Vittoria Benzine, the magazine’s resident psychic, returns to read the art world’s cards for the hot months ahead.
I believe a dozen concurrent, unannounced dance parties in strategically-placed gas station parking lots across America would do a lot for the nation. My proposed score has always been Stevie Wonder’s Sir Duke, a song I loved so much I recorded it on my flip phone in the sixth grade.
That’s not some far-off dream, either. By eighth grade, I’d taught some volleyball teammates the Jai Ho dance in a pizzeria parking lot. We followed strangers through the mall in single-file lines and donned costumes to buy ice cream for kicks. We didn’t know we weren’t alone—there’s an extensive canon of public performance art, plus that guy dancing in the suburbs lately, and Crackhead Barney, who recently pulled off a rare feat: a genuinely unsettling, provocative, and powerful play at Williamsburg’s artist-run performance space, PAGEANT.
I’ve clearly been contemplating the disparity between art and the art world that the cards highlighted last month; increasingly, the art world seems to need to recenter on the artistic spirit, rather than cattiness. We celebrated creativity itself at Art21’s twenty-fifty anniversary gala recently, where I sat by filmmaker Diane Severin Nguyen and photographer Tommy Kha, who took yearbook photos on site. Living legends like Charles Gaines, Pat Olezsko, and Raul de Nieves also abounded.
Vibes were high, but conditions beyond the gala’s Tribeca venue still made themselves felt inside. Is it really only possible to enjoy this kind of charmed artistic life by inadvertently crushing scores of faraway people under your heel? Hard to see how I’m a good person in the grand scheme of Earth. “Surely the cards can point us towards empowerment,” I figure. After a quick Palo Santo, Eve playing on my iMac, I sit down to pull a four-month forecast in a format I haven’t used since fall. First, the cards look like no fun, though that shifts with a little attention.
As I am pulling this spread, it’s Brooklyn’s first eighty-degree day of the year. I am christening my sixth summer without air conditioning by requesting a peek into the coming season, which used to be considered the art world’s slow period. Alas, this is the year of the Fire Horse. We still have the Venice Biennale and Frieze New York on the way, as well as the Carnegie International—Manifesta and the Gwangju Biennale. But, look at those first three cards, for May: They’re so tender! The Three of Swords reversed, the Seven of Swords reversed, the Nine of Wands reversed. Releasing heartbreak, deception, and exhaustion—so many ruses. Then for June, the Five of Pentacles reversed, the Four of Pentacles reversed, and Judgement. These are cards of releasing destitution, unclenching a white-knuckled grip. It seems that’s what the angels are waiting for, with pens and clipboards.
In fact, this whole spread is all about negative space. There are so many critical reversals. I don’t ever like seeing the Nine of Pentacles upside down, especially not for July. But, it is striking to see that hand pour its coins into the Three of Pentacles, signifying collaboration, and the Two of Swords—consulting one’s deepest voices. Upright, the Nine of Pentacles is our ‘rich bitch’ card. Reversed, she’s kind of like Cady at the end of Mean Girls, realizing she’s gone astray. The composition of these cards advises rechanneling resources into the collective and reflection.
August’s forecast echoes this. The Queen of Wands is a Prom Queen. Here, she’s not a showoff. Upright, the Six of Wands reversed and the Ten of Cups are celebratory—they’re still happy reversed, albeit quietly. Remember when leadership was granted based on one’s quiet virtues, rather than their rage’s decibel level?
Overall, I’d call this spread a sheep in wolf’s clothing, full of challenging cards in relieving positions. That’s not an accident. We’re transmuting uncomfortable forces. We can feel this.
To that end, I’ve felt particularly psychic this past month, as spiritual influencers on Instagram have started espousing an exercise I’ve been consciously honing for three years— harnessing and alchemizing all energy thrown my way, including hexes. I mean, that’s how America’s president rose to power, right?
Meanwhile, I’ve been working through a bevy of deadlines without nicotine for the first time. I’m mostly surviving by getting high, but also by exercising monastically, to keep the channel clean. Several art-related premonitions have emerged from this mix. First, I think it’s only a matter of time before an artist teams up with a fashion designer to drop a major fragrance. I want to smell like Yayoi Kusama’s auras, I think. Second, inspired by Josh Kline’s buzzy Real Estate essay, I think we could see a Whitney Biennial curated entirely from open calls in our lifetime. Greater New York drew from “200 submissions,” after all. And finally, I think we’ll see the return of artists’ guilds, because the art press can’t always protect artists from nonpaying galleries, evidently.
In closing, I ask the cards what unexpected forces the art world should look out for. The Four of Pentacles reversed, the Emperor, and the Six of Wands. This mostly confirms our earlier spread, a sign that the cards have said their part. Believe it or not, surrender is the first step to bossing up.
