the Beasts of Glimmerglass

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So that’s farewell to Mask Week at the Artlog. We looked at Schandmaskes, the coiled rope masks of Bertjan Pot, a paper-lamimate mask I once made inspired by the 1920 film of The Golem, animal masks from Latvia by Yevgeniya Kilupe, and last but not least, the schlocky monster-masks manufactured by the American company Topstone. There were many more mask posts I could have made, but they must wait for another time.

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Above and below: maquettes of a dragon and Minotaur

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Back now to the cover and decorations I’m preparing for Marly Youman’s forthcoming novel Glimmerglass. As usual there are maquettes and studies galore. However simple the finished work for a book may appear, the amount of preparatory work is like the greater part of the iceberg that sits under the surface of the water. For the beasts of Glimmerglass, the dragons, geese, lions, salamanders and minotaurs that will appear no matter how briefly on the dust-wrapper, on page decorations and in vignettes, the groundwork must be put in to make sure that they play their roles perfectly.

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I started with a dragon. First there were the sketches…

then a couple of collages…

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… and finally, the maquette:

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Often the maquette is the first thing to be made, but in this case I came late to it, having already worked out in sketches what the beast would look like. I made double-joints for the narrow attachments, such as the jaw-to-neck-to-head and the upper-to-lower-leg-to-foot, because they give much more flexibility.

And although maquettes are labour intensive to make, I always get a lot of use from them beyond their original function. They get used over and over again, especially as compositional aids in my paintings. (And it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that this particular beast will get used for a Glimmerglass themed painting or paintings, that will have nothing to do with what’s needed for the book.) Because it’s been double-jointed at significant points, the maquette lends itself well to stretch and compression. I also like the slight disjunctions that come with the technique.

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Below: reverse of leg showing double-joint attachments

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Topstone Masks: the allure of schlock

When I was a kid I’d occasionally purchase a copy of Famous Monsters of Filmland magazine from the newsagents where I went for comics, stash it flat between my shirt and pullover and sneak into the house and up to my bedroom, hopeful of not being discovered in the act by my parents who strongly disapproved of what they regarded as ‘trashy’ reading. It was an agonising situation, because I craved those forbidden delights, the grainy black and white stills from The Phantom of the Opera, The Mummy and The Creature from the Black Lagoon. I especially loved the mail-order ads in the back, where Aurora kits of plastic monsters were offered alongside cheesy rubber masks represented by enthrallingly creepy artwork.

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I had no idea how much $2.00 was in pounds, shillings and pence, but it seemed to me like great value for money. I never did work out whether I could order a mask by sending a postal-order to the United States, though I eventually discovered that a local fancy-dress shop stocked them. (The masks were manufactured by a company called Topstone.) I used to loiter at the window, yearning for a mask that would transform me into werewolf or zombie. Once or twice I even ventured inside to savour the scent of latex-rubber that hung in the air like a graveyard miasma, but the shop-keeper didn’t welcome boys who didn’t buy, and I never stayed long.

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Sneaking illicit copies of FMoF  into my bedroom was one thing, but risking my parent’s scorn by being caught in possession of a rubber monster mask was a bridge too far. I even convinced myself from the way the masks hung so limply on their pegs, that they were flimsy things, falling short of the promise in the glorious advertisements. But I was deluding myself, because I never stopped wanting one. They were just so deliciously tacky! The fact that they uncontrollably buckled , bulged and collapsed, just made them even more thrillingly dreadful.

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Below: even the Topstone clowns are sinister.

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Below: a Cyclops mask and the ad that made me yearn for one. (Note the prefix ‘one-eyed’ before Cyclops, just in case there was any doubt!)

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Below: Girl Vampire and ad.

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Looking at them now, they still capture my imagination. Rough, lurid and tasteless they may be, but I relished that brush with the dark-side under the innocent candlewick of my counterpane at night, enjoying the secret vice of those magazines by torchlight, scaring myself witless.

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The Topstone Mask portraits in this post are the work of collector and monster mask guru, Ray Castle. On his excellent BLOG Ray describes how he preserves and displays his Topstone masks, though he warns that it’s a delicate business. So if you’re lucky enough to own an unrestored vintage mask, this is a good starting point to understand how best to go about caring for and displaying it. But I suggest you also contact Ray for further advice on professional help. We Topstone aficionados owe Ray an enormous debt of gratitude for sharing his enthusiasm and research for these wonderful survivals.