Séverine Heizmann Pozza’s Brush on Astrology
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Séverine Heizmann Pozza, Influence (Starry starry night), 2021 Photo: CE. Courtesy: the artist and Kirchgasse Gallery.
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If I try to recall my first brush with astrology, it wasn’t profound or mystical—it was fun. My algorithm was packed with astrological memes—Libra starter packs, Mercury retrograde panics, Leo in bed and all the usual cosmic chaos. I think a lot of people start out this way—checking daily horoscopes, looking up their sun signs, and laughing at astrology memes with friends.
And honestly, I love that about astrology: it’s approachable. It sneaks into people’s lives in a lighthearted way, until suddenly, they find themselves diving deeper, completely hooked.
Before astrology became a meme of a cat in a witch hat, it had already existed for millennia, evolving across cultures and historical epochs. Today, it’s often dismissed as fluffy entertainment, but its origins reveal a sophisticated system deeply entwined with philosophy, medicine, and science.
The earliest records of astrology date back to Mesopotamia, around 2000 BCE. The Babylonians developed a celestial system primarily to predict the fate of kingdoms. Astrology as we recognize it today—with birth charts analyzing individual lives—took form during the Hellenistic period around 300 BCE. Greek scholars blended Babylonian techniques with Egyptian, Persian, and Indian influences, creating the Zodiac, planetary rulerships, and the astrological Houses that form the foundation of Western astrology.
During the Middle Ages, astrology was woven into European science and medicine. Physicians relied on astrological charts to diagnose illnesses, believing different zodiac signs governed specific body parts.
A belief system, of which one of my favorite representations is found in Les Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry by Dutch miniature painters the Limburg brothers, a collection of stunning medieval illuminations from the fifteenth-century. Among them is the famous Anatomical Man, a visual guide mapping zodiac signs onto the human body. These illustrations weren’t just aesthetic, they were instructional tools used by doctors in medieval times. Even bloodletting was scheduled according to lunar cycles, with certain zodiac signs deemed more auspicious for medical procedures. Astrology wasn’t seen as contrary to reason; it was an essential way of understanding the body’s relationship to the cosmos.
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Hilma af Klint, Group IX / UW, The Dove, No. 14 (from the SUW / UW Series), 1915.
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Now, let’s fast forward to the summer of 2019. I was at a psytrance festival in Portugal when I received a reading with an astrologer who would later become my teacher. That reading changed everything. For the first time, I felt seen. It was surreal, someone was putting words to emotions and mechanisms I had always felt but never fully articulated. It was incredibly precise, as if he was speaking that little voice inside me: how I perceived myself, how I wanted to be perceived, how I experienced relationships. It was as if someone had mapped out my inner world and handed it back to me in a way that finally made sense.
The astrologer told me I had seven planets in Scorpio—a stellium, which is intense. In that moment, I understood why I had always been drawn to extremes—crossing limits, transformation, sex, hardcore partying. He recommended breathwork and deep meditative practices to channel that energy. So, the next day, I tried Kundalini meditation. It was that kind of festival—full of New Age workshops and holistic practices. Right up my alley. The experience was insane—I felt ecstatic, charged with clarity and energy. And at the end of the meditation, I had a vision.
The vision told me something I had been avoiding for a year: I needed to pause my art practice. I had already felt it, but I wasn’t ready to accept it. Art had been my whole life, and the thought of stepping back was terrifying. I was afraid of being forgotten, of losing everything I had worked for, of being judged. But in that moment, with the meditation and the astrology session behind me, I fully accepted it. The clarity felt like relief.
Then, the universe decided to test me. Less than an hour later, I checked my email and found a message from Milieu, an art space in Bern, offering me a solo show. It felt like a cosmic joke. A challenge. Are you really ready to take a break?
I laughed, because I knew exactly what was happening. I called them and said: “I can do a solo show, but not for a few years.” They laughed too, and we made it happen later on. I love synchronicities. I have so many stories like this. Like the time I desperately wanted to go to Athens but couldn’t afford it. When I finally let go of the desire, I got an email offering me a modeling job for a designer. Guess where the shoot was happening? Athens. On the exact dates I had wanted to go. I think I should make it a T-shirt.
One of the most common questions I get as an astrologer is: “Oh my, I’m a Scorpio ... is that bad?” And every time, I answer the same way: “No, of course not.” Because astrology isn’t about good or bad, it’s about balance.
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“In that moment, I understood why I had always been drawn to extremes—crossing limits, transformation, sex, hardcore partying.”
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The Zodiac is structured in a way that creates wholeness. There are twelve signs, twelve houses, and four elements—fire, earth, air, and water—each bringing an essential energy to the system. We need the fierce independence of Aries just as much as we need the deep empathy of Pisces. Each sign holds a piece of the cosmic puzzle, and together, they form a complete picture. This sense of balance resonates with my approach to art. I’m not afraid to create my own version of Jutta Koether’s version of a Van Gogh painting, itself an entity, rich with references, almost like a totem. Yet, I don’t see it as something isolated or superior, but rather as part of a larger, non-hierarchical system, much like the Zodiac.
Astrology isn’t just about recognizing our strengths, it’s also about understanding our shadows, the unconscious patterns that drive us when we’re unaware of them. Every sign has its light and its dark. Aries, bold and fearless, can bulldoze over people. Virgo, meticulous and analytical, can fall into perfectionism and self-criticism, losing its primordial connection to nature and the organic flow of life. Gemini, curious and quick-witted, can slip into the role of the devil’s advocate. Pisces, deeply empathetic, can dissolve into emotional escapism, fantasy, or a sense of martyrdom. But astrology, like Jungian psychology, teaches us that the shadow isn’t something to reject, it’s something to integrate.
When we acknowledge our shadow, we stop being ruled by it. Instead of resisting it, we work with it. Astrology offers a language to understand our deepest mechanisms, showing us when we are stepping into our highest expression and when we are slipping into self-destructive patterns.
Ultimately, that’s why astrology is such a powerful tool for the soul. It helps us see ourselves fully, our strengths, our struggles, our contradictions. And by embracing all of it, we come closer to wholeness.
For me, astrology is a guide, a language, and a tool of self-reflection. It doesn’t predict the future, it helps us understand the present. And sometimes, that’s exactly what we need.
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