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Resist
Apparently, this is one of the most haunted paintings in the world. Looking at it, you can sort of see why. From the hands to the children to the title ("Hands Resist Him"), this is just one of those things that screams "I MAKE WEIRD SHIT HAPPEN".
Penn had showed me this painting before, and I had seen it once before that. Then I was talking with DNA about all the things that make up flip our cookies and I remembered it. I didn't know about the whole eBay legend, which just makes it that much *more* interesting. When I come home from work today, I might look up any information I can about the artist. I'd like to see if his life furthers the legend.
Admittedly, it does send chills up my spine. <:) I looked at it alone last night and kept having the urge to look over my shoulder. Hee. It reminds me of this one dream I had -- probably what I consider to be the scariest dream I've ever experienced. I was only a kid, about 10 or 12, and that's a good age for nightmares to completely dominate you when you sleep. For a while there, I couldn't sleep for hours every night from all the wonderful stuff my brain was cooking up. We lived in an apartment/house when I was growing up. It was three stories (four counting a totally creepy basement, but that's something for another campfire), but you could only access the other floors through a side door on the outside of the house. It was *old*, I don't know how old, but enough for it to settle and rattle at night. Every once in a while there would be a small pop, or the sound of footsteps from overhead. Wood shrank and grew at night, settling into little grooves that it had worn away season after season. The front door lead to a little alcove/receiving room, and on the left was a living room-cum-bedroom, where my sister slept. On the right, was the living room, where I slept on a bed or couch. On the right as you came in was my bed; directly opposite was a wide open door that lead to a spacious dining room. On the far left corner was another, smaller open door that opened into the kitchen, another bedroom (where my mom slept) and eventually the bathroom, right next to the back door at the end of the house. At the top of the far dining room wall, right in my field of vision, were two huge windows where I could see the looming tip of the house behind us, usually naked tree branches, a few power lines and the moon when the time was right. A bright shooting star or two would scare me half to death. Anyway, in my dream I got up from my bed to go to the bathroom; this was *always* a journey frought with mortal peril, since you had to cross a dining room with four enormous windows. I made it past all right, but I went into the kitchen to see my sister washing her hair in the sink. She lifted her head, smiled and said something unintelligible, and then time stopped. Suddenly she said it backwards and sped out of the room backwards. A cage fell down from the ceiling, and suddenly I was trapped. There, in the window above the sink, there was a black outline and a pair of enormous eyes watching me from the outside. I tried to scream but there was nothing but a rush of air in my throat. I couldn't even move to rattle the cage. This went on for a full minute before I woke up. And I had to go to the bathroom. Morning came way, way too slow that night. <:) I don't have many nightmares that are quite on the level of that one any more, though there are two that I can remember that came close, and both of them occurred when I was living in my first house in Arkansas. I wonder what it is about childhood that makes nightmares so terrifying. Is it something physical, like the potency of chemicals in our brain? Or is just the capacity we have to believe as children, which is usually tempered by our need to rationalize as adults? I think the reason so many adults like to be scared on a weird, subversive level is the fact that it's such a pure, powerful emotion waiting to be tapped. It's another mechanism that doesn't make us just remember childhood, it transports us there. Suddenly jumping at bumps doesn't seem quite so silly.
Penn had showed me this painting before, and I had seen it once before that. Then I was talking with DNA about all the things that make up flip our cookies and I remembered it. I didn't know about the whole eBay legend, which just makes it that much *more* interesting. When I come home from work today, I might look up any information I can about the artist. I'd like to see if his life furthers the legend.
Admittedly, it does send chills up my spine. <:) I looked at it alone last night and kept having the urge to look over my shoulder. Hee. It reminds me of this one dream I had -- probably what I consider to be the scariest dream I've ever experienced. I was only a kid, about 10 or 12, and that's a good age for nightmares to completely dominate you when you sleep. For a while there, I couldn't sleep for hours every night from all the wonderful stuff my brain was cooking up. We lived in an apartment/house when I was growing up. It was three stories (four counting a totally creepy basement, but that's something for another campfire), but you could only access the other floors through a side door on the outside of the house. It was *old*, I don't know how old, but enough for it to settle and rattle at night. Every once in a while there would be a small pop, or the sound of footsteps from overhead. Wood shrank and grew at night, settling into little grooves that it had worn away season after season. The front door lead to a little alcove/receiving room, and on the left was a living room-cum-bedroom, where my sister slept. On the right, was the living room, where I slept on a bed or couch. On the right as you came in was my bed; directly opposite was a wide open door that lead to a spacious dining room. On the far left corner was another, smaller open door that opened into the kitchen, another bedroom (where my mom slept) and eventually the bathroom, right next to the back door at the end of the house. At the top of the far dining room wall, right in my field of vision, were two huge windows where I could see the looming tip of the house behind us, usually naked tree branches, a few power lines and the moon when the time was right. A bright shooting star or two would scare me half to death. Anyway, in my dream I got up from my bed to go to the bathroom; this was *always* a journey frought with mortal peril, since you had to cross a dining room with four enormous windows. I made it past all right, but I went into the kitchen to see my sister washing her hair in the sink. She lifted her head, smiled and said something unintelligible, and then time stopped. Suddenly she said it backwards and sped out of the room backwards. A cage fell down from the ceiling, and suddenly I was trapped. There, in the window above the sink, there was a black outline and a pair of enormous eyes watching me from the outside. I tried to scream but there was nothing but a rush of air in my throat. I couldn't even move to rattle the cage. This went on for a full minute before I woke up. And I had to go to the bathroom. Morning came way, way too slow that night. <:) I don't have many nightmares that are quite on the level of that one any more, though there are two that I can remember that came close, and both of them occurred when I was living in my first house in Arkansas. I wonder what it is about childhood that makes nightmares so terrifying. Is it something physical, like the potency of chemicals in our brain? Or is just the capacity we have to believe as children, which is usually tempered by our need to rationalize as adults? I think the reason so many adults like to be scared on a weird, subversive level is the fact that it's such a pure, powerful emotion waiting to be tapped. It's another mechanism that doesn't make us just remember childhood, it transports us there. Suddenly jumping at bumps doesn't seem quite so silly.