‘I dream my painting and I paint my dream.’
Vincent Willem van Gogh
Coming together in Ibiza
Enchanted, we arrive at the fire ceremony through the dark. Guided and hushed by a theatric storyteller who ushers us to find a seat around the flames, a timeless and stilling atmosphere descends, enveloping and binding us to celebrate the night. Bass notes and melodies decorate the stillness as they dance simultaneously and delicately through Ariel’s bamboo shamanic flutinuous. As the harmonies softly subside, and ceremonial chieftain, Atos begins to speak from his heart, I realise just how inspiring this all is. Missing pieces of a flickering puzzle I’ve been subconsciously solving over decades shuffle into a new space on the jigsaw board of my future. From now on in, I’ll have always seen this, and things will be better. Thank you.
An extraordinary couple
Abi and Mogli are dressed as Game Of Thrones warrior pimps. Stunning hosts made for each other at an equally stunning villa made for the occasion – it’s tucked away up an exhaust-busting trail in the northern hills of San Llorenzo, Ibiza. With matching plaits, a bomb stylist and tessellating dreams, they’re beautiful wonders to behold and the splendid centerpiece of this otherworldly shebang.
Love is all you need
Neemah, the eventual poetic priest of the union is sat atop a foam mushroom, strumming the nylon strings of a guitar in the baking sunshine. ‘Love love love.’There are no hired suits and tails in site. This isn’t a regulation wedding.
Rowin’ for a poem
Best man and throaty pirate Joe has recently weathered a near death experience in the Balearic sea. When you’re caught in the swirling dark storm of a freak typhoon and your solar catamaran is starved of light, you just sit there waiting to die by lightning. Luckily for him and his gorgeous pirate-ess, the forks stayed 50m from the main hull. Luckily for us, we got to hear a great poem he’d written on his motorbike.
‘Oh Mogli, oh Mogli, oh Mogli, my man.’
Tripping the lights
Beyond what would normally be regarded as the formalities, the sun goes down to slowly reveal extravaganzas of the eye decorating the villa and the garden. Lasers and projectors paint spaces with textures and swirling light magic. A face in the trees. Oriental beauties. Coloured dots that turn trees into foil bubble wrap. All tomorrow’s parties.
Everything is made more vivid and surreal from a tray of special mushroom chocolates. A magic treat that unites the tribe and prepares all to be unprepared for some next level celebratory surpisings. A cocoon of pleasure and adventure.
Ingrid has a day off from the Cirque Du Soleil and she’s here to twist out some shapes in the rope pyramid. Dangling by her hair, she starts like a choppily edited possessed sex insect and her performance escalates from there. She’s so good that Collette’s still crying about her now in Bangkok.
Up the hill we join Atos around the fire. Trees are dressed with lanterns, candles and draped with twisting white cobwebs all blessed with UV blue. Canisters of laughing gas dangle from a wooden cart that encourages us towards freedom. Cue the shamanic flutinuous and beautiful remindings of our togetherness and intentions for the evening.
Commenceth the night…
Follow the eyeballed cube-orb and fuck my life – there’s a twatting rave cave through an underground door beneath Ibiza and DJ Damon is down there blasting the beats. Man. This is fucking awesome. I think I’ve just cum right into my three-quarter length beige longs.
The Lizard Lounge
Clammy, fidgety, speaking in quick bursts and sneaking inquisitively through the dance floor, Hunter S Chris’s eyes are threatening to engulf his entire head along with everyone else and the cave. A pipette drips onto his tongue and his black wells swell well wildly. Outside, Natalie can see the atomic particles in her hair for the first time. Cheer and loving in San Llorenzo. It’s all happening. Crikey.
Soul-sorcery occurred when I wandered up to that fire circle and danced into that cave on that day of wizards and priestesses in Ibiza. Something changed. Something inspired me deeply, subconsciously, consciously and with my whole heart. An unforgettable day. A day that previously, I could never have even perceived. Real magic.
Thank you for the spark. Thank you for the stimulation. Thank you for planting seeds and offering fuel for the fires that inspire. Thank your for your generosity. May you always feel inspired and may you both always practice gratitude – for positivity, for happiness, for each other and for the best life together. For all the things – Abi and Mogli.
All photos by: Julien Sarkissian
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One thought on “Spellbound”
This really is splendid. I love the way you write x