Zen Buddhist koans often revolve around a central question: Who am I? Who is the one who sees, breathes, hears? In the deepest symbolic levels of exploration of these questions, there may be a revelation waiting: there is no fixed ‘you’ at the core. What can be grasped at is an ever changing array of personas.

This is a scary thought to most, but also one bristling with possibilities, possibilities which can be explored in sadomasochistic play. I often encourage my clients and retreat participants to set an intention in the form of a persona, someone or something they want to explore more richly and play with becoming. What or who they pick varies wildly. Some stay connected with their pleasure and go for a greedy whore. Others want to let go of control and choose an almost object-like persona, like a slave. Others play with gender to enter into an arena otherwise forbidden to them.

It’s fascinating to see how some people develop a relationship with their unveiled persona, even naming them and ascribing them certain clothes, wigs, masks and vocabularies. They look forward to entering play scenarios so they can learn more about them.

Sometimes the personas help them expand their expression of eros and mature in their lives in general as they offer a wider choice of behaviours. People usually limit their behaviours unconsciously to a narrow range. Wearing a persona helps them see that there are always many possible ways to respond to any given situation (‘What would my persona do in this case?’). This wider field of living and responding to life is vastly empowering.

Hiding or Being Unveiled Behind A Mask

The face is the most potent symbol of a persona. The most powerful way we can change our personas is by changing our faces. It’s not surprising then that masks have historically been the most effective and immediate way of dropping an old and adopting a new personality. Since my teen years, masks have held a hypnotising hold over me and my collection, hanging proudly on my wall, is impressive. Yet it is when they come to life that things start to become really interesting. Masks give permission to experience the world through a fresh set of eyes. I have witnessed people shedding limiting beliefs and self-doubts and completely altering their attitude when wearing a new face. It’s playful, it’s fun but it’s also therapeutic. Wearing one is also a ritual because if I take it seriously, I instil it with the power to possess me.

The best masks are archetypical, which means they represent different aspects of humanity. The masks of the Commedia dell’arte are an excellent example of this. In 16th century Italy, they formed a complex system of archetypes designed to understand comedy. The system starts with two base characters: Pantalone, the master, is old and powerful but also ugly and corrupted and always troubled by responsibility and politics; Zanni, meanwhile is the complete opposite being the servant, young and beautiful but also stupid, someone no one cares for. 

Pantalone then breaks down into a few sub-characters, like Il Dottore, the doctor, who has all the knowledge in the world but doesn’t know how to apply it, and Il Capitano, the captain, who looks strong and brave but doesn’t know how to fight. The system keeps dividing until we finally find the Innamorati, or the lovers, who represent the worldly, everyday non-archetypical. To wear a Commedia dell’arte mask is to embrace that archetype. Some actors in this theatre style make it a lifelong investigation. I wonder to what extent this must be overwhelming for their egos when the archetypal traits of their masks start to drive their interactions more than their ‘true’ identities.

The moretta mask is another classic one which transforms the wearer’s face into a black bottomless well. It is held tight to the face worn by clamping a button between the teeth, and covers the eyes, nose and mouth, stripping the face of any trace of personality. My handmade morretta is covered in leather and its button is shaped as a penis. It’s worn in serving rituals to allow a second submissive to be close but without taking any intimacy from two lovers-the Innamorati.

I am forever indebted to the work of both improvisational theatre teacher Keith Johnstone and master mask artisan Steve Jarand. Their explorations of how humans adopt different personas while doning masks has been greatly influential for me. They both inspired me to first start collecting masks and later learning to craft my own. 

Wearing the Face of a God

I once heard a story about a religious ceremony in Indonesia where people would randomly volunteer to wear the mask of a god. One god with a massive horn was particularly aggressive and would charge into the crowd, sometimes hurting careless worshippers. However, the culture recognized that this aggressive archetype exists inside us all and so would never blame the person wearing the mask for the god’s indiscretions. They believed that the person was simply possessed.

What is even more interesting is creating your own mask by building it yourself. It is a slow process that often takes me about eight hours. During this time, I get to form a relationship with my mask and the archetype it represents within me. I like combining crafting with theatre exercises, like wearing the clay mould of a half-finished mask behind a shadow puppet screen, allowing it to be witnessed for the first time by an audience.

The most magical moment is giving birth to the mask by putting it on for the first time and looking into a mirror. Who will it be looking back at me? I’ve noticed that newly born often lack language and communicate with loud noises and wild gestures. Civilising the mask takes time – what objects and activities does it enjoy, and how does it make friends with other masks? Once enough masks know each other, I can invite them to act out improvised sadomasochistic scenes, or even invite them into my rituals. Eventually, my masks will form a community with their own culture, and then it no longer matters who the wearer is, just like it doesn’t matter who is possessed by the horned god in the Indonesian ceremony.

I find it very therapeutic to see the archetypes that are significant to me being carried by others. It gives me a sense of connection and makes my problems seem less overwhelming when I feel that I’m not alone. I get reminded of this when watching the masks on my walls looking back at me. They offer aggression, innocence, horniness, holiness, servitude, madness, foolishness, decadence, celebration, and so many more experiences. I know that each specific archetype is only an arms-length away when I feel its calling. And that I can wear them and remove them at will.