Mortality and Monsters: Scarily Thrilling Art

Words by Lizzy Jones and Charlotte Whitehill

Edited by Myfanwy Greene

In the lead up to Halloween, it seems only appropriate that we should turn our attention to art which is both horrifying and fascinating. In this article, co-directors Lizzy and Charlotte have chosen some of their favourite works from across art history. United by their themes of death, monsters and gore, we shall take a look at those artworks which both scare and thrill us.

Francisco de Goya, ‘Saturn Devouring his Son’, 1819-1823.

Lizzy: Between 1819 and 1823 Francisco de Goya created this chillingly gory work. It depicts Saturn (also known as the Titan Cronus in Greek) eating one of his children. The dark background setting and muted flesh tones contrast the bright red of the blood. Saturn’s wild, frantic facial expression, unnatural bodily contortions and unrealistic limb proportions give the scene a visceral and animalistic feel. The half-devoured body just barely identifies the figure as human. However, the top part of the body is barely recognisable as human, its flesh torn, and Saturn’s vice-like grip causes what remains to bulge and distort. This scene represents a violently desperate attempt to retain power, as Saturn believed himself to be fighting a prophecy which revealed that one of his children would overthrow him. His desperation is clear in his clutching hands and bulging eyes. However, it is this very act of desperation which causes Zeus to turn on Saturn/Cronus and thus he cuts open his father to free his siblings. Goya’s painting speaks to the destructiveness of power and warns of bringing what you enact upon others onto yourself. The act of eating one’s own children not only causes Zeus to seek revenge, but causes Saturn/Cronus to become undone and devolve into a frenzy, banished for his crimes to Tartarus, where he remains, trapped forever.

Hieronymus Bosch, ‘The Garden of Earthly Delights’, c. 1500–1505.

Charlotte: Bosch’s ‘The Garden of Earthly Delights’ is a feverish vision of human sin and its inevitable descent into damnation. Across its triptych structure, Bosch presents a visual drama that begins with the Creation and ends in the grotesque theatre of Hell. At first glance, the central panel’s vibrant spectacle of figures, oversized fruit, and hybrid beasts entices with its beauty and vitality. Yet this false paradise conceals a moral horror: humanity’s inevitable surrender to lust and temptation. The crimson berries and pale flesh shimmer under divine light, but their abundance rots, revealing the fragility of earthly pleasure.

The right panel’s infernal landscape is Bosch’s most haunting portrayal of damnation, a cluster of tortured souls, monstrous hybrids and instruments of agony. Here, the grotesque becomes sublime. Humans are devoured by bird-headed beasts, frozen in ice, or fused with musical tools, punished by the very symbols of their worldly joys. Bosch’s imagination invokes both fascination and fear. Through sin, delight, and destruction, he creates a moral allegory that is as much about death as it is about desire. What terrifies is not only the horrors of Hell but the recognition of ourselves within it. Bosch’s world invites us to stare into the grotesque mirror of our own making and shudder at what looks back.

Utagawa Kuniyoshi, ‘Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Specter’, c. 1844.

Lizzy: This triptych woodblock print illustrates the story of Princess Takiyasha, daughter of warlord Taira Masakado, who started a rebellion against the royal court in Kyoto and was executed when it failed. The ghosts of the fallen soldiers are said to have haunted his palace. Kuniyoshi’s piece shows the moment that a soldier sent by the Emperor to hunt down the last remaining allies of the rebellion is faced by the ghosts who have been summoned and transformed into an enormous skeleton by the Princess. The left hand panel depicts the Princess holding a scroll wherein lies the dark magic which she has studied and called upon for this great feat. In the centre we see the soldier facing off against the skeleton. The third panel is taken up completely by the skeleton, forcing the viewer into the chest cavity of the ribcage. This spirit was originally believed to haunt isolated country roads, rumoured to bite the heads off their innocent victims. The tension of the story is captured by the figures, the skeletal hand slowly inching towards the soldier, his fighting stance, and the focus on the Princess mid spell-casting. It reflects the period’s fascination with the supernatural, and the wonderful dynamism of the scene draws the viewer increasingly into the scene and towards the towering skeleton.

Caravaggio, ‘Medusa’, 1597.

Charlotte: Caravaggio’s ‘Medusa’ confronts us with a chilling vision of death and monstrosity displayed in shocking realism. The severed head of the snake-haired Gorgon floats in a void, frozen in a scream of terror and rage. Blood spurts from her neck, and her writhing serpents twist in a frenzy, a perfect embodiment of the moment between death and aftershock. Painted on a ceremonial shield, the work transforms a myth into a visceral encounter with mortality, violence, and the human psyche.

The horror of ‘Medusa’ lies not just in its gore, but in its self-awareness. Caravaggio’s decision to use his own likeness for the monster transforms the image into a haunting self-portrait. Having lived a life marked by violence and exile, the artist channels his turmoil into this reflection. The chiaroscuro (the contrast of light and shadow) turns the scene into an internal struggle of our minds.

Medusa’s gaze, once a weapon of petrification, is here turned upon us. We are transfixed, as Caravaggio collapses myth into reality. The monstrous feminine becomes a mirror of his inner demons and of human fragility and rage. In ‘Medusa’, death stares back at us, alive with serpents and shadow, daring us to look and to feel the cold thrill of terror that art alone can awaken.

So, as Halloween draws near, these works remind us that art has long been a place where we confront what frightens us most. From Goya’s grotesque gobblings to Bosch’s infernal imagination, from Kuniyoshi’s towering skeletons to Caravaggio’s blood-soaked realism, each artist transforms horror into something profoundly human. They reveal that fear and fascination are intertwined, and that beauty often hides in the macabre. Ultimately, the monstrous can be strangely mesmerising.

As you wander through this season of ghosts and ghouls, we invite you to stay with these unsettling masterpieces and to think about the art that sends a shiver down your spine. Which works disturb, haunt, or captivate you the most? Let us know your favourite “spooky” art pieces!

Happy Halloween!

It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, 1966, film still.