In Praise of the Scarlet Women 1: Leila Waddell

Leila Waddell prepares to perform  

The Rites of Eleusis in 1910

 

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

 

 

I. Opening Remarks

 

Writing in a late essay on pornography and obscenity, D. H. Lawrence famously asserts: 

 

"If a woman hasn't got a tiny streak of a harlot in her, she's a dry stick as a rule." [1] 

 

And so no surprise that we should find him singing the praises of the Scarlet Woman in his reading of Revelation, that final mad book of the Bible [2]:

 

"Only the great whore of Babylon rises rather splendid, sitting in her purple and scarlet upon her scarlet beast. She is the Magna Mater in malefic aspect, clothed in the colours of the angry sun, and throned upon the great red dragon of the angry cosmic power. Splendid she sits, and splendid is her Babylon." [3] 

 

Warming to his subject, Lawrence praises those precious metals, stones, and spices that belong to this harlot-goddess who offers those men with the courage to do so the chance to drink  from "her golden cup of wine of sensual pleasure" [4] held triumphantly aloft in her right hand.  

 

It's a passage that might bring a smile to the face of the Great Beast himself ...

 

 

II. To Mega Therion 

 

English occultist Aleister Crowley - author of The Book of the Law (1904) and founder of Thelema [5] - gained widespread notoriety during his lifetime as the wickedest man in the world and he has remained a highly influential figure within western esotericism and the counterculture.

 

Although Crowley enjoyed sexual relationships with men in his youth - and advocated complete sexual freedom for both men and women in defiance of both public opinion and religious prejudice [6] - he mostly had an eye for the ladies. 

 

This was particularly the case if they were exotic looking and willing to become a Scarlet Woman; an honorific title he gave to several young women who played a significant role not just in his love life, but in his esoteric and creative work also [7].    

 

Of all these women, there are two who particularly interest: Leila Waddell and Leah Hirsig. Here, I shall speak of the former; in part two of this post, I'll discuss the case of the latter. 

  

 

III. Laylah

 

Leila Waddell (1880-1932) was a girl from Down Under who, as one commentator says, "entered the world stage as an acclaimed violinist - and left it having influenced magical practice into the 21st century" [8]. 

 

In 1908, fate took her to London as part of a touring orchestra and here - for better or for worse - she met Crowley [9] and this opened the door into another world; one of drink, drugs, and sex magick. Charmed by his intelligence and supernatural charisma - just as he was deeply impressed by her musical ability - they soon became lovers. 

 

Of course, Waddell was also obliged to join Crowley's new magical order - the Astrum Argenteum (est. 1905) - in which she would be known by other members as Sister Agatha, although Crowley called her Laylah and designated her as his Scarlet Woman; "a sort of anti-Virgin Mary who transgressed the boundaries of feminine virtue by wallowing in excess" [10].    

Waddell and Crowley made a fascinating couple and were soon thinking of ways in which they could incorporate music, poetry, and dance into magical rituals. This resulted in the Rites of Eleusis; a series of seven public rites written by Crowley, with original music composed by Waddell, and performed in semi-darkness at Caxton Hall, London, in the autumn of 1910. 

 

Not quite theatre, not quite an occult ceremony, the Rites of Eleusis nicely blurred such distinctions -though whether it roused the audience into a state of spiritual ecstasy is debatable; music lovers were delighted with Waddell's virtuosity, though critics not quite so moved by Crowley's "turgid paeans to the god Pan" [11]. 

 

Others were outraged by what they considered an immoral display that was both blasphemous in nature and obscene in suggestion. Reflecting afterwards, Crowley concluded that the mixed reception given to the Rites of Eleusis - particularly his contribution - was due to the audience's inability to effectively channel the magical forces unleashed on the night. 

 

Whilst continuing her occult studies and musical engagements in both Europe and the United States, Waddell also became involved with Irish nationalism (born of Irish famine refugees she was naturally sympathetic to the republican cause). This culminated in the staging of what some might see as an absurd stunt and others as a kind of proto-Situationist event that even Malcolm Mclaren would have admired [12]. 

 

On 3 July 1915, Waddell, Crowley, and a group of Irish revolutionaries "sailed down the Hudson River to the Statue of Liberty, with the intention of declaring Irish independence and war on England" [13]. Unfortunately, the guards wouldn't let them land on Liberty Island, but, like the Sex Pistols' river boat adventure on the Thames 62 years later, it was an amusing idea.   

 

Whilst Crowley headed off after this to California on his own, Waddell continued to perform and to make new literary friends, including Rebecca West and Frank Harris. She also greatly enjoyed playing lunch time concerts in factories for the (mostly male migrant) workers who would sometimes sing along and present her with wildflower posies after the show; indeed, she considered these shows the highlight of her career (and not the performance at Caxton Hall). 

 

In 1924, and now in her mid-40s, Waddell decided it was time to return Down Under: for one thing, her father was seriously ill and needed care; and for another, Crowley had set up a magical abbey in Sicily accompanied by a new Scarlet Woman, Leah Hirsig.  

 

Alice Gorman provides an excellent note on which to conclude, that I agree with entirely: 

 

"Waddell is often relegated to a character in Crowley’s life. But if we assess her life on its own terms, we see a brilliant musician, a philosopher of magic, and a rebel who was unafraid to take risks and be true to herself." [14] 

 

This is in stark contrast to Crowley's characteristically dismissive remark made of his former muse, lover, and creative collaborator, referring to Waddell as no more than a fifth-rate fiddler. 

 

Waddell died, from uterine cancer, aged 52, in 1932 and was buried next to her parents in Sydney. 

 

 

Laylah as seen in Aleister Crowley's 

The Book of Lies (1913) [15]

 

Notes

 

[1] D. H. Lawrence, 'Pornography and Obscenity', in Late Essays and Articles, ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 236. 

 

[2] The Book of Revelation - or the Apocalypse as it is also known - is traditionally attributed to John the Apostle, but the identity of the author remains disputed. See chapter 17 in which judgement is passed on Babylon the Great; Mother of Harlots and Abominations. Readers can click here to access the King James Version (KJV) online. 

 

[3] D. H. Lawrence, Apocalypse and the Writings on Revelation, ed. Mara Kalnins (Cambridge University Press, 1980), p. 121.  

 

[4] Ibid. I have discussed Lawrence's reading of Revelation 17 before on Torpedo the Ark; see the post entitled 'The Goddess, the Whore, and the Policewoman' (31 July 2020): click here.  

 

[5] Liber AL vel Legis - commonly known as The Book of the Law - is the central sacred text of Thelema (see below). Crowley wrote it in 1904, claiming that the book was dictated to him by a spirit, Aiwass, whom he later referred to as his own Holy Guardian Angel. 

      For Crowley, publication of the work marked the dawning of a new stage in the spiritual evolution of humanity, to be known as the Æon of Horus. The primary teaching of this new age (as found in The Book of the Law) is: Do what thou wilt and thus the discovery and following of what constituted one's True Will - i.e. a divine individual purpose that transcends ordinary desires - was at the heart of his new religion and occult philosophy, Thelema. 

      Crowley termed this setting out on a path towards self-becoming the Great Work and whilst he certainly subscribed to an order of rank (i.e., a natural hierarchy) when it came to assessing the value of individuals, he also maintained Every man and every woman is a star (see The Book of the Law I. 3). Magick - which Crowley liked to spell with the letter k added, just as he liked to spell Babylon with an a in place of the y - is a central practice in Thelema, along with certain other physical, mental, and spiritual exercises. 

      Various figures and followers of Crowley have sought to develop Thelema by introducing new ideas, practices, and interpretations. This includes, for example, Jack Parsons, who, in 1946, conducted the Babalon Working in order to invoke the goddess Babalon (later believing his wife-to-be Marjorie Cameron to be the human incarnation of such, and thus a Scarlet Woman). Parsons - working in collaboration with his pal at the time L. Ron Hubbard - based the Babalon Working on Crowley's description of a similar undertaking in his novel Moonchild (1917). Afterwards, Parsons wrote a brief text - Liber 49 - which was intended as an additional fourth chapter for The Book of the Law. 

      Readers who are interested in knowing a bit more about Parsons - and his wife - might like to see the recent post entitled 'Cameron: the Woman Who Did' (15 June 2025): click here. And for my post written in memory of Crowley - 'The Great Beast is Dead' (1 December 2021) - click here.    

 

[6] Like many radicals, Crowley was of the view that spiritual enlightenment and individual freedom arises through transgressing socio-sexual norms. We now know this is naive, simplistic, and mistaken.  

 

[7] Whilst Crowley thought that he and he alone was human manifestation of the Great Beast 666, he believed that the Scarlet Woman - i.e., the true mistress of the Beast - could physically manifest as any number of women that he happened to take a shine to - which is convenient, to say the least; for Crowley was a man who fell in love passionately, but also frequently, and soon got bored within a monogamous relationship. Thus, as he notes in his commentary on The Book of the Law, the Scarlet Woman is replaceable as need arises. 

      Some of the women that Crowley at one time or other considered to be Scarlet Women include Rose Edith Kelly; Mary d'Este Sturges; Jeanne Robert Foster; Roddie Minor; Marie Rohling; Bertha Almira Prykrl; Leah Hirsig and Leila Waddell.  

 

[8] Alice Gorman, 'Hidden women of history: Leila Waddell, Australian violinist, philosopher of magic and fearless rebel', The Conversation (23 September, 2019): click here. 

      Waddell was an extremely talented musician; not only did she teach violin at some of Sydney's most prestigious schools, but her concert performances earned her a devoted following and she quickly established a reputation as one of Australia's leading violinists.   

 

[9] Most likely they would have met at the Café Royal, which was then the favourite haunt of writers, artists, musicians, and occultists - even D. H. Lawrence once held a dinner party there for a group of old friends, though it didn't end well when the port he'd been drinking made him vomit over the table before passing out.  

 

[10] Alice Gorman ... op. cit.  

 

[11] Ibid. 

 

[12] In Situationist theory a situation is a deliberately constructed event aimed at disrupting the boredom and alienation of every day existence and a model of reality mediated via images and commodities. Such an event blurs the lines between performance art and political protest and aims to create the possibility of authentic experience. 

      Malcolm McLaren - in collaboration with Vivienne Westwood, Jamie Reid, and a group of disaffected teenagers - applied this theory to a project known as the Sex Pistols in the mid-late 1970s.

     

[13] Alice Gorman ... op. cit.   

[14] Ibid. 

 

[15] Apart from this iconic photograph there are several references to Leila Waddell (Laylah) throughout The Book of Lies. 

   

 

Readers who want to know more about Miss Waddell might like to order a copy of a new biography by Darren Francis - Laylah: The Life of Leila Waddell (Hadean Press, 2025) - which is being published on the 26th of this month.   

 

Meet Rosaleen Norton: Australia's Witch Queen

Rosaleen Norton (1917 - 1979) 

Photo by Ivan for PIX Magazine (21 June 1943)

State Library of New South Wales 

 

 

I. 

 

If I've said it once, I must've said it a thousand times: ultimately, even witches lose their charm [1]. 

 

Nevertheless, I continue to have a soft spot for many of them and was happy - having been pointed in her direction [2] - to read about Rosaleen Norton ...

 

 

II. 

 

Norton was an Australian artist and occultist, known by the tabloids at the time as the Witch of Kings Cross [3], although her friends and fellow coveners called her Thorn (perhaps because she was sharp and to the point, or maybe because she was the kind of prickly character who has a way of constantly getting under the skin of others). 

 

Her paintings, which are exuberant if not terribly assured, often depict various gods and demons; many of whom share her distinctive facial features and seem to have a penchant for illicit sexual acts. Not surprisingly, these works caused a good deal of controversy in Australia during the 1940s and '50s, a period that was characterised by the three Cs: Christianity, Conservatism, and Censorship.

 

The authorities attempted to prosecute Norton for public obscenity on a number of occasions and her works were often removed from exhibitions by the police and any books containing images of the works confiscated [4].

 

As someone whose own work has occasionally got them into trouble with the Google censor-bots [5] and, ironically, the Pagan Federation [6] - as well as a serious reader of D. H. Lawrence, who had 13 of his pictures seized by the filth from an exhibition in 1929 - I naturally sympathise with Miss Norton. 

 

 

III. 

 

Whilst her passport (assuming she had one) said Australia on it, Norton was the child of middle class English parents who had moved to New Zealand, where she was born, in 1917, with a peculiar blue birth mark on her left knee and pointy ears (both signs, she would later insist, that she was a witch by nature and not by choice). 

 

When she was eight-years-old, her family relocated to Sydney, Australia. 

 

By this time, Rosaleen was already an unconventional girl to say the least; she despised most people, including other children and her mother, and, according to her biographer, Nevill Drury, she spent three years sleeping in a tent in the garden, accompanied by several animal familiars, including a large spider [7].

 

Again, it's probably not surprising to discover that she was eventually expelled from the C of E  girls' school that her parents had enrolled her in; her teachers claimed that not only was she disruptive in class, but had a corrupting influence on fellow pupils by, amongst other things, sharing images she had drawn of demons and vampires.       

 

Happily, however, this allowed her to attend a technical college where she could study art under a tutor who recognised her talent and extraordinary character. After leaving art college, aged sixteen, Norton published a number of horror stories in a newspaper who, subsequently, gave her a job as a trainee journalist and illustrator.

 

Unfortunately, her ideas and illustrations were deemed too controversial and she was soon shown the door. Uncertain what to do next, Norton worked several menial jobs in order to supplement her income as an artist's model (and of course during this time she posed for Norman Lindsay, even if she never acquired full siren status). 

 

Norton also began reading books on occultism and comparative religion and her artistic work became increasingly dominated by pagan themes and images, although she once described her paintings as psychic experiments which drew heavily on visions formulated in her own unconscious. Her work, admired by the poet Leon Batt, began to feature in a monthly magazine he edited called Pertinent [8].  

 

 

IV. 

 

During the early '50s, Norton and her toy-boy lover Gavin Greenlees [9], became Kings Cross residents. It was an area of Sydney - as indicated in footnote 3 below - popular with artists, writers, and other avant-garde types (as well as being a notorious red light district). 

 

Here, she felt right at home and she soon associated with many of the Kings Cross characters and several local café owners agreed to display her artworks on their walls. Above the door to the home she shared with Greenlees, was a sign reading: Welcome to the house of ghosts, goblins, werewolves, vampires, witches, wizards and poltergeists. 

 

In other words: Normies keep out!  

 

Again, it's perhaps not surprising that this couple - strange even by the bohemian standards of the area - soon attracted the attention of the police, who were keen to find something they could charge them with; once even arresting Norton and Greenlees for vagrancy.   

 

 

V.  

 

In 1952, Walter Glover - impressed by Norton's artwork and Greenlees's poetry - decided that a book containing examples of both was just what the world needed ... 

 

And so, a high quality limited edition entitled The Art of Rosaleen Norton was published, bound in cloth or, for those who could afford the deluxe edition, red leather. It contained 31 black-and-white reproductions of artworks by Norton (29 of which were full-page or near full-page plates), including her notorious ithyphallic image of the horned demon Fohat (see below) and a number of verses by Greenlees.      

 

The book was immediately banned in New South Wales (on the grounds of obscenity) and its import into the United States forbidden (customs officers were instructed to destroy any copies of the work that they might discover). Glover was charged with producing an obscene publication and Norton was again dragged before the courts and expected to defend and, indeed, justify her artwork. 

 

In the end, a judge decided that only two images were obscene under Australian law - one of which was Fohat - and that they had to be removed from all existing copies. If the case gained a good deal of publicity for Norton, it effectively bankrupted Glover.     

 

 

VI.

 

Is all publicity good publicity? 

 

It's debatable.  

 

And Norton now found herself the regular subject of sensationalist claims in the tabloid press; she was a Satanist who conducted black masses involving vulnerable adolescents; she was a devil worshipper who practiced animal sacrifice; she and her young lover performed unnatural sex acts ... etc. [10]

 

Such was her notoriety, that by the late 1950s people would visit Kings Cross in the hope of spotting a real life witch in the street. Many simply asked for her autograph; others requested she put a spell on someone, which she was happy to do - for a fee. 

 

By the late 1960s, however, the media attention had abated and she was living a more reclusive and private existence (albet still in Kings Cross - and still a worshipper of Pan). 

 

Norton died, from cancer, in 1979 and she is reported to have said words that echo D. H. Lawrence's famous declaration about wishing to die as gamely as he had lived: 'I came into the world bravely; I'll go out bravely.'  

 

Since then, thanks largely to the work of her biographer Nevill Drury and supporters in the worlds of art and film, Norton's fame has spread and she has continued to attract a following amongst those in the know.

 

Rosaleen Norton: Fohat  

The Art of Rosaleen Norton (1952) [11]

  

Notes

 

[1] See the post of this title (18 April 2013): click here. 

 

[2] Thank you Gaelle. 

 

[3] Norton lived much of her later life in the bohemian area of Kings Cross, Sydney; thus the name given her by the press. It was also in Kings Cross where she established her own coven of witches largely devoted to a neopagan worship of Pan, but with a bit of sex magick thrown in for good measure. 

 

[4] An exhibition in 1949 at the University of Melbourne's Rowden White Library, where forty-six of  Norton's paintings were on public display, was raided by the police and they removed four pictures which they deemed obscene. She was charged and her case went to court, but, amazingly, she was found not guilty of any offence and was even awarded compensation from the police department. 

 

[5] See the post entitled 'Torpedo the Ark Versus the Censor-Bots' (1 March 2023); click here. 

 

[6] See the post entitled 'Pagan Magazine Vs the Pagan Federation' (4 August 2024): click here.  

 

[7] See Nevill Drury, Homage to Pan: The Life, Art and Sex-Magic of Rosaleen Norton (Creation Oneiros, 2009), p. 15. See also Drury's entry on Norton in the Australian Dictionary of Biography, Volume 15  (2000), which has been available online since 2006: click here. Much of the information used here in this post is based on Drury's original research.     

      

[8] Batt established Pertinent in July 1940. He encouraged free expression and the magazine frequently included nude studies, although Batt drew the line at what he considered pornography. With limited circulation, it never achieved a wide audience and it ceased publication in May 1947. 

 

[9] Greenlees was a young, relatively successful poet when he met Norton. Having studied numerous authors including Freud, Jung, Lautréamont, and Aleister Crowley, his poetry combined elements of surrealism, psychoanalysis, and occultism. When he became Norton's lover, c. 1950, she was almost thirteen years his senior.  

      Sadly, his story does not end well; from the mid-1950s onwards, Greenlees endured many prolonged admissions to psychiatric hospitals suffering from hallucinations and paranoia (things that were almost certainly made worse by his regular use of drugs including LSD). To her credit, Norton continued to visit him, even after he had attempted to kill her with a knife during a schizophrenic episode when on temporary release in 1964. 

      Greenlees was permanetly discharged from care in 1983, but died, aged 53, in December of that year.

 

[10] To be fair, whilst the first two claims are untrue, she and Greenlees did like a little light BDSM and she wasn't adverse to a spot of lesbianism. Enjoying the opportunity to play a more active role, Norton also had a penchant for pegging male homosexuals. 

 

[11] This demon with a serpentine phallus was one of her most controversial images. Norton claimed that whilst the goat was a symbol of creative energy, the snake was a symbol of eternity. 

 

 

Bonus: to watch the official trailer to Sonia Bible's dramatised documentary The Witch of Kings Cross (Journeyman Pictures, 2020), starring (athlete turned actress) Kate Elizabeth Laxton as Norton, click here.  

 

For a sister post to this one on Our Lady of Babalon, Marjorie Cameron, please click here. 

 

 

Meet the Lindsays

Norman Lindsay and Rose Soady photographed in his studio 

(Sydney, Australia, 1909)

 

  

I.

 

Someone from Down Under writes to say how pleased they were to see a reference to the Australian artist Norman Lindsay in a footnote to a recent post on D. H. Lawrence and Frieda Weekley [1]. 

 

The same correspondent goes on to persuasively make the case that, actually, Lindsay and his mistress and muse, Rose Soady - who went on to become his second wife and business mananger - deserve to have a post of their very own. 

 

And so, let's meet the Lindsays ... [2]  

 

 

II. 

 

Born in 1879, Norman Lindsay was one of the most prolific and popular Australian artists of his generation; a painter, sculptor, and cartoonist, he was also a novelist, children's writer, and art critic who - as an amateur boxer - knew how to use his fists if need be. 

 

I might be wrong, but I suspect that most readers will probably know of him and Rose thanks to the 1994 film Sirens, written and directed by John Duigan, starring Sam Neill as Lindsay and Pamela Rabe as Rose. 

 

Set during the interwar period and mostly filmed at what was the Lindsay's real life home in the Blue Mountains and is now the Norman Lindsay Gallery and Museum, the movie gives a fictionalised insight into the kind of life led by the Norman and Rose; one that might be described as pagan libertine (i.e., sexually liberated and at odds with conventional morality and societal norms) [3].  

 

 

III.

 

Despite his bohemian lifestyle and his battles with the forces of what Australians term wowserism (i.e., moral and social conservatism) [4], Lindsay was a vociferous Aussie nationalist and became a regular contributor to The Bulletin [5] at the height of its cultural influence, mixing his staunchly anti-modernist views as an art critic with reactionary and racist concerns to do with the red menace and yellow peril.

 

However, whilst Lindsay may have defended traditional art forms and white western culture on the one hand, he liked to cause controversy as an artist and author on the other. 

 

Thus, for example, his 1912 pen and ink drawing The Crucified Venus created a good deal of fuss when it was shown at the Society of Artists exhibition in Melbourne the following year [6]; just as his illustrated comic novel, Age of Consent (1938), which details the relationship between a middle-aged male painter and an adolescent girl was (briefly) banned in Australia [7].

 

For reasons probably best-known to himself, it amused Lindsay to adopt a larrikin [8] public persona and to produce work that to some was sexy, stylish, and subversive, but to others was salacious, sensational, and shocking. 

 

 

IV. 

 

But what about Rose? 

 

Born in 1885, she was first introduced to Lindsay in 1902, aged sixteen, and began modelling for him that same year, soon becoming his favourite siren (and lover). It was Rose who posed for The Crucified Venus in 1913. 

 

But Rose, with her fine pale skin, tousled black curls and curvaceous figure - as seen in the photo above - wasn't just a lovely-looker; she was also an intelligent, highly practical and efficient woman who eventually became Lindsay's business manager and oversaw the printing and sale of his etchings [9]. 

 

Rose and Lindsay were married in 1920 (two weeks before his divorce from his first wife, Katie, whom he married in 1900, became absolute) and this unconventional couple lived a long and happy life together: Rose died in 1978, aged 92; nine years after Lindsay, who died in 1969, aged 90.

 

Although a large body of his work is housed at the Norman Lindsay Gallery and Museum, many works are held in private and corporate collections and his art continues to climb in value. 

 

 

V. 

 

There are, I suppose, many things to admire about Norman Lindsay; hugely energetic and endlessly productive, he was a real monster of stamina whose etchings and drawings displayed great technical brilliance. 

 

I also like that this would-be Dionysian named Nietzsche as a key figure in his thinking, particularly when it came to the question of Christian moral values, which he believed constrained individual freedom unduly. In his early years, Lindsay undoubtedly exercised a liberating force within Australian culture. 

 

Unfortunately, there are many things to despise about Lindsay also; his virulent opposition to modernism for one thing; and the fact that he happily gave visual definition to the Bulletin's nationalism and racism is also something else that it's not easy to overlook.        

 

The fact is, Lindsay was a bit of a shit and an extremely poor reader of Nietzsche; a fascist reactionary who attempted to construct a systematic philosophy of art that denied all social and political progress and asserted that the creative mind (masculine in character) was superior to the mass mind (essentially feminine) and had to be defended from attacks upon it which were orchestrated (wouldn't you know) by the Jews.

 

Frankly, I don't know how Rose put up with him! 

 

Fortunately, however, such tedious and pernicious stupidity - combining sexism, elitism, and antisemitism - was rejected by the majority of young Australian artists and writers, who found Lindsay's ideas as old-fashioned as his painting.  

 

 

Norman Lindsay: The Crucified Venus (pen and ink drawing, 1912) 

Norman Lindsay: Age of Consent (cover of the first American edition 1938)  

 

Notes

 

[1] See footnote [a] to the post 'All They Ever Wanted Was Everything' (9 June 2025): click here.  

 

[2] Obviously, I'm only able to provide the briefest of brief sketches here. For those who want to know more, I suggest they consult the shared entry on Lindsay and four of his siblings in the Australian Dictionary of Biography, Vol. 10 (1986), which has been available to read on the Australian National University website since 2006: click here. 

       An entry on Rose Lindsay, by Ana Carden-Coyne, was published in the Australian Dictionary of Biography, Supplement (2005) and has been online since 2006: click here. 

 

[3] Sirens had what might be described as a mixed critical reception. Hal Hinson, for example, writing in The Washington Post (11 March 1994) - click here - dismissed the vitalist philosophy concerning sex and art presented by the film as "somewhat dated and old hat, like warmed-over D. H. Lawrence".  

      To be fair, Hinson wasn't mistaken to make the connection between Lindsay and Lawrence. For like the latter, Lindsay attracted a mixture of acclaim and controversy for his work which was deemed by some to be not only obscene but  blasphemous. 

      Readers who would like a reminder (or first glimpse) of the movie, can click here to watch the official trailer. 

 

[4] Wowser is an Australian term that refers to someone who seeks to stop others from engaging in allegedly immoral behaviour, such as drinking, smoking, and gambling (i.e., having fun). Lindsay fought many battles with wowsers over the overtly erotic content of his work.

 

[5] Known as the 'bushman's bible', The Bulletin was an Australian weekly magazine based in Sydney and first published in 1880. It featured articles on politics, business, poetry, fiction and humour and exerted significant influence on Australian society and culture, promoting the idea of a national identity distinct from its British colonial origins. Lindsay and his brother Lionel joined the staff of the Bulletin in 1901 and his association with the publication - providing cartoons and illustrations for stories and editorial features - would last fifty years.

      D. H. Lawrence (and his fictional surrogate Richard Somers) was a regular reader during his short stay in Australia; see his novel Kangaroo (1923), or click here for a post from September of last year in which I mention the Bully. 

 

[6] The Crucified Venus is Lindsay's (less than subtle) attempt to expose Christianity as a sexually repressive force; a monk is shown nailing a naked woman to a tree, to the approval of a mob of exultant clerics and wowsers watching on. The drawing provoked such hostility from church figures and the press that it was removed from the exhibition, only to be reinstated a few days later after the president of the Society of Artists threatened to withdraw all the New South Wales paintings from the exhibition in protest at its removal.  

      Unfortunately, The Crucified Venus was later destroyed in a fire, although a preparatory pencil sketch is part of the collection at the Norman Lindsay Gallery and Museum (NSW). 

 

[7] Age of Consent is one of the best known of Lindsay's novels, partly because it was made into a 1969 film of that title, directed by Michael Powell, and starring 60-year old James Mason as the painter and 22-year-old Helen Mirren (in her first credited screen role) as his teenaged model, muse, and mistress. Click here to watch the (profoundly pervy) trailer. 

      Age of Consent wasn't the first of Lindsay's books to attract the attention of the censors; Redheap (1930) was banned until 1958 and The Cautious Amorist (1933) was banned for twenty years. Readers who wish to know more, might care to see the blog post by Joan Bruce on the State Library of Queensland website (25 may 2017): click here.  

 

[8] Larrikin is an Australian term which in the 19th and early-20th centuries referred to a young urban hooligan or gang member, but which now refers to someone who may be a bit mischievous and fond of using foul-language, but essentially has a good heart; i.e., a bit of a rascal or scallyway who likes to lark about rather than cause serious mayhem. 

      It might be argued that the term punk, whilst not exactly synonymous, is closely related in meaning; larrikins and punks both, for example, like to defy convention and have a healthy disdain for the authorities.    

          

[9] In the 1960s, Rose compiled seven albums of hundreds of pencil sketches and proof etchings by Norman Lindsay; an almost complete record of his etchings from the early 1900s until the 1950s. 

      She also published two volumes of autobiography during this decade - Ma and Pa (1963) and Model Wife (1967) - which have since been republished as a single work entitled Rose Lindsay: A Model Life, ed. Lin Bloomfield (Odana Editions, 2001). 

 

 

All They Ever Wanted Was Everything: Notes on the Scandalous Affair of Mr Lawrence and Mrs Weekley

D. H. Lawrence and Frieda Weekley 

as imagined in 1912 [a] 

 

When in March 1912, Lawrence called upon Ernest Weekley, a professor of modern languages at Nottingham University College, in order to seek his help and advice with a proposed move to Germany, it was to prove a turning point in his life.

 

Not because of anything Weekley said or offered to do, but because he was introduced to Weekley's wife, Frieda; the woman he would marry two years later, having convinced her to leave her middle-aged husband and abandon her three young children and start a new life with him, a promising young writer. 

 

Not that she took much persuading, as this aristocratic German woman was bored out of her mind living a suburban middle-class lifestyle as wife and mother and had been having regular love affairs since 1905, including with Otto Gross, a drug-addicted psychoanalyst who was also fucking her sister, Else, at the time, and with Ernst Frick, an artist and anarchist.  

 

As John Worthen notes: "Frieda's affairs  appear to have satisfied her need for sex and self-determination" and they demonstrate how she was drawn to men "with lifestyles and purposes" very different from her husband [b]. 

 

Thus, no suprise that she should immediately be attracted to Lawrence; a clever and unusual young man, seven years her junior. The story of them leaping into bed together within twenty minutes of first meeting whilst her husband busied himself in his study, her children played in the garden, and the servants looked the other way is, however, a myth [c].  

 

Probably, Frieda initially wanted Lawrence simply as another lover [d]. But, Lawrence being Lawrence, he wasn't going to be satisfied with that; like Pete Murphy, all he ever wanted was everything [e] and he regarded Mrs Weekley as "the most wonderful woman in all England" [f]. 

 

That is to say, the kind of woman his mother warned him against; one who was uninhibited and unconventional enough to let him fuck her whenever, wherever, and however he liked. Frieda had a punk indifference to bourgeois social norms and notions of right and wrong; she was carefree, spontaneous, and lived for the moment and if at times this shocked Lawrence, these were also qualities he admired and found deeply seductive.    

 

In May 1912, they travelled to Germany together; he was going to visit his cousin; she was going to join her father who was celebrating his 50th year in the army. They would be able to spend at least a week together and Lawrence believed that it was a make or break moment; that Frieda was going to inform Weekley of her affair. But this she didn't do - although she did tell her mother and sister Else about him at the first opportunity.  

 

Lawrence, meanwhile was kept out of the way of her father and put in a respectable family hotel, growing increasingly impatient and irritated with the entire situation: he wanted committment. 

 

But Mrs Weekly was far from ready to give such; "she loved Lawrence [...] and believed in him as an extraordinary person, but [...] he was in his way as unsuitable as Gross or Frick as a partner" [115], i.e., poor and probably a little insane - or, as Frieda's father described Lawrence when he did finally meet him, an ill-bred and penniless lout. 

 

However, things came to a head when Lawrence wrote to Weekley and declared his love for Frieda. Upon receiving Lawrence's letter - along with a telegram from his wife confirming the affair - he immediately wrote to declare the marriage over. To celebrate, Lawrence and Frieda went for a walk together and fucked in a dry ditch. Then he wrote a rather lovely poem for her: 'Bei Hennef', which can be read here.    

 

Of course, there was a lot of shit from all sides: Frieda's father threatened to "never see her again if she went off with Lawrence" [117]; Weekly became hysterical, threatening to kill himself and the children and calling her nasty names; and even Else "was convinced that her sister was behaving foolishly" [118].

 

But, eventually, after much struggling and painful conflict - I didn't know life was so hard - they come through and they are able to "transcend into some condition of blessedness" [g], leaving behind "the restraints of their old lives" [120], but not necessarily their old habits and there's kind of a sting in the tail of this illicit love story ... 

 

For just a few months later, whilst on a walking tour of southern Bavaria and the Austrian Tyrol, Frieda had sex with a 21-year-old Englishman called Harold Hobson - in a hay-hut - whilst Lawence was off searching for alpine plants. I'm not quite sure what I think of this and Lawrence bottled up any anger and hurt he may have experienced (later telling Frieda that it didn't matter). 

 

But Worthen offers the following analysis:

 

"She was asserting to Lawrence (and to herself) that she was not giving up her independence, despite making a new life with him [...] If Lawrence wanted her, then he had to accept that she would not always stay faithful; and she did not." [123]

  

 

Notes

 

[a] This (fake) image by Stephen Alexander uses a headshot of Lawrence from 1913, aged 27, and a much earlier headshot of Frieda, taken in 1901, aged 22. The bodies belong to the Australian artist Norman Lindsay (1879-1969) and the model Rose Soady (1885-1978), who was his principal muse and became Lindsay's second wife and business manager.   

      Like Lawrence, Lindsay attracted a mixture of acclaim and controversy for his work which often featured erotic pagan elements and was deemed by his critics to be not only obscene but anti-Christian. Adopting a larrikin public persona and affirming a libertine philosophy, Lindsay cheerfully fought against the strict moral conservativism of his times. Thus, I think this body swap is justified and appropriate (as well as amusing). 

      The lettering, of course, is taken from Jamie Reid's Fuck Forever design for the Sex Pistols and used to promote The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980), a silkscreen print of which can be viewed on artsy.net: click here. I have added this in order to reaffirm my idea of Lawrence as a punk.

 

[b] John Worthen, D. H. Lawrence: The Life of an Outsider (Allen Lane / Penguin Books, 2005), p. 110. Future page references to this work will be give directly in the post.  

 

[c] According to Worthen, Lawrence "refused to have sex with Frieda in the Weekley's house" as that would have constituted "too gross a betrayal of Weekley, who had shown him nothing but kindness". See p. 111 of the work cited above. 

 

[d] Worthen writes that although Frieda was attracted to Lawrence - and eventually came to love him - "she had not the least intention of leaving her husband or children", ibid., p. 112.   

 

[e] Pete Murphy was the lead vocalist with the post-punk band Bauhaus and I'm referencing a song entitled 'All We Ever Wanted Was Everything', from the album The Sky's Gone Out (Beggars Banquet, 1982): click here.  

 

[f] D. H. Lawrence, The Letters of D. H. Lawrence Vol, I, ed. James T. Boulton (Cambridge University Press, 1979), p. 376. 

      In a letter written the following month to Edward Garnett (17 April 1912), Lawrence describes Mrs Weekley as ripping, splendid, and perfectly unconventional. See the above volume of letters, p. 384. 

 

[g] See 'The Argument' at the beginning of Look! We Have Come Though!, by D. H. Lawrence (Chatto & Windus, 1917). It can be found on p. 155 in volume I of the Cambridge Edition of The Poems (2013).

      Most of the poems in this collection were written during 1912-13 and tell the story of Lawrence's affair with Frieda during this period. It was not well received by the critics at the time, Lawrence claiming that the English press only spat on the work (and by implication his love for Frieda).

  

 

Bye Bye Blackbird

Stephen Alexander: 

Bye Bye Blackbird (2025) [1]

 

'The blackbird cannot stop his song ... 

It takes place in him, even though all his race was yesterday destroyed.' [2]

 

 

Like many other birds once common in back gardens across the UK, the blackbird is now rarely seen or heard; populations in England, particularly in urban areas, have been in sharp decline during recent years, with some reports indicating a shocking 40% drop in numbers in London since 2018.

 

So I was particularly saddened to find the body of a young male blackbird lying dead by the roadside, with a deep wound ripped across his breast (hard to blame such an injury on the Usutu virus). 

 

Is there, you might ask, any point in reflecting upon the bloody remnants of a feathered creature lying exposed in this way; of taking a photograph of what Lawrence describes as the ragged horror of a bird claimed by death and passing into darkness? 

 

I think so: not because I wish to aestheticise the moment or fetishise violence and suffering. But because I think there is a connection between him and me and by memorialising this blackbird in the only way I know how (with words and images), perhaps it allows his song to echo for just a bit longer.     

 

Notes

 

[1] The artwork features a photo of a dead blackbird by the roadside superimposed on the cover of the sheet music for the song 'Bye Bye Blackbird', published in 1926 by Jerome H. Remick, written by composer Ray Henderson and lyricist Mort Dixon. 

 

[2] D. H. Lawrence, 'Whistling of Birds', in Reflections on the Death of a Porcupine and Other Essays, ed. Michael Herbert (Cambridge University Press, 1988), p. 23.  

Looking, Talking, and Thinking About Art with David Salle (Part 3)

David Salle working in his studio 

photographed by Frenel Morris (2023)

 

"Modern art has always hungered for philosophical, theoretical, and verbal expression. 

 However, the theoretical and the philosophical can be counterproductive 

if they constrain rather than liberate the imagination." - David Salle 

  

 

I.

 

If Malcolm Mclaren learnt one lesson from art school it was that it's better to be a flamboyant failure than any kind of benign success:

 

"'I realised that by understanding failure you were going to be able to improve your condition as an artist. Because you were not going to fear failure you were going to embrace it and, in doing so, maybe break the rules and by doing that, change the culture and, possibly by doing that, change life itself.'" [a]

 

And I think we can call Jack Goldstein a flamboyant failure; a cool good-looking cat, whom Salle never saw "without a leather jacket and a cigarette" [b]; the kind of artist "who thinks he has to be the prickliest cactus in the desert" [153].

 

In 2003, he committed suicide (aged 57): 

 

"The cliché would have it that gave all he had to his work, when it might be more accurate to say that apart from the work, there wasn't much in this life that he could claim as his own. [...] He was a man who had somehow failed to be 'made' by his experiences - he was only 'un-made' by them [...]" [155-156]

 

Of course, the posthumous part of his story is also familiar; "since his death, Jack has been lionized by a new generation of young artists who see in his rigid and strained sensibility a yearning for something clean and pure [...]" [156] [c].

 

In other words, he's what Nietzsche would call a posthumous individual ...

 

 

II.

 

Salle is clearly a fan of the young Frank Stella; an artist best known perhaps for his Black Paintings (1958-60), a series of twenty-four related works in a minimalist style that free painting from drawing:

 

"Stella instinctively understood something fundamental about painting: that it is made by covering a flat surface with paint [...] If a painting could be executed with a kind of internal integrity, the image - i.e., the meaning - would take care of itself." [165]

 

Some critics - and even some other artists - feared at the time that Stella's work marked the end of art. But, actually, it marked a fresh beginning; "after first stripping down painting to its essentials, the creator then populated the world with every manner of flora and fauna" [166].   

 

And, ironically, by the end of his career Stella has become, says Salle, merely a decorative painter; one who is actually closer to painters in the art nouveau tradition, than to Malevich; one whose late works "still occasionally command our attention, even awe, but more often than not leave us with a feeling of a lot of energy being expended to no particular end, of being more trouble than they're worth" [170] - ouch!

 

 

III.    

 

"Style reflects character" [172], says Salle. 

 

And if there's a single sentence which brings home just how he and I philosophically differ, this is it. For one thing, it presupposes an underlying character - some kind of essential moral quality that is straightforwardly reflected in our manner, our behaviour, and our appearance. 

 

I would say, on the contrary, that style - as a form of discipline and cruelty - shapes character and would refer to Nietzsche on this matter:

 

"To 'give style' to one's character - a great and rare art! It is practiced by those who survey all the strengths and weaknesses of their nature and then fit them into an artistic plan until every one of them appears as art and reason and even weaknesses delight the eye." [d]

 

Style, in other words, is an art of existence involving not only a single taste, but what Foucault terms techniques of the self. That is to say, a set of voluntary actions by which individuals: 

 

"not only set themselves rules of conduct, but also seek to transform themselves, to change themselves in their singular being, and to make their life into an oeuvre that carries certain aesthetic values and meets certain stylistic criteria" [e].  

 

 

IV.

 

Where Salle and I do agree, however, is on the question of appropriation - like him, I'm happy with such a practice; what is Torpedo the Ark if not a blog assembled largely of notes? 

 

Ultimately, like James Joyce - according to David Markson - I'm "'quite content to go down to posterity as a scissors and paste man'" [177]. If nothing else, as Salle says, at least this succeeds in irritating a lot of people and, besides, the act of choosing what one steals and appropriates can be "in and of itself, in the right hands" [177] an art. 

 

The greatest of appropriationists are alchemists: they transform materials. For they understand that by changing the context you create fresh meaning: "Even if you repaint, or reprint, something as close as possible to its model, you will end up making something new." [178]

 

When a critic says: 'They're someone else's ideas!' Simply reply: 'Yes, but they're mine too.'

 

 

V.     

 

This is something I also agree with and which strikes me as important:

 

"We're taught to think of modernism [...] as a story of progress and up-to-dateness, a developmental stream that seems logical, even inevitable. But some of the most interesting painting exists in the margins, apart from the official story. [...] It's a question of temperament and talent, and also of context, rather than linear progress." [189]

 

Sometimes, one needs to travel back into art history, into antiqity, into mythology, in order to project "an updated version of the past into the present" [189] and learn how to live yesterday tomorrow (as Malcolm would say). And whether we call this retrofuturism or neoclassicism it pretty much means the same thing. 

An artist, says, Salle, is ultimately "both himself and a distillation of everything relevant that preceded him" [191] [f].

 

VI.

 

Is contemporary art infantalised? 

 

Salle seems to say as much (although he doesn't use this word):
 

"In the world of contemporary art, the quantity of work that depicts, appeals to, references, critiques, or mimics childood has reached critical mass. For the first time, the international style is not a matter of form or invention but one of content. And that content is all wrapped up with regression. The art public becomes excited by the same things that babies like: bright, shiny things; simple, rounded forms; cartoons; and, always, animals. Brightly colored or shiny and highly reflective; or soft, squishy, furry, pliable - huggable." [200]

 

What's going on? 

 

Maybe, suggests Salle, it's compensatory for all the grown-up things that also define the age: "class war; government dysfunction; religious fundamentalism; the baking of the planet - take your pick, the list goes on" [199].

 

Maybe. 

 

Though I very much doubt that's how D. H. Lawrence would view things. I suspect, rather, that he'd rage against the infantalisation of art and see it as a profoundly perverse form of corruption or decadence. 

 

He'd also point to the curious fact that the perverted child artist is also an often gifted businessman, making a lot of money by turning the gallery space into a nursery and offering works that provide instant gratification and the promise of ice cream [g].  

 

 

VII.

 

Is it true, as Salle suggests, that "the qualities we admire in people [...] are often the same ones we feel in art that holds our attention" [211]?  

 

I mean, it's possible. But surely the most fascinating works of art possess (inhuman/daemonic) qualities that pass beyond admirable ...?      

 

 

VIII. 

 

Salle makes a distinction between pictorial art and presentational art; the first is all about self-expression; the latter is concerned with a set of cultural signifiers. 

 

Of course, nothing in art is simply one thing or the other. It may be convenient to provisionally posit such a binary dictinction, but there is no either/or. But, having done so, it's probably right to say that presentational art has triumphed over the last fifty years; a fact that makes Salle's heart sink. 

 

Why? 

 

Because, says Salle, we end up with art that is simply commentary and lacks emotional power. One might even say such art lacks presence or what used to be called aura:

 

"Baldly put, a work of art was said to emanate this aura as a result of the transference of energy from the artist to the work, an aesthetic variant of the law of thermodynamics." [230]

 

The problem is, that's not just baldly put, it's badly put. In fact, it's a misunderstanding of the term aura - certainly as used by Walter Benjamin, who, in a famous essay written in 1936 defined it as an artwork's unique presence in time and space [h]. 

 

In other words, aura results from cultural context and is not something invested in the work by the artist. Not for the first time, Salle is giving the latter too much credit; viewing the artist as a larger than life personality and the souce of mysterious energy; as one who is often unhampered by sanity but gifted with genius. 

 

I'm not by any means opposed to artworks that exist as actual objects crafted by hand and full of auratic authenticity. But, unable to produce such myself - and without the means to buy such - I'm perfectly content to think of art primarily as something presented on a screen or printed on the page of a book or magazine.

 

And even Salle admits that, at least since Picasso, "how well a work reproduces plays a significant role in its popularity; the most acclaimed artists from the '60s, for instance, look fabulous in reproduction" [234]. 

 

He continues:

 

"This isn't to suggest that those works didn't also have tremendous physical presence, but the fact remains most people  are primarily familiar with a work of art through a reproduction; those who have the good fortune of experiencing the painting firsthand are fewer in number, and those who have the luxury of actually living with it are very rare indeed." [234]

 

But still there are some works that look more compelling in a magazine or on a screen than sitting in a gallery space; this is what Salle terms art conceived as spectacle or as advertising; art that is ironically detached from its own form and exists happily as a pure image; art that is devoid of aura - but then, as Salle says: "It's a relief sometimes to let go of things that no longer serve." [239] [i]  

 

 

Anish Kapoor: Cloud Gate (2004-06) 

Polished stainless steel (10 x 20 x 12.8 m)

Millennium Park, Chicago, USA.

 

 

Notes

 

[a] Malcolm McLaren, quoted by Paul Gorman in The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 49. 

      In an address given to the New York Academy of Art in 2011, Salle says: "I think it's fair to say that failure is the last taboo in American culture. [...] It might just be my sensibility, but I've always been attracted to the idea of the noble failure; the attempt at something that was probably bound to fail at some point, but the contemplation of which is exciting nonetheless. But this archetype of the noble failure doesn't seem to have much currency anymore; in fact, it probably went out of fashion  about the same time that the alienated hero was given a pink slip." [249]

      McLaren wanted to destroy success; today, artists want to be popular and succeed in the market place. Salle seems okay with this; "sometimes the most poular art is also the best" [250] and if you're a genuine artist, money and fame won't greatly change what you do (nor the amount of time spent alone in the studio).         

[b] David Salle, How to See (W. W. Norton, 2016), p. 154. All further page references to this work will be given directly in the post. 

 

[c] Later, writing of Mike Kelly - another artist who topped himself (in 2012, and also aged 57, like Goldstein) - Salle says that suicide can't be trumped in its finality and thus "makes the survivors seem small" [159].

 

[d] Nietzsche, The Gay Science, trans. Walter Kaufmann (Vintage Books, 1974), IV. 290, p. 232.

[e] Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality 2: The Use of Pleasure, trans. Robert Hurley (Penguin Books, 1992), pp. 10-11. 

[f] Later, in a piece on Francis Picabia, Salle writes that every generation wants to revisit and revise the past in some manner and that "letting the air out out of the story of linear progress" [197] was something that characterised the work of him and his contemporaries.

[g] According to Salle; the giant bean sculpture by Anish Kapoor - pictured above at the end of the this post - is a work that says, "'There will be ice cream'" [244]; one that is very large, very shiny, and, even though its hard and metallic to the touch, one that makes you "want to cuddle it" [199], or take a selfie standing in front, smiling.   

 

[h] Benjamin's essay, 'The Work of Art in an Age of Mechanical Reproduction', can be found in Illuminations, ed. Hannah Arendt, trans. Harry Zorn (The Bodley Head, 2015), pp. 211-244. 

      See section II which opens with the lines: "Even the most perfect reproduction of a work of art is lacking in one element: its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be."  

 

[i] Salle goes on to add: "I have always found it a relief to let go of stuff that I only partly believe in. It makes me feel lighter, better." [239] I interpret this as saying the abandonment of ideals that weigh us down is a crucial aspect of overcoming the spirit of gravity.

 

To read part one of this post, click here.

 

To read part two of this post, click here. 

 

To read notes on David Salle's Introduction to How to See 92016), click here.