I think the soul paints itself transforming.  I work with alchemy and the eight transitions point in the calendar year as a way of working attentively with the soul/psyche’s unfolding.  The calendar year begins and ends with the darkness of winter; a spiral of change.  Alchemy begins with the emergence of the Prima Materia, the brightest, blackest, most alive matter, and ends with the creation of the Philosophers’ Stone (Lapis Philosophorum).  The stone; a powder, a tincture, perhaps the Prima Materia itself, is, amongst other things, referred to as Lapis Occultus and Arcanum (mystery, deep secret, elixir, secret remedy).  The transition points -  the Celtic cross quarter days, the solstices and equinoxes – prepare for soul for what lies ahead.  Once manifested, the ripened stone then transforms through four seasons; participating in calendrical processes and relations of gestation, birth, growth, blossoming, fading, dying, absence, emptiness and birth again. This is what I paint.  Each year I work with similar material but from different perspectives and sometimes with new understanding.

Kate Southworth is an Irish/British artist based in Cornwall, UK. Her work engages with magic, alchemy, mysticism and other spiritual traditions and she is interested in their relationship with new technologies and digital cultures.  Her work spans painting, drawing, rituals, spells and digital works.

In her work, Southworth draws on the concept of mutuality to explore all the spaces within and around us, including the liminal and interstitial spaces between psyche and landscape, self and other, human and non-human, material and spiritual. For Southworth, mutuality has the potential to become a transformative force that can disrupt centralised and hierarchical structures and contribute to a new understanding of interconnected subjectivity.

Southworth's paintings often depict dreamlike and cosmic landscapes that are inspired by the remotest regions of Cornwall and Ireland. They reference the transformations of the calendar year, pregnancy, birth and the maternal, and the emergence of new forms of becoming.  They often depict a range of animals, including birds, horses, serpents, seahorses and strange, otherworldly creatures that seem to emerge from a world beyond our own.  Her work involves the use of ritual in painting and in the landscape as a way of encountering that which rests elsewhere. 

Her work has been disseminated nationally and internationally. In addition to solo and two-person shows, it has been included in more than 35 group exhibitions including Craftivism at Arnolfini, Bristol, and is archived in online collections.  She was quoted extensively in Vox magazine’s 2022 article on ‘Why we need rituals, not routines’ and her work was featured in Interalia magazine’s issue on Alchemy, Occult and Esoteric Art Practices - ‘Ritual Forms and Transformation’. She was interviewed about her paintings, rituals, politics, network forms and calendric practices by Marc Garrett for the Furtherfield Podcast.

She has taught at Universities in London, Dublin and Cornwall and has given talks on contemporary art at Tate St.Ives, Tate Britain and Tate Modern.

She received her Bachelor of Fine Arts degree from Manchester Polytechnic, and went on to complete an MSc in Multimedia Systems at the London Guildhall University. She later earned a PhD in Fine Art from the University of Leeds, where her supervisors were the artist Chris Taylor and art theorist Griselda Pollock.

Bathing herself in algorithms, she slides surreptitiously to the edges of the screen.

She slinks across the ground from left to right and back again, obscuring the text. Circular movements cover their essay on 17th and 18th century notions of creativity with a digitally manipulated image of Boticelli’s Venus. Text and image and code collide; perhaps a nod to the scientific production of art.

Towards the centre of the screen two scroll bars dissect, and the thin grey columns made from repetitions of the word ‘process’ seem to overwhelm. She imagines herself spilling into each precise word; fragilising its certainty.

Aphrodite, always in the process of becoming: a symbol of transformation itself.

Yet, within this particular paradigm, she is unable to shake the materiality of the browser window.

She acknowledges her limitations whilst yearning for inkiness: she is code.

This is a ritual to be enacted alone or with others on the eve of the Autumn Equinox. It uses natural ink extracted from the fruits of blackberry plants and a sheet of paper with two squares; one placed above the other.

Folklore advises that blackberries not be eaten after 29th September because they have the ‘dragon’ in them. For this reason, I suggest collecting the plump blackberries in August, whilst the dragon canters elsewhere, and making the ink immediately (although they can frozen and the ink made at a later date). Blackberries’ essential presence in this ritual signals a reclamation of the wholeness of darkness in its deep magenta fullness; in its blackness.

At the Autumn Equinox, just as at the Spring Equinox, night and day are balanced: almost equal in length. The equinoxes are times when we experience the two full encounters between the symbolic figures of darkness and brightness. The two squares represent the relationship in a moment of balance: the darkness sits within the bottom square and the brightness within the upper square. At the Autumn Equinox the darkness begins its cyclical transformation. By following the darkness through the coming months we participate in the active making of our souls. In witnessing its nourishment and transformation we give ourselves the opportunity to anticipate and fully embody the movement of life.

Six weeks before the Autumn Equinox: Collect blackberries and extract the juice from the blackberries to make a natural ink.

Two days before the Autumn Equinox: Draw two squares on a piece of paper and position one square above the other.

On the eve of the Autumn Equinox: Take your ink, paper and paintbrush out into the world. If the world is not open to you at the moment, you can move around your home. Imagine the brightness that emerged at the Spring Equinox, and remember its journey from pale silver yellow through exaggerated Summer heights to its current golden glow. Paint it in and around the upper square. Image the darkness that has waited patiently these last months. Remember its matter and its form of last year and anticipate its potential: its coming transformation. Paint it in and around the lower square. Invisible traces of the mutual love between darkness and brightness might permeate your own matter; transforming it.

This is a ritual to be enacted quietly and unobserved on the eve of Lughnasadh. It uses Summer beads and a healing balm inspired by fragments of an ancient recipe for Carmelite Water; a healing potion created about 1379 by the Carmelite Sisters made from lemon balm, coriander seeds, cloves and other everyday herbs and spices. The healing balm is said to coax joy from the belly and is reputed to have been used as a tonic to relieve the body of the last vestiges of sadness. It is particularly effective at Lughnasadh when the energies of active growth co-exist with the gentle energies of slowing; as they begin to emerge in preparation for winter. Joyfulness and sadness meet in mutual recognition. Joyfulness listens intently to Sadness; Sadness listens intently to Joyfulness. Together they mutually transform; co-emerging through Slowing’s gentle energies.

Three days before Lughnasadh: Make nine pea-sized Summer beads from papier maché; wrapping them in summer flower petals and lemon balm leaves.

Two days before Lughasadh: Make your healing balm by adding lemon balm leaves, coriander seeds, cloves and mint leaves to drinking water. Store in an air-tight bottle.

On the eve of Lughnasadh: Take your beads and healing balm out into the world. If the world is not open to you at the moment, you can move around your flat/house. Dab a little of the balm onto your wrists, your temples, the back of your knees and your neck. Take one of your beads into your hand and feel its power. Walk for as long as you would like. If you encounter another person you might offer them your bead. You might see a tree or a wall where you might place your bead. If either of these happen, take another bead into you hand and continue. You can stop whenever it feels right to do so. Any remaining beads can be kept safely until next year. Invisible traces of the beads’ potency might permeate your very matter; transforming it.