The Sun moves from Aries to Taurus on Sunday, April 19, 2020 —from electricity to the conduit that allows energy to shoot through. So that we too may pass through. On Wednesday, April 22, 2020, the moon’s new and we commence The Venus Experiment.
At its best, astrology teaches us about our nature(s) — to accept it and behold our specific sky as part of a sky of innumerable natures and moments. Groovy. But still, we’ve gotta dial the planets direct if we want to truly know about what they’re doing, needing, seeing. And it’s rarely so unambiguous as: “Hi Venus, what do you want from me? What’s you’re predicament and gift? How do I fix you? Nurture you?” “Oh, it is exactly X and Y, then Z — and please feed me ice cream. Love & Light.” Taurus season teaches something about what the body utters beneath and between words. Before words. Earth herself: the planet from whence all astrological chart castings begin and the planet who now is returning to her own nature because we’re not messing with her as much. Taurus.
The planets, as emissaries of the gods, are flawed and wild and weird. They’re nuanced and they know about us. They reveal their freakily on-point teachings when we keep dialing, when we listen, learn their lingo, and note how they maneuver and announce themselves in our own lives, (ch)art, current moment. Venus-ruled Taurus season is the ground, so we turn our attention groundward, remember how nature’s personal. How we are.
In my outwardly wilder twenties, I moved around a lot. My moves were frenetic and typically spurred on by some rapid change of heart or mind (Aries), an unquenchable and nearly volatile urge to be on some other ground, to behold the planet from a different angle. It was a predicament of Venus, desiring to go where the earth seemed to promise more beauty and fewer heartaches, or at least heartaches that pulsed a sweet light from their wounds. I was met with the same earth, different forms. I was met with Taurus.
It’s true what Carl Sagan said, “The universe isn’t required to be in perfect harmony with human ambition.” The harmony part is Venus — V likes harmonization, merging. Or, like what Anais Nin said about music: “It melts all the separate parts of our bodies together.” And the Sun’s arrival in Taurus maybe reminds that all that glitters is not gold. But paying attention is a kind of coherence.
I finally ended up in New York, where I stayed for many years — a land that felt hardwired for melting separate parts of bodies together and where I took these photos, a super storied ground. So there. It was THERE. Taurus. Once prior, during a particularly sweaty day in southern Louisiana, I found myself looking into the gulf as someone remarked: “we’re at the bottom of the country.” In New York, the ground quaked with subway velocity. In California, faultlines. Commonly though, there the ground was. How easy to take for granted a container that is always there, whose main prerogative seems to be fixity. Taurus.
Mother Earth at her most stable, when she needs to do the deceptively simple work of remaining still so that the season can finish happening from her and within her. This is Venus’ solid home, where she does the beauty of nature itself — nonvitreous, original art, human bodies, matter.
In Taurus, preservation of nature is progress. (Especially because URANUS has been in this sign for some time — revolutionizing and personifying Mother Earth, urging us to save her, to remember that we are she). All of these stories about wildlife roaming freely, views of mountains unseen for decades, etc.
A gift of the Sun in Taurus is beauty. This is not what we find in the glossies, a societally steeped and co-opted “beauty.” Taurus, as Original Art, reverbs whatever John Keats was talking about when he said: “Beauty is truth, truth beauty—” This from beholding a Grecian urn. He goes on though: “that is all / Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.” A question from Taurus season, from Venus, for us: What’s beauty? Truth? How do they equal each other? Something to do with the modesty of ground, with a view beyond the frame, with transcendence? Comment below.
More on Taurus season, and your poemscopes coming when the moon is newer. I hope you’re well and that this provides you some sweet astrological ground during this time. THANK YOU for coming on this journey with me, for which there is for sure no destination.
Emmalea Russo (@arthouse.astrology) is an artist, writer, and astrologer. She received her MFA in Sculpture from Pratt Institute and has taught classes and workshops at RA MA Institute, Holisticism, Parsons School of Design, The Art Institute of Cincinnati, and through her ongoing project, Arthouse Astrology School, where she leads workshops on astrology and art. Her weekly newsletter is ARTHOUSE and her writing appears in Artforum, BOMB, The Brooklyn Rail, Cosmopolitan, Hyperallergic, Los Angeles Review of Books, and SFMOMA’s Open Space. She lives between NYC and the Jersey shore. Book an astrology reading here.