Tag Archives: Gregg McNeill

Frampton Jones pays tribute to Gregg McNeill

Many years ago, Gregg McNeill saved my life. It is with great sorrow, then, that I must report upon his death, and the probable connection with my own terrible experiences. Those of you who have lived on the island for some years, will remember that I went rather awkwardly mad.

There was that business with the beautiful baby competition, and all that followed. I became convinced that my camera showed me true reality, while what I saw with my own eyes was nothing but illusion. The camera showed me horrors, and things I shudder to recall and will not describe. I came to believe in the truth of my camera, and would not relinquish it.

Gregg McNeill sat with me as I raved, and calmly explained the technical details of cameras to me until I was persuaded to relinquish my grip on the device and hand it to him for repair. My recovery began at that moment, and I have no doubt I would have done myself some terrible harm, had I been allowed to continue. I did not ask what became of the camera, thereafter.

Gregg himself appeared to live a normal enough life, with no more fits of mild and temporary insanity than is normal for those of us who live here. I recall with some fondness the night he climbed onto his roof and refused to come down because of the way the chickens had been looking at him. There was the time he became convinced that the sea creature he had eaten had in fact eaten him – but these things pass in their own way. Who amongst us has not done something of that ilk at one time or another?

Only after his unexplained demise have I come to realise the full extent of the horror that possessed him. Despite what he claimed at the time, he never did destroy that camera, but continued to take photographic likenesses with it, and to develop them. A room in his house was devoted to the images – strange, uncanny things that they are. Faces unknown to me peer back from the walls. Eerily attired, sometimes inhuman – somehow he has drawn these beings from beyond the veil, or through the void and captured them.

The last image Gregg made was of himself, gazing mournfully at the camera. I have no idea how he achieved this self-likeness. I took it home, along with the cursed device, which I will keep safely and make sure no one ever uses again. No matter how tempted I may feel. Gregg stares at me from my mantelpiece. Sometimes I feel that he is trying to speak to me, but I do not know what he is trying to say.

 

You can find out more about the beautiful babies here – https://hopelessvendetta.wordpress.com/2010/03/05/what-beautiful-babies/

And you can find out more about Gregg NcNeill’s Dark Box Photography here – https://www.darkboximages.com/

To get involved with the Hopeless Maine kickstarter – source of all the carnage – throw your non-corporeal self this way – https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/countrostov/tales-of-hopeless-maine

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Uncle Petunia Chevin

Here , in the pages of the Hopeless, Vendetta we have not had a clear and successful reproduction of what Frampton Jones informs us is to be referred to as a “Photographic image” and not, as we have been saying, “infernal magic, AAAHHHHHHGGG” Previous experiments along these lines resulted in strange unsettling images festooned with tentacles and lead to a brief period of madness for Mr. Jones. (which we understand he may have mostly recovered from) This image was taken with a newly discovered (In some wreckage off shipwreck bay) camera device. (which we are keeping away from Mr. Jones for his safety and ours)

On discovering that the new camera does work, Herb Chevin decided that it was well past time that there was a portrait of his dear old uncle Petunia Chevin. Unfortunately, uncle Petunia died some twelve years ago, Herb (who was clearly determined) found the family grave behind the barn and dug him up. At least, he is fairly certain it was Petunia. It’s really sort of a family mass grave, or really, just a pit near the compost pile.  (but with a stone on it!) After identifying the skull of his beloved ancestor, (probably)Herb brought it into the house and set it on a book to pose for the photographic image. He says that his uncle loved books. He could not read (being a Chevin) but was not great in stature and in order to reach his food at table was obliged to sit on several of them.

Here we see the results in all their glory. It really does capture all of the charm and social graces of the late Petunia.

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Right! Back to what *may* be the real world. Time to break the fourth wall and speak to you as …me. (and I am largely nonfictional, as I understand things) Nimue and I met an amazing couple at Timequake. They were taking and developing actual tintypes or, more specifically, wet plate collodion photography. These photos were just beautiful artifacts on glass or tin.  Gregg McNeill’s passion for the process was contagious and there was always a long line in front of their table. (Unsurprisingly)

I managed to talk to him and ask if I might use one of his images in the Vendetta and he graciously gave us permission.

If you wish to see more (and if you are the sort of person who reads Hopeless, Maine, you probably will) you would be well advised to go here.

 

I hope (as always) this finds you well, inspired and thriving.