Windows To The Sacred

[klward]

'If we regarded magic as an art and art as magic, if like ancient shamans we perceived a gift for poetry as magic power, magically bestowed, wouldn't we finally have some comeback when the ordinary person in the street asked us, quite reasonably, to demonstrate some magic, then, if we think we're so thaumaturgical?'

- Alan Moore, 'Fossil Angels', 2002.

When an art exhibition promises altars and icons, you generally assume the metaphor. You shall worship at the altar of this luminary, or view these iconic works. Which is perhaps why Sydney's S. H. Ervin gallery emphasised that their altar was genuine and mass would be celebrated, when promoting Windows To The Sacred, an exhibition of esoteric art.

In fact, there were three altars. The one constructed for the Gnostic Mass in accordance with the principles of the Ordo Templi Orientis naturally dominated: a ziggurat of gold, crimson and candles topped by the Stele of Revealing. The impact was not merely visual: although the mass had taken place a week previous, the charge of the event was still evident. Not that this should surprise: all altars are constructed to focus the energy of a rite. Directly opposite, Barry William Hale's statue of Beelzebub and a photo essay by Alex Proyas formed a dark counterweight. So that was the central axis: a cool and resonant space with an procession of Thor Englestad's mystical nudes along one side. The other contained the historical heart of the exhibition, the Rosaleen Norton and Aleister Crowley. But two further alleys ran off from this, and at the end of each was a further altar erected by Collective 777 (Art Guild of the OTO Australia).



Each was a square pedestal panelled with individual paintings and topped with a kind of chessboard. One piece alone occupied each board and both were black. The Active Altar bore the Eye of Horus. On its pedestal, I saw a salamander, a magnificent figure of the God Set which you may see above, a fist of fire and a man wreathed in wind. The Passive Altar bore the seven-pointed Star of Babalon. The pedestal showed me a woman displayed as a butterfly, another growing the world in her womb, water running from an open hand and a shamanic mask flanked by ravens.

You may or may not grant credence to my detection of charges and other frissons. But if, while examining these figures, you detected an elemental theme; if you noticed how, while the corners of both squares were aligned to the compass (an easy pick on Observatory Hill), the Star flowed N - S while the Eye disrupted NE – SW, would this not strike you? Would your perception, and position within the room not have been, to say, altered?

Staring into a canvas by James Gleeson can induce vertigo. I'm very fond of Gleeson, and a series of his disintegrating dreams were concealed behind the nudes. It's hard to explain why I'm fond of something so discomforting, distorting from entrails to draped figures, from coral to the carious teeth of A Visual Translation Of What The Sibyl Said. But of all the artists on display, he was perhaps the one who came closest to painting the process of vision, rather than condensing it into symbols.

Norton's technique may be more concrete, but her image of Lilith is one of my favourites. Gazing on some hitherto unseen gems by the Witch of King's Cross, it crossed my mind that these days and out of context (for instance, if hung in a comic store), most people would take her symbols entirely for granted. They would take her sharp-faced genii for elves, her bold women for superheros, her satyrs for demons and the trappings of ritual themselves, all would be subsumed under the heading of “fantasy”. Of course, such people would be missing out dreadfully. There is an entire history of western occultism within the airy background of The Magician, and a quick nod eastwards as well.

The Crowley paintings such as The Jade Pagoda and his designs for tarot cards displayed a serrated impasto technique and a feverish intensity of colour: I have seldom encountered works conveying such an impression of don't touch or I'll cut you, I'll burn. Do not mistake me: there was no evil there. But in search of respite, I leant over a glass case to examine an array of sketches by Crowley's contemporary, Austin Spare.

I still don't understand what happened next. Spare's mythic, rock-and-tree forms are certainly brilliant. But the moment I looked at this one, untitled drawing, I burst into tears. I have no recollection of seeing it or indeed any of Spare's work before. I think the image would disturb most people, despite the beauty of its line: a roughly female figure ridden by a demonic monkey. And those trees. Something was wrong with those trees. But as yet, I haven't managed to track the emotion: it was childishly absolute and evaporated in the absence of the picture itself. But when I returned, so did the surge. A mystery!

Otherwise, so many discoveries! Kim Wilson's Abraxas (Melancholia) was another walking the thin line between vision and fantasy. I found her wounded angel wonderfully stirring, gazing at the world as though trying to remember why he fought. The subtitle refers to the C16^th Dürer engraving Melencolia I, which her painting references in several particulars. Her Isis Unveiled took the Christian pieta and revealed its universality. Alex Proyas's shadowy images of Magic and Ritual, although another procession of comely young ladies, were nonetheless evocative. Indeed, I found some of them reflected my own ritual experience. Hale's black “cut-outs”, whether hanging or free-standing, were good for that as well. It is amusing to gaze upon your own reflection within a demon, and surely instructive as well.

I very nearly missed the audio visual display. To find the entrance, you had to look away from Danie Mellor's incredible subversion of the Masonic rite. He had taken C19th engravings of a sacred western tradition and interrupted them with images of indigenous Australians and native fauna. I have to confess that, in my head, these are opposites which conjoined, create an explosion.

When I finally reached the viewing room, I only had time to experience one work in full: Invocation Frame by Masonik. In a courtyard, a metal pyramid glowed from within, unleashing a constant stream of what first appeared to be smoke. Droning and drumming, the colour, shade and tangibility of this central image changed and changed, becoming as expansive in its way as What The Sibyl Said. There, the starting point was teeth, here a pyramid.

But was it magic, as Moore suggests? And what, for all that, did the Sibyl actually say?

I have mentioned many symbols, especially those used by the OTO, without presuming to explicate their meaning. Nor have I gone into Spare's reputation for producing energetically potent sigils: such inquiries are to be made by she who feels the need. The thing to understand about esoteric art is that the meaning is definitely there, and your personal response to the process initiated by the artist is presumed to link to the universal. In this age of icons of modern art, I find this not only consoling, but highly effective. I have no doubt I experienced magic in that room, but of course, I was suitably observant. Moore's “person in the street” or my customer in the comic shop may not be. Still, if they're at least willing to enter an art gallery...

The image is Set by Mitchell Nolte. It is used by Mitchell's permission and hopefully the God does not mind. This image is NOT open license and if you wish to use it, you must obtain permission for yourself.

Comments

[mrteufel.livejournal.com]

Is the display still open?