This past month has been a heart breaker. We lost our dear Mawga, and just like that, our already dwindling family was that much smaller. The days since her passing have been colder than any I remember for this time of year and I’ve been busying my most of them with the work that comes after a death. Making arrangements for, in this case, cremation, retrieving said cremains, cleaning up and cleaning out the house for when we are able to sell it, meeting with the probate attorney, etc. Thank goodness my grandmother and grandfather set up many of these things in advance, otherwise it would probably be a lot tougher than it actually is. Note to self: get your will and last wishes down on paper and legalized. When I leave this world, I want to ensure that people are put to as little trouble as possible.
So the weeks have passed. And today, again, just like that, it is the first day of spring.
I’ve been incorporating my grandmother’s beloved belongings into my home and my daily routine. The top photo, an old afghan given new life, draped on the reading seat in my office. Below that, a pair of opal earrings which I haven’t seen in many years and which we unearthed from the musty depths of an old dresser. She frequently used to warn me against the wearing of opals; apparently they were said to be bad luck if they were not your birthstone. They are not mine, but I’m shrugging off superstition and wearing them anyway. Mawga is no doubt tsk-tsking me all the way from the other side.
I’m afraid the No-Buy from the beginning of the year hit a stall as of mid-February. I haven’t gone too crazy…for example, no new skin care items because my weird face seems less weird on its current regimen and I’d hate to screw that up. Only ONE new book purchase, everything else has come from the library. No new jewelry at all! I sort of goofed when it came to perfume because glob knows I don’t need any more of that, but how can I resist Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab’s Lupercalia Line?
I have, however, given in when it comes to attire for the torso part of my bod; I just can’t resist creepy/spooky black tops! No, I do not have enough already, thank you very much. The first is a spider web cardigan from MischiefMadeMe, and the second is a Vampira scream queen top from Grit-N-Glory (there are also Lydia, Lily, Morticia, & Wednesday versions)–and it looks like they’ve not yet sold out!
…also, okay. Another confession. Though wall real estate is becoming more and more scarce chez Ghoul, I also purchased some more Art. (You can read of my art obsession here, if you missed it). Pictured above is Briar, a sweet batling wrought by the brilliant hands of Jessica Joslin and who has just recently joined our motley menagerie.
Reading: Gosh, I have been all over the place lately. I finally got around to reading Paper Girls, described as paranormal science fiction mixed with ’80s nostalgia which is such a cool story. I can’t wait to see where it goes. House of Penance is a horrific take on the story of the Winchester House and is super intense. Glitterbomb, a dramatic horror story about fame and failure, details through the character of aging actress Farrah Durante, how the entertainment industry feeds on our insecurities, desires, and fears. I kind of wanted more from this story, but I’m at a loss for, what exactly, I thought it was missing.
Not pictured: Something in the Blood: The Untold Story of Bram Stoker, the Man Who Wrote Dracula. I am somewhat conflicted about this one. As one reviewer succinctly put it: “…there’s a Bram Stoker-shaped hole at the heart of the book.” And wow, is there ever. The book’s author delves into the lives of everyone who has ever touched Bram Stoker, no matter how obscure or insignificant. And though neither obscure nor insignificant, I would venture to say that at least half this book is about Oscar Wilde! At the end of it all, though, I can say I have a pretty good picture of the time during which Stoker lived, and the history and culture of that time, and the people with whom he chose to surround himself and those by whom he was inspired. David Skal writes with a wry humor that serves as a skillful punctuation to the information and stories he shares, but never overwhelms the reader with it. He lets the facts and data tell the story. It’s a lengthy, rambling story with plenty of digressions, but if you are a fan of Bram Stoker’s stories, then I think you will very much enjoy this story of the life he lived.
And lastly, Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay. My sister recommended this to me ages ago, and I stubbornly chose other feminist works to read first. On one hand, I am glad; I think my dissatisfaction with those previous titles made me that much more appreciative of Bad Feminist. This series of essays, some of them intensely vulnerable, addresses race, culture, and Scrabble competitions; intertwined with her ruminations on literature and culture, it’s equal parts commentary, memoir, and critical analysis. One thing in particular I loved about the book was the tone; it was not overly academic (I’m sorry to confess I find that rather dreary) and it wasn’t some sort of manic comedy (see Caitlin Moran’s How To Be A Woman)–while it was witty, it was also utterly genuine. But I do think even if I had not encountered those types of reads previously, I’d have loved Bad Feminist all the same, and that much more.
And of course, one-word movie reviews. This month’s viewing is comprised of a very short list. It seems I’ve been doing more reading than movie watching recently, which is fine. I go back and forth between the two, some months it’s one more than the other. Looks like the books win out, this month! I’ve also started keeping track of the dates the films were watched, but that’s probably of no interest to anyone but me.
Like many of my dear friends, I have been consoling myself with art lately, nearly drowning myself in it. Well, maybe just the opposite, really. Between the terror of our current administration and my own personal traumas and tragedies, art has been the life vessel that’s saved me from going under. I can always breathe easier and hope for better things when I look at something beautiful. It keeps me safe. And sane. Or at least the illusion of these things. And I’ll take that. Sometimes it’s the best we’ve got.
I don’t know precisely when it was that art became such a crucial part of my life; I’m certainly not an artist…although it does run in the family, somewhat. My grandmother on my father’s side was a concert violinist, my father is an artist, and one of my uncles is an architect. But all of that talent passed me by, I’m afraid. Except, perhaps, the enthusiasm for and appreciation of such things–I’ll confess to an overabundance of that! I wish, though, that I had at least gone to school for art history or criticism or theory or something like that, so that I could make intelligent appreciative comments and engage in discussions without looking like an idiot, but ah, well. Maybe in another life.
For right now, though, I’d love to share with you some of the illustrations and paintings and photography which has lately been relieving, reviving and rescuing me–and the incredible humans who have brought these visions to life. I am so grateful every day that there are dreamers and stargazers and worldmakers who create these marvelous things that make my existence just a tiny bit more bearable.
Tell me, what’s keeping you afloat right now, and propelling you forward?
Inviting us to celebrate the warmth of passion in the dead of winter, the smut peddlers at BPAL again deliver stimulating, scintillating scents for the lovelorn and lustful, the depraved and the intemerate. Whether you see these lurid delights as a dare, or as merely as a to-do list, and no matter how singular your tastes may be, there is all manner of delightful debauchery here to appeal to aficionados of arousing, amusing aromatic experiences.
Speaking of smut, let’s begin with Smut 2017! (three swarthy, smutty musks sweetened with sugar and woozy with dark booze notes) My first thought is that this as not as aggressively smutty as Smuts of yore (my boss made me go home when I wore it to the office in 2008). Like, maybe Smut went to rehab and detoxed a little. While the older versions of this scent I have are heavier on the booze and musk, this version seems lighter and sweeter and …fruity? While this smells nothing, of say, blackberries, I’m reminded of the syrupy, glazed bits of the fruit mixture crusted to the edges of a cobbler dish after the dessert is removed from the oven. I think many people are going to find Smut 2017 a touch more wearable than it might have been in the past.
Luperci (patchouli, Gurjam balsam, and essence of Sampson Root, beeswax, virile juniper, oakmoss, ambrette seed over honey and East African musk); inspired by rites of the Luperci (“brothers of the wolf”) this opens with raw, powerfully earthy patchouli, piercing and damp. The grassy soil which cradled the She-Wolf, suckling the Sacred Twins, shaded by the leaves of a fig tree and made rich by its rotting leaves and fruit, and the blood of the sacrifices spilled there. Luperci remains green and wooded and though it does not sweeten with time, it softens and becomes muskier, murkier.
Womb Furie(an itch that needs to be scratched: Snake Oil and three types of honey) I don’t know if this happens with everyone–or anyone, even–but usually anything with prominent honey notes ends up smelling like pee on me. As you can imagine, I am very saddened by this because honey is divine and delicious. However! Though this initially exhibits the sharpness I associate with most honeyed scents, there are none of those pungent, ammonia-like associations, so I suppose I can breathe easier. Snake Oil by itself, is, I believe, a rather divisive scent; there are those who love it, and there are those who are wrong. But the general complaint I hear is that it is a incredibly potent, sometimes headache inducing scent. In Womb Furie the harsh edges of Snake Oil’s exotic Indonesian oils and intense vanilla are tempered by the delicate, powdery honey and strikes a pleasingly satisfying balance; it conjures feelings not so much of itches that needs scratching but rather the warm afterglow of desires sweetly satiated.
The good folks at BPAL like to remind us “We’re not always all about death, sex, and debauchery. We like chocolate, too!”
White Chocolate, Marshmallow, Honey, and Goat’s Milk Straight from the bottle this smells of cocoa butter and marshmallow, and something else I can’t quite put my finger on–a cookie-like quality. Something with a cloying graham cracker crumb. It conjures a treasured confection from childhood, a sacred, special treat which I have just now remembered: Mallowmars!
Dark Chocolate, Whiskey, and Cardamom-Infused CaramelWhoa. This is some business, here. Rich dark chocolate, the intensely bitter sort with the amped up percentage of cacao that you don’t even have to hide from your significant other because they can’t even handle it. The whiskey is so smooth you can barely detect it, and layered with the goopy sweetness of the gently spiced caramel, this makes for an incredibly decadent bonbon of a scent.
Milk Chocolate, Cacao Cream, Ceylon Cinnamon, and Coffee AbsoluteWhile I have insisted for years that I am not a lover of foodie or gourmand scents, this may be the one that changes my mind. I’m going to give you a visual, okay? Imagine an amorous encounter with your sexy barista crush, (the one who works really long hours because they hand-grind a lot of beans), while rolling around in $240 worth of creamy, milk chocolate pudding.
Lupercalia Single Note: Riding CropThis is an exquisite “worn in” leather scent, but I don’t mean to imply that it smells somehow beat up and rugged like cowboy boots, or a horse’s saddle that has seen many denim clad bottoms across it. No, this is the scent of madam’s favorite corset– smooth and black, and perfectly fitted to her elegant curves. A handsome, tight-laced thing whose strict shine has dulled over the years but in whose reflection can still be seen countless memories of hours spent meting out untold pleasures…and in the exquisite instruction of delicious pain.
Pleasures of the Imagination I(black amber, leather, and myrrh) Clean, powdered skin, and shiny black leather and oddly enough, the delicately antiseptic smell of an expensive lingerie department. Imagine wearing your Agent Provocateur scanties underneath a leather moto jacket with just the right amount of silvery zipper accents.
Pleasures of the Imagination V (black leather, red sandalwood, orris root, tobacco absolute, oakmoss, and sweet patchouli) This is an inconstant leather, at first, lined with the softest cotton, and then, filled with strange, sweet earth. A marvelously mutable scent, I soon detect a watery greenness and sharp, metallic freshness. At the end we are left with not the pin-up girls in Art Frahm’s campy illustrations, but rather the surprise stalk of celery that is lurking, ever present, as a poor woman’s skirts fly up and her underwear, inexplicably, fall down.
Ah, my favorites. The scents I look forward to all year round because they combine my love for the beautiful and the absurd and elevate to sublime art: the Shunga scents. Novel Ideas for Secret Amusements is “a limited edition Salon series celebrating the joy, humor, playfulness, and thrill of sexual intercourse through scent interpretations of Japanese erotic art”
Kitten with Shamisen Daydreams of a Phallus Palanquin (rice milk, white musk, and pear) It is not pear I smell at first, but strawberries. Or perhaps some other twinkling, pink, “youthful” smelling fruit. The longer the scent wears, the more I feel I am aging backwards, and I am surrounded by small, plastic dolls whose, fruity, synthetic, multi-colored hair I sniff obsessively and no doubt rudely, as I am serving an imaginary tea and that’s not the behavior of a polite hostess. In our small teacups with the curly-cue handles I still dream about as an adult, we are drinking a shimmering champagne spiked with dollops of lightly sweetened cream. I apologize for the hair sniffing.
Delightful Visitor Among the Haystacks (chrysanthemum incense and red carnation) I was keenly interested in this scent in particular… I found unexpected beauty in the brevity of the notes listed; it pierced my heart with a fleeting sort of sadness. And too, this fragrance is strange and sad, musty and full of ponderous longing. Years of incense woven into threads of a poet’s pillow and perfuming their final inhalations as they pen their last words in this world: Rusu naredo // tou hito mo kana // notorikigo? — Kizo, 1851 When I am gone // will someone care for // the chrysanthemum when I leave?
Consoling Pussy of Horse Face Mountain(tuberose incense, blue wisteria, and oakmoss) A cool, creamy, intimate floral that conjures a flood of memories for me, none of which have anything to do with each other, or with anything in particular. The fragrance of my mother’s carved wooden boxes that held sticks of nag champa and faded tarot cards; the chlorinated, rubbery scent of a pool supply store that we used to frequent when I was very young. I don’t think this is a scent that I will reach for very often, but not because I don’t care for it. Rather, it is the perfume of a life that I have already lived and know quite profoundly.
Finally, The Devil’s Lovers: the Erotic Art of Félicien Rops, a collection which showcases the work of the renowned Belgian illustrator, engraver, and printmaker, and which is a celebration of death, sex, and political and social rebellion, all reflected through a distinctly Mephistophelean lens.
Le Vice Suprême(leather and a splash of gin, whiskey-swirled tobacco, rose petals, and bourbon vanilla) What a nose-tickler this is! While I don’t smell gin, per se, I smell something a bit effervescent and dry and not quite boozy, but somewhat woozy. It’s the olfactory version of a gleeful gulp going awry, laughing and gagging until your eyes swim, and the prickly little cough that remains for the rest of the evening. At this point, you’ve also got the hiccups. Light, fizzy, giggle water.
Les Incubes et des Succubes(blackberry pulp, Bordeaux wine, grape leaves, and wild patchouli) This, my friends, is the Kool-Aid fueled orgy that you have been dreaming of. Sugar-macerated berries and wildly overripe grapes squelching amongst heaving, naked bodies as an oversized anthropomorphic plastic pitcher MCs the depraved festivities. I won’t end this sentence with his iconic phrase. It’s just too easy.
À Un Dîner D’athées(white lavender and ambrette seed, grey patchouli, rum absolute, and vetiver) A somber, sobering scent, with an initial blast of lavender which oscillates between cool and medicinal and sharp, salty licorice. The vetiver and rum add a dry, bitter, molasses-tinged edge to what, at its heart, remains a brittle, humorless scent. It is a fragrance that borders on unpleasant, but leaves me intensely curious as to its inspiration. “À Un Dîner D’athées”, or, At a Dinner of Atheists, is an illustration by Félicien Rops to accompany a story of the same title in Les Diaboliques (The She-Devils), a collection of short stories written by Barbey d’Aurevilly. According to my two seconds of research just now, the acts committed by the characters in these stories are induced not only by their extreme passion but also by their boredom–and it’s strange to say, but this fragrance does conjure images of ennui and tedium, but also of rage and revenge and other manias not given proper outlet, but allowed to fester, silent and hidden. I can’t quite think of who I would recommend this scent for, but whoever this person is, they are both fascinating and dangerous.
On Saturday I had the distinct honor to talk with with my good friend Gus for Story Corps about the Pulse tragedy in Orlando last June. We discuss grief, survivor’s guilt, intersectionality and death care, among other things.
Gus writes about it at Death In The Gay Den today, where you will find a link to the entire interview, I hope you’ll take a moment to listen.
I should also note that, although she doesn’t remember telling me this, my sister encouraged me several years ago to “do one thing every day that scares you”. I was freaking out so badly about this that I think it should count as three days worth of anxiety-inducing initiatives!
Perhaps you know of Pam Grossman because you are a fellow enthusiast of fantastical art and ardently admire her blog, Phantasmaphile wherein she curates incredible esoteric imagery. You may have stumbled across her prescient proclamation that 2013 was “The Year of The Witch” and felt energized and empowered at the long overdue celebration for this powerful feminine archetype. You may have heard her name in relation to the Occult Humanities Conference at NYU, or attended her numinous Language of the Birds show, an exhibition that traced over 100 years of occult art. You may have been utterly entranced by her collaboration with Tin Can Forest, an illuminated manifesto titled What Is A Witch, or resonated with her sagacious writings for the Maiden and Mother issues of Sabat Magazine. Or perhaps you are fortunate enough to call this wise, magic woman a friend.
Or quite possibly you do not know Pam at all and it by quirk of fate that you have stumbled upon our interview with her today. It won’t take you long to become completely in awe of this luminous human, I assure you. Read on for our spirited discussion with this independent curator, writer, and lifelong student of magical practices for her thoughts on witchcraft and the occult as it relates to art, activism, and anger, and what it means to be a woman with power. In addition, we are beyond thrilled that Pam has shared with us her extraordinary “Ritual For The Rebirth Of A Republic”.
Top photo credit: Shannon Taggart
Haute Macabre: You have very recently curated, along with creative cohorts, Janaka Stucky and Peter Bebergal, “Dead of Winter“, a series of magical movies which explore witchcraft and the occult in cinema. For those who were unable to grab their broomsticks and join you at this rare event, I’m wondering if you can share some brief highlights on the films you introduced, and what it was about the stories/characters/cinematic experience that made you think “aha, now this is something I have got to include!”
Pam Grossman: Curating this festival has been a dream come true. Between Janaka, Peter, Ned Hinkle (who heads up the Brattle), and myself, we came up with a towering list of favorite occult films that we felt excited to share. It was important to us that there was a good balance between witchcraft and ceremonial magick films, and that we covered a range of time periods and aesthetic sensibilities. Ned had the none-too-easy task of whittling down our list based first and foremost on logistics (i.e. which prints he could track down in time), and then he organized it into a beautifully cohesive arc, pairing films together that had interesting thematic links or, in some cases, counterpoints.
As to my specific input, most of my contributions explore the icon of the witch, albeit from several different angles. I included recent films like The Witch and The Love Witch, both of which approach the archetype from a decidedly 21st century – and I might argue consciously feminist – point-of-view (despite their stories taking place approximately 400 years apart). Their protagonists each experience a sort self-actualization of a sort, even if their final circumstances end up being somewhat ambiguous. Whereas films like Season of the Witch, Burn Witch Burn, and Bell, Book, and Candle are definite reflections of the social mores of their times. What unifies all of these films is that they each ask questions about what it means to be a female with power. Each of these witch stories has elements of danger and delight, and I think each represents the tension between those two poles in its own unique way.
I was particularly excited to get to see the newly restored 1970s Japanese X-rated animated film, Belladonna of Sadness, on the big screen. It is such a wild and gorgeous phantasmagoria, and it still manages to shock people, 40 years on. It’s based on Michelet’s book, La Sorcière, from 1862, and viewing it it feels like watching a pornographic version of the European witch hunts on psychedelics.
[above photo: Film still from The Love Witch]
You have spoken before on how the witch remains a dynamic archetype with new facets that we are continuing to learn about and explore. In 2017 witches have emerged from the hedges and have taken to the streets; crowds of cloaks and capes were captured in arresting photos from back in January, witches out in full force, post-inauguation, using their power to protect and protest in a very public way. While I am not certain that this is a wholly new aspect of the archetype, can you speak to how it may be different than what we have seen previously, and what we can learn from the witch’s role as activist?
A lot of credit should go to W.I.T.C.H., the 2nd wave feminist activist group from the 1960s and 70s. They were a group of women who would dress up like witches and do public art protests and performance pieces, like hexing the New York Stock Exchange. Their actions were humorous and irreverent, and used the image of the witch to symbolize visible, marginal, powerful women.
I was very heartened to see a lot of witch-themed protest signage at the Women’s Marches, as well as a revival of W.I.T.C.H. springing up in Portland and other cities. Some of these women are using magical tropes in tongue-in-cheek ways, and some are being 100% literal. There are young feminist chicks sending stylized smoke signals, and there are serious pracitioners of Wicca and other Pagan paths who are both using similar language. But whether or not someone with a “Hex the Patriarchy!” sign is going to actually do a Trump binding spell at home is sort of beside the point for me. It’s about reclaiming the “nasty woman” moniker, and embracing alternative versions of femaleness which make space for us to be loud and sovereign and totally free. I think it all matters, and it all makes a difference.
[Photo credit: Laura Desmond]
Pam Grossman’s Ritual For The Rebirth of a Republic
Ritual for the Rebirth of a Republic
You’ll need a candle, and any other sacred objects you wish. I’ve been putting a small copy of the Constitution of my altar lately, next to images of deities who help me feel fortified and inspired, and special objects including jewelry which I’d like charged so I can carry the spell’s energy with me when I need it.
As you speak the following words, it’s all the better if you can face the appropriate direction before you utter each section:
Welcome, Air in the East, direction of new beginnings. Thank you for blessing us as we recommit ourselves to the country, to the planet, and to our highest purpose. Blessed be.
Welcome, Fire in the South, direction of passionate will. Thank you for keeping us steadily fueled, so that our flames stay lit, and do not burn out. Blessed be.
Welcome, Water in the West, direction of dissolution. Thank you for washing away all that is no longer serving us, so that we might flow forward and forge new pathways. Blessed be.
Welcome, Earth in the North, direction of green wisdom. Thank you for teaching us that you are precious, that our bodies are precious, and both are abundant and enough. Blessed be.
Welcome, Ancestors of Below, direction of the sacred depths. Thank you for helping us turn behind and within, so we may learn from the brave freedom fighters who came before us, and so we know that they dwell inside our selves. Blessed be.
Welcome, Guides of Above, direction of infinite possibilities. Thank you for helping us look ahead and outside, so that we may follow your light of hope, and expand our own imaginations to dream up better ways of being. Blessed be.
Welcome, Sacred Center, direction of holy mysteries. Thank you for showing us that in death there is life, that in life there is endless transformation, and that love is the most powerful magick of all. Blessed be.
The circle is cast. We are between worlds.
Light the candle.
I light this candle to Libertas, Goddess of Freedom.
Oh Columbia, oh Marianne, oh Eleutheria, oh Artemis, or any other name of your liking, may you please keep your torch ignited, so that we may find illumination during this dark time.
May you help us lift up our most vulnerable, and shine light in the margins, so that we may not overlook our sisters and brothers who dwell in shadow.
Please help us find our fiercest and most unflagging strength, so that we may neither give up or give in during the long struggle ahead.
Thank you for helping us know that our bodies are sovereign and self-belonging, and that our genders, our sexualities, our physicalities, our skins, are each holy and whole exactly as they are.
Please let those who would seek domination, exploitation, or destruction of others and of our planet awaken swiftly to radical compassion or else to harmless obsolescence.
Thank you for reminding us that no one can save us but ourselves, and that we each have the responsibility of using our unique gifts to help usher in a new age of glory.
And thank you for teaching us that liberty is love, love is liberty, and that the path of kindness, laughter, truth, and empathy will forever be chosen by the just and the good.
Thank you, Libertas, for your guidance and your blessings. May we all be worthy of wearing your crown.
Blessed be.
Keep the candle lit for as long as you are able. If you must leave it unattended, simply snuff out (don’t blow), and then relight at another time. Once candle has completely burned down, you may bury the remaining wax underground, or otherwise dispose of in the ritualized manner of your choosing.
When this is complete, reopen the circle of the spell. Simply repeat the call of 7 directions in the opposite order, saying Thank you, instead of Welcome, starting with the Center e.g. “Thank you, Sacred Center…”
Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again.
[Photo credit: Pam Grossman]
Photo credit: Shannon Taggart
I believe it was with regard to the learning and absorption of magical/spiritual studies versus the practical application of that knowledge that you remarked, in an interview in 2013, “…but if you’re not going to try and figure out how to be loving and of service in the day-to-day, I’m not interested”. I love that sentiment. I love how it cuts right through the etherous woo woo mysticism and gets right to the meaty heart of things, where the real work begins. In light of our current political climate and considering the frightening, violent, unstable atmosphere that we find ourselves in right now, what are some of your suggestions for integrating one’s magical practices into the service of the day to day? For keeping one’s self grounded and getting one’s hands dirty?
I know the word “self-care” is being skipped on the pond a lot these days, and it’s a bit of a smooshy word that some have an aversion to. But the concept is crucial. We need service and self-care in equal measure, because you can’t sustain any sort of resistance movement without taking time to recharge your batteries and be rooted in yourself. Spiritual practice is key for me to be able to stay focused on what is actually important, and to center myself – not only within my own mind and body, but within my place in this whole interdependent ecosystem we call home.
So many of us are currently grappling with how to stay engaged while not being completely overwhelmed or paralyzed. The bad news has been relentless. But checking out entirely is not a viable option for anyone who cares about this country or this planet as far as I’m concerned. We must figure out a way to keep ourselves strong and blazing, and then use that energy to take action. Channeling the force of the witch has been extremely fortifying for me in my life – and is now moreso than ever. I light candles on my altar, take salt baths to help me cleanse and ground, connect with my deities who remind me that I, too, am divine and brave. And I ask for help, guidance, protection. I give thanks for the many blessings I have in my life. And I try and touch into that timeless, sacred space that is within us and around us always.
But then I do the bodied work: calling my reps, donating money to causes I care about, marching, educating myself, sharing information I find to be useful for resistance. These spiritual practices help me remember that I have power to make change, right here and now in the material world.
On the other side of that though, we are not all light and sharing and loving kindness and radical empathy all the time, and you’ve mentioned the importance of honoring all of our complexity and shadow and mess–I’d love to hear your thoughts on feeding and self-care of these shadow sides.
Anger is something that we’re not “supposed” to show – especially if we’re female. But I have been really fucking angry, and I think it’s important for us to let ourselves feel that and own that. The key is to not let it burn you from within. You’ve got to use it to illuminate the way forward.
And in my darkest moments I try to link with goddesses like Kali and Tlazolteotl. These are deities whose great gift is their darkness, their destruction, their filth. They turn pain and decay into creation and purity, but it’s a hell of a rough ride during the process. So I hope that what we’re experiencing now is what the alchemists referred to as the “nigredo” – the death that must occur when transmuting something base into gold.
[Illustration from What Is A Witch by Pam Grossman and Tin Can Forest]
When I first found your blog, it was through a series of art-related Google searches, and in perusing the fantastical, esoteric imagery you share via Phantasmaphile, I realized I had not only uncovered a very special corner of the internet for occult visuals and creativity, but I also discovered a wonderful human with a passion for enchantments and word-witchery and all manner of otherworldly beauty. On a personal level, because all of these things delight and nourish my soul as well, can you tell us how art and poetry play a part in your magical practices?
Thank you for saying that. I started Phantasmaphile 11 years ago, because I loved magic and I loved art and culture, but I couldn’t find a place online that celebrated those places where the two rub up against each other and cause a spark. So I decided to create one myself.
I’ve been a voracious reader since I was very little, and I have also always loved to write and make art. At the same time, I’ve always been very attracted to magical ideas. It used to be that if I found that sweet spot where art and magic met, I thought it was this rare overlap that merited celebration. So the female surrealists like Remedios Varo and Leonora Carrington were thrilling to encounter as a teen, because they seemed to be fluent in the same symbolic language that I was learning myself.
But the longer I’ve been involved with this material, the more I realize that art and magic may in fact be one and the same. That individual creativity with intention is perhaps the most potent spellcraft we have. It is personal and emotional, it comes from the realm of mystery, it makes the invisible visible, and it causes real transformation for both the viewer and the maker.
[“The Giantess”, Leonora Carrington]
A fantastic example of the sublime magics afoot at the intersection of art and poetry and witchcraft is your collaboration with artists Tin Can Forest, What Is A Witch. Described as an “illuminated incantation, a crystalline invocation, a lovingly-crafted celebration of the world’s most magical icon,” your wild, witty, utterly transformative book engages and enchants a reader like nothing I have ever encountered. Can you tell us how this marvelous manifesto came to be?
Definitely a case of stars aligning. Tin Can Forest (who are Pat Shewchuk and Marek Colek, a wife and husband collaborative art duo from Canada) reached out to me because they were fans of my blog, and they sent me some of their comics. I fell head over heels with their work, and posted about them on my blog. And at that point, I’d been doing a lot of writing and presenting about witches, and I felt called to write something that celebrated her many aspects and gifts in a lyrical way. I should also say that I am a huge comics fan, and one of my dreams has been to work in that medium somehow. So short story long, I asked them if they’d be interested in working on something together. And I am still over the moon that they said yes!
We met shortly after that when they were in town for Brooklyn Comic Arts fest in November of 2015, and hit it off. And thank goodness, really, because we had already agreed to do this. But from there on out it was very much a trust exercise. I wrote the text for it and sent it off to them, and luckily they seemed to really connect to it. And then they squirreled themselves away for a few months in Victoria to make the art for it. We had very little input in each other’s processes. But I think it’s safe to say that all three of us couldn’t be happier with the results. I was very overcome when I saw the utterly splendid pictures they put to my words. It exceeded my hopes.
[Cover Art from What Is A Witch by Pam Grossman and Tin Can Forest]
“Brujas and Familiars”, Rebecca Artemesia
Art–whether visual, or music, or the written word–can heal or inspire or spark a raging fire in us, which is very much a kind of magic itself, as you mentioned previously. In this vein, I’d love to hear about the artful magics, the books, or poetry, albums or movies, etc., that have bespelled you lately.
Absolutely. There is so much I could list here, so for the sake of brevity and sanity, I’ll just list a few things which have been enchanting me lately.
Books:
Diane di Prima’s La Loba poems. I’ve loved this book since I was young, but have felt drawn to revisit it to get in touch with my inner she-wolf. Very necessary in these times.
Janaka Stucky’s early book of poems, The World Will Deny It For You, which he just gifted me with this past weekend. His writing is ecstatic and erotic and harsh and succulent.
Pema Chodron’s books offer deep anchoring during trying times, and her book Living Beautifully was a lifeline for me right after the election.
I read David Mitchell’s first book, Ghostwritten, and it floored me. The chapter about the Holy Mountain in particular is just exquisite.
And I just finished Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts, which is a gorgeous and challenging meditation on love, gender, and creativity.
Lastly, I am anxiously awaiting all of the Leonora Carrington short story collections coming out later this year, as well a book of Remedios Varo’s writings. It makes me giddy to think of them.
And I am still crazy for Museum Hours, even though it’s been a while since I first watched it. I think about it all the time though: it’s such a testament to the idea of the museum as a temple or palace for the soul.
Music:
On heavy rotation over the past few months have been Ballaké Sissoko and Vincent Segal’s Musique de la Nuit
And lastly–do you have any upcoming events or speaking engagements that you would like folks to be aware of, or any further magical projects or writings that we can look forward to?
I keep saying I’m going to stop taking on short-term projects so I can focus on the book that I’m trying to finally write. But then wonderful opportunities like the occult film fest come up, and they’re too good to turn down!
So other than that, I have an essay about the crone archetype in the next issue of Sabat magazine, an introduction essay that I wrote for Taisia Kitaiskaia and Katy Horan’s beauteous Literary Witches book coming out in October, and quite possibly an exhibition that I’ll be co-curating in the fall which I’m hashing out details for now. And then my friend Jesse Bransford and I have to start planning the 3rd Occult Humanities Conference at NYU as well. So lots cooking in the cauldron to be sure.
I know next to nothing about fashion, and with every passing season I’m fairly certain my knowledge diminishes rather than increases–but that doesn’t mean I love it any less. For me, at its best, it is glorious art, it is a political statement, it is a snapshot of our times–the good, the bad, and the ugly. At its worst…well, actually, the worst thing, the most offensive thing a fashion design can do, is bore me. But at its best, it thrills, it inspires, it sometimes agitates or confounds, or quite possibly it makes you giggle with glee roar or with laughter (my personal favorite.)
At any rate, I don’t take my interest in it seriously. Or at least I try not to! But when the Fall collections begin walking the runway, I am riveted. Here are some of my favorites right now.
Comme des Garçons Fall 2017 Ready To Wear offers us a sensible, down to earth collection that that definitely won’t leave your family and friends and coworkers confused and concerned as to your deteriorating mental state. Full of waddling, exaggerated silhouettes evoking over-sized dress forms or perhaps even ancient goddess imagery, you’d be forgiven for thinking huh, this looks like an enormous, gore-soaked maxi-pad.
On the other hand, I want to wear Yohji Yamamoto’s 2017 Fall Ready collection everywhere that my bright & sunny presence is requested; PTA meetings (I don’t have kids but whatevs), bridal showers, church picnics. The possibilities are endless.
Valentino’s Fall 2017 Ready To Wear collection, with romantic colors ranging from rich raspberry to ice cream pastels, luxe textures, delicate embroidery and sequins reminds me of several coffee table books belonging to my grandmother. These books were basically photographed tours through various estate homes and I’d spend hours mesmerized by the sumptuous decor: opulent damask curtains framing dusty glass windows overlooking flowering garden mazes, lavish boudoirs swathed in velvets and silks, shimmering crystalline chandeliers. The ensembles featured in this collection conjure these intoxicating, daydream homes.
To be perfectly honest, all I see when I gaze too long upon Givenchy’s Fall 2017 Ready To Wear collection is a scarlet coven of demonic teletubbies.
Though I really want to love a couture collection inspired by the symbolism of Twin Peaks, MSGM’s Fall 2017 ready to wear offerings are comprised of an almost offensive degree of fug.
Are you ready for Gareth Pugh’s sleep-deprived garbage bag dystopia?
Anne Demeulemeester’s ghostly veils (top) and Rick Owens’ (bottom) grimly towering headdresses are extremely pleasing to me.
And finally Alexander McQueen’s collection of jacquard and brocade with feather stitch details, trailing beads of jet with memento ribbons threaded through tweeds and leather, was imbued with dense imagery woven into every motif- whether witchy sun and moon symbolism or medieval tapestry inspired flora and fauna–and utterly brimming with both youthful and traditional female energy and power. Gorgeousness.
Harry Crosby and unidentified woman, Four Arts Ball, Paris
Yet it was precisely in his character … to invest all his loyalty and energy in magic: at first the approved magic of established religion; later the witchwork of poetry and sun worship; finally the black mass of violence” -Geoffrey Wolf, Author of Black Sun: The Brief Transit and Violent Eclipse of Harry Crosby
Harry Crosby – self indulgent socialite, tortured poet, wealthy mystic …. a playboy who lived his life with reckless abandon – was a man both adored and reviled. He has been described by some as “a representative figure of the so-called Lost Generation”, the bohemian 1920s.
A godson of J.P. Morgan Jr., Harry was a Harvard graduate and a decorated war veteran, who had left school to become an ambulance driver in France with his upper-crust chums during World War I. He ended up with the Croix de Guerre for valor and, after a few frustrating years back in Boston, fled to Paris for the rest of his short life. Married in 1922 to Mary Phelps Jacob, known as “Caresse”, they lived the “ultimate Bohemian lives as poets, artists, and patrons in Paris in the 1920’s. To every adventure their answer was always ‘yes’.” Harry once sent a telegram from Paris to his father, the quintessential sober, patriarch, which read, “Please sell $10,000 worth in stock. We intend to live a mad and extravagant life.”
While living and writing in Paris Harry Crosby founded The Black Sun Press, one of the “finest small presses of the twentieth century”. In 1924, the Crosbys went public with their first book. The following year, they each published their first collections of verse. Harry commissioned Alastair – a “spectacularly camp” German creator of beautifully decadent and Gothic fantasies – to illustrate his second collection, Red Skeletons. Soon they were issuing works by other writers, including Poe, James, Wilde, Joyce and D. H. Lawrence.
Color plate from Red Skeletons, by artist Alastair
On December 10, 1929, Harry was found in bed with a .25 caliber bullet hole in his right temple next to his mistress, the newly married Josephine Bigelow who had a matching hole in her left temple, in an apparent suicide pact. Harry’s toenails were painted red and strange symbols were tattooed between his shoulder blades and on the soles of his feet. A lover of dark mysteries to the last, he left no suicide note. London’s Daily Mirror speculated on psychological motives, while New York’s Daily News blamed poetry and passion: “Death itself had been the motive, others speculated, just as aspiring poet Harry’s life had been his greatest artwork.”
We recently caught up with Erik Rodgers, founder of String and a Can Productions, and director of The Black Sun: The Life and Death of Harry Crosby, who provides his own insight into Harry Crosby’s strange, short life and speaks to what makes the man such a fascinating study.
How did you come to decide Harry Crosby might make good material for a play – what it was about him or his life that inspired you, or what aspect of him you were hoping to shed more light on? How did you come across him to begin with?
Erik Rodgers: I actually came upon Caresse first, while developing a project on Salvador Dalí. [My business partner] was intrigued by the idea of such an accomplished and independent female from that era, and started researching her life. Of course as soon as she began reading about Caresse, she discovered Harry as well. Their story captured her imagination, and she began relating to me some of the details as she read them. We both felt there was something vital and overlooked in their story, something that had been obscured by all the scandal and negative criticism.
Over the next few months, I sat down with Geoffrey Wolff’s incredibly well researched biography, as well as several works on Caresse. Time and again, I was struck by the incredible amount of negativity, dismissiveness and judgement that surrounded Harry and Caresse. Even Mr. Wolff felt it necessary to defend and explain away his decision to dignify Harry with the full biographical treatment. I felt disappointed by the apologia of an afterward he wrote for the nyrb edition. After all, from our contemporary vantage point, considering the near century of work and popular culture that has followed, Harry hardly seems shocking…
I didn’t immediately resolve to write about Harry, but he stayed in my mind for some time. Still a bit of an enigma, I felt the vital pulse of his life, his work, but had yet to find a context for it. It was several months later, when encouraged by Devin and some friends to develop a project for us all to work on, that the idea of the play struck.
image via String and a Can Productions, artist Egon Scheile
How did you find the process to be for this particular medium, translating Harry’s life/works into material for the stage? Are there any other projects you have in mind for Harry Crosby?
By limiting the play to three characters, Harry, Caresse, and Josephine, and using the stage as more of an abstract space, I set out to let the characters observe, confront and relive specific moments across time and space. It was a way, I felt, to do more than relate their story, or explore Harry’s personal mythos. It was a way to deconstruct, unlock, and hopefully reclaim them back into our collective consciousness.
I began reading Harry’s work in earnest once I resolved to write the play, including his diaries Shadows of the Sun. This era was a specialty of mine back in college (Lawrence, Hemingway, Joyce et al) and I was surprised that I hadn’t really encountered Harry’s work before. I found that the more I read, the more powerful … Harry’s vision became. It is indeed difficult to sum up Harry’s work by sharing a poem or a line here or there. There is a cumulative effect to the work, something remarked upon in Eliot’s essay on Harry. As a result, I used a lot of Harry’s own work as source material, crafting scenes from poems or diary entries. I did this not only to keep true to the story, but also to hopefully let Harry’s vision unfold over the length of the play. It was important to me to let them be taken on their own terms, by their own ambitions and their own vision. In many ways, to me that was what Harry’s life was about.
[…]In writing the play, however, I also wanted to wrestle with the very human aspect of their lives as well– the volatility of Harry, the toll that took on Caresse, the anguish in Josephine that found some answer in Harry’s elaborate mythos. Harry and Caresse’s own depictions of their lives are always a little unsatisfying to our modern sensibilities in that they don’t submit to easy psychological types. Questions linger about who they were, even after you’d heard all the juicy details. How much did the war or Harry’s Dad play into his tumultuous behavior? Were Caresse’s attempts to leave sincere? Was she a bit relieved at his final passing? Who pulled the trigger first, Harry or Josephine? How did that fateful meeting transpire, exactly? These are some of the mysteries that propel the story.
On a personal note, this last October, I had the pleasure of visiting the Athenaeum in Boston and arranging a viewing some of the original Black Sun Books. The experience was striking in two ways in particular. I was struck with the strange power of viewing such rare texts that had been made with such care. From the gold wrapping of Transit of Venus, to the uncut folio pages of Torchbearers, it was as if you were viewing something sacred. In an era of mass printing, it’s hard to imagine the power such handcrafted books can have. The other thing that struck me in viewing the books was a feeling of direct connection with Harry and Caresse, something I had strived for through the research and the writing. This reaffirmed my convictions about them that underlined the play, and reinforced for me the importance of their story.
I have also just completed composing a series of music inspired by Harry’s work and the play. You’ve heard some of the temp tracks on the page for the play, but I’ve now completed the cycle and am looking to make a live recording of it all.
In addition to the original site for the play, there’s also a larger effort underway to commemorate and honor the legacy of Harry and Caresse. Info on the nascent Black Sun Theatre Foundation can be found here.
Harper’s Bazaar, May 1976, one-piece by Gil Aimbez for Genre, sandals and necklace by Yves Saint Laurent
I suppose it all really started with my love of all the beautiful things I’ve amassed from Babooshka Boutique in recent years; the roomy, flowing tops, tunics, and dresses that waft and whirl around me now as I go about my day. They’re easy to dress up or they can be casual, they are exquisitely comfortable, and they are pretty much perfect. At this point I’m afraid I have really come to resent garments with zippers or buttons or hooks or or fasteners–closures are prickly and poky! And so oppressive and stifling! There’s no going back. I just wanna let it all hang out, basically.
Sadly, Babooshka Boutique is closing this year, so I am beginning to look elsewhere for my fix as it relates to a wardrobe that beguilingly balloons around my bod, or which cocoons me in crazy coziness. Luckily, I think I have found some things that fit the bill, and I am quite excited about them.
See below for a few voluminous / balloonimous / cocoonimous things currently on my wishlist. Don’t be too shocked if you see some colors. It was bound to happen one day.
I’d forgive you for thinking the print/color combination on this Charisma dress from shonmodern is a bit fug; but there’s something about the asymmetric cut and the easy shape (and pockets!) that strikes me as both flattering and super comfy. Also, if you prefer, if comes in plain black. $299
I think these calf-skimming, floofy linen Lantern pants are adorable, so shut your mouth. $65
I am desperately coveting both of these lovely, loose fitting black tops with geometric graphics from UZI NYC at mooreaseal: the beams tunic $99 & the broken lines kimono $116
I recall being intrigued by this etsy seller’s wares a long time ago, but I never took the plunge to order something back then, especially after hearing a friend’s review of the poor quality of said wares. Still, to this day I covet these billowy linen Moon Water pants … because pants that look like a skirt? I reckon that’s the best thing I ever heard of. $58
And lastly, I love everything about this short maxi dress from Metamorphoza–the oversized shape contrasted with the knee-brushed length, the swingy cut, the pockets and, most of all–that (gasp!) powerfully, gorgeous blue color. Who am I anymore? The older I get, the more I hope I never have an answer for that. $52
So…to sum up, this season’s look for me is clothing that screams “WE’VE BEEN MADE! SMUGGLE OUT AS MUCH STUFF AS YOU CAN FIT UNDER THIS DRESS!”
What’s inspiring you right now in terms of wardrobe for spring and summer?
: Over at Haute Macabre you can peek to see what Samantha, Erin, Maika, Sonya and I have been reading over the past 28 days! While I thrilled to every word of one of the books I read, the other piqued my ire frequently. Curious as to my thoughts? Visit Haute Macabre to read more! And be sure to tell me what you’ve been reading, in the comments.
{image: Bill Crisafi for BloodMilk Exquisite Corpse “The Comfort of Dust”.}
…and also, while we’re at it, Haute Macabre rolled out my favorite new feature this evening, in which we all blather on about the sounds we currently have on heavy rotation:
This past month has been a heart breaker. We lost our dear Mawga, and just like that, our already dwindling family was that much smaller. The days since her passing have been colder than any I remember for this time of year and I’ve been busying my most of them with the work that comes after a death. Making arrangements for, in this case, cremation, retrieving said cremains, cleaning up and cleaning out the house for when we are able to sell it, meeting with the probate attorney, etc. Thank goodness my grandmother and grandfather set up many of these things in advance, otherwise it would probably be a lot tougher than it actually is. Note to self: get your will and last wishes down on paper and legalized. When I leave this world, I want to ensure that people are put to as little trouble as possible.
Like many of my dear friends, I have been consoling myself with art lately, nearly drowning myself in it. Well, maybe just the opposite, really. Between the terror of our current administration and my own personal traumas and tragedies, art has been the life vessel that’s saved me from going under. I can always breathe easier and hope for better things when I look at something beautiful. It keeps me safe. And sane. Or at least the illusion of these things. And I’ll take that. Sometimes it’s the best we’ve got.
I know next to nothing about fashion, and with every passing season I’m fairly certain my knowledge diminishes rather than increases–but that doesn’t mean I love it any less. For me, at its best, it is glorious art, it is a political statement, it is a snapshot of our times–the good, the bad, and the ugly. At its worst…well, actually, the worst thing, the most offensive thing a fashion design can do, is bore me. But at its best, it thrills, it inspires, it sometimes agitates or confounds, or quite possibly it makes you giggle with glee roar or with laughter (my personal favorite.)
