Manufacturing magic: 3D printing, esoteric intentions
Recently I've been incorporating 3D printing as a spiritual tool. The hardest part, really, was getting my head out of Ye Olden Times Larpspace with its attendant phobia of anything plastic in ritual spaces, and just fucking doing stuff.
A provisional, lightly-conspiratorial observation: making allows escape from the alienating mindtrap of consumerism – and significantly enhances capability to build one's own truly unique practice and aesthetic.
We've lost some beautiful avenues for enspiriting matter and expressing spirit through the simple convenience of marketing magic. Consumers consume; creators create.
The appeal of doing rituals involving real objects you have made yourself that look cool as hell (to you) cannot be denied, too. Aesthetics matter.
I’m increasingly respecting arts and crafts as a vital part of practice, and occulture more generally. I'd resisted this for a long time – likely a hangover from not actually really being able to do anything.
I readily acknowledge there is a lot of shit occult and pagan bric-a-brac out there. Through my getting a 3D printer, the risk of making more of it has increased further.
I'm sure it's pretty obvious to most – though it took me a bit to get here: magic becomes real, by making magic things, for real. Making things happen begins with making things.
The venerable olde grimoirists used whatever they could get their hands on, including church supplies commandeered from their day jobs. Generally the capability to do a range of activities and source relatively exotic materials, privately, is taken as given.
For me, making knives and paper, (wonky) DIY pottery and incenses have all provided insights as key as learning to meditate, recall dreams, developing second sense and all the rest.
This continues with the fabrication gear – initially, astrologically-timed altar statuary and other focus objects is a serious unlock.
The dance of intent, event, memory, action
On a philosophical note, the chain of intent and event is staggering, humbling, also – a true line of flight, across time, space, media, realities.
Take, for example, the relatively simple act of printing statues of the Planetary Gods of the Seven Days:
From an antique regional telling of myth or vision; to a physical representation, commissioned for now-lost temples, or by later patrons seeking to attract favour from a cacophony of resurgent Pagan spirits.
These statues carved by skilled craftsmen; preserved against the ravages of history to eventually land in the World's finest museums. Scanned, by lovers of art and myth and technology; shared, as a gift to the world.
Then, printed, by me, on a wondrous and magical device, bought online for a fraction of a week's wage. We live in utterly improbable times, when you stop to think about it.
Though the original temples have fallen to ruins, their priests and priestesses long dead, their mysteries lost, the Gods remain. With a click, we can reinstate them on fine altars, offer incense, prayer, food and drink, and seek their counsel, aid and favour.
Onwards, to applications.
Daily Altars
I've made Planetary Icons – mostly sourced from the excellent Scan the World initiative.
As with the basic planetary talisman-making rules, these were created on the appropriate days, waxing moon, beginning the prints in the ruler's hour.
As with everything else in my working room, these attract and accumulate resonance, “spirit stuff” as Michael Bertiaux would put it – through hearing the prayers and bearing the drifts of incense smoke, simple plastic becomes more that its material.
In time – as I develop skills worthy of my subjects – I'll paint these. The painting act is a ritual on and of itself – perfumed air and appropriate music playing, as the colours out of space honour these mighty and potent celestial rulers.
Sigils and seals
One use case for this is the Seal of Solomon from Le Dragon Noir, compiled in Michael Cecchetelli's Crossed Keys.
My workflow is basic, and I certainly am no expert – but, there is precedent here. Those karcists, grimoirists and other ratbags who left working notes and trail markings were likely not experts in the many skills this tradition calls on either.
I take a photo of a sigil with my mobile telephone; open it in Inkscape, and rework it into a mathematically-perfectly relative two-dimensional object; vector graphics are still magical to me. Tinkercad allows quick conversion into a three-dimensional, printable object. Both platforms are free to use, though require some practice and learning to work. We can figure it out.
This, then, printed, while praying. Incense burns as the physical sigil takes shape.
Painted, while praying. Primed black, topcoated black, picked out details in gold. I found this process extremely potent, achingly beautiful; akin to hand-colouring tarot cards.
Then, it is further consecrated for use.
Further experiments
Once the tools are learned, and the materials understood, a whole new aesthetic of practice becomes available. Some immediate options I'm exploring at the moment with this technology are:
Bringing it in: Image magic becomes something else entirely, when the images gain a third dimension. Digital kitbashes – simply, with Tinkercad, or, stepping it up a level with VR sculpting tools – offer a unique way to express more wholly unique offerings for the Great Dance and howling Parliament of Being.
Building better bridges: The scope for spirit houses, icons and offerings is immense – whether honouring implicit or explicit pacts, or to find your way back to and reify a something glimpsed in skryer's vision or dream. Exploring Liber 231, and the Lunar Mansions, in this way seems a thrilling prospect.
Finding the others: As with anything of this nature, this is a cybernetic artifact, in the age of the network. Once the upfront cost is paid, objects become cheap to produce – so provides a ready and unique gift for others for to explore and deepen their practices also.
Print what thou wilt
Whether replicating ancient artifacts or luring gossamer-threaded spider silk dreams and visions into a more enduring and durable form, 3D printing offers a powerful tool in the arsenal of the modern magician.
Even done, provisionally, poorly – I've found intent and sincerity matters more, just as poorly-sewn robes fall apart mid-ritual, or leaky pots spill ceremonial water on the altar. So too prototype prints lose arms, or don't come out like you planned. They require rework, repairs, rethinking. As do we all, sometimes.
First, acknowledging ignorance, and submitting to experiment and adventure until the situation turns into something else entirely.
Turn up, do it, accept feedback, improve.