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Today the needle’s dropping on a guitar player who never needed to shout his name to make the walls shake. Robbie Krieger. Yeah, today we celebrate that Robbie Krieger. From The Doors.
Krieger’s one of those fellas who slips in sideways. You don’t see him coming, but suddenly the room’s on fire and you’re wondering who struck the match. Didn’t play like the bluesmen from Chicago exactly, didn’t play like the rock guys from London either. He played like someone who’d been reading poetry in one hand and holding a flamenco record in the other, wondering what would happen if they met in a dark alley. Robbie Krieger was 19 years old when he joined The Doors.
You listen to a song like “Light My Fire”, which, by the way, he wrote, and you think it’s about heat, about desire, about the old spark jumping the wire. But Krieger’s guitar doesn’t rush it. It circles. It waits. Like it knows the fire’s gonna burn whether you hurry it or not. That solo just keeps climbing, like a snake up a telephone pole, until you’re too high up to remember how you got there. And he didn’t hide behind a pick. Used his fingers. Bare skin on steel. That tells you something right there. That’s trust. That’s a guy willing to get burned by his own sound. Blues, jazz, Spanish scales, a little dust from the desert, all of it drifting through those strings. You hear “Spanish Caravan,” and suddenly you’re not in California anymore. You’re somewhere older. Somewhere the sun’s been watching people make the same mistakes for a few thousand years. Not to mention that beauty “Blue Sunday”, that slide coming from Krieger is along with jazz influences is memory provoking.
Now, when Jim Morrison was out front wrestling angels and demons and microphones, Robbie Krieger was off to the side, half-smiling, half-vanishing. Like he knew the song was bigger than the singer. Bigger than the band, even. That’s a dangerous kind of knowledge. That’s the kind that lets you play exactly what’s needed and not one note more. Robbie Krieger’s guitar didn’t preach. It suggested. It opened doors and left them open, didn’t tell you whether to walk through. And those are the ones that stay with you. Long after the music fades out. Long after the fire burns down to ash.
So here’s to Robbie Krieger, the quiet rider, string-bender, keeper of the sideways flame.
ink, watercolor on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
Peter D. Gerakaris, Terrarium Tondo II, 16 in. diameter,
Oil on canvas over panel, 2011, Art In Embassies Permanent Collection (Libreville, Gabon)
More info at:
Obra: La Ultima Cena.
Autor: Dan Rosen.
Dirección: Sebastián Blanco Leiss.
Labor: Diseño de Escenografía y Vestuario.
(Junto a Florencia Del Gener).
Teatro: Diagonal. Mar del Plata.
Ganador Premio Estrella de Mar 2009: Mejor obra del Circuito Off.
Teatro: ElKafka Espacio Teatral. Buenos Aires.
Temporada 2009.
Fotos: Mariana Del Gener.
Obra: La Ultima Cena.
Autor: Dan Rosen.
Dirección: Sebastián Blanco Leiss.
Labor: Diseño de Escenografía y Vestuario.
(Junto a Florencia Del Gener).
Teatro: Diagonal. Mar del Plata.
Ganador Premio Estrella de Mar 2009: Mejor obra del Circuito Off.
Teatro: ElKafka Espacio Teatral. Buenos Aires.
Fotos: Mariana Del Gener.
Obra: La Ultima Cena.
Autor: Dan Rosen.
Dirección: Sebastián Blanco Leiss.
Labor: Diseño de Escenografía y Vestuario.
(Junto a Florencia Del Gener).
Teatro: Diagonal. Mar del Plata.
Ganador Premio Estrella de Mar 2009: Mejor obra del Circuito Off.
Teatro: ElKafka Espacio Teatral. Buenos Aires.
Temporada 2009.
Fotos: Mariana Del Gener.
Obra: La Ultima Cena.
Autor: Dan Rosen.
Dirección: Sebastián Blanco Leiss.
Labor: Diseño de Escenografía y Vestuario.
(Junto a Florencia Del Gener).
Teatro: Diagonal. Mar del Plata.
Ganador Premio Estrella de Mar 2009: Mejor obra del Circuito Off.
Teatro: ElKafka Espacio Teatral. Buenos Aires.
Temporada 2009.
Fotos: Mariana Del Gener.
Jenny & the Mexicats Lunario 03
Jenny and the mexicats
Photographer: Ernesto De la Vega “Kaede”
Nikon D5100
Lens 18 – 55mm y 55 – 300mm
2013
Y cuando se decide a entrar a un bar, perfumes, Buenos Aires, volarán, no te imaginas la que se va a armar bajo su falda. ...
Painting by Terry David Silvercloud, layered acrylics on canvas, 24 x 24 inches, signed au verso. Vancouver Visual Artist.
FB: michelle.robinson/pg/michelle.robinson.images.and.art
IG: @simply.mich.robinson / @mich/robinson
Peter D. Gerakaris, "Installation View: Terrarium Tondo Series I-V," Oil on canvas over multiple panels.
On permanent exhibition at US Embassy in Libreville, Gabon. Permanent Collection of the US Department of State Art in Embassies Program (AIE)
More info at:
You know, dearest, there are records that arrive like a parade. They announce themselves with brass bands and confetti. Then there are records that sneak in through the kitchen window while you're making coffee after a three hour Spanish-Swedish Swedish- Spanish interpretation session, sits down at the table without introducing themselves, and before long they've rearranged the furniture in your mind.
That's Chomp.
Now, Athens, Georgia, has always been one of those places where strange flowers bloom through cracks in the pavement. Maybe it's the humidity. Maybe it's the ghosts of old radio towers bouncing signals into people's dreams. Whatever it is, bands from that town don't so much chase the future as accidentally trip over it.
Pylon sounds like they found rock and roll after everyone else had already explained it to death. Instead of adding more words, they started taking them away.
Vanessa Briscoe Hay doesn't sing like she's trying to convince you of anything. She sounds like someone who's already seen the ending and isn't particularly worried whether you catch up. Her voice circles around the beat instead of sitting on it. Sometimes she sounds like she's reading tomorrow's headlines to someone living yesterday. And the band, well, they're a machine that remembers it's made by human hands. The guitars don't bloom; they jab. The bass doesn't walk; it stalks. The drums don't swing; they insist. Every instrument seems to know exactly what not to play. That's a rare wisdom. Anybody can fill a room with sound. It takes discipline to leave enough empty space for mystery to move in.
Listening to Chomp is like watching a traffic light in the morning. Nothing's happening, and yet everything feels charged with possibility. The grooves repeat until repetition stops sounding repetitive and starts sounding inevitable, like breathing or railroad tracks disappearing into the horizon.
What's funny is that people called this music "new wave," as if it belonged to tomorrow. But records like this don't really live in time. They drift in and out of fashion like weather. Every generation discovers Chomp and thinks they've uncovered a secret message left just for them. Maybe they have.
The songs don't ask for your admiration. They ask for your attention. That's a different currency. Decades later, you can hear echoes of Pylon in bands that became famous enough to fill arenas, but Pylon themselves remain wonderfully unbothered by history. They made their records, left them standing in the field like telephone poles, and let everyone else decide whether to string wires between them. There's an old idea that rock and roll should either save your soul or shake your hips. Chomp quietly suggests those might be the same thing.
Some albums age into nostalgia. This one ages into prophecy. Every time you come back to it, it sounds less like a relic from 1983 and more like a dispatch from some parallel America where punk learned patience, funk learned restraint, and art school graduates remembered that dancing was a perfectly respectable form of thinking. That's the thing about pylons. Most people never notice them. They just carry the current from one place to another. And every now and then, if you stop beneath one and listen closely, you can hear the electricity singing.
I recommend starting with the track M-Train wishing you a very blessed voyage.
CICERO-Foyergespräch mit dem Künstler Markus Lüpertz und den CICERO-Redakteuren Christoph Schwennicke und Alexander Marguier;
Nikon D810, 70-200mm f/2,8
This 2012 artwork is by Mexican visual artist Carlos Amorales and is called "We will see how everything reverberates". It was photographed during an exhibition at the Turner Contemporary gallery, Margate, England (March until September 2015).
Obra: La Ultima Cena.
Autor: Dan Rosen.
Dirección: Sebastián Blanco Leiss.
Labor: Diseño de Escenografía y Vestuario.
(Junto a Florencia Del Gener).
Teatro: Diagonal. Mar del Plata.
Ganador Premio Estrella de Mar 2009: Mejor obra del Circuito Off.
Teatro: ElKafka Espacio Teatral. Buenos Aires.
Temporada 2009.
Fotos: Mariana Del Gener.
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
"Flip Not Thine Wig" (site-specific sculpture)
Year: 2006
Materials: glass, wood, mirror tile, electric motor, electric lights, glitter flake, acrylic
Dimensions: 72 x 26 x 38 inches
Information: “Flip Not Thine Wig” was my sculptural response to my chosen launch site for Super Troopers, the offsite project for National Psyche: Feminine Vision, Thought, and Action during Wartime. Glama Rama Hair Salon located in the Mission District, San Francisco provided a delicious backdrop to deliver a project inspired by Glam culture and the outrageous kitsch of Liberace. I completely customized a department store display case with ½ inch mirrored tile, fitting the interior with dimming lights and motorized fans that that would generated a frenetic glitter-storm for visitors to delight in. During operating hours, art lovers, salon clients, and passersby would co-mingle around an outdoor pneumatic sculpture that playfully addressed the over-the-top aesthetic of Hollywood glitz and glamour.
CICERO-Foyergespräch mit dem Künstler Markus Lüpertz und den CICERO-Redakteuren Christoph Schwennicke und Alexander Marguier;
Nikon D810, 70-200mm f/2,8
Hypnotic Wobble - Describe yourself in three words. 🐔 🐍 🐹 #ozwyz #generativeart #cool #abstracto #inspirationalart #glitchart #kaleidoscope #worldofartists #visualartist #weird #intense #biartist #sparkling #newart #hallucination #glitchy #digitaldesign #weirdart #procreate #handmade #visualart #generative #speckled #digitalart #dynamicart #artwatchers #hotart #saphic instagr.am/p/CPBudaYHFm5/
This shot was taken close to the location of the previous shot. Again, this is a 3-exposure HDR, handheld.
More images: Facebook page.
Andrew J. Bacevich the 65 year old American Professor of International Relations and retired career officer in the US Army has published an article in the LA Times titled ‘Divorcing Pakistan’ which contends the interests of Washington and Islamabad do not align, and neither do their preferred forms of paranoia. Bacevich states “The history of U.S.-Pakistani relations is one of wild swings between feigned friendship and ill-disguised mistrust. When the United States needs Pakistan, Washington showers Islamabad with money, weapons and expressions of high esteem. Once the need wanes, the gratuities cease, often with brutal abruptness. Instead of largesse, Pakistan gets lectures, with the instruction seldom well received. …But seldom has a marriage of convenience produced greater inconvenience and consternation for the parties involved. Simply put, U.S. and Pakistani interests do not align. Worse, neither do our preferred forms of paranoia. Pakistanis don't worry about Islamists taking over the world. Americans are untroubled by the prospect of India emerging as a power of the first rank. The United States stayed in this unhappy marriage for the last decade in large part because Pakistan provided the transit route for supplies sustaining NATO's ongoing war in landlocked Afghanistan. … A recently negotiated agreement with several former-Soviet Central Asian republics creates alternatives, removing Pakistan's grip on NATO's logistical windpipe. …As with most divorces, the proceedings promise to be ugly. Already, the U.S. is escalating its campaign of missile attacks against "militants" on Pakistani soil. U.S. officials dismiss complaints that this infringes on Pakistan's national sovereignty.” Inspired by LA Times ow.ly/cbDec image source Facebook ow.ly/cbDbG
A charity project through Bridge Communities; 'A Chair Affair' was an event where artists were sponsored to create a work of art using chairs as the vehicle, which were then showcased in retail shops in the Western Suburbs of Chicago. These works then went up to auction where 100% of the proceeds went to families and individuals in need. Bridge Communities strives to help those in need and aim to help people get their lives back on track. This was my second 'A Chair Affair', my first one taking place in Naperville in 2014.
FB: michelle.robinson/pg/michelle.robinson.images.and.art
IG: @simply.mich.robinson / @mich/robinson
Masks. Not the kind you wear to the masquerade ball, not the kind you pull over your eyes to rob a bank, no, these are the ones you’re born into and spend your whole life trying to peel off. And that brings us to celebrate the finest writer in the game, the one who knew a thing or two about masks, and much more. Yukio Mishima.
Mishima was born Hiraoka Kimitake in Tokyo in 1925, a time when the world was already sharpening its knives. He grew up sickly, bookish, raised in the shadow of a grandmother who kept him close to the floor and far from the sun. But inside that fragile frame was a mind running marathons. He wrote like a man possessed -novels, plays, essays- words stacking up like dominoes, one thought knocking the next into place.
Mishima wrote about beauty the way some folks write about doom. He saw beauty as something dangerous, something that burns hot and fast, like a match struck in a dark room. In Confessions of a Mask, he tells you right up front that life is a performance, and he’s been playing a role since the curtain went up. Desire, identity, death, they’re all tangled together like headphone wires in your pocket. One of the things that makes Mishima a master in writing is the way he accomplish to write about beauty and death at the same time. Mishima didn’t write about death like it was the end of the line. He wrote about it like it was a spotlight. For him, death didn’t erase beauty it completed it. You see, Mishima believed beauty was fragile. Too fragile to survive time. If something beautiful lingered too long, it risked becoming ordinary, and ordinary was the one thing he couldn’t forgive. A cherry blossom isn’t beautiful despite the fact that it falls it’s beautiful because it falls. Stick around too long and you’re just another leaf on the ground. In his writing, death is always nearby, leaning against the doorframe, checking its watch. Young men with perfect bodies. Women frozen in moments of unbearable grace. Ideals so pure they can’t survive the morning. Mishima lets you admire them, but he never lets you relax. You know something’s coming. You can feel the blade before it appears. He wrote sentences the way a swordsman makes cuts -clean, deliberate, no wasted motion. And every so often, right in the middle of something lovely, he reminds you that beauty’s twin is destruction. Not because he was cruel, but because he thought beauty without risk was just decoration. For Mishima, death was a way of sealing beauty in amber. A way of saying, this mattered enough to end for. That’s a dangerous idea. It can lead you to dark places. But it’s also why his work hums with intensity. Every page feels like it knows it won’t live forever. He said things like “True beauty is something that attacks, overpowers, robs, and finally destroys" and "Beauty is something that burns the hand when you touch it”. That’s painful, absolute experience beyond mere aesthetics, emphasizing ideals of fleeting perfection and heroic death.
After the war, when Japan traded its sword for a suit and tie, Mishima went the other way. He built his body like a temple, or maybe like a weapon. Lifted weights. Practiced kendo. Started a private militia. That’s right—while everyone else was buying TVs, Mishima was polishing armor. He believed the soul needed a strong house to live in, and he wasn’t interested in drywall.
And then there’s the ending. Mishima didn’t fade out, he went out in a cymbal crash. November 25, 1970. A military base. A speech nobody listened to. And then ritual suicide, straight out of another century. You don’t have to agree with it. You don’t even have to understand it. But you can’t say he didn’t mean it. The man turned his life into a final sentence and put a period at the end. Some people live their lives like a rough draft. Mishima lived his like it was already carved in stone.
So today, think about the masks you wear. The ones that protect you. The ones that hide you. And the ones that might, someday, tell the truth about who you really are.
ink, watercolor on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
Obra: La Ultima Cena.
Autor: Dan Rosen.
Dirección: Sebastián Blanco Leiss.
Labor: Diseño de Escenografía y Vestuario.
(Junto a Florencia Del Gener).
Teatro: Diagonal. Mar del Plata.
Ganador Premio Estrella de Mar 2009: Mejor obra del Circuito Off.
Teatro: ElKafka Espacio Teatral. Buenos Aires.
Fotos: Mariana Del Gener.
There are composers, and then there are people who hear the world humming underneath the floorboards. Gustavo Santaolalla is one of those people.
Santaolalla came out of Argentina with a guitar, a pair of ears, and apparently no intention of respecting the border between rock music and the movies. He played in bands, helped shape Argentine rock, wandered through different musical worlds, and eventually found himself writing music for films and television—where a few notes can sometimes say more than a thousand people standing around explaining the plot. And Santaolalla knows about a few notes. Give him a guitar, especially one that sounds like it has survived a long night somewhere south of nowhere, and he can make it speak in that ancient language guitars have always spoken: loneliness, dust, memory, departure.
His music has appeared in films like Brokeback Mountain, Babel and my absolute favorites in the game Biutiful and Amores Perros. Santaolalla won Academy Awards for the first two mentioned. But awards are funny things. They sit on shelves. Music doesn't. Music gets into the walls.
Listen to the score for Amores Perros + Atacama. There's no parade marching behind it. No orchestra trying to convince you that something Important Is Happening. There's space. There's the guitar. There's the silence between the notes. And suddenly the streets of Mexico aren't scenery anymore. They're witnesses. That's one of Santaolalla's gifts: he understands that a landscape can have a voice.
Argentina taught him one vocabulary. Rock 'n' roll taught him another. Film taught him how to leave things unsaid. And somewhere along the way, Santaolalla became a kind of musical traveler—carrying fragments of South American folk music, rock, tango, electronic sounds, acoustic guitars, and cinematic melancholy from one place to another.
Maybe that's what a composer really is. Not a man sitting in a room telling the orchestra what to do. Maybe he's the fellow at the bus station who knows that every town has a different kind of silence. And every silence needs a song.
So today, somewhere between Buenos Aires and wherever you are standing, between the old guitar and the silver screen, Gustavo Santaolalla is still listening. And if you hear a few lonely notes drifting through the darkness well, don't ask where they're going. Just follow them.
ink, watercolor on marbled 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
Obra: La Ultima Cena.
Autor: Dan Rosen.
Dirección: Sebastián Blanco Leiss.
Labor: Diseño de Escenografía y Vestuario.
(Junto a Florencia Del Gener).
Teatro: Diagonal. Mar del Plata.
Ganador Premio Estrella de Mar 2009: Mejor obra del Circuito Off.
Teatro: ElKafka Espacio Teatral. Buenos Aires.
Temporada 2009.
Fotos: Mariana Del Gener.
Cock Park Restaurant Branding Design By #Akib_Sarder
This Project On:
#Behance: www.behance.net/gallery/57864131/Cock-Part-Restaurant-Bra...?
#Facebook: www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.298861310585256.1073741...
#Google+ : plus.google.com/u/0/104110449329655898745/posts/EaAjEtDMN5V
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
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
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