Alder's Accounts | Historical Artists | Visual Arts

Art That’ll Spook You

Painting by Francis Horspool.

Feature: Alder’s Accounts
Art That’ll Spook You

by Tom Alder

It may come as no surprise to most Utahns that we are ingrained with superstitions, folklore and other lies—oh, that sounds terrible. After all, most folklore is true, right? Perhaps it is because Utah remains the “Crossroads of the West,” and along with that title we have inherited the best and worst of stories and tales from all points of the compass. Part of my parents’ families came from the Isle of Man with the early pioneers, and with them came superstitions that even I struggle with from time to time. I don’t set a place for Elijah anymore at the table—hearing that one creeped me out!

Since this is the month of spooks, goblins and ghosts, there exist many fine examples of spookiness and vivid folklore in Utah, in the art context. The roots of the majority of these stories seem to relate to the performing rather than the visual arts. Who has not heard about George, the usher who was killed in a 1940s fire in the Capitol Theatre? I hear tell that the lights still turn on and off without control sometimes, and the toilets flush without anyone initiating them. I have the same problem in my house, but I don’t think it has anything to do with my toilets being haunted.

Not too many years ago, I read a story in The Salt Lake Tribune about the man in formal clothes who still roams the halls of the Charleston Apartments, that imposing building of solid concrete where architect Frank Lloyd Wright once refused to stay on a visit to Salt Lake because he thought it might collapse. The well-dressed man about town has even been known to wander up and down 13th East, perhaps for Wright’s benefit. Since the Charleston houses the visiting artists who perform at The Simmons Pioneer Theatre up the block a piece, maybe some fine member of Actors’ Equity simply didn’t make his costume change at the theatre before he headed to his temporary digs.

Speaking of Pioneer Theatre, Meg Brady, noted folklorist and oral historian from the University of Utah, reminded me of the taboo on saying “Macbeth” before any play. Her son, Ned, was in a Babcock Theatre play in 2000 when someone uttered, “Macbeth” to many disgruntled actor ears. The legend was confirmed when, during the play, a panel fell, hitting someone who required a visit to the hospital for repairs.

Utah art and historical museums are not exempt from their “true” stories. Edith Mena from the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers told me that there are still stories floating around about a photographer who used to take death pictures, that is pictures of those who recently passed away in order to be remembered by his or her relatives. The photographer, who, by the way, still wanders the halls of the DUP Museum at the top of Salt Lake’s Main Street, use to paint eyes into his photographs of the dead, to make his subjects more alive, I suppose.

Lila Abersold, of the Utah Arts Council, reported to me that the stories of the “Purple Lady” still abound at the Rio Grande Depot, where by the way, much of the Utah State (Alice Art) collection is housed or spends time for cleaning and conserving. During World War II, as the story goes, a girl’s fiancé returned from the war, arriving at the Rio Grande. The girl and her returning soldier had a fight, resulting in her ring being dropped or thrown onto the railroad tracks. As she bent over to pick up the ring, well, you know the rest. A train hit and killed her, and so she remains at the depot in her purple clothes, the same that she was wearing that fateful day. You could call Dr. Phil Notarianni, the state history director, who might provide some more rational explanation to this story, or maybe some recent sightings.

How about Clem at the Fort Douglas Museum? He’s the guy who walks around the historical museum in an old army uniform. I love how these stories are legitimized by obtaining names for them, rather than just, “The Ghost of…”

I remember the Brigham Young Farmhouse, now housed at This is the Place Heritage Park, when it was located on the site of Brigham’s 823-acre orchard, about 2300 South and 700 in Salt Lake. This double-gabled, pinkish stucco home, believed to have been designed by Salt Lake Temple architect, Truman O. Angell, was cut in two—don’t get ahead of me now—and moved to its present site some years ago. Employees and volunteers at the home continue to report that they have seen a woman, presumably, former resident, Ann Eliza Webb, in the dining room, sitting in a chair and looking out the window. They hear voices of kids playing, smell food cooking and, in addition to hearing door knobs rattling, listen to “people” walking across the upper wooden floors.

Lastly, I recall writing a research paper for Dr. Robert Olpin’s Utah Artlife class at the U, and one of the requirements was that I needed to view a local museum or gallery, and report on the art therein. I visited the Salt Lake County collection, compiled by Olpin and others, and noticed a work by Francis Horspool. He’s the guy who produced his paintings and continued painting his scenes over the frames. Sometimes he believed that fairies haunted them. Indeed, if you examine his painting, “River Bed Station” (1939, O/C, 34 X 54 in.) you can see all sorts of bizarre little gargoyles, demons and other spooks, the sort that would keep me up as a child, were Horspool’s painting hanging in my bedroom.
Whatever your belief system is, you should take time this month to recall your own artistic superstitions and other demons that haunt you and tell them to your children, grandchildren or art students. Feel free to adapt these stories to the situation so that they can best benefit your household or class, pretty much like our parents did for us in our Octobers past.

 

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