The Old and the New

Ian Lowry is an artist in Elizabeth City, North Carolina with a particular fetish for the clothing, architectural detail, and language of long-past times. He delights in creating his own countries, set in those times, and filling them with a fascinating cast of characters and dark intrigues. For example, the land of Endor, whose rule is decided by the ownership of a certain ornate ocular device:


Baroness Cassilda Devereux Vontalee, Peering Through Her Wondrous Ocular Device, Marveling At The Many Splendors It So Freely Reveals
Cassilda is then shown the door by the next holder of the device, now Emperor of Endor..



Vi Veri Universum Vivus Vici!


...Such a device always seems to be taken from its owner in an unfriendly, rather grim manner... In fact, over a century after the Emperor in the above image (a self-portrait, it must be noted) is found, faceless and dead, an oddly-masked and secretive man begins to weald a dark and mysterious power over the new courts of Endor.


Endor’s Masked Guest

“A mysterious religious leader (a modern Rasputin, surely) has slithered his way into the royal court, and seems (dispite the opinions of the present queen, who seems to worship his every word) bent endlessly towards wicked things.

The Court guest is extremly odd, to say the least. Aside from the hideous mask- which, as far as anyone knows, has never left his face, there are a multitude of other eccentricities noticed by fellow courtiers. He wears only the tattered fashions of a long-dead age, has wild, visibly dirty hair, smells effluvious, rarely speaks, keeps all skin safely covered, and never (at least in public) eats. One of the queen's neices (seen here hurriedly passing the curious man) even goes so far as to claim he doesn't so much as breathe.” 

Grim Masquerade

“The vile masked stranger has convinced his puppet (the Queen) to hold a grand masquerade within the palace. He plans to take Endor tonight, by ripping the Ocular Device (which he in his villainy has so innocently requested she wear) off the unknowing queen's mask and using it to destroy her and her nobles, who have all been so deviously herded within the palace walls under the guise of celebration! Ah, now we see the Queen ascending the courtyard stair to the ballroom veranda. Poor creature, with such blind trust for this wicked demon! The wretched smile upon the monster's mask is at last accurate, for he knows his evil triumph is only moments away.

"But that's not the Queen," one of the courtiers bluntly remarks. "No; she's still in her dressing room. I saw her there myself only moments ago!" There is a stirring in the crowd facing the staircase. The masked wretch suddenly recoils his gloved claw from the woman. "No!" his gutteral voice cracks, "impossible- it cannot be! Cassilda!"”

Endor’s Wicked Emperor Revealed...


The Emperor is unmasked by Cassilda, but he pushes back the crowd by capturing a hostage...


Another interest of Ian’s is the cataloguing and restoration of historic properties. He often travels around with a camera, photographing old residences and other places of interest, both for inspiration and simply out of love and concern for area history. He has thus found intriguing bits of architectural detail for his work and even experienced a run-in with a ghost...In fact, he states on his Flickr page that it had been his intention to study architecture, with the end goal of a profession in historic preservation. The eventual discovery of his intense dislike of maths, however, and his simultaneous increase in interest in peopling the elaborate structures he was already so fond of drawing, led to a change of focus which loosed a unique talent...


A Time Warp on Pearl Street


Detail of A Time Warp on Pearl Street



Ian describes the drawing thus:

“my original inspiration was a house in the main slum of my town, on Pearl Street (where I got the title street from, of course). It was (still is, actually) a very sad creature, having been altered horridly on the main floors, while retaining its original details on the attic story (those details being of a victorian nature, it should be noted). It was as if it had been skinned alive and left to rot, while its ever-living face was forced to constantly see the gloom around it. It is just one of many such pitiful buildings on the northern end on Elizabeth City- an area once so wonderful, so lovely. This picture, than, is to be a great keen unto them, as well as a call to action from the more caring denizens of the city.

Like most of my drawings, the piece, along with its meaning, has evolved quite greatly while being worked on. My original idea was to show the glory of the past looming grimly over the squalor of the street's modern condition. The people below were to be sad, unpleasant, and vaguely malicious in nature. Perhaps I just didn't want it to be that depressing, though. The final product, then, is much more hopeful:
A young couple (the new owners, naturally) have decided to restore the massive, long neglected and abused mansion. Little do they know, however, that the crowned and finialed upper story of their new home, though boarded up and not entered for decades, houses others- the original residents of the home! Though long dead, they are happily unaware of the truth (or, knowing it, don't really care for it), and live in a vast metaphysical realm in which their mansion is still pristine, Pearl Street is still alive with the beauty of prosperity and comfort, and Elizabeth City still teams with new life and industry!”

Other times, the meeting between past and present isn’t so pleasantly managed:



“Oh, Goodness! Such an Odd Shudder!”



He also delves into old legend and lore, often digging up and illustrating the stories of interesting and powerful women from history. Don’t skip over the title of this next one:


"The Goode Mr. Laurie's Fine Illustratiue Accounte of the Nightly Ransacking of Ye Honour'd Gouernor's Manor-house in Charles Towne by the Euile Pyrate Anne Bonny and Her Dangerous Accoumplice, the Fearfull Mary Read."


“Vile Lilith, Haunter of the Dark”

Again, he shares the thoughts going into his work:

Lilith was, in ancient and medieval times, believed to be the first wife of Adam, before Eve was ever thought of. But she would not agree to be subordinate to Adam, so she left (or was kicked out) of the Garden. She then became a demon, forever haunting mankind. She was (is, if you believe in her, as some people apparently do) forever jealous of humans, a race she was so woefully removed from, and seeks always to destroy the offspring of the man who wanted to control her (Adam). Usually, she did (does?) this by killing young children (in their sleep, typically). In olden times, whenever an infant died, it was blamed on vile Lilith. Even to this day, some people hang talismans around the necks of infants to protect them from Lilith. It has even been supposed that the term "lullaby" actually has roots in the name Lilith, and was originally a musical chant given to children before sleep to ward her off.

The earliest depictions of Lilith (in ancient Mesopotamia) show her as part owl (links to her night stalkings, of course). Medieval artists showed her as a beautiful woman on top, but with a snake's body below (the theme of temptation, as she was often connected in thought with the snake-devil in Genesis). She has also been seen as a Succubus (a female demon that sleeps with unknowing men- the female version of an incubus). In fact, it was believed by some that Lilith was the mother of all demons (these demons being the half-spawn of humans that unknowingly slept with her).
...

The long dress (far taller than is reasonable) can be seen in two ways- on one hand, it could be hiding the snake body so clearly shown in Renaissance versions of Lilith. One the other hand, it could show a sort of spectral trail- a ghostly echo of the flying night-demon. The claws (perhaps my favorite part) are to show her true wickedness. Like the snake tail, they show her mutation away from humankind. She is no longer of man, but is now a monster, forever cast from the light of God- the claws, then, show show a sort of devolution (plus they just look cool).

Lilith has been seen as a haunter of ruins, so I used a noisome cemetery as her den.

Nowadays, many people actually feel sorry for Lilith (after all, the only reason she got kicked out of the garden was because she didn't want Adam ruling over her). I can't help but feel a little sorry for her, as well. Poor thing- lost forever in damnation. That's probably why I kept her beautiful, and why I didn't give her any wicked facial expression. Rather, she watches the glorious moon, a heavenly body as cold and twisted as her own.

Oh, and the second part of the title ("Haunter of the Dark") is a reference to H.P.Lovecraft's 1935 short story "The Haunter of the Dark." 

Most recently, Ian has moved into the world of color, to great effect.


“Checkmate, or the Queen’s Revenge”

Again, the Hitchcock-like affinity for sneaking a self-portrait in arises: the piano-player here is the artist himself. This drawing is another meeting between present and past, as the underhanded machinations of characters from Ian’s own city of Endor play out on a stage in the Lowry-Chesson Building, a piece of Elizabeth City’s history built by his great uncle. The title given to the illustration was the title of a play actually shown there in 1898, which he found reference to in some old papers. The building has recently been refurbished and once again plays host to the arts, as the center for the local arts guild.


And, of course, concern for the well-being of old structures and the stories and lives behind them, along with a creative temperament naturally leads to distaste for wanton destruction, such as that unleashed by the war machine...



“The Great and Terrible Airstrike” (please click the link!)


Detail



Detail


There will be a gallery showing of Ian Lowry’s works opening July 2nd in Elizabeth City, North Carolina. But if you can't make it there, I recommend a visit to his Flickr page, where you can ogle the incredible detail of his drawings at a much better size.

The First Haunting

("The Thompson Mitchell Mansion," by I.M.Lowry)

The First Haunting

It was pouring rain when I left the house, but the woman pulling my arm was undeterred. I dragged my feet, making long, muddy scuffs in the yard, taking a small secret pleasure in the spatter I was leaving on her white stockings. Who wore white stockings on a day like this, anyway?
The sky felt heavy around my skull, like a vise. The world was brown and gray, and the stupid white of her clothing was being taught a lesson not only by me. By the time we reached the car, we were both of us soaked and filthy. I mucked my shoes around on the carpet, rubbing the mud in. My pretty blue dress—it had been my favorite dress, before—looked gray like everything else, and as I sat waiting for the car to start, I rubbed some brown into it.
The engine made a wet, chugging noise. The lady swore, turned around and apologized to me sweetly, and then beat on the steering wheel and tried again. The beating got her nowhere, the engine merely choked and died. She placed both hands on the wheel and made loud breathing noises. I felt a small smile flit across my face.
I turned to look out the window at the house, which really deserved the yard it had gotten. Home. It had never before looked so unhealthy, so dark and forbidding. It had just been my house, where I'd lived. Mother had kept it bright, full of colorful cloths and paper decorations on the inside, and somehow I'd always felt that brightness even from the outside. And now it felt like all the light everywhere had just disappeared. Been sucked into nothingness. And God was going to beat us to death with all this rain. Now, the house looked just like grandma always said it did.
But still, it was home.
Then the lady was at my door, pulling me back out into the rain, and she cheered at me to keep up and hurry with her to the corner store. But I dragged along some more. Punishing her. I dragged along and dragged along, and every time that afternoon we stopped to meet people, I scowled at my feet and rubbed my fingers into the muddy spots on my dress. The lady patted my shoulders gently and spoke in a soft voice, but she carried no light with her. She was a feather, a wisp; totally inconsequential. Why did she get to live?
By the time we got to the orphanage, I was disgusting and furious. I must have looked like a demon entering that vast, imposing house, and I could see the little sparks of fear on the faces of a few of the girls lined up to meet me in their fussy dresses. I felt that sly smile flit across my face again, and I tasted it quickly with my tongue.
“Michelle, sweetheart, let's go draw you a bath, Ok?” The lady crooned from where she knelt beside me. “Then we'll bring you down, and you can meet everyone at dinner.” She smiled vapidly and pulled off my shoes, then tugged my hand again as she stood up to march me up the stairs. The girls' skirts rustled as we passed, meshing with their nasty whispers, and I heard “father” and “drunk” and “trash.”
But I just smiled again, letting it linger this time. Because I had a secret. I had brought something with me, something horrible. And they were all going to find out what they were made of, once the lights went down.






In the bath, the vise around my head tightened, and I lost my place more than once. I discovered myself standing and dripping again but clean, wrapped in a towel. I found myself by the dresser, violently pulling knots out of my hair with someone's brush. I pushed a small, wooden box under a wooden slat at the bottom of the armoire that I'd shredded my fingers pulling up, then covered it back and gave myself splinter after splinter smoothing it down, petting it, smiling at my secret treasure. I woke up on the stairs, staring at a candle at the dinner table, slapping at a mosquito in a corner of the kitchen. All the while, the vise kept tightening around my head. I couldn't imagine how it could get any tighter without popping my skull, but then it did. It tightened, and then I saw him, standing by the fire. My father, the mess on the side of his head oozing into fat globs that dropped onto the carpet. That slow grin filled up his face. He arched his eyebrows, taking in my new surroundings, and he began to laugh. Loud.
My father's laughter filled the room. Everyone looked up at once, their stupid little heads jerking around for the source of that unseemly noise, and then he helped them out a bit, grasping books from the shelf beside him and hurling them across the room in every direction. One of them hit me.
And then I really woke up.

NOTE**Artwork by I.M.Lowry, story by Zoe. The story is completely fictional.