The beginning of the 70s
As a kid who hadn't yet started going to elementary school, I was fascinated with planets and dinosaurs. Grown-ups couldn't stop being amazed at such, for a six-year-old, uncommon preoccupations. Still, the unerring ability to distinguish between, for example, the tyrannosaur and the allosaur so similar to it, or the fluent listing of all the nine planets in order of their distance from the sun or in order of size was immensely amusing to them. Unless, of course, while showing off my knowledge I became particularly tiresome, which, to be perfectly frank, happened fairly often. Then my grandfather took on the role of scapegoat. Our palaeontological and astronomical talks mainly took place during long walks in the centre of Zagreb. At once time, crossing over Marshal Tito Square, we came upon an ideal catchword for our continued “debate”. A large shining sphere suddenly appeared in front of us. It impressed me enormously, especially after grandfather’s explanations that it actually represented the Sun. But still, there was something missing. “Where are the planets?” I cried. The answer that in this case they were not very important was extremely unconvincing to me. In the next few days we went to the sphere again, and each time I was disappointed with the realisation that the people who had put it there had not later added the planets so important to me. And then the Sun unexpectedly vanished without trace. “A sun without its nine planets is not a real sun anyway,” I consoled myself.
Through the window of a nearby café I watched as a small crane lowered to the ground that masterpiece of Croatian sculpture of the second half of the 20th century, Kožarić’s Grounded Sun. I was completely aware of the importance of the act. The Sun, that is, more than two decades after the city authorities had removed it without any coherence reason, had grounded once again. Not in its original place, it is true, on Marshal Tito Square, but a few hundred metres to the east, in Bogovićeva. With my fellow art critics I readily agreed that the new site was a less suitable solution than the previous one. The endeavour now was to use Kožarić’s sculpture as a designer’s accessory to the surrounding town-planning complex, while its autonomy and strange combination of vital optimism and poetics of the absurd had been downplayed. Still, this time too the Sun showed its magical power and in this new surrounding at once made a place for itself as a recognisable and much-loved Zagreb point.
First half of the 00s
The café Sunce, Sun, is a place that I often drop in to for a drink. One impossibly hot July day my friend Davor was keeping my company. The Sun was blazing fiercely down from the sky, and just a few metres from us the Grounded Sun was glaring too. Actually, in these moments, everything was under the Sun sign. Although he did not graduate from the Academy of Fine Arts but from the Engineering Faculty, Davor was putting on an art show. He likes talking about art, particularly contemporary art. I don’t know which of us first mentioned the Grounded Sun, but I know that Davor, after he had listened through my lecture about the history of this sculpture, suddenly announced that the Sun should have the planets added to it. I took me a few seconds to recall it all. Probably Davor too was taken aback by the interest that his casual remark had provoked. But it certainly encouraged him to go on working out his original idea. “The planets ought to be done precisely to scale according to the size of the Sun, and the same goes for their distance,” he said. The very next day, armed with a map of Zagreb, compasses, ruler, calculator and the book Guide to the Universe, we negotiated the details in Davor’s sitting room. He authoritatively determined the locations: Mercury should be somewhere on Flower Square, Venus on Jelačić Square, the Earth in Varšavska, and Pluto… Poor old Pluto ended up on the underpass by the cement works, with a diameter of only three millimetres.
Instead of a conclusion
Davor’s urban installation is an important artistic creation or just a witty ploy. I can decide with certainty only that I don’t know of a more discreet and sophisticated intervention in a work of art that already exists than what Davor has done in the case of the legendary Grounded Sun.
“What a pleasant day,” thought Luka as he was going out onto the street. He was one of those futile students of the Faculty of Philosophy who think themselves free-thinking and progressive, mostly just a handy excuse for doing nothing and endless supping round the Zagreb cafés. His months-long leisure time had ultimately resulted in the birth of a madly ambitious idea. He had decided, that is, to write a book, an imagined masterpiece to settle the mystery of creation and the secret of the universe, with the working title of On Creativity. What kind of creativity? From what we can find out from his friends, it is probable that not even the author himself had a very clear conception, since the magic of the concept, it seemed, got in the way of the actual idea and contents of the imagined work.
Whatever, that sunny autumn morning he set off for the centre of town, in order to clear his head, perhaps buy the odd CD, meet some well known face with whom he could swap a few casual words or drink coffee. “What vandalism. They are ruining a work of art,” he muttered to himself as he passed through Bogovićeva, alongside Kožarić’s Grounded Sun, on the golden surface of which strutted and fretted the car-paint-sprayed inscriptions DInamo, BBB and a mass of various names of ‘hoods and handles. Wandering round the centre of town, his attention was attracted by a little steel tablet with a sphere, hardly noticeable, placed at the level of the passer-by on the façade of a building in Tkalčićeva Street. He went up closer. The steel tablet said: Mars, D = 6,786 km, L = 2,279x10 km. He laughed in pleasure. Since he had been obsessed with the planets since he was a child, he correctly understood that the measurements on the thing represented the size of Mars and its distance from the Sun. Concluding by analogy (dubiously, looked at logically) that somewhere in the town there must be some more model planets aligned to the sun, he set off on the undertaking of discovering the Solar planetary system around the streets and buildings of Zagreb. Soon in Jelačić Square he found a model of Venus, and then one of Earth in Varšavska. It was beginning to get dark when in Voćarska he came upon an enormous ball – the model of the planet named after the lord of the Roman Pantheon. Thrilled to bits, he set off home, happy and convinced that he had found the place, the fulcrum almost, on which he would lean his philosophical construction about creativity. Since for reasons best known to himself he despised technical novelties, on getting into his room he pulled out a notebook and started writing. We will probably never get to grips with everything that he noted during the coming days and weeks in a big exercise book with stiff yellow covers: from the sooty half-burned pages, we can perhaps just reconstruct the sequence of his thoughts, make a small chronicle of intellectual torture and philosophical masochism. For example: “The creative process, especially when the work of art is concerned, includes the notation of those links and relations set up among things but visible only to those whose perceptive or creative capacities are strong enough and can via the artistic expression get the truth about man, the world and the universe closer to others.”
Or: “Creativity is the process of creating the already created by the creator or created for created or creators.”
Or: the subject-object problem with clear references to the Zagreb planets: “What in fact is the true object of this artistic exploit: the planets placed in the micro-space of the city, the city itself, or the passers-by who experience the said artworks depending on how they feel, the weather or the place?”
There was all sorts of stuff here too – from social and lyrical passages, essence and existence, to totally inappropriate quotes plucked out of their context in Schelling’s System of Transcendental Idealism, Panofsky or Kubler.
This wretched thinker, it seems, had also taken down the catalogue of the exhibition of the author of the successful planetary artistic intervention into the structure of the city Davor Preis, but the confused and confusing writings that he read there, it is to be assumed, couldn’t have been a lot of use to him. During those days and weeks Luka kept his social contacts at a minimum, slept but seldom and kept a firm grip on his pencil, attempting to penetrate the mystery of creation, the ideas that had flared up from his clash with the universe in the city streets. In time the doubt in his own capacities, talent and information became greater and greater. And then one rainy evening in late autumn after several weeks of flaying his own soul, mind and body, he made a decision. It is not hard to imagine Luka throwing the exercise book with its stiff yellow covers in which all that weeks-long effort was collected into a container for paper, one of those that the local studs from the hood like setting on fire, throwing cigarettes or bangers into it, and then went down into the cellar for his tools. He was already wet through when he stopped in front of the tablet with the little ball in Varšavska on which there was the inscription Earth. He leaned the chisel against the little ball and with the other hand let fly with his hammer. It was as if all the pain, suffering and hatred accumulated during his several weeks of torture were gathered up in the bash that followed. Plunk came the sound as the chisel hit the ground, and Luka felt something warm flowing over his hand. Earth was unharmed. But he, with a grimace of pain on his face, and his bloody smashed thumb headed away from the hateful thing. That moment he figured out, or at least at that moment he thought he had figured out, the answer to all his questions.
The idea of Davor Preis actively to involve the sculpture Grounded Sun by Ivan Kožarić in Zagreb’s Bogovićeva Street as the point of departure for his work, the ambiental installation Nine Views, has a particular creative quality. This is not the usual practice of post-modern or more precisely post-post-modern parasitising on other people’s work, rather the need to expand the borders of the game, to create new symbolic and metaphorical meta-relations, a witty simulation of the Solar System in small, city proportions. For citizens of Zagreb, the city is the system in little. We might perhaps have expected Preis to move out from the Earth, according to the Ptolemaic system like the astrologers; we are most interested in the relationship and rhythm of people as against the relationship and rhythm of the heavenly bodies with the Earth on which we live. However, more like an astronomer, Preis set out from the Sun, the central body around which all the planets revolve, giver of life, light and warmth to the whole of vegetative nature and the denizens of Earth. Just as much as to the Earth, so we are bound to the Sun.
It is interesting that among the nine planets Preis should have included the Earth but left out the Moon. In this kind of precisely worked out and determined terrestrial system, lunar irrational irregularity is, it would seem, not welcome. In its inconstant and whimsical movement it brings in too much chaos.
Nine Views might make the public a bit more aware of the fact that the planets with their subtle electro-magnetic HF waves do have an impact on life on earth, and if they impact nature, then they certainly have an effect on people and the human brain. Or, if this is closer to you, start visiting the city observatories and wondering at the complex beauty of the proximate planets.
Ivan Kožarić is one of these rare artists who in a career spanning more than half a century has missed nothing that is going on in contemporary art and who, in spite of his having started in a traditional medium, sculpture, is today more contemporary and more lucid in his ideas than many of his younger fellow artists (which is shown by his recent appearances at exceptionally important exhibitions by curators with world standings). From this point of view we can think of Ivan Kožarić as the bard or the archetype of Croatian art and hence there is nothing strange that it should have been his sculpture Grounded Sun that Davor Preis chose for his meta-positional game.
Taking the Sun as his point of departure, Preis has grounded all the planets too, using all his astronomical knowledge and mathematical skill in the process. The planets have been proportionally reduced as against the Sun and put up in the parts of Zagreb (the closest are in Margaretska and Ban Jelačić Square, and the most distant in Kozari bok and Podsused). This is a continuation of his earlier astrological and mathematical artistic ventures such as the exhibition in the Matica hrvatska Gallery. Since the metal balls have been placed by the artist in places ranging from the centre of the town to the estates on the outskirts, the artist has not only thought over the city, but has made his work unviewable as a whole.
And now we come to the most interesting part of Preis’s work. The author has not, that is, just set up the planets and so completed his work; rather, the deployment of the planets was actually just the creation of a context that would be made more serious by curators and critics, that is, by members of the art community not themselves artists who nevertheless dictate relations within the world of art.
Yet the critics are not doing anything new – they received the task of writing a foreword to Davor Preis’s exhibition. The only difference is that the writer of the foreword to this unviewable work is not a single person; instead there are nine of them, the same number as there are planets around the Sun. In accord with this the work is called Nine Views, and not, for instance, Planets of the Solar System, the whole point of it being directed towards the power relations inside the art community.
The actors in the game of Davor Preis are Ivan Kožarić, as generally acknowledged artistic great, nine art critics, and a meta-positionally present main character – Davor Preis, whose importance is not yet entirely known on the stage. In the work you can sense a slight irony always there in the relationship between artist and curators and critics, in which the artist sometimes experiences the critic and/or curator as parasite, or vice-versa, although neither can exist without the other.
With its characteristic of introspection and its subtle shift of attention from the art object to some rather specific social relations, this work of Davor Preis is a work of relationship and aesthetics, fitting in to the artistic mainstream with its characteristics. In addition it is exceptionally interesting to those who are taking part, who will only at this exhibition have the chance of comparing their writing skills with those of their fellow critics.
Nine Views by Dawor Preis
We don’t have to see it all to be able to see at all. We don’t have to experience everything in able to be able to experience at all. In fact we, as human species, are not capable of this. Human perception is limited. And so among other things we move through time and through space. We make use of various sources of knowledge and information in order to be able to know ourselves and the planet on which we live and work. Because of our older biological and our younger cultural, individual and collective, givens, this spurs us to further research. We can see some things with the naked eye, which does not mean that they do not exist in other ways and live at other levels. Although what we see with the eye is illusion, nevertheless we still believe in our sense of sight and rely on it experientially. All of this is, subjectively and in the I-form, somehow truthful. Grounding the whole of the solar system and consigning it to the gravitational force of Earth, respecting certain laws of movement of the space and city traveller ( the centre – the Grounded Sun, the sculpture of Ivan Kožarić of 1971 in its second location in Bogovićeva Street, and in diameters and distances proportional to the originally conceived centre – Neptune on the outskirts in Kozari bok, and the still smaller and more distant Pluto on concrete steps by the underpass in Podsused) the author of this ambiental installation, Davor Preis, has an entirely symbolic attitude to the nine views and the nine planets. He reduces all the visual attractiveness of the individual planets in the material of stainless steel to the roundedness of their spherical form, which symbolically links all the planets with their visual and structural essence. To discover the secrets of the planets today – with respect to our area of interest – we use various kinds of sophisticated machines and in general the technology we have created, the enlarged spectrum of vision and data processing of which can be used to deepen our knowledge, to get round our limits and expand our capacities. The total being of mankind in time and space probably does not exist. This is, it would seem, more a question of our primary wishes and internal projections. But there are various different levels and kinds of relationship of man and world, life and death, God, universe, other people. Perhaps science, physics for example, can tell us whether everything at the end is still as the concept of the universe tells us or whether it is in motion, or whether it is all chaotic. This is the level of cognition. But since time out of mind, through art, this least useful of all forms of human expression, people have always sought answers to the basic human questions, discovered new spaces around and in themselves. This is the area of intuition. Today perhaps, and at first glance we can cover various routes in our interpersonal interaction. If we develop our perception and set free the suppressed emotions, we will perhaps successfully achieve that I-ness – lost in the great rift of modern man of the 20th century and the more than uncertain beginning of the 21st century – through the aspiration to integration and equilibrium. One such complete ambiental system has been achieved by Davor Preis in the streets of Zagreb.
Nine different planets, or nine things symbolically acting as planets of the solar system, placed at various sites around the city of Zagreb. On the other hand, nine different authors textually interpreting the work of the artist. Probably after this kind of introduction and rather terse description, the question will arise about the covert meaning, about what the artist, the author of this work, wanted to tell us, the public, desirous of knowledge and new ways of thinking about art. But in this case, according to my own interpretation, things are rather different in character. In this work there is no mystification, there are no hidden, covert ideas, thoughts, considerations; here everything is mathematically precisely defined and positioned, simple. Is the public capable of accepting simplicity in exchange for complicatedness and impalpability?
The idea of the nine different authors interpreting the work of Davor Preis raises the question whether this is curiosity or just artistic vanity. In this case, it is a matter of pure curiosity on the part of the artist as to how nine different authors are going to explain this one work, this simple, not at all pretentious, and conceptual, work. The authors of the text have various relations with the artist and with the other writers. Some of them are good friends of the artist, some know him superficially, and to some of them he is a total unknown. In this case, to me, for example, and in spite of the fact that I don’t know the previous work of the artist (because of my failure to keep up with the art scene, and because of the generation gap, and various other reasons), I avoided reading any kind of written interpretations of the artist’s earlier works or visiting his web site. An interesting and attractive idea of reading the unknown. However I think that I actually consented to this game between the author of the work that provokes and the authors of the writings that rise to the challenge.
The nine planets, that is, the things and the nine different interpretations, do not have any hidden motivation. Play of mathematical mind and artistic sensibility, realism and enthusiasm. How far are we ready to go in the realisation of what we are, not responding to the imposed laws of value? How ready are we for the game?
The outcome of the game is still to be seen, it will be known when all the texts come together in the catalogue. It is interesting writing for psychoanalytical minds, and working out which segment most interests the nine authors, whether the work and the author of the work, whether the promotion of his own wit and brilliance, how objective and subjective we are, i.e., how objective we can be considering our connection with the author of the work. This work is part of a project, a project that is the game of Davor Preis. He set the tasks for nine players, and they were obedient in performing their assignment, taking their part in the game. But at the end the question is not who is the best, rather who is the most candid. Judge for yourselves – I don’t yet know the answer myself.
The circle is the most perfect form
Actually, a certain art show was to blame for everything. Which is ridiculous, because here exhibitions on the whole have little effect on artists, and certainly none on the public. Although the exhibitor, a certain Preis, was not exactly an artist, not in a formal sense. He didn’t go to the Academy of Fine Arts. But he had some good work, which is the most important thing today. It isn’t the idea that is important, but whether you can pull it off. On the whole, he did manage to put through some pretentious ideas about the planets. He put nine balls simulating them at nine locations around the city. Now, the little sphere of Mars has got a place on a wall of a house in Tkalčićeva in which Matija lived. This then encouraged him to go round other locations, in Novi Zagreb, Maksimir, Kozari bok and so on. He passed by Venus everyday, for it was placed on the building of a bank on the Square. One evening he saw a girl there standing and looking at the ball. She looked extremely interested, or at least thoughtful. A swot girl student of art history, he thought, but she wasn’t half bad, a bit of a lyric type. He liked arranging girls according to literary genres. He remembered her face, but everything else would have been just a transient episode if he hadn’t seen her another day in the same spot. Really a swot, he repeated, but his pace slowed down slightly. He stopped in the middle of the Square and yet something pulled him back. He quite took himself by surprise the ease with which he went up and started chatting with her. It seemed that it wasn’t anything unusual to her. Making her acquaintance went very easily, she was called Maja, and in a few minutes they were sitting down to some drinks in Bogovićeva. Right next to the Sun, Kožarić’s Sun, from which the idea about the planets had set off. It was, you might say, love at first sight. She really was a student of art, and he made out that he was interested in art. It was a good thing she hadn’t heard what he had recently said about Preis, looking at him from the café over the way, while he was putting his Mars on the wall of the house with some grunt.
Actually, they really understood each other. They were really happy. Like a pledge for this happiness, Matija broke the sphere off his building. Though it had been agreed that all the big and little spheres should stay on the walls for ever, the exhibitor had agreed on this with the City Arts Office. In one broadcast Preis moaned on about the barbarous conduct of his fellow citizens, reiterating that he was ready to undertake a reconstruction of the damage. They couldn’t give a damn about the replicas, the first were remembered, and their ball was carefully put away. They kept it in a box above the bed in which they frequently made love. But one day it vanished. He couldn’t exactly determine when it had happened, he didn’t open the box every day. Still, he felt something cold around the heart that the disappearance exactly fitted in with the fact that for three days he had been secretly meeting Gordana. He didn’t ask Maja anything, but after a couple of days, she too vanished. And a few days later he got the weirdest message saying that she knew everything and that she had to go so that the memory of their love, which he had sullied with THAT STUPID BITCH (Gordana was also a student at the Philosophical) should remain pure. How she found out he never knew. They had been seeing each other just a few days and screwed only the once. And they were really discreet.
Anyway, Maja disappeared completely, didn’t answer his calls, didn’t reply to his messages. Sometimes it seemed that he had dreamed it all, and his paranoia was increased by the knowledge that the Venus sphere had gone from the bank building. He broke up with Gordana after a couple of months and gradually all these exciting events began to sink into oblivion. And then, half a year after the first presentation of the project, he saw Preis on the TV, receiving some kind of plaque, and thanking all those present, announcing the restitution of all the missing balls round the city. He was surprised that this pseudo-artist should have won the annual prize of the Fine Artists Association for the best exhibition project. This world really has some weird criteria, he thought.
In the flat of a girl friend who was on a scholarship in Paris and in which she had lived for three months already, Maja was watching the same story. There was nothing strange to her about it; from the very beginning she had thought Preis’s project remarkable. Although it had, indirectly, first of all brought her great happiness and then great pain. But she had got over that, and now it was high time to have done with it all. She took the Mars ball out of her box and held it a few moments on the palm of her hand. Looking deep, deep into it, she could see Matija muttering something, and nervously, with a curse, reaching for the remote. And then she closed her hand, went to the balcony and jerked the hand that was holding the ball. She threw it into the darkness, and the little ball flew long through the dark, and fell somewhere far off, down the slope, into the grass. When she came back to the room, all the sentences that she had heard by the bye or spoken herself occurred to her. Love conquers all. Apart from hatred. Art brings people together. But keeps them apart. The sphere is the most perfect form. What the fuck. She went into the hall, took out her jacket and went onto the stairs. She was sure that Ivan was patiently waiting for her in the cafe that was their usual meeting place, although she was an hour late.
Two days later Matija almost bumped into a working man in a blue overall. Some guy in a suit was turned towards the wall. The boring ancient monuments guy again, he thought, and then realised that this guy was actually Preis.
Why is that dude looking at me so weirdly, thought Preis, when their glances met again, perhaps he might be the ball-thief, and then his mobile went. A bit more to the left, he showed the worker with his hand, while the other picked up his phone. Oh, here I am, in Tkalča, we’re putting up Mars again….
While he was walking down the street, Matija could no longer hear him, no longer wanted to. It suddenly occurred to him that he ought to go on a trip somewhere. He had had enough, for the time being, of art, of women, Mars and Venus and other imperfect relationships.
The Planets and the occasional imprecation
I have never exactly understood why it is that people swear at the Sun. Perhaps because this universal source of life on earth has connotations with the mother, the genitrix. Why don’t they curse out some planet, Mercury, for example, or Pluto perhaps? Since there are nine of them, and the symbolism of them does have connections with people and their destinies, the situation would be more appropriate. Thus the planetary language of vulgarity would be considerably enhanced. Since culture gives rise to non-culture, this might very well soon happen. For a young Zagreb artist, Davor Preis, decided to set up sculptures of nine planets in the area of the city. Each planet is proportionally reduced in size according to and distanced from the Grounded Sun of Ivan Kožarić placed in Bogovićeva Street in 1994. When this sculptural heliocentric system was set up, an urban planetarium was established, in which the streets stood in for orbits that for us are incomprehensibly distant; the infinity of space was inscribed in the map of the city. The earth and everything around it was once again reduced to the flat sheet that is alone intelligible to us. Finally, “everything that is up is the same as what is down” and vice versa. Every planet becomes an active point within a given street or neighbourhood, a point that draws us, but that itself gravitates to the centre, to the Sun. Preis’s system has a practically healing character. The planetary positions of the town are a cultural acupuncture, spots for the treatment of the town. Each planetary station is equally significant. The underpass in Podsused (Pluto), a garage in Siget (Uranus) and the lamp-post in Kozari Bok (Neptune) have become places of cultural significance. Preis’s system equates the nameless paths of unappealing locations and neighbourhoods and the neighbourhoods of the city centre that we know so well. They all have equal value. It is all One. All of it is Zagreb.
I’ve never been in Kozari bok. I wander round Kožarić’s Sun every day, pass by Mercury in Margaretska, Venus on Jelačić Square and the Earth in Varšavska. The way to Mars in Tkalčićeva is up now, but you can still get to Jupiter in Voćarska or Saturn in Račićeva. Really one ought to get on the tram and go to Kozari bok and see Neptune. But it is such a way. Screw Neptune. For a beginning.
“He’s not here yet, but he’s on his way”– a conversation between Saturn, Uranus and the Sun
Saturn: Humanity is mine. I always track it, I am cause and effect, I am the Old Testament, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. I am the witness of the passage of time. I am the eternal repetition of one and the same: as it was – so shall it be.
Uranus: Man ought to be mine. I tell the temporal tale that will never be clear to man until he undergoes it personally and brings it home to himself. My rule has brought quantum physics, the theory of relativity, everything that is new in art and science. But everything will happen in line with a spiritual existence that man will not be aware of until it happens. He won’t understand it until he comes individually to my conception of time. No one will understand me until I show him how to make a quantum jump in his own head.
Saturn: But there is no other way of thinking, only mine. For man when he speaks always speaks via me.
Uranus: Speech? I brought man technology, film, all the forms of the new art, but I don’t care about that… I share, but I do not bother.
Saturn: Do bear in mind that for the realisation of any idea at all man has to make use of my way. I shall always be Institution, Structure, Form, Skeleton – that you don’t care about all. And so man is mine. I brought him down to earth with gravitation.
Uranus: No, because the man that flies in space is body and soul my man. I am the dissolution of every form and the incessant beginning of new opportunities. I do not like rule. I like revolution. But talking about it I come under your influence.
Saturn: I gave men bones, without me he would be an amorphous mass that would fall to pieces on the first encounter with your “free” idea. I defend the old principles, the authoritarian, the patriarchal, the tried and tested. Fate, destiny, doom, everything that happens to man, happens to him through me. I set the constraints. I deal out justice, I constitute the measure.
Uranus: For my man, there is still a quantum leap into another time and space waiting. I am freedom, I demolish to reconstruct. I do not need a judgement, or moral or ethical principles, or their establishment or re-evaluation. Man who can understand all that will be my man. That is what my reign will be like. I shall facilitate the spiritual growth that will be the only ultimate and important ideology.
Saturn: Such men are dangerous.
Uranus: No, just misunderstood in your time.
Sun: You are forgetting something. The consciousness of people about themselves is a form of vanity. The only point via which man arrives at internal growth, individuation, that is me. The greatest principle of self-awareness that arrives when Men master the road to individuation is the super-consciousness. In this process, man is always going to be fragmentary, partial, torn. He will belong to all. Through the roads of madness, Man will always, at the end, come to me. He is not here yet, but he is on the way.