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s her dreaming mind tempts her closer to her subconscious desires, a woman in virginal white lies stretched across a bed like
a sacrificial lamb. Her long, flaccid limbs and naked throat expose her vulnerable frame, upon which a vile incubus perches menacingly. The creature’s shadow falls upon blood- red curtains, showing that his ears are more like horns. Behind them, a horse thrusts its head through the darkness, eyes rolled back in wild abandon. It’s an uneasy meeting of (not quite) human and animal, where the tremble of anticipation runs wild. Intimations of sexual terror, mur-
der, voyeurism, insanity, body horror and the supernatural in Henry Fuseli’s 1781 painting The Nightmare craft a depraved and decadent mise-en- scène – drawing clear parallels to lit- erature, folklore, art history and the cultural turmoil of the Enlightenment. Since the advent of film, many have looked back at Fuseli’s dark mindscape to inject terror into their own onscreen creations. There’s no denying the tremendous influence the artist’s most famous work has had on the horror genre, as its themes are ripe with Gothic allure. The painting’s history is similarly bizarre. Rumours about Fuseli in-
dulging in opium and ingesting raw pork to conjure vivid, demented dreams only add to the work’s surreality. The artist also allegedly had a keen interest in the occult, radical philosophies and grotesque humour, seemingly antithetical to the Enlightenment, which called for a return to reason and clarity. The Gothic threat titillated with its powers of mad sexuality, beauty aligned with ugliness and the brutal, wicked manifes- tations of nature. Before making his mark amongst British artists, the Anglo-Swiss
painter – who was ousted from a theology career due to his outspoken beliefs – had seen a modicum of success after finding inspiration in the Old Italian Masters and the literary dream worlds of Shakespeare. Tales of the artist’s unrequited love led some to conclude that Fuseli’s
sublimated sexual desires for his lost lady left him to portray himself as the demon in his own work – further cementing the notion of the artist giving way to the monster within. Many of these early Romantic ideals – along with the (unusual) reputation Fuseli seemed to deeply desire – were established after The Nightmare caused a stir at the 1782 Royal Academy of London opening exhibition. The monsters and sexual dramas of Fuseli’s real life may have even inspired Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The 1818 Gothic novel features a passage that seems directly inspired by The Nightmare. Shelley describes the lifeless body
of Elizabeth (Victor Frankenstein’s cousin-turned-wife), whom the creature murders after vowing re- venge upon his creator for destroy- ing the female companion he longed for: “She was there, lifeless and inanimate, thrown across the bed, her head hanging down, and her pale and distorted features half covered by hair.” Stories also indi- cate that Shelley’s mother, the writer Mary Wollstonecraft (whose work is referenced in Shelley’s book), had an affair with the painter, adding a more personal subtext to the inclusion of the painting in Shelley’s work. The origin of Frankenstein is
also revisited and reimagined in Ken Russell’s 1986 film Gothic, which references The Nightmare on its poster and other artwork. In one of the movie’s lurid, phan- tasmagorical scenes, Shelley –
played by Natasha Richardson – envisions herself as part of the painting, come to life. The uncontrollable desires that Fuseli fixated upon are reflected in the vam-
pire-like image of the incubus. The similarities between vampiric folklore and Fuseli’s painting suggests that Dracula author Bram Stoker may have been influenced by The Nightmare when writing his 1897 novel. Both the vampire and the incubus prey upon their nocturnal victims in similar ways, portending an erotic and deadly surrender. Edgar Allan Poe’s evocation of Fuseli in “The Fall of the House
of Usher” bypasses the poetics of dark desire, focusing instead on a shared interest in the subconscious realms. Poe’s 1839 story makes mention of Fuseli’s art when the narrator compares a painting in Roderick Usher’s house to the “reveries” of the artist. Later, Poe describes his narrator’s late-night anxiety: “An irrepressible tremor gradually pervaded my frame; and, at length, there sat upon my very heart an incubus of utterly causeless alarm.”
Later, H.P. Lovecraft wrote in his 1927 short horror story, “Pickman’s Model,”
that only true artists can inhabit the shadowlands of the mind (“I don’t have to tell you why Fuseli really brings a shiver...”). As the legacy of Fuseli’s painting endures – and continues to inspire the works of other artists, writers and filmmakers who dwell in similar realms – the intoxicating blend of sex and nightmares will keep making us quake.
ALISON NASTASI
RM70
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