The first time I attended one of my friend Ellie’s art shows, it took place in her rented home in Cambridge, Massachusetts. We were in grad school there. Although the housing was only temporary, it was all filled up with her energy. She is one of those very creative, capable types with a clear essence that is effortless to pick up on.
I’ve thought a lot about the little mannerisms and preferences people have that make them, well, them. Mostly I’ve thought about this in the context of how impossible they are to either name or duplicate; how when someone dies or vanishes all these tiny yet distinct little forms of self-expression disappear too. This awareness, the ways I’ve had to mourn their losses too often and too soon and at much too young an age in many cases, has afforded me the gift of appreciating them in the present and spotting them easily.
Ellie has a ton of these Ellie-isms. Some of them are very obvious and well known. Yellow is her favorite color, and her hair is also very blonde, so the whole theme seems as if the cosmos are conspiring with her overall golden vision. Others are more subtle. Her all-caps-scrawl, little intonations and a talent she has of summing up things in not-too many words. I honestly don’t ever recall her raising her voice outside of a karaoke situation. So that’s Ellie.
In that first art show I attended she made these round stones which looked, for all intents and purposes, identical to a rock one might find on the ground. A bit rounder, maybe. She made them on her stove. I wondered if God had a similar process, and if the rocks and boulders we see everyday were made in batches in the kitchen the way Ellie had done.
If you’re prone to thinking about alchemy, which I am, the mission will definitely strike you as alchemical in nature. The funny thing is alchemists have torn the world apart (they are actually kind of responsible for the horrid business of mining), poisoned themselves many times (rest in peace, Newton—sometimes people are so brilliant they’re tragically dumb), and completely severed all ties to God in their pursuit of uncovering the mystery of how gold is made (Gille de Rais, the Satanist sacrificer of children, thought demons would give him proper instruction for the transaction).
The thing is, The Great Work, or the majesty and mystery of divinity accomplished in alchemy, is already in all things. It’s even in the little rocks you skip across the water or put in your pants pocket to thumb at thoughtlessly. I think if there were ever someone to manage to not poison themselves, kill any small children, or violently gouge a hole in the earth while trying to retrace God’s steps in the creative process, it makes sense that it would be Ellie. A person so casually at one with gold would set to work making a philosopher’s stone not of precious metal or ruby but of rock. Ellie-chemist/ alchemist.
Last week I had the pleasure of giving tarot readings at her most recently curated event, Arcana. Arcana took place in a barn at the Arboretum in East Hampton, New York. As the name suggests, the exhibit featured twenty two works of art associated with the tarot’s major arcana. Having been a tarot reader since I was a child, its easy to suppose its nearly a habit for me at this point. That’s really not the case, though. It is more of an oath.
At one point I worked in a vinyl record pressing plant full time during the week and as a clerk in a bookshop and tarot reader at a psychic tea room on weekends. I was maxed out at sixty hour work weeks with no days off and still carried on. It just doesn’t get tiresome to me, although the flawed place where commerce and metaphysics meet certainly does.
There is no limit to the infinite stories and possibilities spelled out in card spreads. Each person who sits across from me has a story that is so common and familiar and yet all their own. Triumphs and heartbreaks and deaths and births and everything in between. Each card is a catalyst which ignites the intuition of the one who holds it. And that intuition is utterly subjective. Arcana, with its pieces in a variety of mediums, expanded the language of fortune telling I have at my disposal.
Some were instantly striking. Others had subtle, but, surprising staying power. There was The Emperor knitted pig, which was life size and hung ominously from the barn ceiling (it was chilling), the heartfelt letter The Empress wrote to her younger self, the living flora of The Hierophant twined around a mirror. Across the lawn I gave readings beneath a tree, where I met a good deal of people kind enough to trust a stranger. Every time I read something whimsical and out of the ordinary happens, which is to be expected.
A guest told me their child could speak to the dead, and would often wake from dreams reporting back messages from the late Queen Elizabeth. When her funeral was televised the child insisted on watching, murmuring praise and approval on behalf of the deceased monarch. A fair chunk of my research and writing lately has been on the impact of colonialism and magick practices, especially Elizabethan era occultism. So I found their confession amusing, interesting, and also personally significant.
I don’t think its too appropriate to talk about myself at the tarot table, so I didn’t raise this coincidence. Nor did I mention that when the Queen’s husband, Prince Philip passed, I had a dream with him sharing information about their family’s connection to the occult. He showed me around a private library in the afterlife. This was wholly laughable and surprising because I am in no way British or fond of the crown (any crown, really).
These types of curious things can happen anywhere, but they are most likely to happen where magick is afoot. Arcana was that magick. Thank you to Ellie, Leo, Moss, Tucker and all unnamed but appreciated co-conspirators for opening this door to the surreal, charming and mystical.
*If you’d like to stay tuned to what Ellie-chemist cooks up, you can find her on this platform here:
or on IG @toughporch. You can always find me for private divination appointments (tarot, palmistry, crystal ball and pyromancy) at www.gemineyetarot.com. Chronically embarassing myself online @gemineyetarot (IG/TikTok). xo.