The enactment of Intangible Labour’s Spiritual Cleanse unfolds with a familiarity that is older than the institutional languages we now use to describe art, work, or care. What takes place in the Adult Education Centre and the surrounding streets of Leicester is not merely a performance, nor an intervention, but a ritualised action that resonates with the deep grammar of Ancient Greek worship. Its power lies precisely in its refusal to separate the aesthetic, the civic, and the spiritual into distinct domains.

In Ancient Greek culture, ritual was not a retreat from everyday life but its intensification. Processions moved through the polis, carrying fire, song, and symbolic objects, not to escape the city but to re-bind it. The presence of flame in this enactment, tended carefully and publicly, recalls Hestia, the goddess of the hearth, whose fire anchored both household and city. Hestia had no grand temples or myths of conquest. Her sanctity was quiet, continuous, and infrastructural. To keep the fire alive was to sustain communal life itself.

The Spiritual Cleanse mirrors this logic. The fire is not spectacular; it is carried, guarded, and walked through traffic, side streets, and the rhythms of an ordinary evening. This is not theatre staged against the city, but ritual enacted within it. In Greek terms, it resembles the thysia and the pompe, acts where movement, offering, and collective witnessing mattered more than belief or explanation. Meaning arises through participation, not interpretation.

The cloak, marked and re-marked with symbols of everyday life, functions as a contemporary analogue to the ritual garment or votive object. In Greek practice, objects accumulated meaning through use, inscription, and repetition. They bore the sediment of collective life. Here, the symbols of working-class existence, beer cans, footballs, eyes, cigarettes, are not ironic signifiers but offerings. They name what usually remains unseen, much as ancient ritual named forces that exceeded language but structured daily existence.

What is being cleansed is not a space in any hygienic sense, but a social condition. Intangible labour, care work, emotional work, unnoticed maintenance, has no altar in modern bureaucratic culture. Greek ritual, by contrast, gave form to precisely those forces that could not be measured or owned. Catharsis was not psychological release but communal rebalancing. To walk, to sing, to tend fire, to mark cloth, was to realign the visible and the invisible.

There is also a distinctly Greek seriousness to the playfulness of the enactment. The roller skates, the hazard sign, the casual humour, echo the way ancient ritual often incorporated inversion, satire, and embodied joy. Sacred games were not solemn abstractions but lived contradictions. Nietzsche’s question, “What sacred games must we create?”, hangs quietly over the performance, not as theory but as necessity.

In a metamodern context, the Spiritual Cleanse does not attempt to resurrect a lost pagan past, nor does it parody ritual as spectacle. It oscillates between sincerity and knowingness, between myth and municipal reality. Like Greek ritual, it assumes that meaning is not invented by individuals but emerges when bodies gather, move, and attend together.

What remains after the fire is extinguished is not an artwork in the conventional sense, but a memory of alignment. For a brief time, the city remembers itself as a living body, sustained by labour that cannot be itemised. In this sense, the enactment does exactly what ancient ritual once did. It restores attention to what holds the world together, quietly, persistently, and without applause.

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