Fio Aengus / Gede Parma - Calling to the Guardians - 2018

One of my passions is to photograph ritual and magical spaces.

For a lot of neo-pagans and witches, this is sometimes met with puzzled looks or apprehension. How could I take this lump of metal and glass into sacred space and still be respectful?

I get it, technology is often an unwelcome presence in sacred space. Our phones are listening to us, or watches are tracking us, for better or worse, technology is pervasive through our lives.

As well as the tech, there’s another thing that may be equally or perhaps more unwelcome. The male gaze (I’m referring to Gaze theory here, that speaks to the assumption that a work is made from the viewpoint of the male, and that female inclined people are simply subjects of a man’s visual appreciation or judgement). For decades, western culture has been scrutinized by the male gaze. It has been used as a weapon, casting shame and mistrust and objectification across communities. Although perhaps unrelated to gaze theory, even some of the language of photography can come across as dominating and oppressing; “aim” the lens, “shoot” the subject, “capture” the moment.

The effect of a dominant male gaze in western culture is maddening. In myself, I can feel it wrapped up into my sexuality and desire, my whole eros system has been influenced by the male gaze. I look at certain bodies with more attention, I look at myself with the same attention, sometimes quite cuttingly, throwing that sword of judgement at the mirror and slicing off sections of undesirable traits. I spend time simply trying to undo that conditioning. To truly understand design principles, and compose a beautiful image, I need to first rewire my brain to see beauty outside of the dominant culture of beauty. And, then to reflect it back to the world, and have it be received as beautiful… well, that’s the risk, isn’t it? To take a stand against culture and behaviour, you also risk losing the benefits of privilege that behaviour brings.

So, both of these elements I am using magic to actively subvert and invert. I subvert the male gaze by opening up to the gate of paradise, to bear witness to Beauty as xe unfurls. To know that all is Beauty.

At the same time, I invert my lump of metal and plastic and glass, my piece of technology, my tool of alchemy; so it is upside down & inside out, to remind it of its spirit, of its fey nature, and of its connection to them, to the wild, to what is natural. We all come from stardust.

I open to Hermes as the edge-walker, boundary-marker, silver-tongued, to grant my feet a fleet-footed nature, and walk the edges of worlds with him as the circle is cast and we draw a line between the worlds. To be oriented with him as the directions are called and the crossroad is marked. To have his vision of perspective and detail, the micro and the macro, as above and so below.

And of course, I ask of the ritual-planners and participants, consent. Always, always consent. I’ll do this in three parts; firstly the ritual-planners, approaching them (preferably a week or more before the ritual) to seek permission. Then, anyone with a ritual role of possession or aspecting I’ll ask before they ‘go under’. And finally, at the beginning of the ritual itself, while the logistics are being spoken, I’ll quickly explain what I do and then ask for a round of consent (hands in the air), followed up with a round of non-consent (hands in the air). I also offer participants an opportunity to come and see me later if they change their mind and would like me to remove any images with them in it.

If someone does not wish to be photographed (and there often is), I simply avoid them with the lens.

These processes create a foundation in which potential magic can occur. Of course, there are other factors to negotiate just like with any shoot. For example, the amount of light available if the ritual starts at sunset, or choosing the right lens at the beginning so you’re not stuck with a 35 mm for that intimate close-up moment, or releasing the need for sharp focus images when the energy is being whipped up and all you’re getting is blurs. These elements are the fun part, the creative problem solving (I believe) is the juice of being an artist. And then, later in the studio when editing, choosing the images that tell the story, and colour-adjusting in a way that reflects the lived experience of the ritual.

Photographing ritual in this way never leaves me feeling as though I missed out on participating because I was still invested in it. I still held the intention, honoured and welcomed the spirits, listened to the stories, shared my energy and witnessed a transformation. If the photographer is detached and objective, they’re no longer listening to the ritualists, participating in the energy, or respecting boundaries. They become an agent of the male gaze, just hoping to capture and steal a living creature for their own profits.

This is the work. I am an artist and a witch, a priest of Hermes and a priestess of Beauty. I try to remember this when photographing ritual, and I try to remember that photographing ritual is doing ‘the work’.

Photographing Ritual

Omen Deck - card 13