ART OF THE MYSTIC DRAWINGS AND WORDS

ART OF THE MYSTIC
OTTO RAPP
DRAWINGS & WORDS

"ART OF THE MYSTIC"
a Introduction to the Life and Work of Otto Rapp
Otto is a rare and exceptional artist and highly esteemed sibling of The Visionary Tribe. True to the
veristic roots of his aesthetic, he is deserving of any and every means of support, patronage and the
collection of his works...
Prof. Philip Rubinov Jacobson
Born in 1944 in Felixdorf, Lower Austria, Otto lived and was educated in Vienna, where later he
worked as a clerk in the Transport and Insurance Business. After completing service in the Austrian Air
Force, he traveled throughout Europe, eventually settling in Stockholm, Sweden.
As a Painter he was initially self taught, studying in the various Galleries and Museums. In Vienna,
Otto was often ‘hanging out’ at the Akademie der Bildenden Kuenste, where he admired the work of

the ​Wiener Schule des Phantastischen Realismus represented there by the Professors Ernst Fuchs,
Rudolf ​Hausner and Arik Brauer. In Stockholm, Otto found out that he was washing dishes in the very
same Restaurant where years earlier another Viennese Artist, ​Fritz Hundertwasser ​, the ‘Austrian
Gaudi’ as he was later known as, had worked the same job. Encouraged by an art dealer in Gamla
Stan, Otto began to paint more seriously. Busking on the streets of Gamla Stan with a Dutch artist, his
very first painting was sold to a passer‐by by his artist friend while Otto stood in the employment
office line ‐ this paid for a lavish meal for both of them that day.
Traveling around in 1968, Otto wound up in Western Canada where he eventually settled in
Lethbridge, Alberta, the place Otto still calls home today. It was in Canada where the majority of
Otto's mature work was produced (under the sponsorship of a small Lethbridge Gallery).
Working for the Canadian Pacific Railway, he quit in 1977 to attend the Bachelor of Fine Arts Program
at the University of Lethbridge, graduating (with great distinction) in 1982.
In Canada, Otto participated in many exhibitions, and held several Solo Shows, culminating in the
pivotal 1994 showing at ​The Prairie Art Gallery in Grande Prairie, Alberta, which earned him the
moniker ​The Mystic​.
Throughout his years in Canada, Otto had been the subject of many reviews and newspaper articles as
well as local television shows in Calgary and Lethbridge while being active as an Artist, Art Instructor,
Curator, Studio Technician, Art Critic and Juror.
2009 Otto founded a private network for Fantastic, Visionary and Surrealist artists and makes them
available publicly on the web site "Visionary Art Gallery".
Summer 2011 Otto returned to his roots in Vienna. He currently lives in Vienna and works in his studio
in the KunstQuartier Wien.

ABOUT MY WORKS
"These are universal archetypes that are found deep inside a collective subconscious. While seemingly
alien and strange, they are also strangely familiar. I take the viewer into an area that they had entered
before only in another existence, or in dreams. It is a 'method in this madness' but everything is
created by exclusion of conscious leadership. The work is growing seemingly by itself, like ice flowers
on a windowpane."
YMIR AT REST ‐ graphite on paper ‐ 30x40 cm ‐ 2012

POST APOCALYPSE, DAY TWO ‐ graphite on paper ‐ 30x40 cm ‐ 2012
GHOST IN THE MACHINE ‐ graphite on paper ‐ 29x42 cm ‐ 2013

BOGOMIL'S UNIVERSE
the Inner Universe of Otto Rapp
Bogomil's Universe is an excursion into the realms of the ​Inner Universe ‐ a parallel universe that
exists in the mind, and glimpses thereof are presented here. I am increasingly reluctant to speak of my
work as strictly and exclusively surrealistic. While Surrealism provided the initial spark, and some of
the methods of Surrealism are employed, I do not suppress the influence of the rational and selective
focus. Thus, particularly in later works, there is to be found a conscious juxtaposition of the
complementary forces of inspiration and reason.
I do not concern myself with the elimination of the rational, the exclusivity of the irrational and the
absurd, but presentation of the conscious and subconscious world as an inseparable whole. I draw my
inspirations from the layered labyrinth underground which represents the ​other side of life, which is
an ​inner imaginative‐inspirational counterpart to the ​outer world, expressed with the help of
logic‐alogic associations, analogisations and symbolism.
The paintings in the cyclus ​Bogomil's Universe are derived by creating textural surfaces, the method of
Decalcomania as pioneered by the Surrealists, letting color, consistency and flow of the paint
determine initial shapes, which are then interpreted by adding onto, or deleting. In the later works,
films of gossamer‐thin acrylics are stripped from non‐absorbent supports (such as glass or plastic) and
affixed, in a collage‐like fashion, to the painting.
An article about the Gnostic Bogomil of 10th Century Bulgaria inspired the title of the first painting in
the cyclus: ​Bogomil's Vegetable Garden​.
For a time in history, the term ​bogomilism seemed to be associated, or synonymous with, outlandish
and unorthodox beliefs. This, and the gnostic doctrine of dualism are the only touching points: at no
time have I attempted to represent a literal, illustrative interpretation of the theme. Indeed, the
detailed and lushly textured images presented would be anathema to the Bogomil belief that matter
is irredeemably evil.
My interest in Religion and Mythology is particularly expressed in my
drawings. Technically, they are counterpoint to the Bogomil Cyclus paintings, relying almost entirely
on the action of the sharpened pencil point on virginal paper, as opposed to textured surfaces as
inspirational departure points in my paintings. In both instances however, the outcome is not
predetermined. The act of painting or drawing is a memorable trip into the uncharted realms of the
Inner Universe​, the results of which are presented to you here after the fact.
September 1983

Bogomil’s Mousetrap
:
detail of Bogomil’s Duck Hunting Mask

OFFSPRING OF TIAMAT - THE
FOMORII UNION
This painting was the beginning of a series (mostly drawings) with the titles of FOMORII
Credit should be given to my friend Helena Nelson‐Reed, this was her comment about the work, and I
think likely the best interpretation:
"Tiamat's children: Born to the sea, they drift upon undulating waves of shimmering,
phosphorescent krill mirroring the starry night skies above, while others resemble the bizarre
creatures dwelling deep beneath the surface".

I like to add some basic information for the names in the title:
Fomorii:
In Irish legend, a race of (one‐eyed) demonic beings who lived in Ireland and fought off successive
waves of settlers. They were finally expelled by the Tuatha Danann (people of the goddess Danu) in
the second Battle of Muighe Tuireadh (Moytirra). Their most prominent leader was Balar of the Evil
Eye, killed by Lugh.
Tiamat:
In Babylonian mythology, Tiamat is a goddess who personifies the sea. Tiamat is considered the
monstrous embodiment of primordial chaos. Although there are no early precedents for it, some
sources identify her with images of a sea serpent or dragon. In the Enuma Elish, the Babylonian epic of
creation, she gives birth to the first generation of deities; she later makes war upon them and is killed
by the storm‐god Marduk. The heavens and the earth are formed from her divided body.
As you can see, I am all over the landscape with my references, from Irish to Mesopotamian myth.
Here is just one of the digital adaptations I made, called
FOMORII THRONE

VINDOBONA ALTARPIECE III
SNAKES AND LADDERS
Vindobona Altarpiece III ‐ Snakes and Ladders
Graphite Drawing on Arches Etching Paper ‐ 65cm x 48cm ‐ 1994
Private Collection, Austria
This drawing is the third in a series. It is a follow‐up to a diptych that I had worked on years earlier,
called ​Vindobona Altarpiece I and II​. Working from right to left on both of these previous pieces (I am
left handed) the first panel of this previous work was began in 1981, but not completed until 1993,
whereas the second panel was started and completed already in 1980.

Vindobona Altarpiece I
Graphite Drawing on Paper ‐ 76cm x 56cm ‐ 1981 to 1993
Private Collection Austria
These pieces had never been exhibited together. ​Vindobona Altarpiece II was bought by a collector in
Austria before much of the first panel had been drawn. Eventually, ​Vindobona Altarpiece I was left
unfinished in 1981. I never picked it up again until 1993 when I completed it. It was then shown at my
solo exhibition “Art of the Mystic” at the Prairie Art Gallery in Grande Prairie, Alberta in June 1994.
Following that, I began work on ​Vindobona Altarpiece III ‐ Snakes and Ladders​, which I completed the
same year. It was never shown in Canada: I basically stopped exhibiting after 1996 and only began to
show again in 2010, after some urging, participating in a group exhibition in Portugal with one
painting. Since then, I started exhibiting regularly, both solo and in groups. (​Curriculum Vitae ‐
Exhibitions​).

Vindobona Altarpiece II
Graphite Drawing on Paper ‐ 76cm x 56cm ‐ 1980
Private Collection Austria
Vindobona Altarpiece II had never been shown publicly, and only this photo of it exists. Both Number
1 and Number 3 were shown in recent years in Vienna on several occasions, and Number 3 also in
Viechtach, Germany. They both found collectors.
Working on ​Vindobona Altarpiece III​in my Studio
in Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada in 1994.
Photo by David Rositter, Lethbridge Herald Newspaper
Like in the preceding 2 pieces, the theme centers
on the heritage of the ​Vienna School of Fantastic
Realism​. ​They are sort of a tribute to these
Masters that I had admired since childhood. But
also other influences were recorded, from a

variety of sources, and all tied in with my own imaginary ‘Inner Universe’ (​Alfred Kubin, Die Andere
Seite​) that I had explored with my alter ego ‐ ​Bogomil’s
Universe​.
Some of my sources:
After a visit to the​Maryhill Art Museum​I was
fascinated by this painting:
Frederic, 1st Baron Leighton of
Stretton (British, 1830–1896),
Solitude​, 1890, oil on canvas,
72" x 36"
I made it a central figure in
my drawing​.
I once read the book by
Françoise Gilot​, ​Life with
Picasso​, as well as many
other books about Pablo
Picasso, but this one made
a particular impact on me
and some funny stories in
it had inspired another
painting of mine some 4 years prior to this drawing,
called ​Pablo’s Last Concert​. So in this drawing, I ‘recycled’ the eye of Pablo again, watching over the
scene:

While in my paintings the technique of Decalcomania had been employed since the seventies, I began
in this drawing to use a kneaded eraser to pick up and transfer textures to the paper, something that
2 decades later I developed further in my most recent drawings (combining it with frottage and other
methods). So in a way, this marks a new period, even though that I was not very active for the next 10
years following, and only began intensive work when I returned to Austria in 2011.
Exploring the History behind these drawings
When I was a child, my grandfather, a very scholarly and educated man who loved art and rare books,
took me to exhibitions in Vienna. Some of those were of the young artists of the Vienna School of
Fantastic Realism. There was no TV or any other distractions back then: when I visited my
grandfather, he always had a stack of paper and sharpened pencils ready for me. I already then
entered into my solitary dream world building my own little universe in the drawings I then produced.
Artists I’ve seen these days were Helmut Leherb, Ernst Fuchs, Rudolf Hausner and others I only
recognized by name later, when I began my research. Later on, I would go to the Akademie der
Bildenden Künste and walk the halls of the Art Collection, but also peeked into the studios and
watched. I could stand quietly for hours absorbing how a student would copy an old master in the
gallery.
I left Austria, still a teenager, and moved to Sweden, and several years later to Canada. But I took my
heritage with me, beginning to research in depth this fascinating Vienna School. I did not paint well
yet while I lived in Sweden, but I had always excelled in drawing. In Canada, my painting began to
become more accomplished, and along with my drawing, I started to exhibit my work, which found
many collectors already in the early seventies. A interest in printmaking led me to the University of
Lethbridge in 1977, and while I only planned to audit some printmaking courses, I wound up taking
the BFA program, eventually graduating in 1982. During the later years at University, I was working
part‐time as a Gallery Assistant, and then for one year as Assistant Gallery Director in 1980. At that
time, in conjunction with a new Fine Arts Building, it was proposed to open the building with an
international show. Since I had already started to write a paper about the Vienna School of Fantastic
Realism, I proposed to hold an exhibition. Travelling to Vienna, I contacted ​Prof. Rudolf Hausner​,
whom I met at his residence in Mödling in 1980. It was a memorable visit, and he loaded me down
with books, catalogs and brochures about the Vienna School. Based on this information I finished and
submitted my paper. It was a disappointment that my proposal for a show was not accepted by
committee, but the positive outcome was a exchange of letters with Prof. Hausner, who kept sending
me new material from time to time. Eventually though, the connection faded. When years later
(1995) I found out he had passed away, I was devastated. His influence on my work (and also some
influence of Ernst Fuchs) was already very strong, but perhaps best illustrated by my ‘signature piece’
called ​Selfportrait with the Critical Eye from 1978, which I had shown to him on my Vienna visit in
1980.
At that time, I was rather anxious about being seen as ‘derivative’, but he jovially said to me that it
was ‘very good brushwork’ and about the theme and composition he said something to the effect of
‘this is no great state secret ‐ we published this (to inspire)’. Hausner, and also Fuchs, along with my

earlier fascination of the Surrealists such as Max Ernst and Dali, had a recurrent presence in some of
my work.
Hausner’s Adam peeked into my paintings of that day, and in my drawing took on a dominant position
in this, my ultimate tribute piece to the Vienna School ‐ Vindobona Altarpiece III ‐ where he lords it
over the central portion on a dark banner that stands above the scene like a sail.
As mentioned before, this drawing was not exhibited in Grande Prairie at my solo show since I only
worked on it after, but a few months later, in October 1994 I entered a painted mailbox for a gallery
fundraiser, titled “Rudi, schreib mal” ‐ thinking that our exchange of letters had stopped years ago. A
year later, he passed away.
Rudi Schreib Mal​, 1994 ‐ painted mailbox ‐ private collection Canada

The Influence of Ernst Fuchs
Of course here I would have to emphasize
the considerable influence that ​Prof. Ernst
Fuchs had on my work for as long as I can
remember. Particularly fascinating was the
Unicorn series (Einhorn Zyklus) of graphic
work ‐ I admired his superior drawing skills
above all and tried to emulate it the best I
could.
(Vindobona Altarpiece III, detail, bottom right)
The inspiration for this image I found in
Ernst Fuchs 1951 etching ‘Die Zeugung des
Einhorns’
Drawing this image by ‘channeling’ Fuchs seemingly helped
improve my skills. Of course I couldn’t help including a little
self portrait beneath the entanglement of the Unicorn with
the ‘snakes’:

Other influences
The drawing owes much to what I learned from studying Ernst Fuchs. The literature I received from
Rudolf Hausner on the other hand acquainted me with the already larger following of the Vienna
School (in the days of their breakthrough, around 1965) and some I found particularly interesting,
such as ​Karl Korab​; an image inspired by him
found it’s way into the drawing as well.
A detail of a deformed gnome came from a
Roman marble I had seen somewhere.
I had utilized it before already once in an etching.
The question remains: What does it all mean? While I had set out to make this a tribute to the Vienna
School, the subtitle ​Snakes and Ladders also alludes to the Game of Life, as in the words of Salman
Rushdie (Midnight’s Children):
All games have morals; and the game of Snakes and Ladders captures, as no other activity can hope to
do, the eternal truth that for every ladder you hope to climb, a snake is waiting just around the corner,
and for every snake a ladder will compensate. But it's more than that; no mere carrot‐and‐stick affair;
because implicit in the game is unchanging twoness of things, the duality of up against down, good
against evil; the solid rationality of ladders balances the occult sinuosities of the serpent; in the
opposition of staircase and cobra we can see, metaphorically, all conceivable oppositions, Alpha
against Omega, father against mother.

30. FEBRUARY END OF THE WORLD
Be prepared!
You know what?
What?
On February 30th exactly 6.000 years ago, the WORLD AS
WE NEVER KNEW IT ended!

Omniscient GOD had put this thing together and looked at it for a long time. Looking at what it
would become, HE decided it was not such a good idea after all, crumpled it all up and tossed
it in the waste basket.
Then, HE went for a nap.
While he was sound asleep, Lucifer slithered in and went dumpster‐diving. As he found the
crumpled up design he knew his time had come. He carefully straightened it out and began to
tinker with it. At first, he dropped the last 2 days off February, but then realized that this
would screw up the time‐space continuum too much, so he restored the 29th to occur every 4
years to half‐ass balance it out. But the 30th, THE DAY OF ARMAGEDDON, he left off.
Next, going to day 6 of creation, Lucifer took the design and, via the fruit from the tree of
knowledge, implanted it in the collective memory of mankind. Eventually, Religions were
based on this implanted knowledge, including calendars that had no February 30.
What nobody seems to realize is that since this is the work of Lucifer, ALL EXISTENCE IS BUT
AN ILLUSION, and the only real event that stands out is the end of the WORLD AS WE NEVER
KNEW IT, on a day that had been expunged by Lucifer.
Transcendent GOD is still taking a nap.
Will HE wake up to straighten this out? Since time is part of creation, so would be nap‐time.
For TRANSCENDENT GOD, time does not exist, since time itself is part of creation, but GOD is
EIN SOF (hebrew), meaning literally “without end”; and so are, for us at least HIS naps.
HE is not going to wake up in time!
Cover illustration: detail of HORROR VACUI by Otto Rapp ‐ charcoal on gesso board ‐ 2015

AS THE SPIRITS MOVE ME
Spitting Meteors
Ah, last night, good friends, and indulgences in the
spirits at Saint Rossi's place
…….where I marvelled at the efficiency of the attractive waitress in serving and at the same time
generously spreading winning smiles into the crowd, like releasing doves of peace among the
rambunctious revellers. The atmosphere was filled with the collective wisdom of the patrons, and
became ever so more poignant and insightful in tact with the emptying glasses that begged for refills.
I could swear the entity that hounds my liqueur cabinet at home, leaving only empty bottles while I
am supposedly fast asleep, had somehow followed me here and did the same to my glass. But never
mind, let's have another one!

Well into the night, and copious libations later, I decided to make my way home. As usually the case,
the metro left just as I got to the station, and I had to wait for the next one, 15 minutes later. Just as I
loudly lamented the fact that after 15 minutes the overhead display still showed 6 minutes left, the
train arrived and the noise of squealing brakes drowned out my complaints. Nobody had listened to it
anyway. At this time of the night, other riders are usually in the same shape as I, so I did not attract
undue attention talking to myself, since they were all busy doing the same or singing merry tunes,
interrupted only by the hissing of the doors at every stop, people getting on and off and the
occasional swoosh and sparkle of falling stars whenever my head banged against the window. What
seemed like an eternity of clickety‐clack, stops and starts, hisses and squeals, the angelic voice of the
canned announcer intoned "last stop, please leave the train" ‐ which I obediently did.
I found myself walking the rest of the way, since there were no more buses from the metro station.
What normally is a automatic activity requiring little thought input other than steering into the right
direction, became under these circumstances a mental exercise of iron willpower over the conflicting
actions of some of my appendages that seemingly rebelled against me and annoyingly did exactly the
opposite of what I intended them to do. So just setting one foot in front of the other, alternating left
and right, and not stepping forward simultaneously with both, became a task requiring full
concentration. It did not help any that my right leg at some point decided to go to sleep and refused
to move, and my left marched unerringly forward, which put me into a round‐about spin that only a
passing lamp post halted. Clamping onto it with both arms, the post ignored my exclamations of
thanks and acted like he would sooner I'd leave him alone and be on my merry way. From the
opposite side of the street, my better self that had detached from me and watched all this in puzzled
amusement, finally told me to get on with it and threatened to go home without me if I didn't get my
act together.
Somehow I did manage to carry on and even find the keyhole to my apartment door, in spite that it
mischievously moved around whenever I tried to insert my key and only a stern warning to stop that
nonsense made it hold still long enough for me to open the door.
I don't remember getting undressed, which I managed only partially, because since I did not remove
my shoes, my pants just went no further than my ankles ‐ that's where they stayed as I flopped onto
my bed.
Rummaging through my library of dreams, I selected one pleasant enough to not give me any
additional headaches.

It is afternoon now, the next day (or so I hope.... must check the calendar....) but after a shower and a
hearty afternoon breakfast I feel like .... well, like:
I am still alive!
Hallelujah!
The accompanying illustration is totally unrelated to the present subject of the story, other than to show what goes on
in my head after I bang it repeatedly against a lamp post.

ENCOUNTER ON THE S-BAHN
The train was late. They said is was due to the weather ‐ slush and snow in these past few days. The
gloomy sky colored everything grey on the platform, the few people patiently waiting appeared like
silent wraiths. A candybar was stuck in the vending machine and a little boy was furiously punching all
the buttons when all of a sudden the gears started turning again ‐ on several items: jackpot!
I turned to look down from the elevated platform onto the empty street below. Normally the arrival
of the train would be announced, but this time, it just snuck into the station quietly, and only the faint
hiss of the doors opening alerted me to its presence. The car was nearly empty. Some of the
passengers barricaded themselves with their shopping bags, some would stare vacantly at a point just
a foot in front of their nose, others yet pretending to be busy with their cellphones.

A young lady across the aisle was watching something on her ipad, absentmindedly playing with a
ring, twisting it in her fingers, when it suddenly slipped from her grip. With a sparkling trail it rolled
across towards me and landed with a soft tinkle under my seat. I retrieved it and handed it to her. As
our fingertips touched for a brief moment, the greyness disappeared ‐ I caught a wisp of
honey‐blonde hair, porcelain‐blue eyes and a little smile, a silent thank you on her lips. She turned
back to her i‐pad, brushing the screen lightly with her fingertips and disappeared. They late afternoon
had turned into darkness.
Illustration: Nonsense I said, they are already waiting for you

TRIPPING THROUGH HYPERSPACE - IT
ONLY JUST BEGAN …….

“Keep your hands and feet inside the cart” he said, while checking my seatbelt. He smiled at me with
the kind of contorted smile only a shapeshifter that isn’t quite familiar with his human form is capable
of. The corners of his mouth extending to his ears and the bottom lip hanging down to his chest, the
lower exposed jaw unhinged itself and dropped to the ground. He either didn’t notice, or else he
didn’t mind.
“I am keeping an eye on you” he gargled now, unaware perhaps that this is just a figure of speech
among humans, he literally plucked out his left eye and placed it carefully on the dash.
“Here we go” ‐ he gave the cart a little push from behind, the wheels ran over the jaw with a
noticeable crunch. The doors to hyperspace got bumped open and I found myself ascending a steep
incline in a fluorescent tube filled with noisy rainbow colored lights. Wavelengths beyond human
capacity to comprehend were tugging on my nerves like barbed hooks. There seemingly was no end,
but a feeling that something is lying in wait on the crest.
And such began the journey of a 5 year old. A trip I am still on, and yes, my hands and feet are still
inside the cart. Who knows what would happen if I didn’t heed that warning?
Illustration, top: Fomorii Stormtrooper
below: Eye of the Dark Star

SCATTERED CRUMBS
As I wend my way through the thickets of the forest of my inner landscape, I am dropping crumbs of
half‐baked ideas, hoping to find my way back. Looking ahead, I see a sign, overgrown with snaky vines
‐ I clear away some of the growth and realize what it says: no U‐turn!
Looking behind me now I discern some blurry movements, like hyper‐speed rodents of forgetfulness,
they are gathering up my crumbs and disappearing in the undergrowth.
No place to go but forward.....
And in front of me, another portal ‐ do I dare enter? I don't think I have a choice.........
Illustration: Portal to Bogomil's Universe IV

A strange place
GARDEN OF FERNAL DELIGHTS
Otto’s Dream
Indeed. Strange and wonderful, with a peculiar language that, when one listens to it spoken, it
resembles the talk of whales and dolphins.
What may not be apparent at first is this: left and right are reversed. Not a big deal really, but if you
are left handed and felt out of place in the ‘outer world’, you would feel perfectly normal here.
But there are other peculiarities as well. Travelling due North, one eventually arrives at the shores of a
great sea. If you haven’t checked your compass for a while, now is the time to do so again, because
you will find that now, it is pointing in the opposite direction! After some turning and walking about in
circles you begin to realise: it is not pointing North, South, East or West, but it is always pointing
towards you! And then, my friend, the real journey begins!
This is not where it all started.
I am sort of meandering around in my head recalling episodes at random, but it would be more
instructive for the reader if I at least retold how my journey began.
Excruciating Pain
I don’t know how and why it started, but I felt a tightening in my back muscles for some time now. By
the time I went to bed, it got so bad I could not even turn around ‐ no position was comfortable. The
pain got worse, so I decided to get up. Trying to get out of bed proved impossible. Severe spasms
followed my every move. I let myself fall out of bed, hoping that I could then pull myself upright on
the bedposts. It was then a searing pain, never before felt with such intensity, shot up my spine and
exploded like a bolt of white light in my brain........
“Take this ….”
a tiny voice beside my left (or right?) ear said. At first, I couldn’t really make it out, since it sounded
more like the chirping of a cricket. I tried to look, but all I could see was a thing that looked somewhat
like a gnarled root, or dried up carrot, with long tentacles undulating from it.
One of the tentacles held a sort of marble or pearl at its suction‐cup end and dangled it in front of my
mouth. The pain had made me gnash my teeth so bad I could barely relax my jaw enough to open my
mouth. I don’t know why I did anyway ‐ it all looked rather suspicious. I also realised ​that I was no

longer in my room or beside my bed, but laying stark naked on a meadow, my body covered with
tentacles that sort of held me down like the straps on a hospital gurney. “‘Come on and take it” the
voice chirped again. My lips had parted, and the orb dropped into my mouth. As it touched my tongue
it felt like tapioca or something like it. Soft and squishy. When I pressed it up on the roof of my mouth,
it liquefied. There was no discernible taste and I swallowed. Almost at an instant, my pain
disappeared, and the gurney straps (or tentacles) fell away.
“There is more …..”
the voice spoke to me again. Now that I stood up without any problems, the little carrot was at my
feet waving its tentacles in a comical way, sort of like a conjuror trying to coax a rabbit out of a hat.
“There is more of this found at certain depths around the reefs of Bogomil’s Island” the voice said in
its melodic fernalese chirp (don’t even ask me how I understand ‐ I have no idea). “You must take one
of these every 48 fernal hours to keep the pain away. But you have to find it yourself.” “‘Where, pray
tell, can I find this island?” I asked. My voice sounded rather untrained and gruff ‐ my tongue not
accustomed to twisting itself around the fernalese sounds, which made the carrot chuckle with
amusement at my clumsy attempt to communicate. “You find it true North, at the great sea, but do
beware of its depths: there are renegade Fomorii Refugees from the time of the Second Battle of Mag
Tuireadh; they are a rather ornery bunch.”
Fomorii King and his Queen

I just stood there, stark naked.....
checking out the scene. The meadow was on the side of a hill overlooking a lovely valley and bordered
by some very peculiar looking fauna I had never seen before. In the sky there hung an orb that, unlike
the sun in our world could be looked at without hurting the eyes. It was sort of yellowish‐orange and
everything was bathed in its golden light. The sky, which seemed a normal azure at first began to shift
almost imperceptibly through the entire spectrum, like the play of northern lights. From the edge of
my field of vision, I could sort of see a couple of smaller orbs, bright blue and red, but when I turned
my head to look at them, they shifted away. They seemed to move around rather quickly, but always
just about out of sight, while the yellow sun just hung there high in the sky without any apparent
movement. Nearby, there were some white rocks that looked as if elaborately carved into
anthropomorphic shapes, but what caught my immediate attention were the shadows: they too
would alternately shift from a reddish hue to blue, with the edges shimmering in rainbow colors. I
began to walk towards those rocks to have a closer look. They felt like marble, smooth and polished,
without sharp edges, just sensuous curves that were inviting to the touch. I could not stop running my
hands over it. The perfection of form was a pleasure to experience.
I began to feel a sort of tingling in my feet....
travelling up my legs. It was not strong, almost imperceptible, but very pleasurable, like the soft touch
of butterfly wings. At the same time, the curves of the stone started to feel warm under my caressing
hands. The butterfly wings started travelling up my legs and the feelings intensified somewhat once
they reached my groin. I looked down to see. Here she was again, the carrot, its tentacles entwining
my limbs and lower body. “Did you follow me here” I asked. “No” the carrot chirped, “I am
everywhere!” As later I would learn, this was indeed true: the tentacles were more like rhizomes that
spread throughout the garden, and into its furthest reaches. The nerve strands of fernal Gaia.
“Stop it” I said....
“I have a task to complete, and I still don’t know how long 48 fernal hours are!” The tentacles
withdrew, but I could sense a sort of disappointment by the way they first curled onto the ground and
then disappeared just below the surface. “You should take time out for pleasure” the carrot said, “you
have time enough!” I tried to look at the watch on my left wrist, but there was nothing there. “First of
all, we are on fernal time here, so your watch would do you no good, and secondly, nothing passes
through from the other side other than the way you were born. You can’t bring anything with you into
the Fernal Garden!” … before I could say anything, she continued: “besides, fernal time is relative, it is
what you make of it, and if you enjoy pleasure, it seemingly stands still. There is no Tick‐Tock Man
that rushes you along, and a day here may last forever, if you let it!”
No watch, no clothes, no belt
…. I could get used to that. Except maybe for my belt. It’s sort of a utility belt that has everything I
need for survival: my cellphone, camera, swiss army knife, a tin cup and camping utensils, a small
frying pan, a lighter, fishing gear and hidden zippered money compartment as well as an emergency
blanket, an astrolabe and a compass. “You are hopeless” the carrot said, apparently having read my

mind. “Everything you ever need is here, at your disposal!”
“ Maybe so” I said, “but first of all I need my compass to find my way North ‐ how do you suggest I get
one?” “Just think it, and it will be” the carrot said, sounding slightly annoyed, probably because I am
so slow in understanding what is sort of ‘normal’ around here. Holding out my hand, I thought
compass, and ‐ oh wow ‐ there it was. Not really mine, but a rather peculiar looking thing; steampunk
brassy with a strange dial and curious (fernalese) symbols. I assumed that the larger black needle with
the spade‐like tip pointed North (there were also two smaller needles, one red and one blue, bobbing
about randomly it seemed). I noted the direction to take and began to walk. As I lowered my hand,
the compass disappeared again. So I raised my hand again and thought compass, and sure enough,
there it was. Works for me, I thought. The carrot chuckled: “you are getting the hang of it!”
Entwood

GARDEN OF FERNAL DELIGHTS
A BABE IN THE WOODS
Walking in the direction of the woods
I came to an ash, standing majestically near the edge of the meadow, but well apart from the strange
fernal trees I would neither know their names, nor could I describe them, since nothing remotely like
it I’ve ever seen. The closest thing I could think of are the decalcomania cypress trees that Max Ernst
had painted. It seemed that the ash wanted nothing to do with them, keeping a fair distance away; far
enough so that the shadow of its mighty crown would not touch the edge of the decalcomania woods.
How did I know, lacking botanical knowledge, that this particular tree was an ash? Easy: it had a sign
planted right in front of it, proclaiming it to be the oldest ash in all of the garden (implying that there
might be others, unless it was the only one and given to bragging). Stapled to this sign, somewhat
looking like wanted posters from the Wild West, were two baseball cards. One was Babe Ruth, the
other Yogi Berra.
Strange, it seems like I’ve been here before!
“​Déjà vu all over again” said a voice above me. I looked up and saw two fernal monkeys, one pointing
to the infinite horizon, the other one wildly swinging a baseball bat at an imaginary ball. They had
human faces that I immediately recognized from the ‘wanted’ posters (I never owned any of those
cards, but I wished I did ‐ they are worth a fortune!). Yogi Berra smiled at me knowingly, then
continued pointing. Somehow I had a feeling I should not go there, lest Babe hits an actual ball and I
get beaned. Consulting my compass, going North would lead me straight into these dark woods, so I
decided to a) stay out of the line of Babe’s swing, and b) make a little detour into the direction of a
sparkling stream I could see in the distance. I figured that eventually it would lead me out around
those woods that looked a little creepy ‐ one never knows what lurks there. Not that I am overly
frightened, but my mind is conjuring up some strange Baba that might be lying in wait for me, and
should she make any advances I may not have the will or strength to resist. I had enough excitement
for the day already. Though I have to admit, the memory of my encounter with the carrot made my
nerves tingle and my toes curl.

HOCHOSTERWITZ
A METAPHORIC JOURNEY TO THE TOP
In the Austrian province of Carinthia, about 20 km from the ​St. Egid Chapel​in Klagenfurt (famous for
Ernst Fuchs' elaborate interior​*) you will find the Fortress Castle of ​Hochosterwitz​.
Situated on a 500 foot high rock, you ascend to the
castle proper via 14 fortified gates on a 2000 foot
long path. There are new and exciting vistas found
at every turn of the way, spiralling upwards toward
this magnificent structure. It has been said that
this castle had never been conquered, and no
enemy ever made it past the 4th gate (Engelstor).
◄pictured: 1st gate Fähnrichstor

Arriving at the top, the view over the land is magnificent in every direction. The illusion persists that
on a clear day, one could see as far as Italy.
I am comparing this journey to the ​spiritual journey one takes while creating art when first setting
down a mark. This initial mark is the entry point on your journey through the inner universe. Each
successive mark, like one of the gates of the Hochosterwitz, is taking a step closer to revelation. As
you ascend, the journey gets more complicated, since the keys to the gates are more like tumblers ‐
you need to assemble that which you have learned so far in the right and specific order to unlock the
next step, to defeat the elaborate defense mechanism barring you from going any further.
Imagine now, if you will, that a quick and easy way to the top is provided via a cable car or an
elevator. You simply pay at the bottom to be taken to the top. When you get there, you may view the
same vista that I do, but what you miss is the journey upwards and the many wondrous things
encountered along the way, as well as the appreciation, sense of bliss and satisfaction of having
accomplished this ascent. Your view might be the same, but your appreciation of it lacks the
experience of the trip and thus I would suspect the understanding and awe of what you see at the
top.

Entheogens are the elevators that you may use to spare you the journey to get to the top. In my
opinion, it is accomplishing the journey itself that counts here and truly lets you appreciate what you
find when you get there.
Rather than a pale snapshot of the top view, when taking this journey on your own power, your art
would reflect this whole experience in its entirety.
* this article is the result of a discussion about the use of drugs by artists, such as Ernst Fuchs. The question was asked by the
interviewer here:
Ernst Fuchs: "Wir leben ja bereits mitten in der Apokalypse​‐ story in the Kleine Zeitung, Austria, 12.04.2011
See more about the art of ​Ernst Fuchs​at the
VISIONARY ART GALLERY HALL OF FAME​:

ART OF THE MYSTIC
OTTO RAPP