In the first instalment of her new column for Elephant, Vittoria Benzine reads the art world’s tarot cards for the month ahead. What will the cards reveal about the industry’s strange, ever-elusive psyche?
I loved That’s So Raven as much as the next Zillennial growing up, but I never thought I could be her. My engagement with clairvoyance only began in earnest as a business major studying statistics, my favourite kind of maths. As mentioned, I’m indebted to Russell Targ for teaching me that precognition isn’t simply a megalomaniac’s snake oil — it’s our God-given ability as humans.
Although I bought my first tarot deck in 2018 after reading Alexander Chee’s How to Write an Autobiographical Novel, I only started honing my ESP by meditating upon seeing Targ’s TED Talk in 2021. I’ve maintained the habit just about every day since. My secret? I don’t self-flagellate over being good at it, even though Peter Carroll, progenitor of Chaos Magic, notes in Liber Null & Psychonaut that without learning to maintain a thoughtless state, you’re only getting meditation’s health benefits. Fortunately, Chaos Magic is about making your own rules.
These are my qualifications. I’m chronically in the right place at the right time. I developed a crush on a famous art dealer in April 2022, not imagining I’d ever meet him. Three months later, I was living in his Hollywood Hills home, whiling lonely hours away by guessing face down tarot cards, a trick I’ve grown somewhat adept at. Last Spring, while working for Artnet News, my editor shared dozens of artists we had to prepare obituaries for. Along with a Neo-Expressionist, I chose Faith Ringgold. My editor said to write the former’s obit first. Ringgold died a week later.
I’m chronically in the right place at the right time. I developed a crush on a famous art dealer in April 2022, not imagining I’d ever meet him. Three months later, I was living in his Hollywood Hills home, whiling lonely hours away by guessing face down tarot cards, a trick I’ve grown somewhat adept at.
The art world has only grown more precarious since. Listen — I’m best at predicting things by accident. But, in these uncertain times, I’m heeding the call to employ my skills on purpose.
Last week, I returned to a rented home in the Hollywood Hills to quit smoking, and devised an art world tarot spread that blends existing formats meant to serve artists with a few elements more suited to a collective reading, arranged in nine positions that conjure the Chaos Star in homage to art’s endless grey areas. Only my lucky deck by Philadelphia artist Holly Simple — procured from the now-defunct Catland Books during quarantine — would do for such a momentous experiment.
As a magician, I’m constantly asking myself, “Did I predict that, or manifest it?” This reading was another such instance. The cards I pulled told such a neat, familiar story: at the centre of the spread lies the art world’s present — The Lovers. This amorous card actually represents choice, since love is commitment. Don’t circumstances feel like they’re reaching a critical mass?
Divination isn’t just fortune-telling; it also sheds light on the past and present.
Divination isn’t just fortune-telling; it also sheds light on the past and present. The upper left position in this spread, for instance, says the art world’s strength lies in the Four of Swords reversed — signifying stamina, however ill-advised — while its weakness is the Ace of Cups — the heart centre, authentic vulnerability. My own heart dropped as I realised this art world’s comfort zone is the Five of Pentacles — one of the scariest tarot cards, denoting destitution. And what is this poor, self-loathing art world’s discomfort? The Hermit — symbolising stillness, silence, reflection.
Something tells me you knew all that. Seeking juicier scoops, I inquired about external influences. In the past, the Nine of Pentacles had a heavy hand. That’s the rich bitch card, my former favourite. Now I understand its sadness. Unlike the Ten of Pentacles — the highest manifestation of this money-minded suit — the baddie on the Nine of Pentacles is all alone. There’s no one around to take her photo on road trips. In the future, meanwhile, external influences will impose the energy of the Seven of Cups reversed. Upright, this card is confusion, delusion. Turned around, it means seeing things as they are and, once again, making a choice.
Bearing all that in mind, here’s what everyone wants to know — the art world’s future. But first, its past: the Five of Wands reversed. Upright, petty conflict. Upside down, conflict avoidance, perhaps toxic maturity, a reticence to get involved. For the future (drumroll): The Fool reversed.
How anticlimactic! No matter how badly we want a fresh start, the art world’s in for a quiet, inward-gazing new beginning at best, or continued identity crises at worst. Whatever external forces the reversed Seven of Cups represent — whether legislation or egregious censorship — the major arcana trumps the minor, always. It’s going to take time for the reborn art world to emerge.
How anticlimactic! No matter how badly we want a fresh start, the art world’s in for a quiet, inward-gazing new beginning at best, or continued identity crises at worst.
Seeking further guidance, I flipped over the deck for final advice. The Two of Pentacles. Balancing all the disparate energies that inspired me to shape this spread like the Chaos Star in the first place. Art world, you’re so mean to yourself. Learn to carry your many facets with grace.
Maybe that’s the real insight. As far as I can tell, the art world is obsessed with performing goodness and competence, and terrified of facing itself. I’m not just talking about blue chip galleries, or the Met, either. I’m also talking about art writers — some of the luckiest, least happy people you’ll ever meet. We’d be more relatable to the rest of society if we could acknowledge our humanity, our fallibility, the way Noname does with a single “fuck!” in the song “namesake.” Instead, we say “fuck ‘em” because the general populace (parents, classmates) hurt us growing up. We pretend we are different from the rest of the world. We are not.
Art needs to break out of itself to have the cultural impact it alleges to intend — and to recruit new clientele to keep the industry afloat. I see art entering unorthodox places to court such audiences.
Art needs to break out of itself to have the cultural impact it alleges to intend — and to recruit new clientele to keep the industry afloat. I see art entering unorthodox places to court such audiences. The idea of fine art installations at renowned music festivals like Coachella, where street artists, architects, and design studios are more known to dominate, keeps coming up.
I see Homeland Security starting an artist residency, especially as advancements in neuroaesthetics prove art’s power. I see Jackson Arn resurfacing, and a wave of art that emphatically eschews meaning. Oscar yi Hou and Karla Knight have already started spearheading that push. I also see Social Practice returning from its past decade out of the spotlight. Jimena Sarno has already collaborated with twenty artists and makers from the Global South for her forthcoming MASS MoCA show. Oh! And “animal art” keeps coming to me. Do with that what you will.
I see Homeland Security starting an artist residency
For my last trick until next time, I pulled three cards to leave the art world with: Ten of Wands reversed, Two of Wands reversed, and Three of Cups reversed. Yikes… time for everyone to chill out and read about de-growth — downtime could save us all. Chew on that. See you next month.
Words by Vittoria Benzine
