The Masque of the Red Death

Edgar Allan Poe's gruesome character embodies all the ills of the ages. Really the character is a continuance of the traditional dance of death theme which has endured since medieval times. King or commoner, pope or peasant: worldly status leaves Death distinctly underwhelmed. Death, the corrupter of all flesh, is himself beyond corruption in the other sense as well. You might be filthy rich, and you can throw all the cash you have in his direction. Death cannot be bought off, and he'll take you anyway when it suits him. Bribery is not in Death's dictionary. The background of my painting incorporates a signed letter of Poe's superimposed upon a passage from the original story, and - of course - Poe's trademark raven.

The central character here is actually an oil painting for which my eldest son was the obliging model, transformed beyond all recognition beneath a thick layer of flour-and-water paste, which I then crackle-dried before applying a further layer of acrylic paint. He enjoyed the whole process even more than I enjoyed plastering the pasty goo onto his face.