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The new landing page for my Facebook page.
Do have a look and "like" if you appreciate the work. Your support is needed and will be really appreciated.
Another long exposure, shot at Bandstand at Bandra, just at sundown. I know sunset shots are super-overdone, but this is a first for me in long exposures + HDR. I am pretty pleased with the result, but I know there are so many areas to improve upon. Also, I finally feel like I can make use of the 2 ND8 filters I bought now that this year's heavy monsoons are over.
I forgot again to carry a flashlight to these dark rocks (which are slippery enough to break your back), but I managed to tread about alright.
Converted to HDR from 1 RAW file. Been shooting RAW only recently but, boy! do I now see what the hype was all about!
More images: Facebook page.
"*!\SERIOUSLY/!*EXCEED The "Courage" Of Your Restrictions. Your Own Inner Light Alone Is The Only KEY. Shine Through, Shine oN. Early Adopter, Late Bloomer--DON'T Let THIS NAO PASS Into Never SAW What It Came To MEAN...That You Completely SEE..."--Wyatt Matturs--(OneStrokeArtWater) MRI (MysteryRepeatsItself) The World's First Bowhammer Cymbalom CD "Radically Repurposed" For Surreal Form, Spectral Figure, & Haunted Face-Lift From 'Flared' Bodies Of Water (Sea, Lake, Creek, Puddle) StillorMoving
MAIN GALLERY CURATION IN PROGRESS (From Thousands)
Will algae farms be the farms of the future? Can washed-up jellyfish be repurposed to make a durable material? Are algae the solution for clean energy harvesting? Through performance and talks, we explored aquatic life in the framework of harvesting. Sound and visual artist Sabina Ahn, designer Charlotte van Alem and researcher Dr. Ben van den Broek contemplated these questions and more.
www.mediamatic.net/en/aquatic-harvesting
Photography by Anisa Xhomaqi
Sarah Sze the 42 year old American contemporary artist who uses ordinary objects to create sculptures and site-specific installations, states “I want people to stop and look at my art”. Sze’s latest installation profiled by Vanessa Thorpe for the Observer at the London Victoria Miro gallery, Thorpe states “…known for the involving intricacy of her sculptural work, but this dramatic piece, which now dominates a room … seems in danger of hypnotising even her. It is a theatrical construction that plays with light and water and yet is made entirely of household items. …The installation reminds me of student storage, with desk lamps, electric fans, paperclips, stepladders, books, chairs, and the added intimacy of folded clothes and a sleeping bag. Sze picks up bits and bobs everywhere she goes, she says; happy to exhibit the trace of her travels. … A talent for subtle showmanship has won her an international reputation and next year she will represent the US at the Venice Biennale. She is always thinking about the way the viewer sees her art and wants visitors to the London show to feel drawn to a "backstage area", to glimpse things they feel they were not intended to. … "I am aware people might dismiss my art, but I'm interested in getting them to stop and look; for no other reason than that is what I do.” Inspired by The Guardian ow.ly/c4XGD image source Columbia University ow.ly/c4Yqi
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26/06/2012 : Marseille 3e, bd National / rue de Strasbourg, îlot National : exposition Une collection de collections (Maryvonne Arnaud et Philippe Mouillon)
collection d'art populaire sud-africain (Guy-André Lagesse)
In February 2006 Craig Tracy opened the PaintedAlive Gallery in his home city, New Orleans, La, USA. PaintedAlive is the first gallery in the world dedicated exclusively to fine art Bodypainted images. But where did his passion for using the human body as a canvas start?
Read on...
Poets;
The Bookstore Project - Music & Poetry Session;
Podium Mozaïek en Stadsdeel West: WESTwaARTS;
Erasmuspark, Amsterdam,
August 4th, 2013;
© co broerse
By Naoki Enyo - photoshop / made for Trinity Graves, owner CEO of Avante Modeling Agency, for the Style Plaza : The Avante Vision .... * FASHION to the EXTREME above and beyond the normal... pushing the limits of BEAUTY in SL *
circa 1965, Manhattan, New York, New York, USA --- Andy Warhol Looks Adoringly at Edie Sedgwick --- Image by © Steve Schapiro/Corbis
art rotterdam 2016, art fair, van nelle factory, detroit house, artist: ryan mendoza
A home from Detroit is being demolished and shipped in containers to Europe. The home will be reconstructed at the main entrance of Art Rotterdam so visitors can experience the impressive installation by visualartist Ryan Mendoza, a world première.
circa 1965, Manhattan, New York, New York, USA --- Andy Warhol Looks Adoringly at Edie Sedgwick --- Image by © Steve Schapiro/Corbis
Some exploring of the retro styles of Indian poster making.
And yes that is a Charles Bronson ticker tape down there. It's just there.
More images: Facebook page.
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hopscotchers.org/vegan-mayonaise-soft-tofu-vegetable-oil-...
Curious onlookers at the python enclosure, Byculla Zoo / Rani Bagh / Victoria Gardens or as it is now known, Veermata Jijabai Bhonsle Udyan.
Other street work HERE.
1946, Tokyo, Japan --- A Japanese tattoo artist works on the back of a woman. --- Image by © Horace Bristol/CORBIS
A Glitch "Voluptas (ευχαρίστηση) ~ Ètude I
From my PhD and Research about "Artistic Practices, Digital Art in Social Networks & Net Art"
#visualartist #digitalart #digitalwork #glitchart #glitch #pixelsorting #glitchartistscollective #glitch #photo #photoart #art
"Tic-Tac" 19cm
Acrylic, mixedmedia on cork.
instagram loanaibarra
facebook www.facebook.com/LIM.LoanaIbarraMazari
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
Well now, here’s a little story for the all-day travelers, the dashboard drummers, the coffee-cup philosophers, and the people driving nowhere special beneath a moon or a sun that looks like it’s been up too long. Today we celebrate a kid from Los Angeles named Ritchie Valens. Oh yes, Ritchie Valens.
Now that’s not the name he was born with. Sounds like a movie star who kisses dames in alleyways while saxophones play somewhere upstairs. No. He came into the world as Richard Valenzuela, and like a lot of people, he sanded the edges off his name so it could fit easier into jukeboxes and radio introductions. The music industry has full of names shortened for the convenience of neon signs.
He was seventeen years old. Yes. Seventeen. At seventeen most people are still deciding whether they want to be cowboys, poets, mechanics, or fugitives. But this kid already had one foot in eternity and the other on a Fender guitar.
You know, rock and roll in those days was like finding electricity in the barn. Nobody knew what to do with it. It jumped fences. It scared the church people. It made your parents stare at you like you’d joined a traveling circus. And out there in California, with the airplane factories humming and the highways stretching like black rivers through orange groves, this Mexican-American kid plugged into that current.
And then came “La Bamba.” Now “La Bamba” wasn’t born in Hollywood. That song had dust on its boots long before radio got ahold of it. Folk music always travels farther than the people who own it. It crossed oceans, crossed languages, crossed kitchen tables. And Ritchie Valens took that old Veracruz folk tune and shot it into outer space on a backbeat. That record sounds young. Not immature, but young. There’s a difference. Young like chrome on a ‘58 Chevy. Young like the first Friday night after school lets out for summer. Young like somebody believing the world’s actually gonna keep its promises.
And then there was “Donna.” Not “La Bamba,” not the wild dance halls and the spinning hips and all that teenage electricity. No, “Donna” was something else entirely. A slow song. A lonely song. The kind that sits beside you after everybody else has gone.
Donna sounded like winter lights through a lonely cafe. Just a kid singing about a girl he couldn’t quite hold onto, stretching her name out like it might keep her from disappearing. And my father, well, every time he played that song, he’d change the words. Not Donna. Loana.
Oooh Loana Oooh Loana…
My name drifting through the speaker instead.
Like fathers sometimes do, quietly rewriting the world so it belongs a little more to the people they love. And for a few minutes, that old song from the fifties stopped belonging to the vinyl player and teenagers in letterman jackets. It belonged to our kitchen, our car rides, our family. That’s what songs do. They travel through strangers until they become personal. Until one day you realize somebody has stitched your own name into the melody.
Ritchie Valens’ voice had that hopeful urgency. Like he knew the clock was moving faster for him than for everybody else.
You ever notice how some singers sound like they’re singing from the middle of their lives, and others sound like they’re singing from the edge of a cliff? Ritchie sounded like the second kind.
Then came that winter tour. The buses were breaking down. Musicians freezing in the Midwest. Coins rattling in pockets. Bad food. Worse roads. The whole sad carnival of American music rolling through snowstorms trying to make enough money to stay alive another week. And somewhere in Iowa, they flipped a coin for a seat on a little airplane.
A coin toss. That’s the kind of thing fate likes. Fate doesn’t usually come through the front door. It slips in through tiny decisions. A quarter spinning in the air. And suddenly the kid was gone.
Along with Buddy Holly and The Big Bopper, lost in that frozen dark over a field that didn’t know it was about to become part of American mythology. People later called it “The Day the Music Died.” But music never dies. That’s the whole point. The people leave. The songs stay leaning against the wall waiting for the next lonely person to need them.
And somewhere today, somebody’s hearing “La Bamba” for the first time. Maybe at a wedding. Maybe from a passing car. Maybe through a kitchen radio with bad reception. And they don’t know they’re listening to a seventeen-year-old kid who never got to grow old enough to hear the legend people made out of him.
Funny thing about rock and roll — sometimes the shortest echoes last the longest.
watercolor, ink on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com