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OSWA (OneStrokeWaterArt) w/ Uniquely Re-Purposed Optic Playback "Brush" MRI (MysteryRepeatsItself)--The World's First 'Bowhammer' Cymbalom CD On A Selfie-Stick For San Francisco BayFlare Pareidolia (SciFi, Alien, Surreal, Mythic & Celestial Faces, Figures & Abstract Form-Streams--(Real-TimeSpace Existence Duration: Less Than A Second--Cloud-Uploaded? Quasi-Permanent 'Posterity'--From Anchored Raft--L-Hand Lifting "Sumthin' In The Water Brought-To Light, R-Hand SnapShot
MAIN GALLERY CURATION IN PROGRESS (From Thousands)
CICERO-Foyergespräch mit dem Künstler Markus Lüpertz und den CICERO-Redakteuren Christoph Schwennicke und Alexander Marguier;
Nikon D810, 70-200mm f/2,8
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08/04/2017 : Le Puy-Sainte-Réparade, Château La Coste : exposition Mountains and Seas (Ai Weiwei)
Automotive Rhythms latest project combined our passions for automobiles and the arts. AR's 2016 Kia Sorento SXL 2.0T AWD was also the canvas for artist Jamaal Newman’s creation during the ART-of-Motion (AOM) exhibit in Washington, D.C. aka As ABOVE, So BELOW.
Jamaal was one of the featured visual painters of AOM produced and executed by Automotive Rhythms during the 2016 Washington Auto Show. He painted the Sorento live during the Auto Show in just under 13 hours. Inspired by the South Korean origin of Kia Motors and his research on the Korean War, the artist wanted his creation to symbolically unify North and South Korea. As ABOVE, So BELOW features a lion from Zion on the passenger’s side representing the North while a shark on the South guards the driver’s side. Unification is represented on the hood, meshing the Korean flag with the Yin and Yang badge to signify balance in Korea. Stated Jamaal, “Through my creative vision I wanted to bring equality and unity to Korea.”
Automotive Rhythms latest project combined our passions for automobiles and the arts. AR's 2016 Kia Sorento SXL 2.0T AWD was also the canvas for artist Jamaal Newman’s creation during the ART-of-Motion (AOM) exhibit in Washington, D.C. aka As ABOVE, So BELOW.
Jamaal was one of the featured visual painters of AOM produced and executed by Automotive Rhythms during the 2016 Washington Auto Show. He painted the Sorento live during the Auto Show in just under 13 hours. Inspired by the South Korean origin of Kia Motors and his research on the Korean War, the artist wanted his creation to symbolically unify North and South Korea. As ABOVE, So BELOW features a lion from Zion on the passenger’s side representing the North while a shark on the South guards the driver’s side. Unification is represented on the hood, meshing the Korean flag with the Yin and Yang badge to signify balance in Korea. Stated Jamaal, “Through my creative vision I wanted to bring equality and unity to Korea.”
The name was chosen because the colors and movement reminded me of amusement park rides from my childhood at local fairs and places like Dorney Park and Bushkill Park.
Automotive Rhythms latest project combined our passions for automobiles and the arts. AR's 2016 Kia Sorento SXL 2.0T AWD was also the canvas for artist Jamaal Newman’s creation during the ART-of-Motion (AOM) exhibit in Washington, D.C. aka As ABOVE, So BELOW.
Jamaal was one of the featured visual painters of AOM produced and executed by Automotive Rhythms during the 2016 Washington Auto Show. He painted the Sorento live during the Auto Show in just under 13 hours. Inspired by the South Korean origin of Kia Motors and his research on the Korean War, the artist wanted his creation to symbolically unify North and South Korea. As ABOVE, So BELOW features a lion from Zion on the passenger’s side representing the North while a shark on the South guards the driver’s side. Unification is represented on the hood, meshing the Korean flag with the Yin and Yang badge to signify balance in Korea. Stated Jamaal, “Through my creative vision I wanted to bring equality and unity to Korea.”
CICERO-Foyergespräch mit dem Künstler Markus Lüpertz und den CICERO-Redakteuren Christoph Schwennicke und Alexander Marguier;
Nikon D810, 70-200mm f/2,8
A Glitch "Niqab (κερί) ~ Ètude IV”
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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Today we celebrate torment. Or maybe it’s redemption. Depends how you look at it. And when you start talking torment and redemption, there’s one guy who keeps walking out of the shadows; Fyodor Dostoevsky. You know, the Russian writer with the sad eyes and a soul heavier than a snowstorm over Siberia.
His father was a military doctor, strict as a sermon, temper like a kicked mule. When Dostoevsky was a kid, his mother died of tuberculosis, and not long after, his father got himself murdered by his own peasants. They say they poured vodka down his throat till he stopped breathing. That’ll mess with your head for sure.
They say Dostoevsky wrote about crime and punishment, but he wasn’t just talking about the law. He was talking about the kind of punishment that happens inside your head, the kind you can’t escape no matter how far you run. Like Raskolnikov, he thought he could outsmart God… turns out, God doesn’t take that bet. His first big hit was Poor Folk, about, well, poor folks. The critics called him the next Gogol, and for about five minutes, everything was looking rosy.
He joined a little book club, the Petrashevsky Circle, a bunch of idealists talking socialism, serfdom, and freedom. The czar didn’t like that. Locked them up, lined them up, and told them they were gonna die. Dostoevsky was standing there, blindfold on, waiting for the bullets when a messenger galloped in, said, ‘Hold your fire.’ Turns out the czar was just making a point. They sent him to Siberia instead. Four years in a labor camp, shoveling snow and breaking rocks, no books allowed except the Bible. That’s where he learned what suffering really meant. That’ll change a man’s handwriting, let me tell you. He went in idealistic came out with his eyes wide open to every shade of sin and salvation.
He wrote about gamblers, murderers, drunks, dreamers. People who were cracked but still shining inside. He knew that down in the cellar of the human soul, there’s a little light that never goes out, even when you think it has. Notes from Underground. Crime and Punishment. The Idiot. The Brothers Karamazov. These weren’t just books, they were confessions.
You read Dostoevsky, you start thinking about the kind of guilt you can’t wash off with soap. But he’s not all doom and gloom… nah, he’s like the blues. Hurts to listen, but it heals you somehow. He said beauty would save the world. That’s a nice thought coming from a guy who spent half his life in the gutter. But maybe that’s where beauty starts, down there in the mud, looking up.
ink, watercolor on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
Today we celebrate mirrors. Not the kind hanging in a hotel lobby or behind a bar in Veracruz. The kind that stare back at you when the world has looked away. The kind that tell the truth even when the truth arrives barefoot and uninvited. And if we are celebrating mirrors, sooner or later we end up celebrating Guadalupe Amor. Most people called her Pita.
Pita wasn't the sort of person who entered a room. She happened to it. Born into wealth in Mexico City in 1918, she carried herself like someone who'd misplaced a kingdom and spent the rest of her life looking for it. She had the cheekbones of an empress, the temperament of a thunderstorm, and enough self-belief to light a city through a blackout.
Some poets write about flowers. Pita wrote about Pita. That sounds simple until you realize nobody had ever done it quite that way.
She treated her own existence as a cosmic mystery. She stood before the mirror and found not vanity but metaphysics. Not makeup, but eternity.
The old philosophers asked, "Who am I?" Pita asked the same question, except she did it wearing silk gloves and looking directly into the sun. She belonged to a remarkable generation of Mexican artists and writers. People crossed paths with painters, revolutionaries, dreamers, movie stars. You could spend an evening in a café arguing about God, beauty, death, and whether the waiter was overcharging you for coffee. The century was young enough to believe genius could still walk into a room unannounced. Pita fit right in and stood apart at the same time.
Her poems circle around loneliness the way planets circle stars. She wrote about God as though she were trying to corner Him in a hallway. She wrote about death as though it were an old acquaintance who kept arriving too early to the party. There's a peculiar kind of courage in that. Most of us spend our lives hiding behind occupations, titles, responsibilities. We say we're teachers, mechanics, lawyers, mothers, travelers. Pita stripped away the labels and stood before the abyss introducing herself only as a soul. That's a dangerous thing to do. You might not like what answers back. And life answered back plenty. Fame came. Scandal came. Tragedy came. The death of her son left a wound that never really healed. After that, many who encountered her in later years saw a figure wandering through memory and legend simultaneously—a woman who had once dazzled salons and now seemed to carry entire decades on her shoulders.
But that's the thing about legends. They don't disappear. They become part of the weather. Walk through Mexican literary history and you'll still feel her presence. A flash of gold hair. A sharp remark. A poem demanding answers from heaven. A woman refusing to apologize for taking up space in the universe. The world often tells women to be smaller.
Pita Amor treated existence as a stage large enough for every question she wanted to ask. And maybe that's why people still remember her. Not because she was perfect. Perfect people are usually forgotten by Tuesday. People remember her because she was gloriously, catastrophically alive. She looked into the mirror and found a cosmos. She looked into loneliness and found poetry. She looked into mortality and decided to argue with it. And that's not a bad way to spend a life.
So wherever you are today—sitting by a window, watching the moon hang over rooftops—raise a thought for Pita Amor, the poet who turned self-examination into high adventure and made the oldest mystery in the world sound new again: What does it mean to be here?
Some people spend a lifetime avoiding the question. Pita made it her life's work.
—
Vi en el espejo
Vi en el espejo un personaje raro
un pájaro de sombras taciturno,
del polaco Chopin, oí un nocturno
y vendí mi reloj a un viejo avaro
Tu traje oscuro, que costó tan caro
las refulgentes luces de Saturno
el comandante que cambió de turno
y la niña que juega con el aro
Un telegrama que me ha enviado Emilio
y yo pidiéndole al demonio auxilio
las tabernas de vinos asesinos
los burdeles de vicios clandestinos
los imanes, las grises cerraduras…
También las misteriosas cerraduras.
//1946, P. A.
—
I Saw in the Mirror
I saw in the mirror a strange character
a taciturn bird of shadows,
I heard a nocturne by the pole Chopin
and sold my watch to an old miser.
Your dark suit, which cost so much
the brilliant lights of Saturn
the commander who changed shifts
and the girl playing with the hoop.
A telegram that Emilio sent me
and me asking the devil for help
the taverns of murderous wines
the brothels of clandestine vices
the magnets, the gray locks...
Also the mysterious locks.
//1946, P. A.
ink, watercolor on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
On Monday, December 19th, we partnered with Lenovo computers to build out the ultimate art-themed smackdown. Hosted at Villain in Williamsburg, guests stepped into a fully imagined warehouse art party. That night it was all about participation. We created a series of art activities to get guests making art and meeting each other. Guests captured the revelry of the night in Ventikoland’s projection photo booth. After some savory Espolón cocktails and tacos the art battle was ready to begin. 2 amazing artists competed head-to-head in a series of timed challenges and a head-to-head battle of creative awesomeness. Interludes were provided by a pop & lock round girl, battling breakdancers, and a duo of beatboxers.
Event Design by Adam Aleksander Presents
Photography by Lukas Maverick Greyson
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hopscotchers.org/how-come-it-cant-fly-no-better-than-a-ch...
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06/07/2021 : Arles, avenue Victor-Hugo : tour Luma (Frank Gehry, 2021)
Isometric Slides (Carsten Höller, 2021)
FB: michelle.robinson/pg/michelle.robinson.images.and.art
IG: @simply.mich.robinson / @mich/robinson
On Monday, December 19th, we partnered with Lenovo computers to build out the ultimate art-themed smackdown. Hosted at Villain in Williamsburg, guests stepped into a fully imagined warehouse art party. That night it was all about participation. We created a series of art activities to get guests making art and meeting each other. Guests captured the revelry of the night in Ventikoland’s projection photo booth. After some savory Espolón cocktails and tacos the art battle was ready to begin. 2 amazing artists competed head-to-head in a series of timed challenges and a head-to-head battle of creative awesomeness. Interludes were provided by a pop & lock round girl, battling breakdancers, and a duo of beatboxers.
Event Design by Adam Aleksander Presents
Photography by Lukas Maverick Greyson
There are records you put on, and there are records that seem to put themselves on you.
You open the sleeve, take out one record, then another, then another, and pretty soon you’re not holding an album anymore. You’re holding a small argument with the history of popular music.
That’s Sandinista! by The Clash.
Three LPs. Six sides. Thirty-six songs. Enough vinyl to make the old record-shop clerk look over his glasses and wonder whether you’ve accidentally ordered the collected works of somebody’s uncle. And tucked inside, like contraband passed between revolutionaries, is that wonderful little newspaper, The Armagideon Times, with its lyrics, drawings, photographs, fragments and political weather reports. The whole package feels less like the sleeve of a rock record than the newspaper of some imaginary republic where the currency is rhythm and the opposition party is boredom.
Now, three records is a dangerous number.
One record says: here is the statement.
Two records say: here is the statement, and here is the footnote.
Three records say: well, I’ve got a lot to tell you, and you’d better sit down.
And The Clash had a lot to tell you. This was 1980, and The Clash had already made London Calling, a record that had taken punk’s little burning house and opened all the windows to let in reggae, rockabilly, soul, blues and whatever else was blowing down the street.
But with Sandinista! they didn’t merely open the windows. They knocked down the walls.
There’s dub in here. Funk. Gospel. Calypso. Soul. Early rap. Jamaican sound-system culture. British punk. American rhythm and blues. Studio experiments. Children singing. Political speeches. Songs that sound like street corners and songs that sound like they were discovered under the floorboards of a radio station.
Charlie don’t surf! Pheww. That intro, goosebumps, I can listen to it on repeat. Those vocal scales.
The album is less a genre than a country with very bad border control. And this is where the historian in the room has to disagree with the accountant.
The accountant says: too long.
The historian says: perhaps.
The accountant says: there’s filler.
The historian says: certainly.
The historian then leans closer and says: but what if the filler is part of the evidence?
Because Sandinista! is not a perfectly curated museum. It is the sound of a band discovering that the world is much larger than the record they were supposed to make.
You can hear them learning in public. That’s one of the beautiful things about it.
The Clash weren’t simply borrowing styles as decorative wallpaper. They were asking what happened when different histories met in the same room. What does punk sound like when it encounters Jamaican dub? What does political protest sound like when it rides a disco rhythm? What happens when a British guitar band stops looking at the promised land of rock ’n’ roll and starts looking south, east and across the Caribbean?
Sometimes the answers are magnificent. Sometimes they are ridiculous. Sometimes they are magnificently ridiculous. And that may be the point. Because The Clash were never particularly interested in behaving themselves. They had started as a punk band, certainly, but even then there was something restless about them. Punk gave them the door, but they didn't seem particularly interested in staying inside the room.
By the time Sandinista! arrived, the musical map had become enormous. And the band wanted the whole map. You can hear Jamaica everywhere. Not merely reggae as a musical style, but the idea of the studio itself as an instrument: the echo, the bass, the space around a sound, the strange business of taking something familiar and turning it sideways until you discover another dimension hiding inside it.
That influence is crucial. The Clash didn't just hear reggae and think, “That's a nice rhythm.” They heard a different philosophy of making records. They heard music as something that could be dismantled and rebuilt.
And so Sandinista! becomes a kind of laboratory.
The experiments work beautifully. You can practically hear the wires sparking. But even the failures have character. There is a generosity in that. The record refuses the modern idea that every minute must justify itself. It wanders. It jokes. It changes clothes. It gets political. It gets sentimental. It gets strange. It goes dancing and then comes back with a newspaper under its arm.
And then there is the title.
Sandinista!
The word itself carries a whole history into the living room.
In 1979, the Sandinista National Liberation Front overthrew the Somoza dictatorship in Nicaragua. For a British punk band to name an album after that revolution was not simply an exercise in rebellious decoration. The Clash were connecting their music to a world of anti-imperialism, political struggle and international solidarity. Yeah. That mattered to them. And it matters to the record.
But Sandinista! isn't a political lecture set to guitar chords. It is much messier than that. Politics appear as stories, slogans, characters, arguments and glimpses of distant places. The record seems fascinated by the fact that events happening thousands of miles away can somehow enter your kitchen through a piece of black vinyl.
Take “Washington Bullets.” It moves through the history of intervention and revolution, naming places and conflicts with the clipped directness of a newspaper dispatch. Chile, Nicaragua, Cuba, Afghanistan, Tibet. There is no comfortable distance. The song doesn't ask you to admire the cleverness of the songwriter. It asks you to pay attention. And that was one of The Clash's great gifts: they understood that rock music could be a form of curiosity. Not education in the classroom sense. Something more restless. A desire to know what was happening on the other side of the street, the other side of the ocean, the other side of the political argument.
The Clash could make a listener feel that the world was simultaneously enormous and very close. That’s a difficult trick. And Sandinista! performs it again and again. The wonderful thing about the album is that the politics never completely separate themselves from the music. The politics are in the rhythms. The rhythms are in the politics. The whole thing is saying: Listen wider. And perhaps that is why the three records matter.
On a single LP, these ideas might have seemed like a clever exercise. On three LPs, they become an environment. You live with the excess. You get lost. You find your way back. You discover that the strange little song you ignored last week has been sitting in your head all week. There’s something very un-modern about that. Today we can skip. The Clash make you turn the record over. You have to get up. You have to touch the thing. You have to hear the soft mechanical click when the needle reaches the end and decide whether you’re ready for another side. That physical inconvenience is part of the experience.
And then there is the sleeve.
Oh, the sleeve.
Because Sandinista! doesn't stop being interesting when the music stops. The package belongs to that old tradition of records that believed the cover was part of the argument. The three LPs arrive with The Armagideon Times, the handmade-looking newspaper filled with illustrations, lyrics and assorted fragments of Clash mythology. It makes the album feel like a document from a place that doesn't quite exist. A little republic of punk. A place where a drawing can sit next to a political statement, where a joke can sit beside a photograph, where a lyric can look like graffiti and a record sleeve can resemble a newspaper rescued from a revolution. And the illustrations matter. They give the record another voice. The music tells you to listen. The newspaper tells you to look. Together they create something closer to a world than an album. That is why the physical edition of Sandinista! can be so much more satisfying than simply hearing the songs on a streaming service.
Streaming gives you the music. The record gives you the evidence. You can see the three discs. You can hold the newspaper. You can read the words. You can notice the strange little details that nobody would have put there if the intention had simply been to make a neat commercial product.
And Sandinista! was never a neat commercial product. That is its problem. That is its charm. That is its historical importance. The album is excessive. It is inconsistent. It is occasionally baffling. It sometimes sounds like the greatest band in Britain discovering a new continent. And sometimes it sounds like the greatest band in Britain discovering that perhaps not every idea needs to become a song.
But history is funny that way. We often remember the polished things. The masterpieces with their edges sanded smooth. But sometimes the messy object tells us more.
Sandinista! is a magnificent album that tells us what The Clash were thinking about at that moment.
It is a record about the refusal to stay put.
Punk refuses to stay punk.
Rock refuses to stay rock.
Politics refuses to stay in the newspaper.
Reggae refuses to stay in Jamaica.
The listener refuses to stay in the same place.
And The Clash refuse to give you the tidy album you might have expected.
The old criticism is that Sandinista! should have been shorter.
I say: NO!
I say: The Clash, bless their noisy hearts.
A Glitch "Niqab (κερί) ~ 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
~ FOLLOW ME & SUBSCRIBE ~
Instagram ~ louismontielt
Facebook ~ Louis Montiel
YouTube ~ Louis M o n t i e l
Vimeo ~ Louis M o n t i e l
#visualartists #glitchart #glitch #glitché #pixelsorting #glitchartistscollective #glitchvideo #datamosh #digitalglitch #videoglitch #hyperspektiv #minimalart #videoart #dfkt #pixelsorter #artistsvisual #glitchartoninstagram #glitchartscollective #glitcharts #glitchartistcommunity #glitchartwork #glitchartisdead #glitchartists #glitchartcommunity #glitchartistcollective #glitchartist #pixelsortingart #proceduralart #creativecodeart #glitchportrait
A Glitch "Ghede (Γκέτε) ~ Ètude I”
by ™℗®© Louis M o n t i e l
~ FOLLOW ME & SUBSCRIBE ~
Instagram ~ louismontielt
Facebook ~ Louis Montiel
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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
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24/06/2012 : Marseille 3e, bd National / rue de Strasbourg, îlot National : exposition Une collection de collections (Maryvonne Arnaud et Philippe Mouillon)
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08/04/2017 : Le Puy-Sainte-Réparade, Château La Coste : exposition Mountains and Seas (Ai Weiwei)
The Bike Grinder
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
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
A Glitch "Burqa 2.0(برقع) ~ Ètude III“
by ™℗®© Louis M o n t i e l
~ FOLLOW ME & SUBSCRIBE ~
Instagram ~ louismontielt
Facebook ~ Louis Montiel
YouTube ~ Louis M o n t i e l
#visualartists #glitchart #glitch #glitché #pixelsorting #glitchartistscollective #glitchvideo #datamosh #digitalglitch #videoglitch #hyperspektiv #minimalart #videoart #dfkt #pixelsorter #artistsvisual #glitchartoninstagram #glitchartscollective #glitcharts #glitchartistcommunity #glitchartwork #datamoshing #glitchartists #glitchartcommunity #glitchartistcollective #glitchartist #pixelsortingart #proceduralart #creativecodeart #pixelsortingeffect
Pen and ink on illustration board
30"x30" (framed)
2000
This pen and ink pointalism drawing, is about a young black male, pondering the odds of him living to see tomorrow.
(you don’t have to be mad to love, but it sure helps to be brave)
Madness, the thin line between love and lunacy, between a broken heart and a broken mind. You ever been so in love you couldn’t tell the difference?
Today we celebrate a story coming from the dusty courts of Spain, back when kings wore velvet and everyone smelled faintly of oranges and incense. It’s the celebration of a queen, a queen named Juana. They called her Juana la Loca. Juana the Mad.
Juana wasn’t born crazy. She was born a princess, daughter of Ferdinand and Isabella, yeah, those two. The ones who sent Columbus sailing off to bump into America. Juana grew up smart, sensitive, and full of fire. But politics don’t have much use for poetry, and neither do dynasties. She met this guy, Felipe el Hermoso, Philip the Handsome. You know how they say ‘handsome is as handsome does’? Well, this guy did plenty. Too much, maybe. He was a good-looking man, the kind that knows it, struts around like the world owes him a song. Juana fell for him hard. And when he started straying, she fell harder.
Juana became widow at 26. They say when Philip died (suddenly, mysteriously) she wouldn’t let him go. Literally. Traveled across Spain with his coffin, through the cold and the mud, opening it up just to make sure he was still there. Now that’s either love or madness. But sometimes, I guess it’s both.
She got locked away in a convent. They said it was for her own good, but you know how that goes. History called her crazy, but maybe she was just too alive for a world that wanted its women quiet. Maybe she saw too much, felt too deep, sang too loud. She did not speak to anyone for 46 years and died at the age of 75. She became unusually old for her time.
So here’s to the woman who loved a ghost, who wouldn’t let the world tell her what sanity should look like. Remember, sometimes the craziest ones are the only ones telling the truth.
above: ink, watercolor on paper
down: interpretation, selfportrait 2013
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
Automotive Rhythms latest project combined our passions for automobiles and the arts. AR's 2016 Kia Sorento SXL 2.0T AWD was also the canvas for artist Jamaal Newman’s creation during the ART-of-Motion (AOM) exhibit in Washington, D.C. aka As ABOVE, So BELOW.
Jamaal was one of the featured visual painters of AOM produced and executed by Automotive Rhythms during the 2016 Washington Auto Show. He painted the Sorento live during the Auto Show in just under 13 hours. Inspired by the South Korean origin of Kia Motors and his research on the Korean War, the artist wanted his creation to symbolically unify North and South Korea. As ABOVE, So BELOW features a lion from Zion on the passenger’s side representing the North while a shark on the South guards the driver’s side. Unification is represented on the hood, meshing the Korean flag with the Yin and Yang badge to signify balance in Korea. Stated Jamaal, “Through my creative vision I wanted to bring equality and unity to Korea.”