Yang and I found a gorgeous old cemetery in Utica, NY when we went to the Joan and Constance Bennett film festival in Rome this past summer. However, life has just been so busy with all the prep for Dark Horse‘s release, then it’s actual release, that I just didn’t have time to put together a pictorial blog on it. Maybe that’s just as well, because aren’t we in just the right season for a sepulchral tour?
So, welcome to Forest Hill Cemetery. You know this is going to be one neat burial ground when you enter through these wonderfully Gothic gates. And the cemetery is definitely well-named, winding up above Utica on an extensive tree-shrouded, green hillside. Maybe we don’t have flaming autumn colors; however, the misty green mossyness perfectly emanates a Keatsian melancholy.
The statuary here was marvelously haunting: women, angels, urns, unique mausoleums, and one guy backed by a tree that seemed like something out of a Lovecraft piece. Let’s start with the angels. The first one that I noted, just getting out of my car (me not the angel), was a uniquely colored creature. It wasn’t as large as many or the others and the tip of one wing was chipped. Yet it’s lines were straight and powerful, grace and strength in a soft glow of gold.
Yet, there were other more traditionally imposing figures. This angel rose above a long bench that curved like his wings. It’s an imposing figure that makes you uneasily recall the Dr. Who injunction, “Don’t blink! On the other hand, this angel below sits peacefully atop the Ives family monument exuding comfort and repose. If it came to life, it would offer gentleness and compassion. The day’s sky, still a tad cloudy, softens the gleaming white of its stone.
This family must, indeed, have had clout! Not only do they have a fancy sepulchre, but they have two angels guarding the way to their entombed remains. Facing us, you can see that one angel holds a book, while, in the case of the one with its back to us, you can just make out its trumpet. Clearly that divine guy is ready to blow the horn to announce Judgment Day – or it’s Harry James.
Speaking of sepulchres, there are some really neat fancy ones here. This one makes me think of a stone beehive. It also has a medieval look. The stones fit together like the blocks of a castle. There are spires and arches like in a Gothic cathedral. Even fleur de lis are carved on joining stones on the sides and back. Note the brass door gone green. The graceful furl of draping ribbons carved on the doors evokes the unfurling of a gentle melancholy sigh, doesn’t it? Here’s a closeup so you can better perceive the detail. Notice how flowers trail from the end of the ribbons. A symbol of life’s fragility like a flower or of life’s renewal of flowers from seeds shed by flowers past/passed?
This mausoleum is more in the art deco vein. It’s shape is square-angled with blocks sharply cut. The woman on its metal door, though Grecian garbed, has the stylized posture of art deco figures. Pressing herself to a door carved with a gate of flowered shapes holding her out, her stance and expression are quietly yet powerfully sad. Is she reaching for the lost departed or is she a departed soul reaching back for life?
The statues of women representing faith, loss, families also abound here in some beautiful forms. I loved the view of this weather-stained woman peering down the hillside, through waving grass and dark green trees into the world beyond her, outside the grave. In a closer view from the front, you can see she supports stalks of harvested grain. The soul harvested from this earth? Or her life’s harvest of experience, carried into the next realm?
Here sits a pensive female, pure white against the greenery. Though she marks the reality of death, there is peace in her expression. Does she represent the soul’s passing into a realm beyond suffering to a place of calm contemplation or the quiet remembrance that those left behind have of loved ones now beyond the veil? I love capturing a close up of her features against the vivid blue streaked with the gauzy whiteness of clouds.
Here an angelic figure points an attentive Victorian mother and plump toddler heavenward. There are no wings on the rising figure, but there are definitely suggestions of her angelic nature. Interestingly, her trumpet points downward. A reference to the family in the world of the living below? The sculpture beautifully creates the illusion of the female figure rising through the sweep of her garments. I can’t help thinking that perhaps this monument commemorates the loss of a young wife and a child. Is the rising figure a younger daughter who had angelic qualities?
Then there is this far from traditional carving of gleaming white marble. The figure does not seem carved so much as transforming stone into a vibrant, pure flame consuming a body into a higher, ethereal form. Is her expression joyous, pained, both – combining the two in the ineffable constitution of the sublime.
Of course, we can’t forget about the gents, either. This chap must have been something, taking up the center of an enormous monument that surrounds him as if part of a capitol building or cathedral. Gothic arches and fancy urns denote his prominent family standing. You can see me standing there in front providing scale. The book he holds in his hand and his far away look seem to mark him as a scholar of some sort, or at the very least, a man of great learning.
I’m not sure who this guy was, but he certainly must have been important to get such a fancy statue of himself. He must have been wealthy, too, to be so well fed. Reminds me of Sidney Greenstreet. What do you think? Something else that’s neat is that if you look carefully behind him, you can see a tree that almost seems to have a cyclops eye; a long, bowed nose-trunk; and menacing upraised arms. The image didn’t photograph as well as it should have, but it’s still very Lovecraftian. Below is a picture of just that just shows that eldritch, daemonic tree, appearing to stride forth on an unspeakable quest of relentless destruction. And here’s a link to a list of Lovecraft’s favorite adjectives.
I’ve got to say that this tree also looks as if it’s up to no good, eldritch or otherwise. There’s a horror story in here somewhere.
There are still more wonderful monuments of unique shapes and beautiful scenes of a sea of stones, but I’ve just no more space. Perhaps, I can do a second edition on this cemetery. We’ll see. October is a busy month. Hmm, what’s that I hear tapping at my window pane? I hope it’s nothing cyclopean or eldritch.
Say “so long” to Forrest Hill as we drive out those wonderful Gothic Gates!