ART IN THE CRYPT – LONDON JULY 2018

On Saturday the 28^th of July I made one my infrequent, if increasingly regular trips to London for an event. Once again I was travelling down at the gracious invitation of Eamonn Loughran of Hell Fire Club Books to attend a book launch. This book launch unlike the last one I attended (Paean to Hekate – 6th October 2017 and link below), was part of a much larger one night only art exhibition. The author Sean Woodward; whose work ‘Keys to the Hoodoo Kingdom’ is published by HFC Books, was one of the eight exhibiting artists.

I arrived in London before 3pm having made remarkable good time from the Midlands, on a fast and direct train. Wandering out on to the Euston Road, I was in a rather unusual situation as a provincial; I knew exactly where I was going. I don’t know my way around the capital at all well but I can at least find my way around the area between Saint Pancras train station and the British Museum. The exhibition was being held in the crypt of that remarkable building, Saint Pancras New Church on Euston Road itself. Only a short walk from the British Library, even I with my poor sense of direction couldn’t miss it. I have walked past it often enough on the way to the heart of Bloomsbury.

It was a bright sunny day, if slightly less warm than the Midlands. I was very early and this was planned. I made my way to Mabel’s Tavern on Mabledon Place for a late lunch, texting my few London friends with news of my safe arrival. I was soon joined by my group from the Crypt, artists not zombies, only one of whom I knew via social media. They had only just finished setting up the exhibits.

After the usual introductions and this was my first meeting with Sean Woodward, we sat for a meal and a few drinks. Chatting away the hours until the exhibition officially opened, before taking a slow and leisurely stroll to Saint Pancras New Church. As we stood outside of the hostelry, I felt a strong breeze and I realised that for the first time in weeks, I was actually cold. Britain was and still is, experiencing an unusual heatwave.

One of our number required a cash dispenser, so we went on something of a hunt through the quieter streets of Bloomsbury. I stopped to take a few snaps of the surroundings as we walked, including shots those marvellous blue plaques so common in central London.

Arriving at the church we descended a flight of steps into the crypt and I found myself face to face with several acquaintances also waiting to enter. A most pleasant and welcome surprise to see so many familiar faces, a true delight. The crypt itself is a moderately dark series of connecting tunnels, well-lit for the exhibition but not so well-lit as to spoil the unique atmosphere.

The main tunnel of the crypt runs the full length of Saint Pancras New Church below ground level and is remarkably dry. There are various alcoves and smaller side tunnels that run off the main thoroughfare. The exhibitors had with the expected imagination, taken full advantage of the unusual space afforded them. Paintings hung in rows, while some hung singularly in the smaller alcoves, lit by a spot. Sculptures were presented along the side of the main tunnel, others set back into a larger alcove. There were ‘room’s or gallery spaces made of only three walls, open to the walkway on the fourth side and other smaller rooms, dark and secluded.

For one brief moment and it was only for a moment, I remembered a story by Poe. A story of murder, a wine cellar and a body being bricked up there. Obviously the crypt did once house bodies. The majority have gone leaving only plasterboard memorials stacked to one side. I feel a certain sadness about this and I acknowledge a sense of irony. It is sad that people are disturbed in their repose and not left to sleep for eternity. The irony is that the wealthy who had paid to lie here in this prestigious plot, have now (I assume) been moved to a mass grave that houses many of the poor from the East End of London.

The list of exhibitors was an impressive one, I had even heard of a couple before my attendance and besides Sean Woodward, there was Sasha Chaltow, Jason Atomic, Savage Pencil, Zoetica Ebb, Alberto Bona, Amodali Zain and Madeleine LeDespncer.

The exhibits on display were as varied as their creators and as one would expect, utilised a multitude of mediums in their creation. Some were perhaps rather ‘modern’ for my traditionalist taste but all were executed with skill and style. The professionalism of the artists was of especial note, all took their time to engage with the attendees, and all made an effort to answer questions, to be involved fully in the event. The artists were as much an exhibit as their remarkable creations.

As one would expect from such a team of talented artists and exhibitors, many of the works on display displayed elements of esoteric symbolism, not usually found in the mainstream. Amongst the studies of form and texture, many works touched upon themes of poetry and the subconscious. Many held hidden symbols and glyphs, signs or were influenced by mythology. A walk around the exhibition was a journey of contemplation.

Since this was a book launch party organised between Atlantis Bookshop and Hell Fire Club Books, I naturally perused the Atlantis stall. I was surprised to realise that I owned several of the tomes on display but not of course, the new work. So buying my own copy of ‘Keys to the Hoodoo Kingdom’ I set off pen in hand, to search for the man of hour Sean Woodward.

Time waits for no man and neither do trains. I circulated once more, saying my farewells. As I was outside preparing to leave, an acquaintance from Stratford was just arriving. Samantha called to me from across the lawn outside of the church and mistook me once again for Eamonn Loughran. I swear I am better looking but from a distance, we probably do look like billiard balls. This mistaken identity is becoming a running joke, something Eamonn and I will no doubt laugh about at every party we attend for years to come.

My own departure could be delayed no longer and with a sad heart, I hastily finished my farewells. A brisk but easy walk took me back to the station, boarding a far slower train to the Midlands than the one I came down one. As I sat I could reflect on a pleasant, highly stimulating but exhausting day. I had experienced the great pleasure of a truly remarkable exhibition and met some remarkably talented people.

My journey home was uneventful but I fell asleep. I awoke to a female attendant nudging me. We had reached my stop and fortunately the train terminated there. If it had not, I would have been much further north and very far from home. I have friends in Leeds but I wasn’t planning a visit. So ended my day and it was a day of delight; spent in a dark crypt with people whose ideas, shed light in a world of shadows.

Hell Fire Club Books (esoteric publishers)

http://hellfireclubbooks.com/

Paean to Hekate – 6th October 2017

http://chatteringmagpie-summonerofthehearth.blogspot.com/2018/07/paean-to-hecate-6th-october-2017.html

LAMMAS 2018

“Spread on the land the gold Sun lies,

Sinks deep within, so sweetly dies.

Now dear life spent and poppies red,

Stain the flaxen Sun God’s bed,

So gather crops and brown bread rise,

Now see fresh, new born life arise.”

Harvest Prayer (source unknown)

Since June, all the way through July and into this first week of August, the British Isles have baked. We have experienced and we still are experiencing, one of the warmest and driest summers on record. I am old enough to remember that legendary year of 1976, a summer so hot that there were hosepipe bans and advisory water rationing.  We have had summers like that since, in the eighties and nineties. Yet this year is special and has caught the imagination. We have not had a summer like this for more than a decade.

In my part of central England the weather has followed the same national trends, at times it has been uncomfortably hot, we have endured warm, sticky nights and there has been little rain. The English always talk about the weather and we often complain about it. We shouldn’t, we should enjoy it. In another month or so, we shall be complaining about the rain. Yet it is so very English and so our conversations continue on the subject.

It is now the Lammastide and one of the more unusual harvests that has been taking place over the summer has been archaeological. Like 1976 and those few summers since, the outlines of ancient buildings and monuments have become visible from the air. Stately homes such as Chatsworth Palace in Derbyshire have seen the outlines of lost gardens dating from the seventeenth century reveal themselves. The documentation and research that will follow, will keep many universities busy for years. We the general public, will not reap the benefit until the official reports become available but the potential to gain a fresh insight into our collective past causes justifiable excitement.

We of the Hearth of the Turning Wheel have continued with our own Lammastide observances and activities. I visited London on Saturday the 28^th of July to attend the launch of Sean Woodward’s new work and an art exhibition in the crypt of Saint Pancras New Church. That trip will be the subject of a separate blog.

Our planned picnic and open air ritual, originally planned for the end of July was cancelled due to heavy rain. We had not rain here of any significant amount for weeks but on Sunday the 29^th of July, we had the proverbial buckets.

The cancellation of the picnic was an inconvenience, a disappointment. We were unlucky. We had to reorganise ourselves and our Lammastide ritual was rescheduled for the 2^nd of August, indoors this time. To paraphrase Robert Burns, ‘the best laid schemes of mice and men go often askew.’ We have rescheduled our Hearth picnic, a smaller scale affair, for later in August.

Thankfully the weather held for the next weekend and I attended Pagan Pride in Nottingham. A day once again so hot that being out of doors, was at times somewhat uncomfortable. I enjoyed the talks I attended and equally enjoyed socialising with friends. Once again I shall write separately about my day at Pagan Pride.

The date of Lammas as a quarter day can be variable, as much depends on the vagaries between the Gregorian and older Julian calendar, the measurements of the precise middle point between solstice and equinox measured at the equator or elsewhere. This year the date of ‘Old Lammas Day’ appeared to fall somewhere between the 7^th of August and the eleventh.

“The stars are gone, the night is done,

The lark as hailed the day,

And labouring men cheerily again,

Hie to the field away,

The morning breeze, that waves the trees,

The mist that sweeps from the stream,

White murmuring rills and towering hills

Are tipt with day’s first beam.

Hurrah, hurrah for harvest morn,

The merriest of the year.

Hurrah, hurrah for harvest morn,

For all things gay appear.

Yet while the dew – the diamond dew,

Bespangles ripened corn,

The labour true how many woo,

The bracing breath of morn.

No rural sound so sweet is found,

As clank of sharpening scythe,

And mountains greet – with gladness greet,-

The songs of reapers blythe.

Hurrah, hurrah for harvest morn,

The merriest of the year.

Hurrah, hurrah for the hardy hands,

Who bind and mow and shear.

How many throng, with rake and prong,

The mowers devious way,

And others lead the sower’s meed,

To stack and barn away.

The summer sun, whose course is run,

Has shed his genial ray;

And golden grain, in vale and plain,

Await the harvest day.

Hurrah, hurrah for the harvest morn,

The best of all the year;

Hurrah, hurrah. Hurrah hurrah,

For harvest home is near.”

Harvest Morn (source unknown)

It was on the 7th that I took a walk around my local area, having lunch at one of my favourite pubs in the next village, before wondering home via the fields. Passing the vintage Jaguar and the Union Flag flying above the old school buildings, I climbed the Redhills, so named because of the clay, to see the harvest close and first hand.

Due to the dry weather and the eventual rain, the cereal harvest that usually starts in late July and continues through early August, was now running at least a week late. The tractors were out and the bailing was in earnest. I stood there admiring the scenery while listening to the buzzards screech above me.

The colours of the English countryside at this time of year, are a delight to the eye. There are fields of gold that stretch seemingly endlessly across the hills. The oaks are producing acorns and the fruit crop is ripening. Indeed in some isolated spots, fruits such as the bramble are ripe enough to pick.

The year has most definitely turned, the sun continues to look down upon the land and the land now surrenders its produce. This is a time of sacrifice, reaping and gathering. These themes are now all around us and so strong, that we can taste them in the air that we breathe.

A most blessed harvest to you all and may those that are wise, understand what is written. FFF the Chattering Magpie.

LIVING IN TWO WORLDS

I am a Pagan and I am a Registered Nurse, therefore I live in two worlds, I straddle two hills. One is my private life and the other my public life, my personal life and that other life, one focused upon a profession, an occupation and another work. I exist in a spiritual realm and in a secular environment. I enjoy two social bubbles that touch. We all do the same, we all exist each of us; in two worlds. We all attempt to balance the demands of both or many. I say many because the truth is, we all live in more than two worlds but it is the primary two bubbles that I choose to concentrate upon.

Some would suggest that there is a potential for conflict, some may even go further and suggest that there is a conflict. I perceive no such thing. I am able to compartmentalise all of my worlds; to separate them and divide them. I allow for only a degree of overlap, in that green valley between the hills. How we perceive our worlds and how others perceive our own worlds, may not necessarily be identical. Our view, our opinions, experience and perception are internalised, remaining unique to us as individuals and differing from that of our viewers.

I am aware of these differences in perception, because I am acutely aware that my ‘faith’ places me outside the mainstream of our society. I belong to a minority and that minority is barely a significant one. Figures extrapolated from the census and other sources, estimate that there are less than a quarter of a million self-identifying Pagans in England and Wales. Indeed it is likely that we ‘Pagans’ barely number one hundred and fifty thousand. We have a voice, we are a loud and active minority, yet we are still a minority.

My position within this minority and the lack of awareness of those outside, has been acutely emphasised on occasion. This being when subjects obvious and acceptable to those within the esoteric environment, become the focus of those without. There is a lack of understanding within the secular world of those whose interests lie within the esoteric. They fail to comprehend the existence of the other, although it would be more appropriate to say ‘Other’ capitalised.

I have for example two black cats, which is of course very stereotypical of someone such as I and the story of their adoption can be found on the blog post ‘the Appreciation of Black Cats.’ The link to that post is below. I had decided prior to their adoption, to name both sisters after Goddesses and since one was reminiscent of a Persian but with not such a long coat, Eastern names had suggested themselves. This sister is named Tanith.

It was the name of the other kitten that is a domestic short hair, which was destined to cause bewilderment. From the very moment I saw her, I knew she was destined to be named after an Egyptian Goddess and her name is Isis. Both of these names are common within the Pagan and Craft movement for children and for pets. My choice of names has however, been the source of much puzzlement amongst my work colleagues.

A surprising but total ignorance of Eastern mythology and history, has meant that many had never heard of either Goddess. Furthermore and thanks to the media, the name Isis has become equated with a terrorist organisation. I found myself having to explain the origin of the name Isis, that the Goddess has a documented history of thousands of years and that her name predates any organisation of the same name.

I have no intention of renaming my cat, just as the Fellowship of Isis has no intention of changing their own name. So it is that the adoption of two black cats has acutely shown the divergence in perception, between the secular and esoteric worlds. There is a near total incomprehension with regards a differing lifestyle and social circle.

Another area in which I often experience total incomprehension, is my willing interaction with persons of other faiths and beliefs. Being brought up as an atheist before passing through popular wicca and out the other side to experience polytheism, means that I outgrew that immature but often prevalent antagonism towards the Abrahamic religions that many Pagans hold. Most grow out of it of course, as their spiritual maturity develops but some sadly hold onto it like a comfort blanket.

Now this is not to suggest that we should accept the proponents of other faiths or their teachings without question. A healthy scepticism and wariness is often necessary in all walks of life and what we should call Interfaith-relations is often no different. We all have our own particular agenda. Equally important however, is that we do not dismiss their views without due consideration. To quote a phase attributed to the prophet Mohammed; ‘Seek learning even as far as China.’

Within my nursing environment not only have I a general awareness of the faith needs of my patients but importantly, I am willing to accommodate their needs beyond the usual. I remember an incident some ten years ago, when a suicide survivor expressed a wish to have a Bible. For some unexplained reason, possibly due to refurbishment, the usual Gideon Bibles had been placed in store and were not available. So one day on the way home I called at a second hand bookshop and purchased one out of my own funds. On returning to work I presented the patient with his requested Holy Book.

My actions both impressed and puzzled my colleagues. They held this assumption that as a Pagan, I was closer to an aggressive atheism rather than Christianity and they could not quite comprehend my open acceptance of spirituality. The point lost on many of course, is that Christianity particularly of the ancient form, holds many esoteric or possibly Gnostic elements. These are Truths known to and found within many esoteric philosophies. Words and symbols that are Truth, cross the boundaries of immature sectarianism.

Christian symbols such as the Chi-Ro and the Sixways don’t just look similar but can be used as glyphs for meanings unknown in the secular world. The Pentagram, the foliate heads and many other symbols, all share a dual heritage often of great antiquity.

Even Christmas should not be ignored from the esoteric perspective, falling as it does a few days after the Winter Solstice the birth of Christ is a metaphor for the Oak King and his totem bird is the Wren. The same Wren that is killed on Saint Stephen’s Day in the ancient folk tradition of ‘Hunting the Wren’ and this is an allegory for the Christ Child’s coming sacrifice as a sacrificial king.

It is worth noting that here where I live in England, the longest and shortest days do not always fall on the precise date of the astronomical solstice when measured at the equator. Rather that due to our latitudinal position, the longest and shortest day may fall some days after the official solstice, nearer to Christmas in December or the Feast of Saint John in June.

This last festival the Feast of Saint John or rather the eve of the feast, is regarded as a traditional sabbat in some schools of Witchcraft. Comparisons are drawn between the decapitated saint and ocular heads, such as Bran in Welsh Mythology and Orpheus in the Greek. An area if truth be known, that I am not qualified to discuss further.

The feast day however, is a celebration of the birth of this saint as a metaphor for the Holly King, whose totem is the Robin. Therefore within a symbolic and allegorical presentation, John and the Christ, the Robin and the Wren, present us with an esoteric model representing the two halves of the year, growth and lustration balanced by consolidation and repose.

It is therefore possible for me to straddle worlds without conflict and I can do this, because I recognise the esoteric truths hidden within allegory and metaphor. Yet for others, they will see conflicting values placed in juxtaposition. Their lack of understanding is not my responsibility, their lack of awareness of the ‘Other’ is equally not my responsibility.

What these examples serve to illustrate however, is that those who stand outside the esoteric environment, will always look at those of us who stand within; as ‘Other’ and as different. Whether or not this will effect acceptance is a separate issue but ‘understanding’ is often beyond the mundane comprehension.

LINKS

http://chatteringmagpie-summonerofthehearth.blogspot.com/2017/11/the-appreciation-of-black-cats.html

https://chatteringmagpie-summonerofthehearth.blogspot.com/2015/11/in-defence-of-interfaith.html

Tommy 2018

From time to time on this blog, I rather deviate from the usual esoterica and related subjects, to recount or review more secular or mundane ones. Most of my writings will follow or explore a theme, sometimes I review a book, a trip, a museum visit or a play. This is one of the latter but it has no actual esoteric content. It is one of my rather simple, unpretentious (I hope) reviews of a show I attended.

In March 2018 I attended a performance of the famous rock opera ‘Tommy.’ Originally a concept album by that remarkable and highly influential band ‘The Who.’ The story was later made into a film with Roger Daltry in the lead role and featured a magnificent cameo by Elton John.

This amateur performance was by the Gatepost Theatre Company and was hosted by Derby Live at the Guildhall Theatre in Derby. Featuring an exceptionally large cast of varying ages, it was performed with considerable gusto, with minimal but imaginative sets.

The title role of the young and mute Tommy was taken by the angelic Harrison Ince, who despite his tender years was able to portray a complex role almost entirely through posture. His remarkable appearance that expressed absolute innocence, whilst being adrift in a world beyond his childhood comprehension, was emphasised throughout the show. In particular and obviously during those references to the wicked Uncle Ernie, a deliberately distressing but vitally important element of the show.

Today we know that ‘Tommy’ has autobiographical elements of importance and the scenes referred to above, are stark reminders of Pete Townsend’s own tragic childhood abuse. The part of Ernie is clearly a difficult one and furthermore, unsavoury for any actor. It was played with care by Simon Owen.

In the wrong hands and played without care, such scenes and the related musical numbers, would be distasteful in the extreme. Done well and correctly, as they were by Gatepost, they disturb but elicit justifiable sympathy for the innocent child who is victim to abuse, cruelty and bullying throughout the show.

It is simplistic to dismiss Tommy as a superficial entertainment, lacking in substance or depth. It is entertainment with meaning, emotions and complexities hidden within melody. Nor are the characters once on stage, lacking in development or undeserving of study. The mother played ably by Kirsty Vastenavondt shows tragic pathos in a traditional Greek sense, as she balances the love of her child, that of her second husband played by Daniel Collington and the guilt over the death of her first husband played by Chris Collington.

The Collington family appear to have rather taken over this show, a third member Simon, played the menacing cousin Kevin. Rumours that the Gatepost Theatre Company are to be renamed the Collington Repertory Theatre are totally unfounded.

Chris Collington was later to switch from narrator to play the older Tommy, discovering his voice and at first the hero of the community. His fall and rise again, is another echo of the earlier themes of prejudice and suffering placed in an adult context.

Overall this performance of Tommy was competent, entertaining and provoking. The concept album itself dates from 1969 but the content is far from dated. Not only is the music a work of genius but the themes when handled with competence remain disturbingly topical.