There are things that would scare H.P. Lovecraft in this only-slightly-manipulated photograph; but lots of things left H.P. distraught and unsettled: most of those things were centered on people who were obviously not reflections of himself. Thus, it’s really no surprise that this image might spook him out. I find that amusing, especially since it might also imply that he was afraid of fish. Judging by his body of work, he was afraid of cephalopods…and subways…and people who were a bit…um…well…all of those people who were not him; though he probably held a grudging respect of Harry Houdini. Somewhat. I’m not in the habit of linking my own artistic works with his; primarily because I’m not really into gothic horror of the sort that he wrote. Oh, a good gothic horror is one thing, but something with a particular author’s name on it, already promises to be a strange reading experience, given the aforementioned author’s social and political views: sentiments that were incendiary even in his less-than-politically-correct day. And yet…there is something Lovecraftian in this image. I suppose, in keeping with the most common motif in his writing, there’s something unspeakable in this image, something indescribable, some eldritch horror, and maybe even a shoggoth or two…or three. With those mindless things—shaped and controlled (at one time) by the Elder Ones—it’s always hard to tell. Maybe it’s the overriding, and largely-indifferent darkness along various borders of this image that makes me think of Lovecraft, or some devotee-imitator (of which he had many, especially since he did invite and allow other writers [mostly friends/contemporaries of his] to write tales within his fictional universe.) Those other writers were also the ones to import the good/evil dichotomy into his Chthulhu Mythos, despite his intention to give us a peek into his own fears, which had nothing to do with good and evil, but lots to do with the fact that things exist without our permission. What’s interesting about his work (and possibly their link to this image) is the amorality of it: his unspeakable horrors are never evil, they’re generally animalistic, untamed, and completely indifferent to Anglo-Saxon cultural ascendancy. His borderline-purple prose generally focused on buildings like these ghostly things here. For all of his rabid racism and anti-Semitism and extreme classism, he could turn a phrase, and many of his astute readers will point out that the distasteful elements of his personality also fed the strengths in his writing; and I suspect that his writing (rather than his politics) have something to do with this image. There’s something fuzzy and indistinct here. A big part of that is probably due to the fact that the overall base of this image is an example of intentional camera motion: not really a spin and jiggle. This is more of a really vigorous camera nod. This isn’t a straight, photo, either. There are layers. Four if you count each fish separately. I suspect that I thought of Lovecraft, because I felt (and feel) the urge to try and describe (in a story) what exists in this particular world. Why are these tall buildings (mansions?) so close to the water? And how indifferent to us might their inhuman inhabitants be? Are they in the water, like that mostly-sunken church in Macedonia (one that I almost got to visit when I was on the almost-verge of almost going to Macedonia)? Does someone human live in them? Do lots of someones live in them? One can only wonder. I wonder, which means that I’ll probably pick at this image until something (other than two unusual fish) might be drawn from it. Thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and I hope that you’re on the verge of a great weekend.