Astrogator's Logs

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Artist, Heather Oliver             

Sympathetic Magic

SingerWe get attached to places and things. They define us as much as what’s inside our heads. We take handfuls of earth or tile fragments from our homes when we emigrate. We hold on to items of clothing that have become part of our bodies. We keep heirlooms, with their long stories of how they got made and handed down the generations. This knowledge is a major thread in the tapestry of civilization and in the definition of one’s self in a larger context. I had reason to think of this recently, when I lost something I loved.

As long as my memory remains intact, I will remember the stories associated with objects that I’m attached to, including my artwork and jewelry: where, how and why I got a piece, who was with me at the time, the history behind each work. Like the time an artist wordlessly handed me a stunning mixed-media sculpture marked “Not for Sale” (and refused to take money for it until I grew forceful) because I uttered words that echoed her own deepest sense of the work.

The first year I became faculty, I attended a conference in San Diego. In a La Jolla gallery, I saw two lovely pieces of art that I felt were linked. One was a palm-sized wooden mask called Singer. The other was a silver/copper brooch the size of my thumb joint, called Spirit of the Seaweed. I put one on my bedroom wall, the other on my favorite black coat. At night I sometimes fancied I could hear soft harmonizing.

The coat went around the world with me, got taken off countless times for airport security, got hung up in homes, restaurants and hotels. The two singers kept murmuring in my dreams. And then, one evening this November, I looked at the lapel of my coat and found it empty.

I knew it was hopeless, but I kept my eyes on the ground whenever I re-crossed a path. The loss left an aching spot in my ribcage. I didn’t mind if someone had found the brooch and was wearing it with as much pleasure as I had. My fear was that it had been swept up as trash and destroyed – or that it was even now lying abandoned somewhere. And I felt bereft, too, at the thought that Singer was now lonely.

SingersI decided to use sympathetic magic. After a search, I found a very different brooch, an antique Zuñi sunface made of silver, turquoise, coral, abalone and onyx. I put it on and willed someone to find mine, so that they would wear it as I wore this one, with its own long history and legacy of loving care.

Last week, I was leaving work late. For some reason, my gaze veered to the cash register of a small food kiosk in the lobby, on which someone had placed two rubber action figures. One was a wizard, a biotech company mascot. I thought to myself: “Why does his wand look so odd?” I went up to it, peered closely. Pressed into his palm was my lost brooch.

I took it home and put it near the mask. I don’t believe in gods or demons. But I like to think that the Wizard summoned me and Spirit to the same place; that Singer joined forces with Sunface and sang its little companion home.

8 Responses to “Sympathetic Magic”

  1. Asakiyume says:

    What a marvelous story. I’m so very glad your magic worked, and that you shared the tale of it.

  2. Athena says:

    Thank you, dear Francesca! I thought that you, in particular, would like this story.

  3. Christopher Phoenix says:

    This is a fantastic story, thanks for sharing it!! I’m glad that your sympathetic magic worked. It would be very sad for the Singer to be lonely forever.

  4. Athena says:

    You’re most welcome, Christopher! It feels good to have the two singing together again.

  5. intrigued_scribe says:

    Such a wonderful story — I’m also glad that your magic worked, and thanks for sharing this tale.

  6. Athena says:

    I’m delighted you enjoyed the story, dear Heather! I missed the tiny Spirit dreadfully and am very happy to have it safely back home.

  7. Sue Lange says:

    Lovely pieces, Athena. Great story.

  8. Athena says:

    I’m so happy you enjoyed it — and them!