Friends, Fauves, Brebis Galeuses, lend me your ear...
Spring equinox is upon us. With the arrival of Aries comes a familiar sound whose cadence beats first in our ear like a distant war drum, then louder and faster in our heart, before culminating riotously in the depths of our soul. The horns of a thousand rams in obsidian wool roar the battle cry— the Outsiders draw near..
We call upon Aries, the Ram, for her shamanic power, energy, and fertility. By virtue and necessity, the Black Bighorns also invoke Ares—the god of war and our fellow outcast --feared for insatiable ferocity in battle, painting entire battlefields with precision and gore—like a fauvist brushstroke altering the face of the parchment. In doing so, the Outsiders amplify the masculine by way of the empowered and divine feminine.
Outsiders understand one thing better than anyone else: it's easy to be condemned for simply being oneself. The hard part is shedding the mask that everyone else wants to see. With nothing to hide, Outsiders adorn themselves instead with horned-helmets fit for war with the gods.