, and the unknown will always be fascinating and there’s no use pretending like those things don’t play a role in everyday life. So in turn, Victorians (at least some of them) became obsessed with these things. They created elaborate and morbid mourning rituals, they tried to find ways to communicate with the dead, they fetishized their bodies and molded them into extreme shapes with corsets and bustles. It just seems like a bizarre time to have lived through. I’m drawn to that era because there was so much still unknown, science was heading in the right direction, but superstition still seemed to have a strong hold on people. It seems like it was a kind of last gasp of western culture paying close and serious attention to death and the rituals around it, the idea of ghosts, the idea that very little is in our control and the unknown and unexplainable is just a reality of life.

Do you have any favorite ghost stories?

 Of course! I tend to get attached to stories with a strong melancholic atmosphere. An emphasis on isolation, and drawn out ambiguity as to whether a thing is a true haunting or the product of a tortured mind also seem to be common themes in my favorites. "The Wendigo" by Algernon Blackwood, "Green Tea" by Sheridan Le Fanu (actually the entirety of In a Glass Darkly), "The Whistling Room" by William Hope Hodgson, and "The Case of Charles Dexter Ward" by H.P. Lovecraft to name a few.

"Gimme All Your Pain" by Erin Silver

Your work is very haunting, even as it uses bright and saturated colors and sometimes even traditionally cheerful imagery, such as birds and flowers. Could you talk about these choices, and speak more about the “gently strange” feeling you want viewers to experience through your work?

This sort of returns to the idea of hiding deeply personal symbols or emotional content in plain view. Although it's a little embarrassing to discuss, a lot of what I choose to paint is informed by situations taking place in my life. Obviously I’m not painting the realistic situations, but the elements I use, a bird, a scorpion, a letter, a coffin, they’re all stand-ins for people, places, and feelings happening around me. As cliche as it is, I’m often working through my issues as I’m creating a painting. So a slightly dark or threatening element might be surrounded by a burst of bright background color or a protective circle of thorned flowers. There’s a little battle going on in each painting between anxiety, fear, whatever is hurting me at the time, and ultimately hope, battle armor made of things that are soft and good and bright. I think that’s where the “gentle strangeness” occurs: in the juxtaposition of those two forces and the fact that they’re veiled behind creatures and objects that don’t always go together. I think that even if a person can’t decipher my personal narrative in the painting, the elements can still be vehicles for the viewer to insert their own experiences into. They can project their own stories onto the characters and objects and walk away still getting the gist of what the painting was made to represent.

"Choke" by Erin Silver

We definitely noticed the influence of traditional tattoo flash and tarot cards on your paintings. What is it about these visual languages that appeals to you?

 For starters, both Tarot and traditional tattoo are designed to say a lot with a little space. The symbolism is often universal, bold, and easily readable. What specifically appeals to me about Tarot cards is the symbolic language and use of archetypes. No matter the deck, no matter the style of art, you know what to look for. Is there water present? Is there a certain animal? Is this a king? The body language, all of these things have meaning and any one of them could be the thread that allows you to connect to a card. With tattoo, it's a bit more open ended. A tattoo can be extremely meaningful or purely for decoration, and both work. I spent a brief couple of years working as a tattoo artist and my absolute favorites to create were bold, colorful, and meaningful to the client. A tattoo can be a badge of honor, a battle scar, a memory, a reinvention of yourself. That’s strong medicine. Even with the broader freedom of a larger canvas, I’m still compelled to use that language. It just feels familiar and potent to me.

 What projects are you working on right now? Where can folks find and purchase your work?

 At the moment, I’m turning my focus back to figural work. Sticking with a lot of the same symbolism and eclectic elements but with a slightly more realistic feel. It's a bit of a departure visually from this last batch, but definitely working off the same concepts and personal narrative.

"Through the Thick Night" by Erin Silver

Erin Silver's work can be found at ERINSILVERSTUDIO.COM, and you can purchase prints and original paintings in the shop section of that website. You can also keep up with Erin's work by following her on instagram @ecsilver.

An Interview with Artist Kaitlin Martin

We at Grimoire Magazine are delighted to feature the work of Chicago-based filmmaker, animator and graphic designer Kaitlin Martin. We first recognized her work in a trailer that played before all horror and midnight movies at the Chicago International Film Festival's After Dark program. She has also made music videos for the bands The Curls, Post Animal, TEEM, and The Evening Attraction, and her videos have been selected for screening at the South Texas Underground Film Festival, Ripe Leeks, Wretched Nobels, San Diego Underground Film Festival, Winnipeg Underground Film Festival, Boston Underground Festival, and the Onion City Experimental Film and Video Festival. 

Grimoire Magazine: First off, could you speak to your influences? What other artists, filmmakers, and icons from popular culture have made the most impact on your work, and how? 

Kaitlin Martin: I grew up watching Masterpiece Mystery! and I've always been in love with the work of Edward Gorey. I love silent movies because there's a really tactile, mysterious quality to a lot of them. I like that the music is transient and changes depending on the time and place. Favorites include Vampyr, FW Murnau's Faust and Destiny (and of course Nosferatu although I think it's a little overplayed), The Phantom of the Opera, Wolf Blood... I could go on forever! I especially enjoy old French serials like Fantomas, Judex, and Les Vampires: It's great to experience these really kooky fast paced narratives in post WWI France. It's so fascinating to see the crumbling city as a backdrop to crazier and crazier conspiracies. I also love contemporary artists who draw a lot of inspiration from this time, too, like Guy Maddin and Marcel Dzama. 

GM: There definitely seem to be Old Hollywood and classic horror influences in your work (especially vampire films), which we absolutely love. What is it about these films that draws you to them?

KM: I really relate to Kenneth Anger's experience of having the gossip and tragedies of Old Hollywood stars told to him growing up as a kind of morality tale. (Also I am the biggest fan of Hollywood Babylon). We had a bunch of classics on VHS and TCM constantly playing in the background growing up. I'd listen to my mom or grandparents tell stories or just say random facts about Carole Lombard dying in a plane crash on her way to see Clark Gable, or Jean Harlow's body decaying after coating her hair in too much platinum dye. They all had such distinct personas and felt almost like a Greek pantheon or patron saints of different things. They're both larger than life and flawed. You can picture Joan Crawford or Cary Grant or Marlene Dietrich and get an instant idea of what they represent.

I love horror movies but I'm so particular — I hate zombies or anything end of the world-y). Vampire movies are my absolute favorite; as opposed to other horror genres, they're usually pretty contained: vampire hunts small group of people. And they're usually the most visually interesting genre within horror. Werner Herzog's Nosferatu is my absolute favorite vampire movie (closely followed by Only Lovers Left Alive, Valerie and her Week of Wonders, and The Hunger) because it really taps into the uncanny. 

GM: A lot of your work favors simple line drawings, especially in neon colors, juxtaposed against dark, atmospheric films of landscapes. The effect, as in “All Gardens are Haunted,” is both charming and eerie: half horror film, half children’s animation. There’s a definite sense of the uncanny in these, in terms of creating something that feels unsettling because it is both familiar and unfamiliar. What was your thought process behind these choices? 

KM: I grew up reading a lot of gothic horror (the Brontës, Stoker, LeFanu, etc.) and one of the most important aspects is the scenery: the dark forests, crumbling ruins, creepy manors. I like to work with that kind of atmosphere in a less gothic surrounding, the city, to create a distinct vibe. Working with line drawings is a good way to keep things moving quickly and creates more symbolic images. The colors are more of an aesthetic choice: I hate how all "horror" stuff is black/white/red—it can be a little on the nose at times. I really like psychedelic art from the 60s and 70s—it could still be bizarre and creepy but use rainbow colors. And I really like pink.

 GM: At Grimoire we’re big fans of spells and the occult, so we are definitely into your 12 Curses series. Can you talk to us about the appeal of curses, and how that particular project came about?

KM: I had wanted to do a series of animations for a while and I was also playing with the idea of drawing a lot of characters who live in the woods. I was drawn to the idea of calling them curses as a kind of protective feeling—the way you walk into the woods (or go on any really long walk) and you don't want anyone to follow you because you just want to be alone. I think they're protective but also sad because they're made out of anger. 

GM: The sound in your films is also stellar, and greatly contributes to their atmosphere. How did you go about designing and creating the sound? 

 KM: Thank you! I like to record sounds when I'm out and about—most of those tracks are distorted from walks, bonfires, and nature. I love making music videos so I want to incorporate music more in the future, but I haven't found the right project yet.

 GM: What future projects are you working on right now? 

KM: So much! Right after I finish releasing 12 Curses I have a kind of e-zine (?) I'm releasing through Instagram called "Ghosts Who Know People I Know" where I illustrate my friends and family's paranormal experiences. Hopefully I'll be able to make printed versions too. I'm also working on a script for a feature-length animation—I want it to be like a psychedelic, lost silent film that's rediscovered in the 70s and has a wild run at grimy art house theaters, then is lost again and rediscovered today. It's a lot, so that would be waaaay down the line haha. And of course I'll keep churning out short animations as I think of them.

GM: As a fellow Chicagoan, what is your opinion of the recent spate of Mothman/bat creature sightings in Chicago? 

KM: Partially I love it—I'd love to see Mothman; I used to always watch for UFOs as a kid and Mothman is even cooler, but according to legend, isn't Mothman a bad omen? Hopefully he's friendly!

"Veronica Lake" by Kaitlin Martin

GM: What do you think is the most haunted site in Chicago, and why?

KM: I had the creepiest experience in this old house in Logan Square years ago. There was all this green tile and pre-furnished rooms with metal beds and it all smelled like incense. Apparently the landlord went around at night and blessed all the doors with holy water. I'm not sure if the house is still there/the same since all those new buildings are going up, but that's the first place that's truly given me the creeps.

Kaitlin Martin is a Chicago-based filmmaker, animator, and illustrator. Her work deals with the act of haunting, nature, and the imagery and tropes of gothic fiction. She has a music video upcoming this fall for art rock sextet The Curls. Her work can be found on her website coolcatkmart.com and on Instagram @coolcatkmart.

An Interview with Artist M. Laverick (Momalish)

M. Laverick (aka Momalish) is an illustrator interested in fun, vibrant concepts, as well as the unsettling and macabre. They grew up with horror movies, Japanese animation, and teen sitcoms from the '90s, resulting in a hyper-idolisation of pop and graphic imagery, as well as an enthusiasm for all things scary and occult — influences which take precedence within their work. Their portfolio can be found here, and their latest work can also be seen via Twitter (@momalish) and Instagram (@badwitches). Their storefront, Bad Witches Emporium, will soon be moving to a new location.

How do you describe your aesthetic when you’re thinking about it on your own terms (as in, not for a professional byline)?

I struggle so much with how I want to present myself, so this is a tough question! Perhaps “Texas Chainsaw Daria.”
 

How did you come into illustration?

I did illustration throughout various arts courses and found it super rewarding. I’ve been putting my art online since I was a teenager and I just sort of carried on doing it as I went through college, making connections and taking jobs as I posted more. I just really enjoy drawing and making pictures, so doing this as a line of work has come very naturally to me.
 

"Dinner for Two" by M. Laverick (Momalish)

You've mentioned that you grew up with horror movies, Japanese animation, and teen sitcoms from the ‘90s. Could you talk about how these sources have influenced your work, both visually and conceptually?

When I was growing up, teen sitcoms like Saved by the Bell and Clarissa Explains it All were all on reruns. Those shows were on the cusp of the ‘80s/’90s so I was watching a lot of shows stylized in those eras. When I was little I used to draw my “dream room” a lot, which looked a lot like Clarissa’s, actually. Now, I use my room as form of expression — I collect figures and trinkets to decorate it with, so it makes sense that I love giving environments in my work the same sense of personalization. By paying attention to small details within the environments my characters inhabit, it’s sort of a progression from when I used to draw Clarissa’s room.

"Summon" by M. Laverick (Momalish)

I also loved the hyper stylized drawings of the manga and anime I was consuming as a kid. It was very different to anything else I had been exposed to, and I really connected with it. My teachers at school heavily discouraged me from replicating the style of these shows and comics, so I forced my hand into drawing in a more “western” style.

I really love the melodrama shoujo and horror comics bring to the table; Japanese artists such as Kazuo Umezu and Suehiro Maruo draw quite horrific content that is still portrayed in a rather feminine and graceful way, which is reflective of the long lashes and wide eyes of the magical girls I grew up idolizing the styling of. As my interests expanded, I think I developed a style that happily married those stylistic elements I admired with a more diversified range of influences.

One thing I do is try and mediate between something nostalgic to me, and horrific. The nostalgia comes from things I have grown up consuming and being inspired by like those sitcoms and anime. I love movies like It Follows, which exists in a timeless universe, and managed to portray an atmosphere that is unsettling and oppressive but takes place in an otherwise comforting and familiar environment. That combination is something that really inspires me, and I try to convey a similar feeling in my work. I have very prominent memories of my friends and I sitting around, talking about horror movies and sharing ghost stories. We loved scaring each other. So maybe I’m making illustrations that are, in a sense, these scary stories or ideas that have been brought into the rooms we’d tell them in.
 

"Dysphoria/Dysmorphia" by M. Laverick (Momalish)

Also, of course we have to ask — what are some of your favorites in each category?

Anime/Manga: I really like Evangelion. At face value it’s about giant fighting robots. But there’s a narrative alongside of it, which I found to be one of the most realistic and intuitive depictions of depression and mental health troubles I’ve seen. I also think the style it was drawn and animated in was quite dated a few years ago, but is now making a resurgence as part of the popularity of ‘90s aesthetics on the internet.

Anything by Junji Ito is also an essential for fans of horror. His works are either hilariously over-the-top with how disgusting and wild they are, or completely terrifying and haunting. He has drawn so many short stories that it’s easy to find something you feel like reading.

Sitcoms: The Secret World of Alex Mack was a great teen sitcom. She was hit by a chemical truck on her first day of school, which gave her Special Powers. I remember she used to glow when she was nervous, which is so relatable... except I sort of grow more of a red colour, shake, and perspire horrifically when I’m anxious.

Horror Movies: Suspiria is a major favorite horror for me: I love Dario Argento’s bright colour palettes and lighting! It’s is a little “off” with the acting and storyline, but I felt like it made for this really surreal, nightmare-like feeling which I love. The Japanese horror House does something very similar — and it also has a bunch of fun rotoscoped and practical effects. It looks like somebody took a teen melodrama, cut it into a haunted house movie, and drew all over it to make something wicked. I love it!

"Items" by M. Laverick (Momalish)

Occult and horror imageries are becoming increasingly popular in mainstream culture, and seem to be thriving particularly in online communities like tumblr and Etsy. What is it that draws you to this imagery, and why do you think that it is having a revival in pop culture (and art) right now?

Honestly, I think a lot of the popularity of witchy stuff amongst girls is an expression of feminism. There is a natural link between witchcraft and feminism that a lot of people make, and enjoy playing on. Having magic means you can do anything and so witchcraft has become, for many, a symbolism of independence and strength within femininity that I think appeals to people very much at the moment.

I’ve also noticed that now a lot of modern and successful horror movies have been directed by women. A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night, The Love Witch and The Babadook have been three of my favorite horrors of the last five years — all directed by women. Being a feminist and fan of horror movies has always been a paradox for me. The horror genre has always involved women, but they’ve rarely ever been in control; they are typically the subjects of shallow peril and exploitation. But I think when you have a woman writing or directing horror, there is a more empathetic and humanistic portrayal of female characters. People like it — and I think the media are slowly waking up to that. Of course, I don’t mean to say that everything is about feminism — I think that’s just a part of it. Perhaps the Illuminati are real after all.
 

"Pomegranate" by M. Laverick (Momalish)

Some of your works use a particularly "girly" pastel palette and iconography. This meshes with a pastel goth aesthetic that seems to have found a place in social media and fashion communities. Could you speak about this choice to use a less-traditional palette for horror and gothic imagery, and to emphasize what many might think of as the “femme” elements?

I rarely consciously think about making my work one way or the other. I think my colour choices are just things that have seeped unconsciously into my work from inspiration and interest alike. I try to stay away from using the words “pastel goth” to describe my work because I feel like it conjures quite a gimmicky and ubiquitous aesthetic I’m not a huge fan of. But I do think that the prevalent themes and colour choices of my work will inevitably be attributed to that aesthetic!

I suppose it comes from trying to use soft and comforting palettes to portray an atmosphere that is soothing, and introducing something dark or “off” which gives a sense contamination to a scene. In my illustration “Dysmorphia/Dysphoria,” I wanted to achieve a feeling of familiarity conjured by the dressing table adorned with feminine and girly imagery, but then introduce something darker by hiding objects that allude to the title amongst that, as well as the more obvious horror elements. Essentially, I’m emphasising soft, feminine elements in order to evoke a contrasting feeling of corruption.
 

"Witch" by M. Laverick (Momalish)

Who is your favorite teen witch, and why?

Does Moaning Myrtle from Harry Potter count? It’s probably a boring choice given all I’ve talked about… but I think crying all day in the shitter is very relatable.

"Armour" by M. Laverick (Momalish)

"Ring" by M. Laverick (Momalish)

Six Works by Katy Horan

"Sow" by Katy Horan

My work examines female roles and representation found throughout history and mythology. I pull from a variety of sources, using mixed references and visual fragments to construct new versions of recurring figures and familiar narratives. I intend the image to be at once identifiable and ambiguous, inviting the viewer’s imagination and personal associations to inform their interpretation.

My process begins with research and study. I pull visual inspiration and ideas from a wide variety of sources including film, literature, folk art and music. I then rearrange these fragments of imagery and information to create paintings, illustrations and drawings. This process allows me to explore an array of interests that range from Victorian spinsterhood to classic ghost stories and the archetypal witch figure. Most recently, my research has focused on folk superstitions and witch tales from the Ozark and Appalachian regions.

"Feet" by Katy Horan

"Them Bones" by Katy Horan

"Pelt" by Katy Horan

"Keepsakes" by Katy Horan

Five Works and Artist Narrative by Brittany Schall

BRITTANY SCHALL: ARTIST NARRATIVE
On the genesis of her work Hair Portraits

Brittany Schall, a visual artist based in New York City, contributes the featured art for Grimoire’s inaugural issue. These pieces are from her series Hair Portraits, a body of work which explores, in her words, how “the most subtle nuances of hair communicate who we are—or maybe more importantly, who we attempt to be,” and feature women or mythological female figures who have often been “subdued by misogyny or a patriarchy.”  In the narrative that follows, Schall relates to Grimoire the confluence of interests and circumstances that led to the work’s creation. 

So transport yourself to 2008, a few months before the economic crash rattled the deep pockets of the NYC art collectors. I had just moved from Colorado right after I graduated and had created a series of works based off of decaying industrial sites. I was a stickler for perfection and detail. I had been to the city only twice, once my senior year for a weekend and the spring break before I graduated college. I loved it and moved immediately after school. I lived in a closet in Bed Stuy off of Franklin and Gates, then relocated to the southern Bronx off of Lincoln and 3rd Ave.

"Dark Waters" / Brittany Schall

The Chelsea Art Mall was thriving and the majority of notable artists were selling their work enough not to do it themselves—meaning a good percentage of them hired other artists (aka "assistants") to paint/sculpt/draw their work and the artist would put a few tiny touches on the work along with their name. Jeff Koons and Thomas Kinkade are the most well known artists who do this; it's a bit morbidly funny that Kinkade is still producing so many works (including cabin replicas from his paintings) because he has been working from the grave since 2012. Other artists outright just ship images to China to have them produced cheaply — we all know the whopping $15 an hour without benefits I was making in NYC was just too criminally high. While working in artist studios (can't say who because you have to sign a nondisclosure), everyone told me that I had fantastic technique, but I didn't work fast enough. I decided if I could draw hair perfectly and quickly, I could do anything, so I started sketching.

"Eve" / Brittany Schall

After the economy tanked and bailouts were being thrown out like cheap t-shirts by a dancing mascot, no one was buying art, and I lost my job. My roommate — we'd met in junior high — had evolved into my boyfriend. He was an actor and worked for a dog-walking company in the West Village; he then decided to go independent and start his own company. At the time I had picked up a few days at a couture purse store in SoHo and was assisting installation artists. I offered to help him and we started our own dog-walking company, which was great for the first few months. Then we started boarding the dogs in our teacup-sized one-bedroom apartment, which was a 4th floor walk up. Pretty soon our home was overrun with dogs—about 4 - 9 dogs at a time, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I stopped drawing because I only had time to walk dogs and became deeply depressed. The goal was to have a flexible job so if need be, my boyfriend could go to auditions and I could assist other artists. But I was blindsided by the situation I found myself in; I felt like a complete failure and my hopes of being an artist began to be extinguished. I wanted to disappear. I gave up on making large pieces because the dogs would either knock the drawings over, or shake rain and slobber over them. Instead, I starting sketching small pieces that I could hold in my lap, and I filled the pages like a diary. 

A college professor told me to not hand-feed the viewer—give them enough to think, and don't insult them by spoon-feeding each idea to them. Another told me to draw what I love and what I was afraid of. I combined this advice and applied it to my work. I started making small sketches of myself. On one piece of paper I would draw my face; then, I would layer a "see through" piece of paper with the hair drawn on it on top of the face.  I wanted the portrait to look how I felt: dissolving. The economy was still shaky and I had worked for two years, but couldn't formulate a resume because of my nondisclosure contracts. I was painted into a corner and felt like a failure. I didn't want to show my face, so I didn't. I took my face out of the drawing. It was the perfect description, every detail painstakingly out in front of my audience for them to see, but I was completely obscure. 

"Jenna" / Brittany Schall

I started drawing other people the same way, in these "hair portrait" styles. As I was showing the works to other artists and friends, an odd thing happened: people could easily guess the age, race, and socioeconomic background of the sitter. Even though the drawings were all black and white, they could guess which ones were me, a checkout girl, or the most famous comment: "that is a rich white woman's blow out." I was blown away. I experimented by drawing an array of women, from wealthy to poor, and simply titled the pieces as their annual income (20k, 150k, 750k); without being prompted, the viewers guessed the connection in seconds. The most fascinating were the drawings of black women who had used hair relaxers to mimic "rich white hair"; everyone could tell the difference. When I asked them how, they said they could tell by the texture and thickness of the hair. Some people could even spot the difference between a red head, a bottle blonde, and brunette. It was astounding. 

People began to try to identify gender, race, socio-economic status, and sometimes even the actual person (because they assume it’s someone I know or a celebrity). I find it utterly profound how in-tune our culture is to catch the difference between a "rich" woman’s blowout or an “imitation” hair relaxer done at home. It made me realize even the most subtle nuances of hair communicate who we are—or maybe more importantly, who we attempt to be.

"Mary Mary" / Brittany Schall

With that in mind, I combine the use of hyper-detailed drawing and devoid spaces to give the audience intense visual information without full context. My idea is that the viewer will project their own ideas into the negative space and fill in the blanks without being spoon-fed ideas. The sensual aspects of my work invite the “male gaze” to the piece. I relieve the viewer of the potential of guilt arising from objectification by making my portraits faceless. Many of my works are titled after mythical or religious female figures that have met unfortunate ends or have been subdued by misogyny or a patriarchy.

For more information about Schall and her work, please visit her website, www.brittanyschall.com.