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A Glitch "Ushás ( θεά του πόθου ) ~ Ètude II”
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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
A Glitch "Code de Données Burqa Tchador ~ Ètude III”
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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A Glitch "Corps Voluptis Pygophilia (pygophilia) ~ Ètude I”
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
NFT Crypto Digital Art
Marketplace on qurable.co : Buy, Shell & Explore Digital Assets
app.qurable.co/c-louis-montiel
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A Glitch "Terpsichrois(Τερψιχόρη) ~ 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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Woman chalk drawing on bricks
All my photographs are copyright protected, If you wish to use my photos please contact me and we can discuss usage fees.
©Jim Corwin_All Rights Reserved 2019 Contact me at jscorwin@mac.com or visit my PhotoShelter site using the link Jim Corwin Photography on my Profile Page.
My website is jimcorwin.photoshelter.com
My E-Mail Address is jscorwin@mac.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.
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.
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.
Casting through a pane of scratched-up evening glass somewhere in a city where the fluorescent lights hum like tired angels and the paintings stare back at nobody in particular.
You got that strip across the window there, “GLASPÅGARNA.” Sounds less like a business and more like a lost folk trio that opened for somebody in Malmö in 1964. Phone number printed over and over like a mantra. Like the world’s trying to remind itself who to call when things break. And things always break. Windows, hearts, treaties, paintbrushes, guitar strings, voices. Sometimes all before lunch.
Paintings hanging quiet on the walls. Faces with mustaches, masks, saints, outlaws. Could be revolutionaries. Could be bartenders. Hard to tell anymore. Art galleries and police lineups have always had a certain family resemblance.
And the tape crossing the window? That’s maybe the real poetry. Somebody cracked something open and now they’re trying to hold the whole world together with adhesive and good intentions. That tape says: “Fragile. Back soon. Don’t lean too hard.”
You’d see your reflection in a storefront window and for a second you wouldn’t know whether you were outside looking in, or inside trying to get out.
There’s a loneliness to this picture, but not the bad kind. The useful kind. The kind that leaves room for memory to sit down beside you and light a cigarette.
Glass.
Glass houses.
Shot glasses.
Hourglasses.
Looking glasses. Tennessee Williams said time is the longest distance between two places. But sometimes that distance is only as thick as a windowpane.
So wherever you are today, walking home under buzzing streetlights, sweeping up the pieces, or just staring through the glass at a life you almost recognize, well, keep going. We’ll be here until the signal fades.
Simple.
Direct.
Effective.
Two little words that can change your whole day
— “Hands Up.”
Now, sometimes it’s the law yelling it. Sometimes it’s the preacher. Sometimes it’s the rhythm that gets you, and your hands just go up without you even thinking about it.
It’s a phrase that’s been shouted in bank robberies, whispered in bedrooms, sung in nightclubs, and printed on protest signs. It’s a surrender. A celebration. A command. A confession.
Explore the raised hand in all its musical incarnations. From stick-up men, to gospel choirs, from reggae riddims to disco floors where everybody’s hands are in the air and they just don’t care.
Sin and redemption. Of power and submission.
Of dancing and defiance. And maybe a few surprises in between. Ait’, it’s Friday, pour yourself a cup of something warm or something cold. Put your feet up or maybe keep them ready to move. And get ready to throw your hands up —in joy, in surrender, in solidarity, or maybe just to catch the spirit.
//your always past ain't past, Loana Ibarra, where the music on paper is always ready to testify.
Peter D. Gerakaris, Terrarium Tondo III, 16 in. diameter,
Oil on canvas over panel, 2011, Art In Embassies Permanent Collection (Libreville, Gabon)
More info at:
I have always felt that Jim Morrison's poetry represents one of the most compelling extensions of rock music into literature. His poems possess the same lonely strength that defines many of his performances—isolated, yet intensely alive, as though they emerge from a place where vulnerability and defiance coexist. They feel as raw and sweaty as his leather pants on stage, carrying an almost physical intensity, while remaining as sensual and immersive as the compositions of The Doors. His words pulse with rhythm even in silence, transforming the page into a space where music continues to resonate without the need for instruments.
Rather than separating the poet from the rock singer, I see Morrison's poetry as allowing the music to continue beyond melody and performance. His writing is filled with recurring images of desire, death, freedom, and transcendence, themes that also shape his songs. Reading his poems is like entering the same dreamlike landscape found in tracks such as "Dead Cats, Dead Rats", "The End" or "Riders on the Storm", where symbolism, mythology, and personal revelation intertwine. The cadence of his language, the intensity of his metaphors, and the openness of his imagery preserve the spirit of rock while inviting a slower, more contemplative engagement from the reader.
What fascinates me most is that Morrison never seemed interested in drawing a strict boundary between literature and music. Instead, he treated poetry as another stage on which to perform his vision of the world. His poems are not lyrics stripped of melody, nor are they conventional literary exercises; they exist somewhere in between, occupying a unique artistic space where sound, image, and emotion become inseparable. On the page, the rhythm survives in his imagery, his mysticism, and his uncompromising emotional intensity, making his poetry not an escape from rock music but its natural continuation. In this sense, Morrison demonstrates that rock music can transcend performance and become a lasting literary experience, one that continues to challenge, seduce, and resonate long after the final note has faded.
Up: “The Beat Generation. The Tumultuous’ 50’s. Movement and Its Impact on Today”, Bruce Cook. p. 226
Down: Bilingual Spanish-English “The American Night”, “Wilderness. The lost writings of Jim Morrison” bought in Cholula, Puebla 2003 a sunny afternoon en la plaza. Blingual Spanish-English “An American Prayer”, a Christmas present from mom 2004.
Snow. The kind that settles over memory. The kind that lands on a Japanese rooftop at dusk and stays there long after the footsteps are gone. Today we celebrate Yasunari Kawabata.
Kawabata was born in Osaka in 1899, and by the time most boys were learning how to whistle or throw a baseball, he'd already learned something else: how quickly people can disappear. His parents died when he was young. Then his grandparents. One by one, the lamps went out. Some people spend their lives trying to forget loneliness. Kawabata took loneliness, sat it down at the table, poured it a cup of tea, and listened to what it had to say.
You know, some writers build cathedrals. Some build battleships. Kawabata built paper lanterns. Small things. Delicate things. Things that seemed like they might blow away in the wind. But somehow they're still glowing. When you read him, you enter a world of mountain inns, falling snow, distant train whistles, women glimpsed through shoji screens, and men who realize too late that beauty was standing right beside them all along. It's a world where silence isn't empty. Silence is part of the conversation.
His novel “Snow Country” begins with a train emerging from a tunnel. That's a good way to enter Kawabata's world: passing from one realm into another. The ordinary slips away and suddenly every gesture, every glance, every drifting snowflake seems charged with meaning. Now, Kawabata wasn't interested in heroes conquering kingdoms. He was interested in moments. A sleeve brushing against a sleeve. A face reflected in a train window. The sadness that arrives just as something beautiful appears. He understood that beauty and loss often travel together, like two musicians sharing the same bus.
In 1968, he became the first Japanese writer to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature. The judges praised his ability to express the essence of the Japanese mind. Maybe that's true. But readers from everywhere recognize something in his work. Because grief doesn't need a passport. Neither does longing. The thing about Kawabata is that he never seems to raise his voice. The century around him was full of wars, revolutions, machines, and noise. Yet he wrote as though he were listening for a single bell ringing across a valley at twilight. And if you listen closely, you can still hear it.
So wherever you are standing right now, spare a thought for Yasunari Kawabata. He knew that life is fragile, beauty is fleeting, and memory is often all we have left. Sometimes that's enough.
ink, watercolor on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
GLANCING GABRIEL. Rosario, Cavite Province, Philippines. Photograph by J.A. Austria, 2009.
Waiting for their turn in the liturgy, a teen-age Caviteno dressed as an archangel glances at the austere beauty of a young lady playing the role of the Virgin Mary. The "Panunuluyan" is a traditional re-enactment of the infancy narratives, in particular Joseph and Mary's frustrating search for a place to stay in Bethlehem. In the past Cavitenos used to accompany the couple, bring with them paper laterns shaped like stars, or rabbits etc. It is now practically extinct (except in the town of Kawit and in a commercialized form at that) and is being replaced by abbreviated, modern versions such as this one incorporated within the mass.
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.
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
Imagine a dialogue of live video art, contemporary music instruments, scent and performance art. A group of Greek artists from different disciplines come together for one single and unique performance, acting and reacting to their senses. You are invited to experience the Monologue Dialogue with your eyes, ears and nose.
www.mediamatic.net/en/page/368174/monologue-dialogue
Photographer: Margherita Soldati
Today we’re tuning the dial somewhere between the Gulf breeze and a neon jukebox glow… down where the rhythm rolls in like tidewater and the accordion sighs like it’s remembering something you forgot. We’re talking about a man who wore dark glasses like he was shielding himself from the future or maybe from the past. Name of Rigo Tovar.
Rigo Tovar came out of Matamoros, Mexico which sits right there on the edge of things. Border towns are funny that way, half dream, half echo. You get music drifting across the river like contraband moonlight. And Tovar, well, he picked it all up. Cumbia, rock ’n’ roll, a little soul, a little street dust, shook it up and sent it back out dressed in rhinestones. They called it tropical, but it wasn’t just palm trees and postcards. This was electric. This was a working man’s Saturday night, shoes tapping on concrete, radio buzzing on a kitchen shelf. He had a voice that didn’t ask acceptance, it just walked right in, sat down, and told you it understood.
You ever hear a song that sounds like it’s smiling and aching at the same time? That’s where he lived. Tovar wore those shades, always those shades. Some said it was the lights, some said it was something deeper. Fame can be bright enough to blind you, and sometimes a man builds his own night just to survive the day. But behind them, you got the feeling he was watching everything, every dancer, every heartbreak, every lonely beer bottle lined up like soldiers on a table.
He took the old sounds, the kind your grandmother might hum while sweeping the floor, and ran them through amplifiers until they could fill a stadium. And people came. Oh, they came. Thousands. Like revival meetings, only instead of sermons you got basslines. Instead of confession, you got movement. And that’s the thing about Rigo Tovar, he didn’t just play music. He made a place. A place where borders blurred, where the past got a new suit, where tomorrow showed up early and stayed late.
But like a lot of bright comets, he burned fast and strange. Fame, illness, isolation—they all come knocking eventually. Even the loudest music has to make room for silence. Still, those songs, they don’t go quiet. They travel. They slip into weddings, street corners, late-night drives, sitting on the bus with strangers through chaotic mexican traffic. They outlive the man, like they always do.
So if you’re out there and you hear something drifting up from far away: accordion, guitar, a rhythm that feels like it knows your name, that might just be Rigo Tovar. And if it is… don’t turn it down. Let it play.
ink, watercolor on paper
contact ibarraloana@gmail.com
My Day at Glance 2026
Tadanori Yokoo to the left 1965
Nils Dardel to the right 1921
show finito finale
Little Red looks on as the a candelabra comes to life in the background. These one-of-a-kind hand-made sculptures both found homes in the Shreveport area.
Permission granted from artist for photos. Release from artist available, if needed.
On Thursday 30th June, dot-art ran it's first Introduction to Life Drawing day, led by Roy Munday in Liverpool City Centre. Life model Arthur posed for participants, who were taught the basic skills required, and given individual tuition and feedback.
D655_014
24/06/2012 : Marseille 3e, bd National / rue de Strasbourg, îlot National : exposition Une collection de collections (Maryvonne Arnaud et Philippe Mouillon)
D798_010
04/07/2015 : Le Puy-Sainte-Réparade, Château La Coste : exposition Different Places (Sean Scully)
A Glitch "Stuprum Colore (apoplánisi sto chróma) ~ Ètude V”
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 #error #glitchartists #glitchartcommunity #glitchartistcollective #glitchartist #pixelsortingart #proceduralart #creativecodeart #glitchportrait