The Split Wood Stand in the Serpentine Field

On the 15th of March at noon, following the night of the lunar eclipse in the sign of Virgo—heralding shifts and transformations—I presented Fields of Origin, Serpentine Transformations in Next Nature and Culture. As a Virgo star sign, the momentum could not have been more auspicious, resonating deeply with the themes of the body of work I presented.

Interestingly, March 2025 marks a decade since this work began, culminating in its ninth year with the creation of The 9th Altar installation and the associated nine-minute art film. My work was enthusiastically received by a full house of attendees, all receptive to esoteric and groundbreaking ideas that push the boundaries of what we call nature, culture, and consciousness.

One object that, for me, represented the weekend event was the split wood stand. It supported the speaker’s microphone like a totemic object—connecting voice to wood and the elements—forming a hybrid of technology, both electrical and elemental. See the image of me, my face split by the wooden V-shape of the standing branches, set against the backdrop of images from my film and installation.

The event was not recorded—intentionally—emphasizing oral traditions and the passing of esoteric knowledge from mouth to mouth, ear to ear. I also view this choice as part of the performative traditions of early multimedia performances and performance art, which were about a moment in time that could not be duplicated or repeated.

It was once inconceivable to record performance art actions on video or film. In the early years of performance and multimedia art, video cameras were not only rare but also prohibitively expensive—often financially out of reach for individual artists and grassroots art spaces. Access to such technology was limited, and its use was typically reserved for institutions, commercial productions, or broadcast television. For many artists working in experimental and esoteric modes, the high cost of video equipment created both a barrier and, paradoxically, a kind of freedom—liberating the performance from the constraints of documentation and allowing it to exist purely as an ephemeral, lived moment.

At the same time, 16mm and 8mm film were primarily associated with art filmmaking or used by documentary filmmakers to capture wars, social movements, and current events—not with the preservation of live artistic actions. As a result, many pioneering performances lived only in memory, oral recounting, or fragmentary photographs, further reinforcing their aura and mythic quality.

So it felt liberating not to be dependent on video recording, staging an event that was never intended for the camera or the screen. This decision also speaks to the importance of context in art history and aesthetics. In this case, the context was Conjuring Creativity: Inhabiting Esoteric Ecologies, the final event in the series.

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Encountering Frieda Harris’ Tarot Paintings

Since my last encounter with Hilma af Klint’s paintings at the Tate Modern, I hadn’t experienced art that moved me with the same impact. It’s an experience difficult to verbalize, as it exists beyond the language of the mundane. I was therefore astonished to encounter Frieda Harris’ Toth Tarot paintings at the Tarot exhibition at the Warburg Institute.

I admit that, until the moment I saw her original paintings, I had never regarded her as a full-fledged artist. Seeing them live, in their authentic state, changed my mind entirely. I am still digesting the aesthetic experience, which can stand alone as painting—beyond their function as Tarot cards.

Moreover, the printed cards rob the paintings of their aura. In this case, I must agree with Walter Benjamin’s theory of aura. The mechanical reproduction of these works does not do them justice as artworks. Although they serve Aleister Crowley’s esoteric philosophy—as expressed in his also aesthetically impressive Book of Thoth—the original paintings possess a distinct power and presence that cannot be replicated.

As an artist, Frieda Harris has never been given her rightful place in art history. From my experience of her work so far, I resonate with Deja Whitehouse’s conclusion in her article Mercury is in a Very Ape-Like Mood (2014):

“Although Harris was totally committed to bringing The Book of Thoth to publication, overall it was Crowley’s spiritual guidance, rather than Thelemic doctrine, that underpinned her personal mystical development. […] Instead of becoming a dedicated Thelemite, she finally understood that her true path was ‘the inspiration, concentration & joy one experienced in painting’.”

I would add that through the template of the Tarot, Frieda Harris was able to channel her artistic sensibility—merging mystical insight with complex webs of form and hue into which she embedded archetypal patterns and imagery. She does not seem to belong to any school or movement of modern art—perhaps because her art belongs to the future, or to a space beyond time: the "time-out-of-time" of ritual magic.