L’Oracle du Mort: One of many amazing clockwork pieces by Thomas Kuntz to be featured here in the Archive.
Thomas Kuntz, a professional artist for over 20 years, began as a sculptor of Commercial Toys, but later gained notoriety circa ’89-98 as a pioneer in the making of model kits based on old silent films like Nosferatu, The Man Who Laughs, Vampira, and others.
After a period of time Kuntz found that merely sculpting his dark creations was not nearly enough for him, and that he wanted to give life to his creations through mechanical, perhaps supernatural means… This change in method resulted in some of the darkest and most interesting automations known to man, and not nearly as many fatalities and disappearances as may be rumored.
You may have seen Thomas’ twisted creations in many places, though you may not have been aware of the crafter behind them, or the astounding degrees of meticulous craftsmanship responsible for their being. Mr. Kuntz’ creations have served in the armies and arsenals of many noteworthy people, interesting types such as Kevin Ogilvie, a.k.a. Nivek Ogre, frontman of theatrical post-punk industrial band “Skinny Puppy”. Thomas has made mechanical props for the band, and for Nivek alone, with pieces for use on stage, and for use in video.
In his workshop, Thomas Kuntz controls an army of clockmaking lathes from 1880-present, and each piece he creates is more said to be more exquisite than the last. There are only a handful of builders in the world who make automata, and no one does it like Mr. Kuntz. (more…)
In response to the discovery of lost Metropolis footage, issue #7 is dedicated to this 1927 classic of silent film and the metropolis in general.
Of course there is a review of the original Metropolis, by Mr Marcius Rauchfuß, as well as an article about the 2001 anime of the same name, by Mr Sigurjón Njálsson. For the latest about what is going on in that other fine city, the Old Smoke called Londontown, we introduce Brigadier Sir Arthur Weirdy-Beardy of The Steampunk Club, while Mr David Townsend is off to farther realms once again, traveling by the Indian Pacific from Perth to Sydney, Australia.
We are also extremely glad to present an exclusive preview of Mr Toby Frost’s upcoming Space Captain Smith novel, Wrath of the Lemming Men!
And it almost goes without saying that this issue features all the columns and features that you might have come to expect from us: Ms Hilde Heyvaert writes her “Steampunk Wardrobe” about ethnic steampunk; Mr Craig B. Daniel dedicates his “Liquor Cabinet” to a story about beer, and Mr Guy Dampier is back with a Quatermass review. More reviews come from Hilde (Unhallowed Necropolis), Mr Trubetskoy (The Court of the Air and Outcry) and Toby Frost (Gormenghast).
The Rain-Maker
by Phillip Challis
Published with permission May 18th, 2009
Morgan Booth looked up at a stretch of wide blue sky and waited for the miracle to happen. With the winds kicking up, little dust devils tumbled across the plains and scoured the land. Standing on the edge of town, Booth found himself surrounded by a sizable crowd of townsfolk. Their mood struck him as electric, like the static carried on dry winds that sometimes threw blue sparks off wire fences at night. That’s how it was with the people. They had an excited air about them. He could see a few had even gone so far as to throw coarse blankets down on the bare ground. Families tucked into their picnic dinners and children played in what used to be fertile soil now gone to lifeless powder.
This town was just the latest in a string of used up little communities he’d wandered into and out of again over the past few months. The past few summers had seen withered crops and wasted stock across much of the rolling countryside out west of the Big Muddy. In his gut Booth knew a lot of places wouldn’t make it past another winter. Even at the tender age of nineteen those towns tended to rattle him. They were too full of empty houses and empty fields that had dried up. Wheat, corn, cattle, and sometimes even the people went to dust and blew away. The town, he decided, felt like death and he avoided them whenever he could.
Today though, Booth saw the crowd of townsfolk out milling around and it raised his curiosity. Arriving on the coach an hour earlier, he’d made a point of finding what few stores lined the main street. There wasn’t much to see, and his hopes of finding work weren’t great. He walked from one end of the street to the other in the space of five minutes and that’s when he saw all the people. Ambling over, he quickly learned the reason for all the fuss. It was a man standing atop a wagon the likes of which Booth had never quite seen before.
The handbill pasted across the wagon’s side proclaimed the man to be a rain-maker. The crazy looking collection of kettles, copper drums, and India-rubber tubes in his wagon was apparently a ‘patented gas generator’. Dressed as he was in dusty spats, a powder white frock coat, and matching white top hat of the old John Bull variety, he looked to be an eastern dandy, a snake oil man, or both. (more…)
“All in all, the experiment was a brilliant success, though it ran for a shorter time than desired.
The Resonator had to be shut down prematurely, else we might not have had enough crew to make it comfortably back to port. Over forty Russian tribesmen bravely gave their lives to science this day – a terrible tragedy as they will surely be expensive to replace.
Also lost was an entire crate of ether, carelessly dropped from the edge of a berg in the midst of today’s activities – a tragedy on so many levels.
Nevertheless, we saw many wondrous and splendid things this day: creatures and landscapes from the aether danced and swam about us through the air, and we saw the laws of our world temporarily suspended by those of the aether world.
It leaves me to wonder: How closely does the placement of their world correspond with ours? Are these same creatures to be found elsewhere on our planet, or would we perhaps find other inhabitants should the machine be tested in new locations?
What sorts of variants or unique beasts might we see in other locations such as Beijing, Hong Kong, Indonesia, London or perhaps even New York City?
Needless to say, I am beyond eager to see!”
- Professor Aden M. Kemy, Miskatonic Archivist
This giclee, commemorating the event is available while supplies last, in three limited editions of 50: A giclee on Canvas, an archival pigment ink print on heavy metallic stock, and a fine-art rag paper print. All of which 24 inches by 24 inches – the size of the original painting by Myke Amend.
First available, is this limited edition giclee on canvas, printed in archival pigment inks on 200-year archival canvas, coated in a UV-protective and scratch-resistant coating, stretched and mounted for framing.
It comes with a watermarked hahnemuhle certificate of authenticity printed on fine art rag paper, with a matching and serial-numbered hologram on both the back of the giclee print and the certificate. All giclees are hand-signed and numbered in paint (see the signature on the image) and also signed, dated, and numbered in archival ink on the back of the mounted print.
We of the Miskatonic Archive have been rather indisposed these last few weeks – Myke Amend has been working away at commissions, home repairs, income taxes and the like. Bethalynne Bajema has been finishing up her Tarot card set and seeking publishers. All the archive members have been up to their ears in much of the same.
Our goal here has always been to bring some of the best and most interesting literature, artwork and inventions that fit into our school’s advanced metaphysics curriculum, but we have not had a lot of submissions lately, and our exploration budget has been drastically cut for this fiscal year.
So, here is our reminder, that we do take submissions, and do rather enjoy them. There is only so much that can be found searching online, and many of the places we find things are many of the places people such as you, such as us already tend to frequent.
We would like to do more than to simply mirror content from our and your favorite sites, and since I am sure there are a lot of you who have not been featured in these places who would like to be featured, this is a friendly reminder that such is an option.
For image submissions we ask that you send us a link to your site, and a list of images by title that we are allowed to feature – the same would go for film clips and animations. For literature submissions, you can send such things through our form, or in the case of longer stories, you can simply contact us through the form and we will get back to you on the particulars. For any submissions, you retain all rights, and grant us the rights to reproduce it here on this site, for as long as you wish to share it here.
Thank you for reading, and we do hope to hear from you soon. If yoou are a first time visitor, or are confused as to what may apply, please read the keywords attached to this entry.
An earlier painting by Myke Amend, now available in printed form at 11×14 inches and printed edge to edge in high detail.
The Vineyard depicts a strange sort of harvest, or perhaps a strange means of conception, making for a very Lovecraftian strange-fiction themed image, brilliantly, vividly colored, yet oh so dark.
Printed in 200 years archival pigment ink, heavy metallic stock in order to best bring out the rich colors and contrast of this vibrant piece.
A UV-protective lustre finish also helps protect the print against moisture and scratches.
Print size (edge to edge) is 11 x 14 inches, and can be purchased at mykeamend.com, or at Beth and Myke’s Joint Etsy Account: Ettadiem
At the height of the Spiritualist Movement when creators like Huxley Auspex were inventing their other worldy creations like the Auspicmoriscope, a more mundane line of invention was being attempted by brilliant creator Professor Semper Vogel. Vogel, not content to simply teach his knowledge and try and inspire the youth of his city to push their gray matter towards more profound things, he put his talents and intellect to the task of inventing machines that would aid the afflicted in his world. His first attempts were at a clunky brand of hearing aids. Most of them proved too large and impractical for the individual use. They were little better than the old fashioned method of putting an ear horn to your head and hoping for more hearing clarity.
After much frustration and failure Professor Vogel came upon an invention that seemed to conduct itself perfectly. The rather large invention was a reading machine, a device that could be placed over a page of written words that were read and clearly reproduced aloud from a speaking apparatus at the top of the machine. The professor hoped such a machine would greatly aid the blind in finally having access to books without needing someone else to read them to them, or waiting for them to be translated into brail. The only mishaps the good professor kept encountering were that the words being read aloud often times were not the words to be found on the pages. He couldn’t quite tell if this was a simple matter of the reader not being able to translate what it was reading, or something along those lines. What troubled and vexed him was the fact that what was being spoken aloud, though not what was on the page, was still a well thought out and perfectly understandable speech. It almost sounded like the reading machine was reading its own stories in place of what it read on the pages of the book or paper its reading eye glass was moved over.
As he grew increasingly frustrated with a device that seemed to be working perfectly and yet was not, he found himself one night spilling his woes to his sister Belle over several glasses of brandy and sinful truffles. His sister suggested he leave the reading machine with her and see what she could make of it. She was just as bright as her older brother, just as capable at construction and invention, and in this case she would be a pair of fresh eyes taking an equally fresh look at the machine. Vogel agreed and left his reading machine with Belle. (more…)
Horrible beyond conception was the change which had taken place in my best friend, Crawford Tillinghast.
I had not seen him since that day, two months and a half before, when he told me toward what goal his physical and metaphysical researches were leading; when he had answered my awed and almost frightened remonstrances by driving me from his laboratory and his house in a burst of fanatical rage. I had known that he now remained mostly shut in the attic laboratory with that accursed electrical machine, eating little and excluding even the servants, but I had not thought that a brief period of ten weeks could so alter and disfigure any human creature. It is not pleasant to see a stout man suddenly grown thin, and it is even worse when the baggy skin becomes yellowed or grayed, the eyes sunken, circled, and uncannily glowing, the forehead veined and corrugated, and the hands tremulous and twitching. And if added to this there be a repellent unkemptness, a wild disorder of dress, a bushiness of dark hair white at the roots, and an unchecked growth of white beard on a face once clean-shaven, the cumulative effect is quite shocking. But such was the aspect of Crawford Tilllinghast on the night his half coherent message brought me to his door after my weeks of exile; such was the specter that trembled as it admitted me, candle in hand, and glanced furtively over its shoulder as if fearful of unseen things in the ancient, lonely house set back from Benevolent Street.
That Crawford Tilinghast should ever have studied science and philosophy was a mistake. These things should be left to the frigid and impersonal investigator for they offer two equally tragic alternatives to the man of feeling and action; despair, if he fail in his quest, and terrors unutterable and unimaginable if he succeed. Tillinghast had once been the prey of failure, solitary and melancholy; but now I knew, with nauseating fears of my own, that he was the prey of success. I had indeed warned him ten weeks before, when he burst forth with his tale of what he felt himself about to discover. He had been flushed and excited then, talking in a high and unnatural, though always pedantic, voice. (more…)
