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Genevieve Chua, born in 1984 in work Raised As a Pack of Wolves was Residency Programme at the Gyeonggi
Singapore, graduated with a Diploma in Fine Arts (Painting) from LASALLE College of the Arts, Singapore in 2004. Her works span a variety of mediums including drawing, photography and installation. Genevieve’s works possess distinctive aesthetic and recurring motifs of nature and female figures in dim light. Genevieve’s art explores the fear of the unknown.
For a young artist, Genevieve has exhibited extensively. Her solo exhibitions include As Brutal As (La Liberia Gallery, Singapore, 2007), Lost in the City: Full Moon and Foxes (National Museum of Singapore, 2009) and Child and the Beast (Objectifs Centre for Photography and Filmmaking, 2011). Genevieve has also exhibited overseas at ArtHK 2011 (AsiaOne ChanHampe Galleries, Hong Kong, 2011).
Genevieve was also selected to exhibit at the Singapore Biennale 2011 where she showcased Adinandra Belukar at the Old Kallang Airport. In 2009, her digital
commissioned for the M1 Singapore Fringe Festival. Other group exhibitions in which she has participated include CUT 2009: Figure, New Photography from Southeast Asia (Valentine Willie Fine Art, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 2009), Next Wave Time Lapse (Federation Square, Melbourne, Australia, 2010) and Cross-Scape (Kumho Museum of Art, Seoul; Jeonbuk Museum of Art, Jeonju; Goeun Museum of Art, Busan, South Korea, 2011). Her work, After the Flood (2010), was sold by international auction house Sotheby’s and was exhibited at The Singapore Show: Future Proof (8Q Singapore Art Museum, 2012).
Genevieve constantly seeks to expand her practice and this has led her to participate in numerous residences locally and abroad. In 2010, she was selected for the BMW Young Asian Artist Series at the Singapore Tyler Print Institute and the Late Fall Residency at The Banff Centre in Calgary, Canada. In 2011, she took part in the GCC Creative
Creation Centre in Gyeonggi-do, South Korea and The Art Incubator at the Centre for Creative Communications in Shizuoka, Japan.
Sound installation;
Gaudeamus Music Week;
Vredenburg Leeuwenbergh, Utrecht,
September 4th, 2013;
© co broerse
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...
Travelers. The kind of people who carry more stories than luggage. And that brings us to celebrate Manu Chao.
Some musicians sound like they come from a city. Some sound like they come from a country. Manu Chao sounds like he comes from a border crossing at three in the morning. He sounds like train stations where nobody speaks the same language but everybody understands the rhythm of a departing locomotive. You hear his records and you get the feeling that every passport stamp turned into a drumbeat. A little bit of punk rock, a little bit of folk music, a little bit of street corner philosophy. The kind of songs that know the names of neighborhoods most maps forgot.
The radio used to promise that distant places were far away. Then artists like Manu Chao came along and made the whole world feel like it was sitting on the same bus. His music moves the way people move. Across oceans, across languages, across the invisible lines that politicians spend their lives drawing and redrawing. One minute you're in Barcelona, the next minute you're somewhere in Latin America, and before you know it you're dancing in a place you've never been.
First there was Hot Pants, playing rock'n'roll like it had stolen a subway ticket. Then there was Los Carayos, where languages bumped into each other like strangers in a crowded station café. And then came Mano Negra, a band that sounded like every radio station between Paris and Bogotá broadcasting at the same time. They weren't trying to build a musical empire. They were building a musical border crossing. And if you listen closely, you can hear that the young man singing in Hot Pants is already carrying the passport he'll spend the rest of his life stamping.
Some singers tell you where they come from. Others remind you that everybody came from somewhere else first.
So whether you're riding a freight train, crossing a desert, walking through a city after midnight, or just sitting in your kitchen observing throughout the window, here's a little reminder: the world is bigger than the walls around you, and the best songs usually know a shortcut.
This is for the travelers. This is for the wanderers. This is for the people who never completely unpack their bags. Stay in motion.
ink, watercolor on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
Genevieve Chua, born in 1984 in work Raised As a Pack of Wolves was Residency Programme at the Gyeonggi
Singapore, graduated with a Diploma in Fine Arts (Painting) from LASALLE College of the Arts, Singapore in 2004. Her works span a variety of mediums including drawing, photography and installation. Genevieve’s works possess distinctive aesthetic and recurring motifs of nature and female figures in dim light. Genevieve’s art explores the fear of the unknown.
For a young artist, Genevieve has exhibited extensively. Her solo exhibitions include As Brutal As (La Liberia Gallery, Singapore, 2007), Lost in the City: Full Moon and Foxes (National Museum of Singapore, 2009) and Child and the Beast (Objectifs Centre for Photography and Filmmaking, 2011). Genevieve has also exhibited overseas at ArtHK 2011 (AsiaOne ChanHampe Galleries, Hong Kong, 2011).
Genevieve was also selected to exhibit at the Singapore Biennale 2011 where she showcased Adinandra Belukar at the Old Kallang Airport. In 2009, her digital
commissioned for the M1 Singapore Fringe Festival. Other group exhibitions in which she has participated include CUT 2009: Figure, New Photography from Southeast Asia (Valentine Willie Fine Art, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 2009), Next Wave Time Lapse (Federation Square, Melbourne, Australia, 2010) and Cross-Scape (Kumho Museum of Art, Seoul; Jeonbuk Museum of Art, Jeonju; Goeun Museum of Art, Busan, South Korea, 2011). Her work, After the Flood (2010), was sold by international auction house Sotheby’s and was exhibited at The Singapore Show: Future Proof (8Q Singapore Art Museum, 2012).
Genevieve constantly seeks to expand her practice and this has led her to participate in numerous residences locally and abroad. In 2010, she was selected for the BMW Young Asian Artist Series at the Singapore Tyler Print Institute and the Late Fall Residency at The Banff Centre in Calgary, Canada. In 2011, she took part in the GCC Creative
Creation Centre in Gyeonggi-do, South Korea and The Art Incubator at the Centre for Creative Communications in Shizuoka, Japan.
Mukesh Dhirubhai Ambani the 54 year old Indian executive chairman of India’s largest private sector enterprise the petrochemical company Reliance Industries, has criticized western based philanthropy as a disempowering tool that increases dependency and reduces initiative and enterprise. Ambani described philanthropy as "a system where the more privileged is able to share a certain proportion of their wealth with the less privileged … It doesn't create the necessary human capacity to make communities self-sustaining and independent”. Ambani has previously spoken in support of a more equal distribution of wealth though direct anonymous giving based on traditional values providing the giver personal satisfaction in lieu of the publicity that surrounds the western concept of philanthropy. However critics point to Ambani’s opulent life style that overshadows India’s hundreds of millions of poverty stricken people.
New Orleans bodypainter sat down with us for an interview in issue 13 of A Distinctive Style Magazine.
See the interview here: www.adistinctivestyle.com/issue/22468/9
ca. 1973, West Palm Beach, Florida, USA --- Model Karen Graham, stands against a wall at the Hokin Gallery in West Palm Beach, Florida, with a sculpture by Ernest Trova at her side. She is wearing a low-cut white jersey dress with big stripes by Neil Bieff.
British Artist: Andrew Campbell: VisualBites:
Art Studio Studies: Portfolio Maquettes: #01-1000
Project-7: Netscapes+Subterfuge: iphone-sketchbooks:
#artforsocialmedia #AndrewCampbell
Artist Ref: www.andrew-campbell.com
Coyoacan Lonely Nite 16
Photographer: Ernesto De la Vega “Kaede”
Nikon D5100
Lens 18 – 55
Coyoacan 2013
elkaede.com/fotografia/street-fotografia/coyoacan-lonely-...
Today we celebrate paint. Paint and light. Paint and coffee cups sitting crooked on checked tablecloths while the seasons leans against the windowpanes like an old debt collector. And if you’re going to talk about paint in Scandinavia, sooner or later you’re going to wind up at the doorstep of Carl Larsson.
Carl Larsson wasn’t one of those painters who wanted to drag you into storms or shipwrecks or scenes where Caesar’s getting stabbed under a red curtain. No. Larsson painted something more dangerous. Domestic happiness. And that’s a risky business. Anybody can paint tragedy. Tragedy practically paints itself. But joy? Real joy? The kind where the sunlight falls across the kitchen floor and your kids are half-dressed and somebody’s burning porridge in the next room? That takes precision.
Larsson came out of Stockholm in the nineteenth century, poor as a stray dog under a freight train. Europe was changing fast then. Smoke stacks rising up everywhere, people trading forests for factories, old gods getting pushed aside by clocks and ledgers. But Larsson found this little corner of the world up in Sundborn with his wife Karin, who was an artist herself, and together they built a dream out of painted wood, woven rugs, pale blue walls, and winter light.
You look at a Larsson painting and you can almost hear the floorboards creak. The rooms breathe. Kids tumble through the pictures like loose harmonies in a gospel tune. There’s always a chair pulled out somewhere, like somebody just left the room to answer the door. And the colors, mmm… those reds and whites and green, they don’t shout at you. They hum. Like an old fiddle played low after midnight.
Now some people think nostalgia is weakness. But Larsson understood something. Home isn’t sentimental. Home is rebellion. In a world racing toward noise and iron and profit, he painted breakfasts. Gardens. Socks drying near the stove. He said: this matters too. And Karin, now there’s the secret chord in the song. Without Karin Larsson, you don’t get the whole melody. She designed textiles, interiors, clothes, furniture. Half the beauty people call “Carl Larsson” was really the rhythm the two of them made together. Like Johnny Cash without June Carter, still powerful maybe, but missing the second heartbeat.
People today look at those paintings and see Scandinavian coziness. Candles. Simplicity. A little cinnamon bun civilization. But underneath all that calm there’s a radical idea: that ordinary life can be sacred. That the table where your family sits might be as worthy of art as kings on horseback. That’s a dangerous thought in any century.
So today, while the life gathers outside and the coffee goes cold beside the open book, think about Carl Larsson. A man who painted not the world as it was breaking apart, but the world as it could still be held together.
ink, watercolor on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
Joseph Bast the president and CEO of the climate-change denial Institute ‘The Heartland’ is seeking to re-grow his sponsorship base following the effective campaign against his organization by conservation groups. Bill McKibben in an article for Toms Dispatch titled ‘The Planet Wreckers - Climate-Change Deniers Are On the Ropes -- But So Is the Planet’ states “…Joe Bast, complained that his side had been subjected to the most “uncivil name-calling and disparagement you can possibly imagine from climate alarmists,” which was both a little rich -- after all, he was the guy with the mass-murderer billboards -- but also a little pathetic. A whimper had replaced the characteristically confident snarl of the American right. That pugnaciousness may return: Mr. Bast said last week that he was finding new corporate sponsors, that he was building a new small-donor base that was “Greenpeace-proof” …it’s a hard fight, up against a ton of money and a ton of inertia. Eventually, climate denial will “lose,” because physics and chemistry are not intimidated even by Lord Monckton. But timing is everything -- if he and his ilk, a crew of certified planet wreckers, delay action past the point where it can do much good, they’ll be able to claim one of the epic victories in political history -- one that will last for geological epochs.” Inspired by Tom Dispatch ow.ly/bJbGR image source whoami-whoareyou ow.ly/bJb7N
A Glitch "Code de Données Burqa Tchador ~ Ètude II”
This art piece were created for my PhD and based on a Digital and Analog Aesthetic Research on "Artistic Practices, Digital Art in Social Networks and Net Art", some digital techniques used of artistic diversity, such as the re-mixed appropriation of image or video, also work conceived as original data work called creative altered binary code, datamoshing, generative art and glitch art worked in all its forms and expressions; works of art with a strong focus decoding the i-frames of images and videos (also known as key frames and altered or distorted creative binary code) mixed with seductive techniques of Pixelsorting Art; making it seem extremely sensitive and abstract; created exclusively for the virtual gallery on-line.
by ™℗®© Louis M o n t i e l
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#visualartists #glitchart #glitch #glitché #pixelsorting #glitchartistscollective #glitchvideo #datamosh #digitalglitch #videoglitch #hyperspektiv #minimalart #videoart #dfkt #pixelsorter #artistsvisual #glitchartoninstagram #glitchartscollective #glitcharts #glitchartistcommunity #glitchartwork #error #glitchartists #glitchartcommunity #glitchartistcollective #glitchartist #pixelsortingart #proceduralart #creativecodeart #glitchportrait
1964, Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow, USSR --- Visitors contemplate Alexander Ivanov's work, painted between 1833 and 1855, and acquired by the gallery in 1925. --- Image by
An American Chestnut tree () which is native to eastern North America. The bare branches on one side of the tree signify that it is deciduous. --- Image by
Sayeeda Hussain Warsi the 41 year old British Baroness solicitor and politician who was created a life peer in 2007 has been defended by Dr Muhammad Abdul Bari of The East London Communities Organisation, in an article he published on Aljazeera. Bari states ” Media and political pressure has been piling on Baroness Sayeeda Warsi, the Conservative Party co-chairman and minister-without-portfolio in the coalition government. Unpopular with the Tory Right, the guns have turned on her following the Conservative Party's dismal electoral performance in last month's local elections. … There is barely a week that goes by without someone, usually a Tory, calling for her head. The Labour Party has seized upon her plight and called for her to step down. … Lady Warsi is the UK's most senior minority-ethnic politician. She was initially seen as a shining light in the Conservative Party, long-struggling to recruit from the black and minority ethnic (BME) communities. Is she going to be a scapegoat for the sliding unpopularity of the Conservative Party? …Lady Warsi is not a political maverick. She is sharp, charismatic and she speaks her mind. As such, she has brought a distinctive appeal to the Conservative Party, traditionally viewed as led by a white middle (or upper) class elite.” Inspired by Muhammad Abdul Bari ow.ly/bWajK image source UK Cabinet Office ow.ly/bWagu
You ever notice how the world seems to trust a cocoon? Nobody looks at one and says, "Well, that's the finished product." They know it's in the middle of something. It's one of the few things in nature that's allowed to disappear for a while without anybody accusing it of giving up.
A cocoon doesn't make speeches. Doesn't put up a sign. Doesn't call ahead to explain the delay. It just hangs there, looking like a forgotten mitten caught in a hedge. Quiet work has always had bad publicity.
Human beings aren't so different. We wrap ourselves in routines, old songs, familiar neighborhoods, oversized coats, half-finished books. Every now and then you need a season where the world mistakes you for standing still. That's usually when the gears are turning fastest.
Silkworms accidentally built empires. Tailors made fortunes from threads that began as a hungry caterpillar's sleeping bag. Strange how history keeps borrowing from insects without sending a thank-you note.
There's an old expression about coming out of your shell, but butterflies don't come out of shells. They come out of rooms they built themselves. There's a lesson in that somewhere, though lessons usually show up wearing disguises.
Every town has somebody living in a cocoon. Could be the artist who never talks about where he/she learned his trade. Could be the widow who plants tomatoes every spring as though somebody's still coming to dinner. Could be the kid in the garage learning three guitar chords and believing they're enough to change the weather.
Maybe they are.
The world celebrates arrivals. Nature spends most of its time preparing them.
//Publication for the art magazine Little Finger, Loana Ibarra 2013.
Meri Amber viewed and reviewed the "Bending the Truth" exhibition held at Verge Gallery by students from the Sydney College of the Arts. www.meriamber.com/blog/2013/03/bending-the-truth-at-verge...
Today we celebrate something that smells like brass and sweat, like a summer night that never quite cools down. We’re talking about a man who didn’t just play rhythm, he chased it down the street, caught it by the collar, and made it dance. Today we celebrate Tito Puente.
Tito Puente was born where the city hums even when it sleeps, where fire escapes double as front porches and music leaks through the walls whether you asked for it or not. And from early on, he found himself tangled up in sound real sound, the kind that rattles your bones before it reaches your ears.
They called him the King of Latin Music, but titles like that don’t really stick to a guy like Tito. Kings sit on thrones. Tito was always moving with sticks in his hands, eyes on the band, somewhere between a storm and a celebration. You didn’t watch him so much as try to keep up.
Now the thing about rhythm is, it’s older than language. Before folks figured out how to say “love” or “trouble,” they already knew how to tap it out on a table. And Tito understood that. He wasn’t just playing notes he was speaking something ancient, something that didn’t need translating. You listen to those timbales, sharp as a midnight train, and they tell you stories. Not neat little stories with beginnings and endings, but the kind that circle back on themselves. Stories about crowded rooms, about laughter that comes easy and heartbreak that doesn’t ask permission. Stories about people who don’t sit still because the world never did.
And Tito, he stood right at the center of it all, like a man conducting lightning. He could take a room full of strangers and, in a matter of minutes, turn it into something like family or maybe something wilder than that. Something that only exists while the music’s playing.
There’s a certain kind of joy in his sound, but don’t mistake it for something simple. It’s the kind of joy that knows about sorrow, that’s walked through it and decided to dance anyway. That’s the rhythm he carried—one foot in celebration, the other in survival.
So if you find yourself today with the windows open and the air a little too still or too restless, put on some Tito Puente. Let those drums remind you that time doesn’t just pass—it swings, it stumbles, it comes back around. And somewhere out there, maybe in a club that never closed or a street that never emptied, that rhythm’s still going.
watercolor, ink on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com