Terror in the afternoon

I do not believe in ghosts or the paranormal, but I do enjoy being frightened by good horror movies, ghost stories and other tales of terror and the macabre. Sometimes, for me, art is also one of the territories that could inspire dreadful nightmares. Does anyone still remember Rod Sterling’s Night Gallery? In each episode, the spooky stories behind two or three equally spooky paintings are told. I used to watch this bizarre TV show as a child and, boy, did it ever do a number on me. Because of it, I used to be not very comfortable with artworks from the schools of cubism, surrealism and metaphysical art, as most of the artwork featured in the show seemed to be done in those styles, albeit poorly.

One of the paintings that still gives me the creeps is Melancholy and Mystery of a Street, from 1914, by Giorgio de Chirico, the co-founder of the school of metaphysical art. (It often reminds me of many scenes from Fritz Lang’s M.) I first saw this piece about eighteen years ago, in a book from the great library of the Our Lady of the Angels Franciscan Seminary. Well, I don’t know if it’s still that great, but as far as I could remember, that library had a splendid collection back then. In any case, one of my personal afternoon rituals in those days — while the rest of my schoolmates were taking their siesta — was to go the farthest, darkest corner of the library and devour dusty books. The old, old books were there — like the ones about the Middle Ages and quite a few on the occult. Fortunately, I was able to cover my mouth in time, after I turned the page to where the said painting was. Otherwise, I would’ve let out a shriek so loud that was frightening enough to alarm the entire seminary.

Look at the painting. It’s fit to be included in Night Gallery. Don’t you feel a sense of foreboding? What’s going to happen? I once read in a pyschological journal that the little girl playing with the loop is (or represents) de Chirico’s dead sister. But whose (or what) is that menacing shadow?