DANIEL RICH- TER. “DISTANT FLOWERS” (2022). OIL ON CANVAS. 87 ¾” X 72 ¼” X 2 ⅝”. © DANIEL RICHTER, COUR- TESY REGEN PROJECTS.
AND THEN THE CLOUDS LIFT, AND GOD DAMNED IF THINGS DON’T LOOK BETTER THAN BEFORE
moves. Once-insistent that fire can persevere, Sagittarius ignites a flame; he now crouches in a corner, smeared in ash. Capricorn brazenly reasons with the storm, soon realizing the storm rebuttals mercy.Aquarius avoids the storm—if it can’t see him it can’t touch him, right? Pisces welcomes the incipient rainfall, ultimately drowning in its incessant might. Upon hearing the shrilling cries of their terrorized children, the twelve constellations plea for The Universe’s mercy. “Your children are churlish,” echoes The Universe. Beholding the petrified gazes of her loy- al companions, she sighs a susurrus breath over the Earth, and grudg- ingly reverts Mercury’s orbit with the sharp point of her fingernail. The aureate clouds alleviate the troposphere and a sensation of blissful pet- richor floods the children’s senses. Birds entertain the blue above, chirp- ing in idyll. In three months’ time, I, the astrologer, will play weatherman again. But until then, my peers will speak again in mellifluous tongues. The Universe will traverse new terrain. And all twelve constellations will repose amongst the Milky nebulas. The children now understand: the privilege of the sun.
The first tendrils of sunlight break through the harsh clouds, and sud- denly a new day has emerged. And while the pain of the past is behind us, the memory can still linger, haunting us late at night.Yet no matter how dark the night, the sun will always return to bring the morning. Three times a year, I brave the storm that shoves my soul backwards just as swiftly as it propels my feet forward. A permutation to my cog- nition of self. The Universe declares this jolt of life a ‘retrograde,’ whilst Earth, Air, Fire, and Water alike seek my apotelesm. I, the astrologer 9 , am not immune. Scoping the sky, I welcome this season of abysmal assess- ments—an uninvited guest of the conscience. The twelve constellations who hover this earthscape, watch their children lost in a state of concoct- ed reverie as they tremble with the storm. Aries no longer wants to play outside, the storm bellows over him, usurping victory. Taurus clings to tangible comforts, fearing the storm will strip her of security. Gemini laughed at the grievous gray clouds, ultimately collapsing under its burdensome weight—a loss he’ll never admit to. Sometimes her friend, sometimes her foe, Cancer has been weathered by the storm before. Leo confronts the storm every morning in the mirror, scouring over inches of his skin for slivers of sunshine. Virgo thinks she can outrun the storm with her logic—unaware that the rain’s feet sprint faster. Libra slips behind the meager mask of the storm, behind it he con- templates whether to encounter or evade. Scorpio proudly engages with the storm in a game of chess, only for her to encounter defeat in four
— Shei Marcelline
9 Meet me at the House of Spirits on Sunset, and wear a brown serape.You see, an astrologer, the observer of the stars, moons, and planets, connects the occurrences of space to humanity. Binding the complexi- ties of space to the human experience, an astrologer finds their answers in the unknown. 8 German painter Daniel Richter exhibits new paintings at Regen Projects, marking his fifth solo ex- hibition with the gallery, Furor II . Drawing on a 1916 postcard depicting two wounded WWI soldiers, Furor II wavers between abstraction and figuration, set in front of color-blocked backgrounds.
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