Some of you bastards may recall my obsession last year with Nick Derington’s Cthulhu idol sculpture, of which he only cast 28. (What a bastard.) As a refresher, here’s how H.P. Lovecraft describes the idol in “The Call of Cthulhu” …
The figure, which was finally passed slowly from man to man for close and careful study, was between seven and eight inches in height, and of exquisitely artistic workmanship. It represented a monster of vaguely anthropoid outline, but with an octopus-like head whose face was a mass of feelers, a scaly, rubbery-looking body, prodigious claws on hind and fore feet, and long, narrow wings behind. This thing, which seemed instinct with a fearsome and unnatural malignancy, was of a somewhat bloated corpulence, and squatted evilly on a rectangular block or pedestal covered with undecipherable characters. The tips of the wings touched the back edge of the block, the seat occupied the centre, whilst the long, curved claws of the doubled-up, crouching hind legs gripped the front edge and extended a quarter of the way down toward the bottom of the pedestal. The cephalopod head was bent forward, so that the ends of the facial feelers brushed the backs of huge fore paws which clasped the croucher’s elevated knees. The aspect of the whole was abnormally life-like, and the more subtly fearful because its source was so totally unknown. Its vast, awesome, and incalculable age was unmistakable; yet not one link did it shew with any known type of art belonging to civilisation’s youth— or indeed to any other time. Totally separate and apart, its very material was a mystery; for the soapy, greenish-black stone with its golden or iridescent flecks and striations resembled nothing familiar to geology or mineralogy. The characters along the base were equally baffling; and no member present, despite a representation of half the world’s expert learning in this field, could form the least notion of even their remotest linguistic kinship. They, like the subject and material, belonged to something horribly remote and distinct from mankind as we know it; something frightfully suggestive of old and unhallowed cycles of life in which our world and our conceptions have no part.
Something got me looking online recently to see if any of Derington’s 28 were for sale. No dice, and even if any were available, there’s no way in hell I could afford one. There are tons of awful other interpretations out there, but I did find some substitutes that are pretty cool. In fact, I bought this one on Amazon for about $20.00.
Even better, I stumbled onto a sculptor named Joe Broers, who casts his resin sculptures on demand for about $60.00. Here’s one based on Lovecraft’s original sketches.
I LOVE EET. So much in fact, that I’ve contacted Broers and will be making a purchase in September.