https://schechter-gallery.com/poisonpath/#

on Wednesday, the seal of the poisonous flask was broken, releasing the djinn into the air.

poison fumes wafted through us as I incensed Ament's Datura statue with the eldritch blend I crafted for Ben Hashar. Some shifted uneasily, others were perplexed, their senses assaulted by the transfixed scent, until they beheld the bronze effigy exuding a sinister smoke from its base, its form suggesting the legs of a hybrid abomination—part eagle, part extraterrestrial, part deadly bloom from realms beyond comprehension.

I dipped my black boots in blue kohl powder and stamped my foot on the gallery steps, marking the threshold between worlds.

Inside, a paper circled with layers of paint beckoned me to dive into Tamir's black, perforated portal. He calls this work the Testicles of the Demon, a chilling nod to his dark communion with the mandrake fruits, gathered from a grove in Tal Shahar, meaning "morning dew" in Hebrew. This damned dawn ritual is a true sacrifice for me; often, I forgo sleep just to greet it.

The Poison Path exhibition stood as a crossroads where art and poison intersect, On the wall, an impressive work by the artist Yakira Ament, called "Dwellers of the Threshold".

Moshe Roas’s work was particularly haunting. He and Kinneret engaged the spirits of poison with divergent methodologies. Kinneret's endeavor involved a filmed session of hyperventilation, simulating a corporeal encounter with poison. Moshe, ever the thorny enigma of our group, rebuffed my attempt to pair him with Belladonna. His work, an alchemical sanctum, displayed the metamorphosis of substances through varied states and vessels. He named it 'Nim and no Nam,' Aramaic for hypnagogia.

Moshe's sanctum

I encountered new human allies, we discussed the perils of the flying ointment and shared arcane secrets on how witches land from their nocturnal flights without shattering their bones, unlike Hillel Ben Hashar who fell from his celestial seat.

A beloved coven of sorcières accompanied me throughout the evening, atmosphere was like a cauldron boiling, ready to be poured into a calcite alabaster jar of a perfumed oil.