Yellow Yellow Blue: Notes on an Exhibition by Megan Rooney

Megan Rooney: Yellow Yellow Blue (2025)

Acrylic, oil, pastel and oil stick on canvas

(200 x 152 cm / 78.5 x 60 in) 

Photo by Maria Thanassa

 

'You spend your life as a painter developing a relationship to colour and then 

testing the limits of that relationship. It’s radical, it’s ever-changing - 

it can submit to you and it can betray you. It always seduces, always excites.'  

                                                                                               - Megan Rooney

 

 

I. 

 

Sometimes you visit an exhibition because you know and admire the work of the artist and wish to be reassured of their genius and reconfirmed in the soundness of one's past judgement and the continuity of one's aesthetic tastes.   

 

But sometimes you visit an exhibition without any prior knowledge or formed opinion and in the hope that perhaps you'll discover something new not only about art, but about one's self ... 

 

And so to Thaddaeus Ropac, to see an exhibition of new paintings by the London-based artist Megan Rooney entitled Yellow Yellow Blue ... [1]

 

 

II. 

 

Probably it was the title of the show that first caught my interest: I like yellow and I like blue and in this body of work Rooney explores the chromatic territory that lies between yellow and blue (as well as the spectrum of green that emerges from mixing these two primary colours).   

 

Yellow I love for its emotional intensity (its joy, its vibrancy, its madness) [2]; blue for its profundity - for blue is the colour of the Greater Day and of the Void much loved by painters, poets, and philosophers; a colour which Christian Dior once described as the only one that can possibly compete with black, which remains the ne plus ultra of all colours [3]. 

 

But, having read the press release for the show, I was intrigued also to see how Rooney - said to be an enigmatic storyteller - manages to construct a dreamlike narrative indirectly referencing "some of the most urgent issues of our time" whilst also addressing "the myriad effects of politics and society that manifest in the home and on the female body" [4], simply by using colours, lines, shapes, and gestural marks on canvas in an almost entirely abstract manner.

 

For whilst I'm happy to accept that you can use purely visual elements to convey emotion or explore the formal qualities of painting as an art, I'm not entirely convinced (as a writer and philosopher) that you can adequately convey the kind of ideas mentioned above simply with such elements; ultimately, words - not colours - remain the primary tool for this. 

 

 

III. 

 

Located on the gallery's two floors, Yellow Yellow Blue presents pieces ranging from a dozen or so small works on paper (pretty enough, but not massively exciting) to large-scale (slightly overwhelming) canvases alongside a family of works in Rooney's signature wingspan format (i.e., equivalent to the full-reach of her outstretched arms). 

 

A bit like Goldilocks, I preferred these works; not too big, not too small, just right in size; for like D. H. Lawrence, I think it important that an artist acknowedge their limitations and the fact that they end at their finger-tips [5].

 

I liked the fact that Rooney clearly puts a LOT of work into what she does; constantly layering on paint, then sanding the works down and attempting to discover forms which might lie buried deep within the surface, before then slapping on more and more paint. 

 

By her own confession, Rooney often continues working on canvases right up until the opening; some seemed to be still wet in places and one could smell the canvases before even entering the room to view them - this was something else I also liked very much.   

 

Some works made one think of Monet and his water lilies and as I believe abstract impressionism is a thing, I don't think that's too crass or naive an observation [6]. Other works, because of their yellowness as an essential common feature, invariably made one think of Van Gogh. 

 

Still, as Rooney likes to talk of her paintings as having family connections - i.e., of being intimately connected to one another "as well as the lineage of paintings that precedes them" [7], I don't suppose she'll object to my seeing of similarities between her works and those of le dandy of impressionism and het gekke menneke of post-impressionism.  

 

 

IV. 

 

"Does anyone know, really, what a life is?" asks Emily LaBarge [8].    

 

As a reader of Deleuze, I suppose I could put my hand up and answer: Yes: a life is something inseparable from philosophy conceived in terms of pure immanence; something that has to be invented [9].   

But nobody likes a smart arse and I suppose it's essentially a rhetorical question - albeit one the answer to which just might lie in painting, according to LaBarge; an art form that captures something of temporal and spatial reality, even whilst painting does not quite belong to the same temporal and spatial reality of this world.  

Thus it is that: "As soon as we think we have identified something recognisable in [Rooney's paintings] - a copse of trees? a flurry of lilacs? a sunrise? a chimney? a rain-soaked evening? - it disappears ..."  

That's true - or at least, I think I know what Ms LaBarge means by this: All that is solid melts into light and colour, as Marx might have put it. 

 

The moment you grasp something concrete in Rooney's work, "it departs, skitters away, taking your heart with it, if only to throw it back to you [...] with the reminder that this image is also, first and formost, a painting: a made thing, worked and burnished [...] where luminous forms merge and fly like ghosts". 

 

And that's the beauty of abstract art; it doesn't just present on a plate like representational art - it gives, takes back, and gives once more - or, more precisely perhaps, it shows and hides and then shows some more in a provocative game of tease: It always seduces, always excites!

 

And if it fails to satisfy, that's arguably the point and it tells us something crucial not only about pleasure, but about the allure and withdrawal of objects in a way that a still life cannot.  

 

     

Megan Rooney photographed in her studio 

by Eva Herzog (2023)

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] Megan Rooney: Yellow Yellow Blue at Thaddaeus Ropac (London) 12 June - 2 August 2025: click here for details. 

      See also Megan Rooney's page on ropac.net: click here, or visit her own website: megan-rooney.com   

 

[2] See the post 'How Beautiful Yellow Is' (1 May 2024): click here. 

 

[3] I have written several posts on the colour blue in art and literature; click here, for example, for a post dated 1 April 2017 on Rilke's blue delirium; or click here, for a post dated 2 April 2017 on the work of Yves Klein.  

 

[4] From the exhibition press release written by Nina Sandhaus (Head of Press, Thaddaeus Ropac London): click here. 

 

[5] See D. H. Lawrence, 'Why the Novel Matters', in Study of Thomas Hardy and Other Essays, ed. Bruce Steele (Cambridge University Press, 1985). pp.191-198. 

      Lawrence argues that every man or woman - artist, philosopher, poet, or scientist included - ends at their own finger-tips and that this is a simple, but profoundly vital, truth. We may draw sustenance and stimulation from outside ourselves - from sights and sounds and smells and ideas, etc. - and these may allow us to change, but it's the living body upon which these things act that remains the most important. 

      Rooney appears to share this view, which is why she (mostly) likes to keep her canvases roughly 200 x 152 cm in size; i.e., in relation to her own reach, her own body. Thus, as it says in the gallery's press release: "The body has a sustained presence in Rooney’s work, as both the subjective starting point and final site for the sedimentation of experiences explored through her [...] practice."   

 

[6] Abstract impressionism is an art movement that originated in New York City, in the 1940s, the term apparently being coined by the painter and critic Elaine de Kooning and then popularised by Louis Finkestein (initially to describe the works of Philip Guston). 

      I'm not sure Rooney would wish to be associated with the term, but there is something lyrical in her canvases and although resolutely abstract, her works "contain fleeting suggestions of recognisable forms [...] ladders, beehives, clouds, trees, skies and tombs weave through the exhibition, like fugitive glimpses of a half-dreamed world". Again, see the gallery press release by Nina Sandhaus available to download from the Thaddaeus Ropac website.

 

[7] Nina Sandhaus, press release for Yellow Yellow Blue.  

 

[8] Emily LaBarge, 'Like the Flap of a Wave', written for the catalogue to Megan Rooney's exhibition Yellow Yellow Blue (Thaddaeus Ropac London, 2025). All lines quoted in this section of the post are from this text unless stated otherwise. 

      The title of the piece refers us to the possibility that if you squint hard enough and long enough at Rooney's large canvases you might just imagine, as LeBarge did, "Virginia Woolf's London as described by her heroine, Clarissa Dalloway, on a fresh morning in spring [...] when everything seems [...] to be happening all at once, the past and present kaleidoscoping in a work of art".      

[9] See Gilles Deleuze, 'Pure Immanence: A Life', in Pure Immanence: Essays on a Life, Intro. by John Rajchman, trans. Anne Boyman (Zone Books, 2005).  

 

 

My Purrfect Catwoman

 

Fig. 1 Selina Kyle as Catwoman wearing her classic outfit (DC Comics)

Fig. 2 Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman in Batman Returns (dir. Tim Burton, 1992)  

 

I.

 

I think everyone likes the DC comic book character Catwoman, criminal alter ego of Selina Kyle, created by Bill Finger and artist Bob Kane in 1940 [1]. 

 

Even Batman can't resist her feline charms and, despite the fact that she is one of his major adversaries, many stories depict them as a couple caught in a complicated romantic relationship. Probably this has something to do with Finger and Kane deciding from the outset that they wanted to give the character sex appeal [2].  

 

Not that there's anything wrong with that! Even D. H. Lawrence approves of sex appeal, which he defines as the communicating of beauty and the kindling of a sense of warmth and gaiety. 

 

For Lawrence, indeed, the loveliness of a really lovely woman - such as Selina Kyle, in whom sex burns brightly - lights up the entire  world. To encounter such a woman - extremely rare even in a comic book universe containing wonder women and supergirls - is a genuine experience [3].     

 

However, without wishing to jump on any kind of moral highhorse, I do sometimes feel that the kinky hypersexualisation of Catwoman has been taken too far in recent years and that this negatively impacts upon a character with a long and interesting history. 

 

As one commentator writes:  

 

"She's always been attractive, however, her [...] complexity takes a nosedive when creators rely too heavily on feline and female cultural connotations. When she's rendered with an extremely minimal waist, but with boundless cleavage [...] her power is diminished." [4]

 

The same commentator adds that whilst the the way Catwoman is drawn in the comic books diverges from artist to artist, all too often "her imagery falls into the realm of overplayed sex fantasy" and her body is often "twisted submissively into feline poses" [5] that are essentially designed to titilate heterosexual male readers.   

 

 

II. 

 

Many people blame TV and Hollywood for this hypersexualisation of Catwoman; from Julie Newmar in the 1960s, to Michelle Pfeiffer in the 1990s, Catwoman has always been portrayed on screen in a manner that emphasises her physical attributes rather than her criminal skills and intelligence [6]. 

 

However, we might also remind ourselves that it was the comic book writer Frank Miller (in collaboration with artist David Mazzucchelli) who not only reimagined Batman as the so-called Dark Knight, but radically revised Catwoman's origin and character ...

 

Thus, in Batman: Year One (1987), we were now asked to accept that before becoming a cat-suited thief, Selina Kyle had worked as a dominatrix whilst also taking care of a 13-year-old prostitute named Holly Robinson.

 

And that, I would suggest, is a pretty much perfect example of the pornification of popular culture.      

 

 

III. 

 

So, how then would I envision Catwoman, if I were tasked with so-doing? 

 

Well, I'd be tempted to return to her Golden Age look prior to the Batman TV show, consisting of a purple dress, a green cape, a domino mask, and mid-length boots. It's a good look: sexy, but sophisticated and stylish, rather than porno-fetishistic in a way that - even if once transgressive - has now become boring and stereotypical. (See figures 1 and 2 above.) 

 

Alternatively, I think I'd go for a look inspired by legendary English ballerina Margot Forteyn, as Agathe, in Roland Petit's Les Demoiselles de la Nuit (1948): see figure 3 below. 

 

For ultimately my perfect Catwoman is graceful and stealthy rather than raunchy and explicit; a daring thief characterised by impeccable manners and charm, who steals rare and beautiful objects not because they are valuable, but because she enjoys the challenge and the danger involved; a woman who defies convention and lives on her own terms, but doesn't drone on about being empowered or feel the need to have the letters BDSM tramp-stamped on her lower back to show us how sexually liberated she is.    

 

 

Fig. 3: Margot Fonteyn as Agathe the Cat in 

Roland Petit's Les Demoiselles de la Nuit (1948) [7]

 

  

Notes

 

[1] Kyle features as a mysterious jewel thief called the Cat in Batman #1 (Spring, 1940). Although she doesn't wear her iconic cat-suit and mask, the story establishes Kyle's character as a feline femme fatale who both frustrates and attracts Bruce Wayne.

 

[2] As mentioned, what Finger and Kane did not originally give Catwoman, however, was a costume or any form of disguise. It was not until her third appearance that she donned a full-face furry cat mask and not until sometime later that she adopted what became her regular look prior to the Batman TV show, consisting of a purple dress, a green cape, a domino mask, and calf-length boots. This costume is distinct from the sleek and shiny catsuit she is now known for. 

  

[3] See D. H. Lawrence, 'Sex Appeal', in Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton, (Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 143-148. I discuss this text in relation to the thinking of E. M. Cioran in a post published on 24 September 2018: click here 

 

[4] Elliot Swan, 'The Oversexualization of Catwoman Harms Her Character', on CBR (6 June 2013): click here. 

 

[5] Ibid.  

 

[6] Julie Newmar was the first actress to play Catwoman during the first two seasons (1966-67) of the live-action TV series Batman, starring Adam West as the caped crusader Bruce Wayne and Burt Ward as Dick Grayson (aka Robin). Newmar later revealed in an interview that the skin-tight costume she wore left her no option but to tell the character's story with the movements, postures, and gestures of her body. 

      Unfortunately, due to an injury, Newmar was unable to reprise the character for the full-length movie based on the TV show (dir. Leslie H. Martinson, 1966), thus opening the way for Lee Meriwether to play Catwoman. But perhaps the most famous actress to do so is Michelle Pfeiffer, who haphazardly stitched and squeezed herself into an iconic shiny black cat-suit in the 1992 movie directed by Tim Burton, Batman Returns, playing opposite Michael Keaton's Batman. This movie was far darker and more sexual in tone - as well as more violent - than many fans and critics were anticipating. 

      Pfeiffer's latex costume - of which there were dozens made at a $1000 a pop - was designed by Bob Ringwood and Mary E. Vogt. Some versions, made from a cast of Pfeiffer's body, were so tight that she had to be covered in baby powder in order to get into them. Ringwood and Vogt found it problematic to add actual stitching to latex and so they essentially painted what looked like stitching on to the suit with liquid silicon while it was worn by Pfeiffer.     

 

[7] Roland Petit's one-act ballet Les Demoiselles de la Nuit premiered in Paris at the Théâtre Marigny on May 22, 1948. The libretto was by Jean Anouilh, with music by Jean Françaix. The costumes and set designs were by Leonor Fini. Petit created the role of Agathe especially for Miss Fonteyn.  

      It tells the tragic story of a poet-musician who falls in love with his beautiful cat Agathe, who has magically assumed semi-human form. Agathe initially attempts to be faithful to her human lover, but is eventually seduced by the sound of male cats howling in the night and the desire for freedom. Leaping from a rooftop in order to escape, the poet-musician tries to grab hold of her and they both fall to their death. 

 

 

Readers might be interested in an earlier post on feline femininity - 'Reflections on the Case of Irena Dubrovna' (4 June 2022) - click here. 

 

Readers might also like this piece of artwork slightly reimagining the work of Finger and Kane from the first issue of Batman (Spring 1940) that I didn't have the chance to use in the main body of this post: 

 

 

 

The Battle of Blythe Road: The Great Beast Versus W. B. Yeats

Messrs. Crowley (1875 - 1947) and Yeats (1865 - 1939)

 

'Crowley climbed the stairs. But Yeats and two other white magicians came resolutely forward 

to meet him, ready to protect the holy place at any cost. When Crowley came within range 

the forces of good struck out with their feet and kicked him downstairs.' [1]

 

 

I. 

 

We recently discussed the (non-)relationship between Aleister Crowley and D. H. Lawrence, which basically consisted of a few bitchy and dismissive remarks that the one made about the other and the fact that they had certain ideas in common, moved in similar circles, and were both demonised in the popular press [2].  

 

In other words, they never physically met in person and that is probably just as well, for it's easier to imagine their coming to blows than it is their politely conversing round a dinner table. Having said that, however, Crowley almost certainly would have enjoyed Lawrence's company far more than that of Irish poet W. B. Yeats, with whom he had an actual skirmish that is always worth the retelling.

 

Ah, let us start from the beginning ... 

II.

 

The Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn was a short-lived (but hugely influential) secret society devoted to the study and practice of esoteric philosophy and occultism during the late 19th and early 20th centuries; kind of a masonic lodge with magical knobs on that, unusually for the time, allowed women to join on an equal basis.    

 

The first temple (Isis-Urania) was established in London in 1888; other temples soon followed, including the Horus temple in Bradford (1888), the Amen-Ra temple in Edinburgh (1893), and the Ahathoor temple established by MacGregor Mathers [3] in Paris (1893), presumably with the full blessing of the Secret Chiefs [4]. 

 

By the mid-1890s, the Golden Dawn was well established, with over one hundred members from every class of Victorian society and a number of well-known individuals, including the actress and composer Florence Farr, the Irish revolutionary and suffragette Maud Gonne, and the Irish poet and playwright William Butler Yeats, who joined the Order in March 1890 and was known by the magical name or motto Daemon est Deus inversus [5]. 

 

Aleister Crowley - resented by some as a Johnny-come-lately - was initiated into the Outer Order of the Golden Dawn in November 1898, at the Isis-Urania temple in London. The ceremony was led by MacGregor Mathers, who, by this date, was in complete control of things. Crowley received the magical name Frater Perdurabo (the latter term indicating his determination to persevere with his magical work and endure all hardships).

 

A year is a long time in the esoteric world, however, and towards the end of 1899 more and more senior Golden Dawn members, including Florence Farr, were becoming dissatisfied with Mathers's autocratic leadership style, his growing friendship with (and reliance upon) Crowley, and the fact that he spent most of his time in Paris rather than London [6]. 

 

Cracks were threatening to widen into splits and splits widen into schisms and the ensuing power struggle resulted in an incident known as The Battle of Blythe Road ...

 

 

III. 

 

As indicated, young Crowley was unpopular with many members of the Golden Dawn from the first; some were uncomfortable with his idiosyncratic interpretation of ceremonial procedures and rules in general; others didn't approve of his libertine lifestyle involving drugs and bisexuality. 

 

Yeats, for example, favoured a far more structured approach to magic and wanted to incorporate his esoteric beliefs into a broader aesthetico-political project. He had very little time for the darkness and chaos that Crowley thrived in and perpetuated. The two men had such radically different philosophies and personalities and held one another in such contempt that it was almost inevitable that they would end up in a physical altercation. 

 

And when Crowley showed an increasing willingness "to use his occult powers for evil rather than for good, the adepts of the order, Yeats among them, decided not to allow him to be initiated into the inner circle", fearing that he'd "profane the mysteries and unleash powerful magic forces against humanity" [7]. 

 

Mathers was obliged to step in when he heard about this, personally enabling Crowley to attain the higher grade he deserved. He also felt it necessary to take further disciplinary action against those challenging his authority. And so, in March 1900, Mathers dismissed Farr as his London representative. 

 

Unfortunately, however, this only triggered an emergency general meeting in which a motion was passed calling for his removal from office and, indeed, expulsion from the Order. The Isis-Urania temple had declared its independence and autonomy and Mathers and Crowley were now personae non gratae.     

 

What happened after this is, depending on one's point of view, either an example of the seriousness with which occultists take matters, or an example of just how farcical these robe-wearing, spell-casting, Golden Dawners could be ...    

 

Acting under orders from Paris, Crowley - with the help of his mistress Elaine Simpson - was sent to take control of the Golden Dawn's London headquarters at 36 Blythe Road in West Kensington, collect some sensitive papers that were held there, and convince as many senior members as possible to sign a pledge of allegiance to Mathers.   

 

Anticipating trouble, Crowley had cast certain spells beforehand; both to protect himself and disenable his enemies. But, just in case - wearing full Highland dress with a plaid thrown over his shoulder and a black mask over his face - Crowley also armed himself with a dagger at his side.   

 

Upon arriving at the address, Crowley attempted to ascend a flight of stairs, only to find his path blocked by Yeats and two other members of the Golden Dawn, who told him to leave in no uncertain terms. When Crowley refused to do so, Yeats resorted to the less than magical means of eviction and kicked Crowley down the stairs. 

 

The latter was then escorted out of the building, whilst Yeats calmly telephoned the police in order to report the incident ... [8] 

 

 

 Golden Dawn Rose Cross Lamen 

 

Notes

 

[1] Richard Ellmann, 'Black Magic Against White; Aleister Crowley Versus W. B. Yeats', in Partisan Review, Vol. XV, No. 9 (September 1948). I don't know if this story originates with Ellmann - who claimed that Crowley told him it on his deathbed - but it is contradicted by first person accounts, including Yeats's own. See note 8 below. 

 

 [2] See the post 'Aleister Crowley and D. H. Lawrence: The Great Beast Versus the Priest of Love' (21 June 2025): click here. 

 

[3] Samuel Liddell (MacGregor) Mathers (1854 - 1918), was a British Freemason and occultist primarily known as one of the three original founders of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn (the other two being William Robert Woodman and William Wynn Westcott).   

      By 1891, Mathers had assumed leadership of the Golden Dawn, but - as we shall see in part III of the post - personality clashes and challenges to his authority eventually resulted in his expulsion in April 1900. Retreating full-time to Paris, Mathers formed his own secret society called Alpha et Omega (based at the Ahathoor Temple). 

      Crowley - his one-time friend and ally - became a stern critic in later years and thought Mathers well-meaning, but a piss-poor leader who had been largely responsible for the rapid fading of the Golden Dawn.

 

[4] The Secret Chiefs are believed to be the spiritual authorities responsible not only for the operation of the cosmos, but for overseeing the day-to-day running of esoteric organisations and magical orders. Some believe them to be incarnate in human form (but with superhuman powers) and working anonymously in secret locations; others insist they exist only on a higher plane.

      In 1892, MacGregor Mathers - one of the founders of the Golden Dawn - claimed that he had contacted the Secret Chiefs and that they confirmed his authority. Much to the irritation of those who took all this very seriously indeed, Crowley would declare that he had attained Secret Chief status in 1909.

 

[5] Yeats was initially given the classical Latin adage Festina Lente, but changed it as he progressed through the ranks of the Golden Dawn. For a recent post on this idea of making haste slowly, click here. 

      Just for the record, Florence Farr was initiated into the Golden Dawn by Yeats, in July 1890, taking the magical motto Sapientia Sapienti Dona Data (Wisdom is a gift given to the wise); Maud Gonne was initiated in November of the following year, having been invited to join the party by Yeats, and she received the magical motto Per Ignem ad Lucem (Through fire to the light).

     For readers who might be wondering, such mottoes (or aspiration names) are taken by initiates in a number of magical orders in order to separate their magical identity from their mundane identity. Within the Golden Dawn, mottoes were usually in a foreign language, but not always Latin. Members were free to change them as they progressed into higher degrees of the organisations. 

      See the post published on Halloween 2020 entitled 'On Magical Names and the Nietzsche-Crowley Connection' - click here.

 

[6] To be fair, Mathers was married to a French woman; the artist and occultist Moina Mathers (born Mina Bergson, younger sister to the philosopher Henri Bergson). Moina was the first initiate of the Golden Dawn in March, 1888. Her chosen motto was Vestigia Nulla Retrorsum (Prudence never retraces its steps). In 1918, following the death of her husband, Moina took over the Alpha et Omega as its Imperatrix. She died in 1928 in London.  

 

[7] Richard Ellmann, 'Black Magic Against White; Aleister Crowley Versus W. B. Yeats', op. cit. Again, I think we should take this statement with a pinch of salt. 

 

[8] It is more than likely that this popular account of events - for which I'm assuming Ellmann's 1948 essay is to blame - is humorously exaggerated, at best; if not entirely fictional. Yeats wrote his own rather more sober statement, which he then printed for circulation among senior members of the London temple Isis-Urania. According to this, Crowley was simply prevented from entering the building and obliged, with the assistance of a policeman, to leave the area. 

      When the case eventually went to court, the judge ruled in favour of the London lodge retaining possession of 36 Blythe Road, as they were the ones paying the rent. 

      To read Yeats's statement in full, see the blog post by Sally North on the Hollythorn Press website (13 June 2024): click here.  

 

Aleister Crowley and D. H. Lawrence: The Great Beast Versus The Priest of Love

Messrs. Crowley (1875 - 1947) and Lawrence (1885 - 1930)  

I. 

 

The great English occultist Aleister Crowley and the great English novelist D. H. Lawrence never actually met in person. 

 

And that's probably just as well; for whilst they both had scandalous reputations [1], it's almost impossible to imagine they would have become pals.

 

Despite never crossing paths, however, Crowley and Lawrence were certainly aware of one another and had several friends and acquaintances in common [2]. 

 

What's more, not only did Crowley and Lawrence move in similar bohemian circles, but they also lived in some of the same places, including Cornwall [3] and Sicily [4], for example.    

 

 

II.  
 

I'm not a Crowley expert, but my understanding is that, essentially, he viewed Lawrence's work as naive and unrefined. 

 

Thus, whilst he approved of Lawrence's pagan sensuality, for example, at the same time he felt it overly romantic; capable of arousing adolescent passions, but not of satisfying the more mature tastes of the sophisticated libertine. 

 

Further - and this is rather surprising, coming as it does  from a practitioner of sex magick - Crowley thought Lawrence exaggerated the importance of sexual relationships (in much the same way as Jung criticised Freud) and that this ultimately has fatal consequences [5].      

 

 

III.

 

What then did Lawrence think of Crowley? 

 

To answer this we must turn to his letters, although even here the references to Crowley are few and far between and Lawrence's interest in pagan occultism and the magical arts was inspired more by the writings of Madame Blavatsky, James Frazer, and J. M. Pryce [6] than by The Great Beast, even whilst conceding that the latter was one of those esoteric wonder-freaks whom people think it marvellous to name-drop [7]. 

 

In July 1910, Lawrence read a volume of selected poems by Crowley entitled Ambergris (1910), borrowed from Grace Crawford, an acquaintance of his whom he had met through Ezra Pound. But he soon returned the book, simply stating that he "didn't like it" [8], having anticipated his own likely response in an earlier letter to Miss Crawford, writing that if Ambergris "smells like Crowley [...] Civet cats and sperm whales" then it will be "pretty bad" [9]. 

 

Fast forward a few years, and Lawrence again mentions Crowley in his correspondence ...

Writing to his Australian friend, the writer and publisher, P. R. Stephensen, in September 1929, Lawrence expresses his concern that the Mandrake Press - which Stephensen had co-founded with Edward Goldston earlier that year - was too heavily committed to publishing Crowley's work, saying that, in his view, the latter's time "was rather over" [10] (the implication being that the day belonged more to him and Stephensen should therefore concentrate on publishing more of his work).   

 

 

IV.

 

Ultimately, we can say that Lawrence had an ambivalent relationship to occultism and to the individuals who studied or practiced the magical arts.    

 

Thus, on the one hand, he would mock those such as Meredith Starr and his wife [11] as herb-eating occultists who "descend naked into mine-shafts, and there meditate for hours and hours, upon their own transcendent infinitude" [12]. 

 

But, on the other hand, Lawrence was excited by Starr's knowledge of the subject and the latter's fine collection of rare books "opened up ideas and images" [13] that Lawrence was able to incorporate into his own philosophy. 

 

In a letter to the American author Waldo Frank, Lawrence attempts to clarify his position:

 

"I am not a theosophist, though the esoteric doctrines are marvellously illuminating, historically. I hate the esoteric forms. Magic has also interested me a good deal. But it is all part of the past, and part of the past self in us: and it no good going back, even to the wonderful things. They are ultimately vieux jeu." [14]

 

In the same letter, Lawrence adds: 

 

"There should be again a body of esoteric doctrine, defended from the herd [...] a body of pure thought, kept sacred and clean" and argues that a new earth and heaven will only come about through "the sanctity of a mystery, the mystery of the initiation into pure being" [15]. 

 

This is surely a view that Crowley would endorse (and a sentiment he would share) and I think Ronald Hutton is right to suggest the Priest of Love and The Great Beast have more in common than either cared to admit [16]. 

 

Finally, we might mention a letter to the artist Mark Gertler, written in the spring of 1918, in which Lawrence again opens up about his continuing interest in all things esoteric, whilst taking the opportunity to have a pop at a friend-turned-enemy with whom he had even once planned to collaborate on a lecture series:

 

"I have been reading another book on occultism. Do you know anybody who cares for this - magic, astrology, anything of that sort. It is very interesting, and important - though antipathetic to me. Certainly magic is a reality - not by any means the nonsense Bertie Russell says it is." [17] 

 

 

Crowley self-portrait (1918) / Lawrence self-portrait (1929)

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] In 1923, the British weekly magazine John Bull branded Crowley the wickedest man in the world. Five years later, it characterised the author of Lady Chatterley's Lover as a diseased sex maniac who prostituted art to pornography.   

 

[2] Both Crowley and Lawrence were friends with the composer Philip Heseltine (aka Peter Warlock), for example; as they were with Cecil Gray, another composer and music critic with a strong interest in occultism. 

     

[3] Lawrence and his wife Frieda lived in the small village of Zennor, in Cornwall, from March 1916 until October 1917, when they were evicted from the county by the authorities. Cornwall, of course, had longstanding connections to witchcraft and attracted a number of individuals keen to explore what we now term alternative lifestyles.   

      Aleister Crowley visited Zennor on many occasions, both before and after the Lawrences lived there, and he is believed to have had connections with Carne Cottage, where Katherine (Ka) Cox - Rupert Brooke's lover and Virginia Woolf's bestie - died in mysterious circumstances, in May 1938.

 

[4] Lawrence and his wife Frieda lived at the villa Fontana Vecchia, in the hilltop town of Taormina, on the east coast of Sicily, from March 1920 to February 1922. 

      Crowley, meanwhile, and some of his followers - including his Scarlet Woman Leah Hirsig - were setting up house during this period 130 miles down the road at the so-called Abbey of Thelema, in the small fishing town of Cefalù (from where they were eventually evicted by Mussolini, in April 1923).   

 

[5] Crowley's critical dismissal of Lawrence is not uncommon for its time, but it is unfair. For whilst agreeing with Freud that an element of sex enters into all human activity, Lawrence nevertheless insists that this is only half the picture and that it is mistaken, therefore, to say that all is sex: "All is not sex. And a sexual motive is not to be attributed to all human activities." 

      For Lawrence, as for Crowley, there is something else "of even higher importance and greater dynamic power" than sex, and that is the religious or creative motive: "This is the prime motivity. And the motivitity of sex is subsidiary to this: often directly antagonistic." 

      See Fantasia of the Unconscious, ed. Bruce Steele (Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 66-67.

 

[6] Lawrence gleaned a lot of his ideas from Blavatsky's Secret Doctrine (1888), Frazer's Golden Bough (1890), and Pryse's Apocalypse Unsealed (1910), and was more influenced by the mystical and sexual radicalism of Edward Carpenter (Civilisation: Its Cause and Cure, 1889), than by Crowley's philosophy.  

 

[7] See the letter to his friend Ernest Collins (22 March 1914) in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II, ed.George J. Zytaruk and James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 157. 

      Thanking Collins for sending him a newly published book of his drawings, Lawrence writes: "You are a queer man. I think if you persist you will one day have a real boom. Because people will think you are an esoteric wonder-freak, and it will be a kind of aesthetic qualification to know you, as it was to know Bearsley, and is rather now, to know Alastair." 

      Despite the misspelling, the latter is understood to have been a reference to Aleister Crowley.     

 

[8] See the letter from Lawrence to Grace Crawford (24 July 1910) in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. I, ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 1979), p. 171.  

 

[9] D. H. Lawrence, letter to Grace Crawford (9 July 1910), in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. I, p. 169.   

 

[10] D. H. Lawrence, letter to P. R. Stephensen (5 Sept 1929), in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. VII, ed. Keith Sagar and James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 469.

      The Mandrake Press were contracted to publish five titles by Crowley, including a book of short stories (The Strategem and Other Stories, 1929), a novel (Moonchild, 1929) and an autobiography (The Spirit of Solitude, subsequently retitled The Confessions of Aleister Crowley, of which the first two volumes were published in Nov-Dec. 1929). 

      Mandrake had also published The Paintings of D. H. Lawrence in the summer of 1929, so Lawrence had a vested interest in seeing this small press succeed. Unfortunately, however, the company soon ran into financial problems and a consortium led by Aleister Crowley took over. But this consortium was unable to turn things round and the company was dissolved in December 1930. It seems that even having the world's most powerful worker of magick on board can't stave off bankruptcy or keep tax officials and debt collectors from the door.

      See also Lawrence's letters written in November 1929 to his literary agent Laurence Pollinger, in the first of which he complains about Stephensen's lack of business sense and the fact that he has "spent far too much of Goldston's money" (VII 564) by printing 3000 copies of Crowley's novel and only sold 200 copies. 

      And in the second of which Lawrence can't resist passing on the latest literary gossip and having another dig at Crowley: 

      "I hear that Stephensen wants to float off the Mandrake into a limited company, as they have £6000-worth of stock to sell. Well it's none of it me. But it seems as if there was quite a definite breach between Stephensen and Goldston, so perhaps the Mandrake is already a withered root. Too bad!  but no wonder, with half a ton of Crowley on top of it." (VII 573) 

[11] As Jane Costin reminds us: "Meredith Starr and his wife Lady Mary Stamford [...] moved to Zennor after their marriage in 1917 and lived just a short walk away from Lawrence. Starr came from a wealthy family and, in the early twentieth century, wrote for Crowley’s publication The Equinox and also for The Occult Review which published articles and correspondence by many leading occultists". Starr regarded Crowley as the 'only real modern genius' and 'by far the greatest living artist in England'. 

      See Costin's excellent essay 'Lawrence and the "homeless soul"', in Études Lawrenciennes 56 (2024), which covers in detail much of the ground we have briefly touched upon in this post. Click here to read online.  

 

[12] D. H. Lawrence, writing to Lady Cynthia Asquith (3 Sept 1917) in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. III, ed. James T. Boulton and Andrew Robertson (Cambridge University Press, 1984), p. 158.

 

[13] Mark Kinkead-Weekes, D. H. Lawrence: Triumph to Exile 1912 - 1922, Vol. II of the Cambridge Biography (CUP, 1996), p. 386.  

 

[14] D. H. Lawrence, letter to Waldo Frank (27 July 1917), in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. III, p. 143.  

 

[15] Ibid. 

          

[16] Ronald Hutton is an English historian specialising in early British folklore, pre-Christian religion, and modern paganism. A professor at the University of Bristol, Hutton has written over a dozen books, including The Triumph of the Moon: a History of Modern Pagan Witchcraft, (Oxford University Press, 1999). A second, extensively revised edition of this work was published in 2019. 

      According to Hutton, Lawrence and Crowley shared the same desire for a religious revolution and a revaluation of all values (even if they wouldn't have agreed on what form this should take or how to proceed).           

 

[17] D. H. Lawrence, letter to Mark Gertler [28 April 1918], in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. III, p. 239.

      Re the Lawrence-Russell relationship and the planned lecture series in London, see chapter five of Mark Kinkead-Weekes, D. H. Lawrence: Triumph to Exile 1912 - 1922. See also the astonishing series of letters that Lawrence wrote to Russell between February 1915 and March 1916 in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II op. cit.    

 

 

This post is for Christina Harrington of Treadwell's (London). 

 

For a sister post to this one on The Battle of Blythe Road: The Great Beast Vs. W. B. Yeats (23 June 2025): click here.   

 

 

Reflections on a Pair of Brass Candlesticks

 The Darkest Place is Under the Candlestick ... 

(SA/2025)

 

 'I hate any thought of possessions sticking on to me like barnacles, 

at once I feel destructive.' - D. H. Lawrence [1] 

  

 

I. 

 

Apparently, brass candlesticks of the kind my mother kept on the mantlepiece from the early 1970s until the day she died in 2023 have seen a resurgence in popularity of late. People seem to think that they add a touch of warmth and maybe a hint of sophistication to a room. 

 

Of course, the British have loved their brass candlesticks since the 18th century when new casting techniques allowed them to be mass produced and to supersede and replace those made from wood or other materials, such as pewter. 

 

Brass - a metal alloy composed of copper and zinc - was seen as both practical and aesthetically pleasing due to its bright golden appearance and various styles and designs of candlestick emerged at this time; some with round, some with square, and some (like my mother's) with octagonal bases.      

 

Again, as with many of the objects I have inherited, I don't quite have the heart to throw them away or donate them to a charity shop (my sister, of course, would have sold them at a car boot sale at the earliest opportunity and been happy if she'd got a couple of quid for the pair).      

 

 

II.

 

Funnily enough, I find support for my decision to keep my mother's brass candlesticks in the following tale concerning D. H. Lawrence ... 

 

At the end of December 1915, he and his wife Frieda moved to Zennor, in Cornwall, staying initially in rooms at the local pub, The Tinners' Arms, before renting a cottage of their own, in which they lived for nearly two years. 

 

Clearly, unlike many of the other places he and Frieda lived at, Lawrence regarded Tregerthen Cottage as a genuine home; somewhere he could put down roots and it was his hope that the tiny village of Zennor, about 5 miles from St. Ives, might become the centre of a small community (Rananim) composed of friends and like-minded individuals, such as the literary couple John Middleton Murry and Katherine Mansfield.      

 

As one commentator notes: 

 

"Once he moved in to his small cottage [...] Lawrence's letters describe his engagement in sustained bouts of home making [...] he painted the walls pale pink and the ceiling white. From second hand wood his landlord gave him, Lawrence made book shelves that he painted royal blue [...] and also a dresser 'with cupboard below, and shelves for plates above' (2L 591)." [2]   

  

What Lawrence desperately wanted to finish furnishing his cottage with, however - as revealed in a letter to the artist Mark Gertler - were the brass candlesticks that had once belonged to his mother: 

 

"I only miss my pair of brass candlesticks. [...] I do hope they are not lost, because they are the only thing that I have kept from my own home, and I am really attached to them." [3]  

 

For Lawrence - as, I suppose, for me - his mother's candlesticks are more than just physical relics; they possess an almost magical allure and are invested with all kinds of memories; capable thus of evoking powerful thoughts and feelings.

 

Lawrence's anxious questioning of his friends on the whereabouts of his candlesticks indicates just how important they were to him and makes us wonder how sincere he was being in the epigraph that appears at the top of this post ...

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, letter to Lady Ottoline Morrel [15? April 1915], in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II., ed. George J. Zytaruk and James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 318. 

 

[2] Jane Costin, 'Lawrence and the "homeless soul"', in Études Lawrenciennes 56 (2024): click here to read online. 

      Note that (2L 591) refers to The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II., p. 591. Lawrence was writing to Lady Ottoline Morrell (7 April 1916). 

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence in a letter to Mark Gertler (22 March 1916), in The Letters of D. H. Lawrence, Vol. II., p. 584. 

      See also the letter written a few days later to S. S. Koteliansky (28 March 1916), in which Lawrence is still banging on about his pair of brass candlesticks and their whereabouts (II. 589). I don't know if he ever retrieved them, but I hope so. 

 

 

Readers who liked this post might also like: 'Objects Make Happy' (4 May 2024) - click here - and 'Be a Little Deaf and Blind ... How Cynical Pragmatism Secures Wedded Bliss' (23 Feb 2025) - click here. Both these posts feature objects that had belonged to my mother. 

 

In Praise of the Scarlet Women 2: Leah Hirsig

Leah Hirsig photographed soon after taking 

the magical name Alostrael in 1919 

 

O ma Lady Babalon / O ma beauté, ma divine ...

 

 

I. Opening Remarks   

 

As we discussed in part one of this post, the goddess Babalon features prominently in Aleister Crowley's philosophy, magical practice, and, indeed, his love life; for Babalon can conveniently take the human form of an attractive young harlot and these Scarlet Women are naturally inclined to seek him out as the (one and only) living embodiment of The Great Beast as their lover [1].  

 

Crowley designated several of his mistresses with the title Scarlet Woman whom, he believed, would play a crucial role in helping him invoke the coming age known as the Aeon of Horus (whilst also satisfying his own perverse sexual appetites). 

 

As Crowley writes in The Book of Thoth (1944):

 

"She rides astride the Beast; in her left hand she holds the reins, representing the passion which unites them. In her right she holds aloft the cup, the Holy Grail aflame with love and death. In this cup are mingled the elements of the sacrament of the Aeon". [2]  

 

Just to be clear: when Crowley refers to the elements of the sacrement, he is referring either to a mixture of female sexual fluids and semen, or, alternatively, menstrual blood (the effluvium of Babalon) and semen; hygrophilia is arguably the kinky secret at the heart of sex magick.    

 

 

II. Leah Hirsig (1883 - 1975) 

 

Leah Hirsig is arguably the most famous of Crowley's Scarlet Women. 

 

In part, that's because she stood by (and put up with) Crowley for the longest period of time compared to the others and in part it's also because she was the one who kept  a detailed written record of her experiences in the role and her relationship with him [3].  

 

Hirsig was born in Switzerland, but her family moved to the United States when she was two-years-old and so was raised in NYC. Interested in occultism from an early age, she decided in the spring of 1918 to pay a visit to the Beast himself who was at that time living in Greenwich Village. 

 

The two felt an immediate connection upon meeting and before long he was not only painting portraits of Hirsig - often as a dead soul, at her request (as seen in the photo above) - but had decided to consecrate Leah as his new Scarlet Woman with the magickal name Alostrael. This name, meaning the womb of God, indicated how Crowley saw her role developing (i.e., as a broodmare) [4].    

Hirsig certainly embraced this new role with gusto, writing in her diary: 

 

I dedicate myself wholly to The Great Work. I will work for wickedness, I will kill my heart, I will be shameless before all men, I will freely prostitute my body to all creatures. 

 

Part of killing her own heart presumably meant learning to forget about her old life and agreeing to move with Crowley to Sicily where they established the Abbey of Thelema in April 1920, in a rented house [5]. More than just a pretty face, Sister Alostrael was instrumental in helping Crowley organise life at the Abbey and help him reach a deeper understanding of the way of the gods. 

 

Crowley, who rarely acknowledged the contribution of others, confessed that Hirsig had rescued him from a period of depression and self-doubt, enabling him to see that it was vital not to "look to the dead past, or gamble with the unformed future" but live in the actual present and be "wholly absorbed in The Great Work" [6].

 

When other members of Crowley's magickal family proved themselves not up to the mark by dying [7], Leah remained 100% devoted to him and to her desire for a life that transgressed all boundaries; a desire which led her, for example, into an unsuccessful attempt to copulate with a he-goat as part of an ancient pagan ritual. 

 

Not even Crowley's financial problems and poor health could dent her faith in him, although she did note in her diary that his rasping voice following surgery to try and alleviate his acute asthma symptoms got on her nerves to the point that she wanted to scream.  

 

Again, so touched was Crowley by her committment to the Thelemic cause and personal loyalty to him, that he wrote a charming love poem entitled 'Leah Sublime' in her honour: click here. She was, it seemed, the perfect partner and the most crimson coloured of all his Scarlet Women.  

 

Nevertheless, Crowley being Crowley, by the summer of 1924 he was growing tired of Leah and felt it was time to move on and find himself a new woman for the role ... enter Dorothy Olsen [8].  

 

Despite Crowley's terminating their romantic relationship and then essentially abandoning her [9], Hirsig continued with her magickal studies and practices, deciding that if she were no longer able to be consort of The Great Beast, she would make herself the Bride of Chaos instead. And just to prove that she bore Crowley no ill will, Hirsig readily agreed to serve as his secretary the following year.         

 

However, in 1928 her older sister Alma published an amusing exposé of the American Tantric occultist Pierre Bernard, of whom she had been a keen follower, taking the opportunity also to shit on Crowley [10]. One suspects that Leah was secretly complicit in this, as she later rejected Crowley's status as a prophet and brought his Beasthood into question (albeit whilst still affirming the Law of Thelema). 

 

Back in the United States, married and with a son, Hirsig resumed her earlier career as a schoolteacher and some say she even converted to Roman Catholicism. Whatever the truth of this, she lived a long (and one hopes happy) life, before dying in Switzerland, aged 91, in 1975.     

 

Whatever one might think of Miss Hirsig, at some level one has to love her and admit she was an extraordinary woman.  

Portrait of Leah Hirsig by Linda Macfarlane 

(Acrylic on canvas board 24 x 25 in.) 

lindamacfarlaneart.com

 

Notes

 

[1] In The Law is for All - a series of commentaries upon The Book of the Law - Crowley is at pains to point out that whilst he alone is The Great Beast incarnate, the Scarlet Woman is a role that can be played by any young lovely he cares to designate as such and is thus replaceable as need arises. This suggests, does it not, that male chauvinism plays a part in Thelema and that sexism is central to sex magick. 

 

[2] Aleister Crowley, The Book of Thoth (Ordo Templi Orientis, 1944). This text is a short essay on the Egyptian tarot and was first published in The Equinox Vol. III, number 5. The so-called Thoth Tarot was a deck conceived by Crowley and painted by Lady Frieda Harris between 1938 and 1943. Crowley would sometimes refer to Leah Hirsig (presumably with affection) as the Ape of Thoth.

      The lines quoted appear in Crowley's description of the card Lust (associated with the Thelemic concept of Babalon) and it highlights the the merging of the carnal and spiritual aspects of the Scarlet Woman. 

 

[3] See for example The Magical Record of the Scarlet Woman (1924). This text by Hirsig gives a unique insight into her life with Crowley at the Abbey of Thelema. It was serialised over four issues of The Scarlet Letter (a journal published by the Scarlet Woman Lodge of the Ordo Templi Orientis) in 1993-95: click here.

 

[4] Hirsig had a daughter with Crowley, born in January 1920, whom they nicknamed Poupée. Sadly, she died nine months later in October of that year. 

 

[5] The Abbey of Thelema founded by Aleister Crowley and Leah Hirsig in Cefalù (Sicily, Italy) in 1920 was intended to be a kind of spiritual training centre; those who attended were expected to study Crowley's writings, practice yoga, carry out certain rituals, and help with the domestic chores. In devoting themselves to The Great Work they would discover their True Will.

 

[6] Aleister Crowley, quoted by Frater Hippokleides writing in a biographical entry on Leah Hirsig on the website of the US Grand Lodge of the Ordo Templi Orientis: click here.  

 

[7] Such as Raoul Loveday, a 23-year-old Oxford graduate and poet who perished from acute enteritis after foolishly drinking from a contaminated water source, although his wife, Betty May - a singer, dancer, and model well-known in London's bohemian circles - held Crowley responsible, claiming that Raoul had been forced to drink the blood of a sacrificed cat as part of a ritual (Crowley denied this).

      When May returned to London, she gave an interview to the Sunday Express, which had been running a series of articles attacking Crowley for some time. Eventually, rumours of the goings-on at the Abbey reached Mussolini's ears and he demanded that Crowley and company leave Italy at once.

      After Crowley's departure, the Abbey was left abandoned and local residents whitewashed over Crowley's murals. The building still stands, but is now in poor condition. 

 

[8] Dorothy Olsen (1892 - 1963) was a young American woman travelling in Europe when she first met Crowley, immediately capturing his attention. After Hirsig renounced her title as the Scarlet Woman, Crowley gave Dorothy the gig. By the time she was abandoned in turn by Crowley two years later, Olsen found herself significantly poorer, pregnant, and addicted to drink and drugs.     

 

[9] Leah was forced to fend for herself after Crowley and his new Scarlet Woman ran off to Tunis and she lived for a period in Paris, where she is alleged by some to have worked as a prostitute in order to pay the bills.  

 

[10] See My Life in a Love Cult: A Warning to All Young Girls (1928), although written by Alma Hirsig, it was published under the pseudonym Marion Dockerill.

      Pierre Bernard (1875 - 1955) was an American yogi and mystic, known to the public as The Great Oom or The Omnipotent Oom. So closely was Alma Hirsig associated with Bernard that he named her as the High Priestess of Oom. Despite accusations made against him, Bernard remained popular with upper-middle class women and the high society of New York throughout the 1930s. 

 

 

Readers might be interested to know that The Magical Diaries of Leah Hirsig, 1923-1925: Aleister Crowley, Magick, and the New Occult Woman, ed. Manon Hedenborg White and Henrik Bogdan  is due for publication by Oxford University Press in September of this year. Click here for details.