PAINTED MONSTERS: THE WORK OF DAVID SCHMUCKLER & MARYBETH CHEW

by Samantha Mitchell and Virginia Fleming // Published in EVIL IS ME (2020)

“My kind of horror is not horror anymore. No one’s afraid of a painted monster.” – Boris Karloff, Targets

Horror and morbidity have long exercised an uncanny hold on the human mind. From the fever behind the Salem Witch Trials to the cult-like following of Edgar Allen Poe, there have not only been audiences but true enthusiasts for the experience of feeling terrified. Among horror-lovers, it is widely accepted that artworks that can muster the most unexpectedly bone-chilling fear are the more satisfying. As productions of cinematic horror became more sophisticated over the 20th century, horror gradually evolved through a focus on the supernatural to the more psychological horror genre that transformed cinema in the 70’s, taking us away from the camp of Bride of Frankenstein (1935) and towards the realist gore of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974). Artists David Schmuckler and Marybeth Chew both investigate the horror genre in their work in a way that celebrates the traditional “painted monster,” even as it appears in more contemporary, psychologically terrorizing iterations. In their work, gruesomeness is presented as stylized, formalized compositional elements. Rife with macabre elements of blood, dismemberment, and ghoulish creatures, Schmuckler and Chew maintain an awareness of the fantastical, even as it appears in more realistic representations of gore.

Chew works with still images pulled from film, pausing the screen at just the right moment and capturing a single frame. Providing a voyeuristic perspective on her subjects, it is a process that echoes the 1960 film Peeping Tom, which involves a man who uses a camera as a murder weapon with a blade attached to the end of his tripod. The film opens through the perspective of his camera lens, watching his victim. Like Chew’s process, we as the viewer are presented with a screen within a screen. The protagonist is a voyeur obsessed with capturing the moment of terror on his victim’s face. Diving into a range of classic and contemporary movies like Blood Diner (1987), Black Narcissus (1947), and Body Melt (1993), Chew can stop time in the moment when someone is experiencing extreme terror or pain, or passing from living to dead, exerting Godlike power over the B movie actors being murdered on screen. An undercurrent of excess is always present in her portraits, the melodramatic expression of emotion just as active as the presence of gore or fear. In Chew’s work you can see the adoration and respect for her subject matter and because of this, it is difficult to forget that we are looking at an an actress embodying a role or a feat of costume makeup magic. Using an old tube television set to display her reference imagery as she works, Chew’s pieces express a nostalgic bent for cathode ray imagery, and the presence of a linear patch of static or a hazy tracking halo feel poignant, as if the moments in these films are from a collective memory that we all share.

left: Chew reference still from a murder mystery / right: Schmuckler dressed as Evil Zombie Monsters Smash, 2020

left: Chew reference still from a murder mystery / right: Schmuckler dressed as Evil Zombie Monsters Smash, 2020

Most of Schmuckler’s work is inspired by Google image searches for Halloween masks, and his current full-figure practice evolved from drawing masks exclusively. Drawn in ballpoint pen with marker and/or acrylic paint marker, his pieces evoke powerful expressive moments that are delightfully grotesque. While his interpretations of the faces of his figures are based on visual reference imagery, their bodies are largely invented from his imagination. He has indicated that his figurative works are portraits of himself in various costumes, which is consistent with his passion for acting and dancing through characters. The drawings embody not just his own playful interpretation of source imagery, but erect an identity for himself within that edifice, always occupying a villainous space. He portrays characters from both contemporary and classic horror reimagined as Halloween masks, including Nemesis (a pursuer in Resident Evil, a survival horror game and movie franchise), Dracula, Pennywise the Clown (Stephen King’s It), and various werewolves. Schmuckler’s process of stylization emphasizes the basic compositional elements of the masks, like the negative space created by an empty eye socket, or the rhythmic pattern of serrated teeth. In his hand, the strip mall Halloween store aesthetic becomes a compelling, sophisticated visual exploration of the poetry of gore.

Beyond their fascination with horror, both artists seem deeply amused by the subject as well. There is an appreciation for the absurd present in both of their work, from Chew’s tenderly rendered disembodied head with green tentacles from The Brain (1988) to Schmuckler’s representation of a grungy long-haired killer from Rob Zombie’s The Devil’s Rejects (2005) wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with STAY BACK / KEEP OUT / WHO SCARY. This carries through the artists’ more gruesome representations as well. The truth of what they convey – someone peeling their face back to reveal their true identity as a lizard, a person with a face so mangled it appears as hunks of flesh and holes – is too horrifying to actually take in. This representational divide makes us more aware of the distancing, dissociative mechanisms that are active within us at all times in navigating contemporary visual culture.

The shift in cinematic horror over the decades is embodied in Peter Bogdanoivch’s Targets (1968), in which Boris Karloff plays an aging monster movie star in a world where current events begin to occupy a more horrific place in our psyches than fantasy, articulating the fundamental shift from scary-creature horror films to the mental anguish and fear of The Silence of the Lambs (1991). While Bogdonavich may have felt the shift from monsters to serial killers signified a move away from pure fantasy, both Schmuckler and Chew are clearly still able to delight in the fantastical elements of the genre, even as it becomes more realistically grotesque. Both have a deeply felt understanding of horror as an outlet, a subliminal, alternative space within the screen. Whether probing its abstraction (like Chew through her monitor) or inviting it into their physical reality (like Schmuckler in costume), they use horror fantasy as a vessel to capture something essential about their worldview, and ask the viewer to contemplate their own reality through this darkly humorous lens.