I made these artworks that introduce this rant of mine around a time of great upheaval, relative shock and intense self-discovery that loosely began in the summer of 2015 and ended in March of 2018. I was on the island of Ibiza to continue filming footage for a fly-on-the-wall documentary idea that I had developed a few years earlier. One about the highs and lows of an ageing DJ with whom I had become very close friends with in and around 2008. In my eyes it was going to be a story about authenticity and integrity. Passion and struggle. A story about choices and how these choices had impacted on the main subject. A tale about someone who somehow, whether directly or indirectly, had an impact on the so-labelled “hippy tribe.” Someone who, amongst others, ushered their generation and the next one into the transition from blues and rock & roll to electronic music. But it was also a story of nostalgia, melancholy, loss and ultimately failure. One without the perks of recognition and fame that to a certain extent my subject deserved. Perks that, in a very practical manner could have helped him to position himself into a more peaceful and solid retirement.

Anyway, the process was taking too long and to make matters more complicated, I was also in the midst of my own struggle to find real purpose in life. The glossy idea of becoming a somewhat established renegade “one-man-filmmaking-band” I had nurtured over a decade earlier was beginning to lack its lustre. At the time, I confided this struggle of mine to an acquaintance of the subject I was filming. Someone who was also renting a room in the farmhouse we were all living in. Another great subject to follow in his own right as a very interesting individual. A true artist who was completely immersed into his own individual process of creation, entertainment and mastery. A solid one-man-band in itself who seemed very comfortable in his own shoes, as well as fearless or carefree in his own individual interpretation of life. It was in a nonchalant way that he encouraged to find myself through the use of the Human Design System and through the connection with a certain individual who could steer me in the right direction, so to speak. I left the island after a few weeks with the half-promise to return in October and stay through the winter to finish my project, but also and why not, to find out more about myself.

I returned to Rome and started looking up on this Human Design System through the web. The first thing that caught my attention was two simple coincidental facts. I shared the same birth day and month with this particular fellow who had brought forth this system of self-knowledge, and he was also born in Canada; a place very dear to me. It’s a country that I had the good fortune and privilege to live and study in through my university years, and the one place whereby through the great friendships I had forged, taught me very much about the force and beauty of the natural environment. Already in the early nineties, Canada was at the forefront of nature conservation and when I landed there in a small university town famous for its agricultural department located about and hour and a half drive west of Toronto, it felt like I may have been dropped onto a different planet altogether from the one I grew up in.

Synchronicities aside, I kept on researching and found myself watching a long interview piece with the Human Design founder, a few times over. The edit composition was very much developed in a nineties boxed graphics style and sort of felt homemade to some degree, if not passée. There he was, completely clad in black from head to toe recalling the mystical events that led him to his discovery. It was a great tale of magic and wonder. Yet something in the guy’s voice and demeanour was not quite right and despite the entertainment factor his linguistic prowess exhumed, his narrative kind of felt odd or flawed in places, in my perception at least. Like he was hiding something from the whole truth. Some detail he was omitting for the sake of his own authenticity, or so it felt that way. But I couldn’t really put my finger on why that pulse, really. I did find out later what it was and though I shall not delve into unnecessary judgment, let’s just say that every great magic act is built on some kind of white lie or black deception.

So, it’s fair to say that I was very much intrigued about what I was going to get into. In October 2015, I jumped onto a plane and travelled back to Ibiza to stay on a more permanent basis with my film subject to basically concentrate onto two things: finish filming this fly-on-the-wall documentary then and there in its sixth year of self-financed production and in my spare time try to find out more about myself through this Human Design System palaver. Why not? What could ever go wrong.

So, it was in this context that soon after my return to the island I came to meet that special someone who was going to steer me in the right direction. Someone whose encounter had nevertheless been already prophetised to me years back, when a heated conversation sparked by a misunderstanding with a Scythian woman while travelling on the Rome’s underground system prompted her to look right through me and laughingly edge me on. “You have no idea who you are, you fool! ” she said. “But you are a good soul after all and you will meet someone who does know who you are and who will assist you in your journey to find yourself.”

She went on for a while longer to give me more details I didn’t really ask for and I started to loose my cool. After all she was spot on in regards to the first statement. Yet, spurred on by her own provocation and the word-jab she swung at my overinflated sense of self I carried with me at the time, she got me snapping back at her with a wide looney grin. “Does he go by the name of Jesus, by any chance? Because that dude came looking already, but honestly his wine tasted kind of vinegary,” I retorted. That made her laugh, bringing the vibe back to the side of love and surprisingly she replied: “You’re funny, but you speak out of ignorance. Let me tell you this: Jesus was an outcast. This man you’ll meet will be very much like him, in the sense that most people will think he is crazy. But you’ll see through him and remember.” I fished some change out of my front pocket and handed it over. Puff, she was out that sliding door, and as quickly and abruptly as she entered it in the first place, out of my life. Like a thunderbolt.

Fast forward to a few years later, and bingo! The moment I did finally meet the guy who was going to point me in the right direction, I clearly remembered thinking to myself: “Ah, there you are! My brother from another mother. So, riddle me this: surely this is the outcast the gipsy lady prophetised about?” Something along those lines, anyway. There was a recognition, so to speak. A faded memory from another lifetime where this person may have been somewhat important to me. It had happened before in my life, precisely in two separate instances where I had met someone and boom, this particular bodily euphoria swelled up in me in such a particular fashion that can only be described as something similar to a very strong deja vu.

And no doubt about it this guy looked whacko, alright! After all, I have met a few including myself that is. At least, that’s what was going on the surface of things. He dressed like a dishevelled Jesus character, lived in a cave overlooking the magical magnetic rock of Es Vedra on the south shore of Ibiza, and I guess that as first appearances go, he kind of looked like the crazy fool on the hill that he is. What I mean is that he was genuine. As we started palavering and getting to know each other what soon became evident was that behind such a bizarre and outlandish exterior shone a great light of natural uncontrived wisdom and good heartedness. One to which I instinctively bonded and let me add, without giving one infinitesimal fuck about all the chit chatter I was hearing about him. Mind you, by other crazy people close to me, who by hook or by crook, did not see what I saw or more likely felt emanating from him. Hey, one man’s garbage is another man’s treasure and so be it.

Because let’s face it, ultimately what we see is always limited by the partial prism of light our poor vision operates in. But what we feel and sense, through intuition in my case or through other bodily sensors is really where it’s all at, and another different more precise ball game altogether. So, it was within this framework that I found myself again. I use the word again because everything my crazy “fool in the cave” told me about me, I already knew. It was all in there, hidden or messed up behind the inevitable layers of conditioning I acquired through my forty-odd years of conformed upbringing. Yet it was all there. Just waiting to be fished out and organized within a practical structure. In a very short period of time, I wasn’t just able to understand myself a little bit better, but also start to heal from some of those unhealthy dynamics in my family structure that had plagued me since my childhood years. More specifically, I was able to understand my father and ultimately begin to heal a long and unnecessary anger resentment towards him. One that I had not been keen to tackle earlier in fear of a never ending and potentially detrimental psycho-the-rapist routine.

At the same time, I was indirectly collecting private information about this Alan Robert Krakower who had channelled this Human Design System. To my surprise, the subject I was filming unbeknownst to my knowledge had been a direct friend of his. As were most of his other friends living on the island with whom I was acquainted already, for that matter. After all, they were all part of that first, second and third wave of hippies around the Western world who had dropped out of mainstream society to relocate to this yet mysterious island that was Ibiza from the 60s onwards. So, without really prying all of a sudden I was privy to all these stories and gossip that painted a kind of post-expressionist print of their friend. The man who would later call himself Ra Uru Hu. Ultimately, a picture that verged on both the opposite ends of likeability.

Yet, all the narrative I was hearing kind of fell short of the mark somewhat. The mark that this man has undoubtedly left on society. It became clear to me – not so evidently at the time but certainly later when I dug deeper into this rabbit hole – that very few of his Ibiza friends and acquaintances I had gotten close to really knew or understood the guy. Nor what he was trying to awaken them to. The general feeling I got was that this guy was a real shocker and freak. Around the same time by some degree of coincidence I was invited to a free yoga session in what had become to be known as the Human Design House, where supposedly his ashes are buried under his favourite fig tree and marked by a crystal.

After the session, I wandered through the house and its ample gardens that were hidden behind a healthy orange grove in the front of the property. I sat next to his burial place. Touched the crystal marking his resting place and muttered a thank you prayer that my fervent Christian grandmother had taught me in the past and left. Nothing magical happened. No voice rose from the meanders of my mind or from the great universal unconscious. No great reveal. Just static, really. What I did conclude though was that this fellow must have done well for himself, seeing that he went from a roofless ruina where he channelled this knowledge, to this swanky and very comfortable countryside home in the space of a decade, mind you.

Definitely the mark of a much more complex individual than the one that was tentatively described to me. Closer to a ‘genius than a freak’ to use an inside joke derived from the Human Design System and his own design. Anyway, the line between the two adjectives is a fine one, so there you go. Nevertheless, I could not help but to sympathise with him and the tenacity with which he must have held on to this seemingly enlightening process of his. Despite the mockery around him. In spite of the strong sense of isolation he must have endured through his own unique and personal metamorphosis. Ultimately and figuratively speaking it takes a certain set of attributes to swim against the current while watching others tentatively wave at you while the tide pushes them in the opposite direction. After all, what kind of awareness or awakening does not come without suffering, ah?

Then things started to get strangely interesting. After having returned from a New Year’s house party on the 1st of January of 2016 at around 3am, while I was about to fall asleep something I can only describe as a hovering white mist materialised over me. At the party, I had smoked some pot and at some point was offered a small dab of pure MDMA so I was kind of inclined to think I was imagining it all through my temporary psychonaut status. So, with the benefit of the stoned man’s doubt I allowed what unfolded next to happen without much ado, as I watched and felt this mist go right through me. It was not cold. It was not scary. It was not painful. It felt very much like warm and feminine energy and had the equivalent sensory feeling you get when you hug someone you really love. I felt its or her love so to speak to the point of falling in a deep dreamless slumber while crying tears of joy and gratitude. For what, I still didn’t know.

Meanwhile, the next month was a constant in turmoil and change. The relationship with my film subject turned sour for various reasons, for which I take partial responsibility. All of a sudden, my main prerogative was not to continue with the filming anymore, but rather move quickly somewhere else where I could continue my journey of self-discovery. Some dear friends of mine – who soon after became pivotal in my three-year stay in Ibiza between 2015 and 2018 – invited me to house sit an amazing rural property they were leasing as a holiday rental and retreat centre. Casa Corazon was located right smack in the heart of Ibiza. I had this magical tip-top and renewed 7-bedroom farmhouse all to myself at least until the end of March, just before the very buzzing new summer season began. A place, beg you pardon, I had dreamed of years earlier by the way.

It is in this secluded environment and with very little interaction with other fellow humans that I began my uncertified education in Human Design. I say uncertified because it didn’t happen through the official educational channels in place. But to quote Ra himself: “What to do?”. After all it is part of my trajectory. Hidden knowledge whether I like it or not, unconsciously just comes to me. Since I can remember esoteric knowledge of all sorts: black, white, grey and rainbow coloured either pooped right onto my lap or just sat dangling like an apple in front of me. Waiting for me to pluck the courage to take a bite. And it takes a lot of courage or foolishness to bite them apples, let me tell you that much. A gift or a curse. Most of these fruits ain’t dropping from neither the Fuji or the Golden Delicious apple tree branches. One must tread lightly and learn the artful skill of picking or you may end up choking on their rot before you even start. One can get caught up with all kinds of unhealthy power trips and/or entity attachments that will master puppeteer you and feed on you in any way they choose, whilst making you believe you are the man. The enlightened one. The guru. Look at the life of Alastair Crowley, for a banal example. I had somewhat already joined that club to a foolish degree in my early teens and frankly let’s just say that the postman does not rings twice when delivering this particular membership card. In fact, more times than not, you forget to shut the door. So he doesn’t ring at all and just walks right in thinking he’s invited. Like the demon he is.

Moving on then to the spring, when a spiritual festival was organized at the old horse race track of San Raphael. A colourful and intriguing barrage of shamans, mystics and holistic healers from all over the world gathered in the heart of the island and my Human Design teacher invited me to sit with him and read people’s designs in free consultations. Basic and general information about profile, type, strategy and authority. Mainly aimed at raising people’s curiosity about the nature of self. Also, in a few cases I was able to go deeper with some peeps and apply my intuitive Q&A skills that I have only recently mastered through a certification in Cognitive-Behavioural Therapy. Overall, I had a blast getting to know all these different people from different cultural backgrounds. Observing and listening. Experimenting with my own newly unearthed sense of self. I restrained from taking part in any of the group rituals as whenever I had done so in the past it never resulted in a fun-loving and uplifting experience for me. Too many people. Too many different energies. Too much sensory overload for my sensitive openness. In general, large adult group energy is too much for me to handle and though it may feel good with certain people and in certain moments it soon ends up draining me as I drown in the aftermath of other people’s amplified thoughts and emotions. Most times, for days on end.

So, it happened that at this festival or gathering, a few certified Human Design system analysts showed up and let’s just say that my teacher had its own beef, not so much with anyone of them in particular I felt, but very much more with something that was fuelled from what sounded and felt as the side effects of an intense relationship he had with Ra in the past. And one for that matter that may have ended too prematurely. Without the proper acknowledgement of either parties, due to Ra’s exiting this plane of existence in 2011. That’s my own simple interpretation based on the intuitive observations I gathered and the limited inside knowledge I had picked up along the way. Anyway, to cut a long story short there was some attrition amongst these parties and given that my outsider status did not allow me to provokingly stick my finger in their pie, I just tried to sit as comfortably as possible on that particular metaphorical fence and put out the best allegorical “Do not disturb” mask on I could muster. After all my invitation had been outside of their squabble. So, frankly whatever the issue they were stuck into was none of my business.

However, I could not help but feel for these certified folks a certain kind of respect that comes from recognizing their journey as one that involves time and money, to achieve their certified goal. Especially, given that I was willingly and unrepentantly marking their territory with my own uncertified scent. Moreover, I genuinely took a liking to one of these certified peeps. His vital force felt somewhat right to me in that moment and though I sensed we both kept our guard up somewhat, we started engaging in some conversation that quickly stirred both of us to admit to each other that this Human Design knowledge was linked to extraterrestrial information. All of this happening just next to a bunch of cool cats in a camper van that had some large Galactic Federation logo sticking out of its side. Trick or treat, so to speak.

But it’s no Halloween story, really. If you look at the history of Ibiza and especially at the story of Father Francisco Palau, you can extrapolate these narratives into a much wider worldwide context and possibly come to the realisation that all knowledge known to mankind has been derived through individuals channelling extraterrestrial information. By extraterrestrial, I mean esoteric and out of this world. Information that has always come to those who were courageous or foolish enough to seek it in the first place. Through a cathartic process that includes shock and suffering. These are after all great catalysts for change. Yet, it’s still information that in the moment of discovery is beyond mass comprehension and whereby its potential for mutation must stand the test of time. Inevitably it also means that any tangible recognition for those who personify this catalytic energy field is usually rendered long after their exit bow. To some extent that is the heretical code. Look at Giordano Bruno, Nicolas Tesla and Dirk Hamer to name a few. And, for sure, do look at Ra.

Truth is: information is always being blasted through space and as the Kelco character in Michael Mann’s blockbuster movie Heat says, and I quote: “the stuff is beamed out all over the place. You just need to know how to grab it. You see, I know how to grab it!” Now, let me hold my horses. I’m not claiming that I know how to grab it. This is peacock territory. Let’s just say that I keep on sharpening my spoons, knives and forks. Shining my silver cutlery, so to speak. So that when and if I’m invited to your table, I guess we can both relax and eat our food with our retractable thumbed hands.

So, this is the background story that fuelled my inspiration for these prints. As a base I used a few photographs I was handed by a party photographer I met while practising my Human Design reading skills at various Ibiza night clubs in those crazy summer seasons in 2016 and 2017, which is another set of stories all together. I then allowed my intuition to take over and fill the space with whatever filtered through my completely open mind. Heresy and Investigation. Matter and Antimatter. Light and Shadow. Hail to the duality. Salute to the juxtaposition. Long live the seekers through whom we may learn to embrace our immortal spirit.

I’m forever blessed and constantly humbled by my own existential experience, not sure of anything except that there is no death and that existence in infinite and has no creator. For this, in this lifetime I shall keep on keeping on and attempt to be and stay eternally grateful to all that comes my way in my drive for survival. Mine and yours, alike. Aho.

“Those who have swords, and know how to use them, but keep them sheathed, shall inherit the Earth” (Clinical psychologist and author Jordan Peterson’s interpretation of Matthew’s 5:5 biblical verse: “Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the Earth”)

“Occult knowledge is a natural psychic awareness that empowers principles of universalization, the pressure to know mysteries through esoterics…” (from Ra’s description of the 61.1 gate and line in his reinterpretation of the I Ching as expressed within the context of his Human Design system)