“It is December, and nobody asked if I was ready”
Quote by Sarah Kay
This month’s newsletter might contain mildly upsetting images or text concerning physically violent or intense performance art (depiction of knives, brief descriptions of violence). Reader discretion is advised.
01/01/2024, London, UK
My dear,
Happy New Year! Here you are, yet again, standing on the daunting cliff-- the brink of the times. And here I am, hand stretching out across the depths, like I promised I would be. I’m a lady of my word, it’s true, it’s true. So let an honourable lady tell you a secret, in case you don’t know. New beginnings are really just varied continuations in a fancy trench coat, but don’t go around telling people that. It’s supposed to be a secret, after all.
Today’s newsletter will not be a list of silly resolutions, or goals. I still have to make my mind up on how I feel about those, but I can tell you it’s not swinging very positive. I won’t bore you with the details of my consideration. No, this letter will focus on inspiration, or the act of becoming inspired. First, we’ll discuss an artist that’s been inspiring me in the last month, and then I’ll give some tricks of my own. Cunning little tricks for all you starving artists out there.
If you’re reading this then, surprise! There should be a small selection of some of my very early published poetry available on the Substack, here. It’s nothing too outstanding, of course. Kafka famously found writing to be difficult or humbling (“For writing means revealing oneself to excess; that utmost of self-revelation and surrender […].”) and I am no different. Yet still, I have chosen to select a handful of my most influential (some might even say “best”) works from my early poetry, and presented them for your enjoyment. Consume consciously, there might still be chunks of my soul amidst the carnage.
Additionally, there’s a short write-up on the primary subject of this newsletter, Marina Abramović’s, most famous piece, plated up and chopped into perfectly scrumptious single bite size, just for you, unlike the aforementioned poetry. Meaning it might go down a little better.
So, with that said, let’s move along now into the depths of this esoteric, informational, and hopefully inspirational letter.
I. Archive Updates
“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”
Quote by writer Albert Camus
An artist that doesn’t consume art, doesn't breathe it in, lives within a small fenced-off maze of references, though a wide field of imagination. In an attempt to expand my garden, my maze, this month, I consumed art of all shapes and sizes. Most importantly, I attended the Marina Abramović retrospective at the Royal Academy of Arts, not once, but twice. That’s how deeply I felt the vastness of her art, the heavy feeling on the chest, the wordless awe. I stood there, a portal, a vessel for Abramović’s art. I interacted with the pieces that demanded it, I listened where she wanted me to, looked where I was directed, and avoided where I was not.
So, to feed the artist within you, the art within you, here’s a selection of long-legged, strong-willed video lectures about and by Abramović. Instead of the traditional archive update, and a selection of written sources, I’ve created a little hunt for you to embark on. A hero’s quest through the wastelands, if you will. Instead of laying everything out on a silver platter, you’ll have to scavenge for the deep red links in this newsletter to get your fix. Like Abramović’s art (she was after all dubbed the “grandmother of modern performance art”) this newsletter will require your participation. Not just your attention.


“Marina Abramović public lecture ‘Artist Body / Public Body’” - link
This video lecture is a good place to start if you’re looking to find an overview of Abramović’s works, and the themes she plays with throughout— particularly her usage of the body as a medium. There’s an extended section towards the end about being an artist that is also particularly fascinating, as Abramović goes through a section of her artist’s manifesto, mentioning in passing that she believes all artists should write one of their own.
“An artist relation to the erotic: an artist should develop an erotic point of view in the world. An artist should be erotic. An artist should be erotic. An artist should be erotic.
An artist’s relation to suffering: an artist should suffer. From suffering comes the best work. Suffering brings transformation. Through suffering an artist transcends the spirit. Through suffering an artist transcends the spirit.
An artist’s relation to inspiration: an artist should look deep inside himself for inspiration. The deeper he looks inside himself the more universal he becomes. An artist is [a] universe. An artist is [a] universe. An artist is [a] universe.
An artist’s relation to symbols: an artist creates his own symbols. Symbols [are] an artist’s language. The language must then be translated. Sometimes it’s difficult to find the key. Sometimes it’s difficult to find the key.”1
"Marina Abramović on Crystals” - link
One of the things present at the RA exhibition was a selection of some of Abramović’s so-called “transitory objects”; objects for the audience to “use”, all incorporating various crystals and minerals. The heavy focus on these natural resources, and mindfulness practices, is something very intrinsic to Abramović’s story as an artist, from her time spent in crystal mines in Brazil, to her performance piece with the late Ulay, walking the Great Wall of China in 1988.
“All the transitory objects have one thing in common: they do not exist on their own; the public must interact with them. Some objects are there to empty the viewer, some to give energy, and some to make a mental departure possible.”
“Marina Abramović: A Visual Biography” - link
More of Abramović’s personality, rather than on the philosophical nature of [her] art. The first half of this video lecture concerns itself with stories of her life in former Yugoslavia (Serbia) and in Amsterdam— stories of childhood, or coming of age, filled with dark humour. Then, the second part covering viewer questions gets a bit more existential; questions on Abramović’s relationship with pain, how to gracefully face death, and then a bit more on the day-to-day of being an artist.
“[…] I always believe that with performance art we have to deal with the three— the kind of fears of human being. It’s the fear of dying, fear of suffering, and fear of pain. And if you look into art history, you know, from paintings, sculptures, drawings, cinema, literature, you know, all of theatre— we all, in a certain way, stage those stories”

II. The human spirit in any condition
“Winter is for dying, descending, hiding, forgetting. […] We welcome, for a time, destruction, chaos, death […]. We do not fight it. We submit to it, for it is what the season demands.”
by Jacqueline Holland, from “the God of Endings” (ca. 2023)


My December muse, without a doubt, was Marina Abramović (as you could probably already tell). And so, as I recently chattered my friends’ head off with stories about her works while sitting in the cold outside a fast food chain (true story), I mean to chat some more to you. Or well, write. You get the idea. Either way, I wish to share a bit more about some of my favourite pieces of hers, and the themes in her work, in something one might consider half rant, half essay.
So, who exactly is Marina Abramović?
“Internationally recognized as a pioneer and key figure in performance art, Marina Abramović (Yugoslav, b. 1946) uses her own body as subject, object, and medium, exploring the physical and mental limits of her being.”
MoMa / Museum of Modern Art press release for “Marina Abramović: the Artist is Present” (2010)
Beyond just the [in]famous Rhythm 0 (pictured above), Abramović’s early work resonates most with me— the repetition, [body] horror, violence, desperation, and odd (often ironic) sense of eroticism. Those are most effective to me, and so those will be the focus of today’s write-up. Later work of hers tends to focus less on pushing the human body to its limits, and more the human mind: feats of mindfulness combine with lengthy but mellow experiments that are meant to serve as a sort of meditation. While looking more tranquil, the work still features extraordinary endurance. Mental strength in the spotlight, instead of physical violence or pain.
Playing with pain is a large part of Abramović’s early works: from repeatedly stabbing her hand with a selection of twenty knives in a pantomime of a Russian drinking game in “Rhythm 10” (1973, see quote below), to taking extreme medications for “Rhythm 2” (1974) that left her temporarily out of control of her seizing body, and then her mind, ignorant to the passage of time.
“Performance: I turn on the tape recorder. I take the first knife and stab in between the fingers of my left hand as fast as possible. Every time I cut myself, I change the knife. When I’ve used all of the knives (all of the rhythms), I rewind the tape recorder. I listen to the tape recording of the first part of the performance. I concentrate… I repeat the first part of the performance. I take the knives in the same order, follow the same order, follow the same rhythm, and cut myself in the same places.
In this performance the mistakes of time past and the time present are synchronised. I rewind the second tape recorder and listen to the double rhythm of the knives. I leave.”
Marina Abramović, instructions for her “Rhythm 10” performance piece, pictured above in section I.
In an aforementioned video lecture, Abramović mentions her belief in three universal human fears; fear of death, fear of suffering, and fear of pain. Even when pain is not present, it is implied through one of the other two fears. Fear of death features heavily. In “Cleaning the Mirror I” (1995), the artist washes a skeleton with soap in an eerily tender, yet almost desperate way. In the sequel to the piece, the artist breathes with a skeleton strapped to her naked body, the two human forms moving in unison, the skeleton feeling almost oppressive, claustrophobic. These skeletal works almost point to a sort of body horror, or the horror of having a body. When we realise how attached we are to our mortal forms, that they are us, and we are them, the resulting derealisation can feel oppressive, or even elicit feelings of horror. Such stress can also lead to detachment, as characterised by the artists’ almost vacant look throughout the lengthy performance.
The act of cleaning maintains importance throughout Abramović’s catalogue. Her childhood features a distinct story about an incident with a washing machine. “Cleanliness is next to godliness”, after all. The two skeletal pieces featured at the RA are not the only ones that involve a methodical, almost mad act of cleansing. Beyond the later works’ usage of a “mental” cleansing through meditation or mindfulness, there is 1997’s “Balkan Baroque” where the artist spent six hours cleaning the blood off of a pile of cow bones, while video plays in the background related to her Balkan heritage, being born in former Yugoslavia (Serbia). The performance was meant to be a commentary on the war in Bosnia (1992-1995), but remains extremely poignant and relevant today:
“[…] in the meantime there's a huge pile of bones, which during the entire performance I'm sitting and washing. It was summer in Venice, very, very hot and after a few days already worms start coming out of the bones. And the smell was unbearable.
The whole idea that by washing bones and trying to scrub the blood, is impossible. You can't wash the blood from your hands as you can't wash the shame from the war.”
Marina Abramović, spoken quote on “Balkan Baroque” for the MoMa / Museum of Modern Art 2010 retrospective on her work.
There are dozens of Abramović’s works to continue covering, from her collaborations with her (late) lover and partner Ulay- which include “Rest Energy” (1980), the infamous piece in which the two balance holding onto tense bow and aimed arrow, respectively, and repeatedly running into one another at an increasing speed for “Relation in Space” (1977)- to switching roles with a prostitute in “Role Exchange” (1975), or pieces like “Point of Contact” (1980) that seem to almost predict the artist’s post Y2K refocusing on energy and the human spirit.
Throughout this write-up, I’ve linked to the MoMa retrospective guide and the LIMA archives of her work, but I whole-heartedly encourage you looking deeper into her work if you are at all touched by it like I was that first (and second) time at the RA, sickly sweet perfume filling my nostrils as huge projections of Abramović screaming in pain, or aggressively brushing her hair practically assaulted my senses. It was one of those things that was overwhelming, yes, but not draining. Instead, I just felt lifted, inspired. It’s really a wonderful high, and one I have hopefully had the pleasure of sharing with you.
“You really start to understand the soul, as when you write or create or perform, you really do it from the highest self. But that energy takes such concentration. You can’t maintain it for a long time. And then you go back afterwards to your, you know, little self.”
Marina Abramović, interview for the Royal Academy of Arts (RA), London, 2023.

III. Burrowing for inspiration
“Monotony is the most beautiful or the most atrocious thing. The most beautiful if it is a reflection of eternity. The most atrocious if it is the sign of an unvarying perpetuity. It is time surpassed or time sterilized.
The circle is the symbol of monotony which is beautiful, the swinging of a pendulum, monotony which is atrocious.”
by Simone Weil, from “Gravity and Grace” (1947)
So, you wish to be inspired. Let me preface this and say: what I cannot present you with is a cure for boredom, boredom is a uniquely human condition, a human problem. What I can provide is some external ways to collect references, to refresh your view, and yourself2. Even if the best art is art that comes from the depths of the human experience, there is no use looking if you will pass over the same familiar spots, take the same familiar routes, or draw the same familiar conclusions. That, my dear, is what this list is for. Ways to reset and refresh, to aid you in your digging. So that, to help you in your search, you may consider to…
Go get lost. Take yourself out on the town. Go to a place you’ve never been before, touch grass (yes, really). Go for a walk and get lost, take the exit you’ve never taken before, walk the road not yet known to you. Scavenge and search for spots to visit. Go to a dimly lit bar or a cozy coffee nook and just exist. Combine with the following, and…
Treat yourself! Put on an eccentric, whimsical, wildly impractical outfit, and get in character. You could be an inventor looking for the scrappiest buildings in town, or marvellous miracles of engineering. You could be… a young woman writer sent out with instructions to relax and to not work, under any circumstance. You could channel your favourite protagonist, from wherever they hail from. Books, video games, film. Walk like them, talk like them, get in their head. What would they wear, and why? What are their tastes like? Develop a web of these references and act completely out of your own character. Wear another skin.
Find guideposts, or inspirational creators. Every so often, I like to make sure I know all the people I follow on socials, either from name, face, or content recognition. Make sure you’re not exclusively seeing ads, or being sold something. Patreon too is a great tool to follow artists and creators that genuinely move you to act or create— some of my favourites include alanabanana and Christine McConnell.
Become a master of language. Absorbing the written word can help the words in your head flow. Read something out of the ordinary, or tackle the books undoubtedly strewn around your room. Pick out a challenging essay, an artfully arranged poem, and fully live in it. For a week, read nothing else. Memorise it if you have to. Try altering it. Take the synopsis and rewrite it in your own style. Reframe it and mould it until you have something not quite yours, and not quite other. Write nonsense poetry, consciously un-learn language: “By middle school/high school, the average student has learned how normal people talk. The resulting language is underwhelming and predictable—the safe regurgitations of a thoroughly socialized consciousness.” (Hannah Gamble, see here)
Consume and devour all the things that daunt you. Watch that film you’ve been meaning to watch, listen to music that makes your bones ache, or if the scary stuff doesn't work, there’s always the classic Pinterest/Tumblr combo, for a more comforting sense of divination. Either way, look up at the big stuff for awestruck inspiration, or look ahead at the more feasible stuff for a more practical “Hey, I could always do something similar to that!” type of spark.
Loretta Young, unknown, sourced via Tumblr | A deer peeking through a fence, unknown, sourced via Tumblr Look at other art: visiting a museum or perusing art books, either works. This ties in with the previous point. Filter great [amounts of] art through you to hopefully alchemise that into some art of your own creation. Remember, often countless sources distill down to only one output. That’s the way the equation works.
Rearrange: your room, the trinkets on your shelf, every thought in your head, the specks of dust, yourself.
Be the sacrificial lamb. Make use of forced perspective. Do nothing and wait for the urge to move, then wait some more. Wait until you feel the nerve endings all throughout your body sparkle and shimmer, stay until it moves to your bones. Examine the texture of the ceiling, of the curtains. Combine with number 8 for best results.
Live the ritual3. Go and court your creativity. Put on your best, most whimsical gown, and prepare a platter of the most symbolic, exquisite fruits; juicy pomegranates, shiny red apples, sweet blackberries, passion fruit halves, big globes of red grapes. Listen to music that makes you feel a closeness to something otherworldly, divine. Most importantly, choose or embody the dramatic option whenever you can, even when it is less practical.
“Our souls are holding hands; that’s where the warmth is coming from. We will never be cold again.”
Unknown quote.
As this newsletter comes to an end, and the year starts to slowly wake, fog lifting, I want to remind you to have a marvelously good time. It might seem simple, or easy, or not particularly eloquent, and all of that is true, but the oldest tricks in the book are often the ones we tend to overlook. Don’t force everything too much. Live with the seasons, hibernate a bit if you feel like it. Nurture those warm memories I know are brewing inside of you. It’s a new year, but that does not have to be this gargantuan, daunting thing, this colossus yet to be slain, this jabberwocky slithering around the horizon. After all, it’s only just another Monday, and another journey around the sun. I guarantee you’ll have many more to come.
Until my next letter,
x Sabrina Angelina, the White Lily Society
Currently reading: “Things We Say in the Dark” by Kirsty Logan // Most recent read: “Elvis and Me” by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley
White Lily Society links // Sabrina Angelina links
New Year, slightly different you. Now is the perfect time to join the White Lily Society, and make a vow to consumer more love, and more violence— or rather the intersection of those two. Come, become a martyr of deliciousness. Join us.
All quotes in section I are adapted from speech, with minor changes for grammar and clarity.