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Kim Weller "CYMK Pillows" 2002
metal chain, glitter, pom poms, leatherette, batting, image transfer, resin
A Glitch “Áditi(Āditiás-terra mater) ~ Ètude II”
by ™℗®© Louis M o n t i e l
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A Glitch ”Hunah K’uh (Χουνάκου) ~ Ètude II”
by ™℗®© Louis M o n t i e l
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... and I keep my ears open for those elusive sounds, soft and brittle like the rustling moments of conversations between those absolute curtains and an inquisitive sun ...
It is said that in ancient Greece, the pomegranate was known as the ‘fruit of the dead’.
Tulips, on the other hand, symbolize rebirth and new beginnings.
I don’t know about that.
Anna Maria Janiszewska is a photographer, visual and installation artist best known for her analogue photographic work. Having grown up Poland and moving to Ireland in her early twenties she studied at the Institute of Art, Design & Technology in Dun Laoghaire and Ireland’s National College of Art and Design. Janiszewska is interested in using photographic tools and processes to rupture the reality of the everyday, skewing documentary and fiction in order to highlight alternative ways of seeing and experiencing. Over the years her photographic works have been exhibited in many places in Ireland and Poland.
A Glitch "Ormeau Rouge (κόκκινο κολύμπι) ~ 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
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Some singers sound like they came from a city. Some sound like they came from a highway. The one we celebrate today sounds like he came from a road that wasn't on the map yet. That’s Devendra Banhart.
You hear Banhart’s voice and you start looking around for old postcards, sun-faded photographs, somebody's forgotten garden. Sounds like a conversation between a folk singer, a mystic, and a parrot who learned philosophy from a traveling circus.
He showed up during a time when music was getting polished smooth as a river stone, and he came carrying splinters. Strange songs. Tender songs. Songs that wandered off the trail and came back with stories nobody could quite verify. You could trace his roots from the hills of South America to the coffeehouses and apartments in some places in the world, but the trail never stays straight for long. It twists through old folk records, psychedelic daydreams, backyard gatherings, and late-night notebooks.
Some artists build cathedrals. Some build houses. Banhart always seemed more interested in building treehouses. Places connected by rope bridges, where every room has a different weather system and nobody asks too many questions. His songs can feel centuries old and brand new at the same time. Like finding a wildflower growing through a crack in a parking lot. You don't know how it got there, but you're glad it did.
And that's the thing about travelers. They're not always trying to arrive somewhere. Sometimes they're just showing us roads we didn't know existed.
So here's Devendra Banhart. Open the window if you've got one nearby. You never know what might fly in.
ink, watercolor on paper
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Obra: La Soga.
Autor: Patrick Hamilton.
Dirección: Matías Gandolfo – Sebastián Blanco Leiss.
Labor: Diseño de Escenografía y Vestuario.
(Junto a Florencia Del Gener).
Teatro: Actors Studio Complex.
Temporada: 2003.
Fotos: Mariana Del Gener.
All right reserved.
For personal use only - this image, or derivative works, can not be used, published, distributed or sold without written permission of the owner.
artist, couple, digital, drawing, filmmaker, hopscotchers, LOVE, lovers, nomads, reviews, tips, travel, travel couple, travelling, tricks, videos, visual artist #Insta-Posts
hopscotchers.org/ginger-garlic-tofu-with-mix-vegetables-i...
Transformation rather than absolute ending, opening up space for renewal, responsibility, and change.
I walked into the Gothenburg Museum of Art and found myself, finally, face to face with the great exhibition “Apocalypse: From Last Judgement to Climate Threat”. That’s a long title, but so is history, and this exhibition takes its time with it.
The exhibition starts way back when people thought the end would come from above: fire, angels, judgment and it slowly walks you toward a world where the threat comes from our own hands. People have always been imagining the end, sketching it, carving it, painting it onto chapel walls and museum canvases. Turns out fear has a long memory and what really hits you is how familiar it all feels. The old religious images, full of smoke and damnation, don’t feel that far away from today’s visions of floods, burning forests, and collapsing systems. Different language, same worry. Back then it was God keeping score. Now it’s the planet.
The museum spaces are dark, quiet, almost hushed. You move from room to room, from floor to floor the way you might move through a long night, thinking about what went wrong, and what might still be saved. But this show isn’t just ringing the alarm bell and running for the door. There’s something else going on here. Mixed in with all that destruction there is beauty, the beauty of people trying to understand their place in the universe when things start falling apart and the beauty of the creative mind of the artists behind every single piece.
“Apocalypse: From Last Judgement to Climate Threat” isn’t about finality. It’s about revelation. About seeing things clearly, sometimes for the first time. The end of one story but not the end of storytelling.
The future isn’t just something that happens to us. And we’re still very much in the middle of it.
pic 1. Ejnar Nielsen
Death and the Cripple, 1898-1899.
pic 2. Ulf Rahmberg
Painting 21, 1979-1973.
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A Glitch “Motus Tenebris (σκοτεινή κίνηση) ~ Ètude I”
by ™℗®© Louis M o n t i e l
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A Glitch "Nocivis Mentis Excessus ~ 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
W. Mark Sutherland - Time Signatures
August 28 — September 25, 2012
Visual Arts Centre, Clarington, Canada
Scratch (1998)
Size: approximately 12" x 12" x 2"
Materials: metal, vinyl letters, MP3 player, headphones
Photo by Jean Michel Komarnicki
Her hand hovers near her mouth, ringed, deliberate, unsure whether it’s about to speak or stay silent. There’s a device at her ear something that listens as much as it speaks. She looks like someone caught mid-transmission.
A painted face from another century stares back with the same alarm, but heavier, darker, more final. The skin is bruised by shadow, the eye rimmed with a fear that has already learned its own name. One hand grips the head not in vanity, not in despair exactly, but in the sudden realization that the mind has outrun the body. This is a Baroque gesture, all drama and consequence, where emotion is not internal but carved into flesh and fabric.
You could talk about chiaroscuro here, and you probably should. The painting leans on it, the way terror blooms out of darkness, the way the face seems to surface from the void. The photograph refuses it. Everything is exposed. Nothing hides. And yet the emotion is the same, which tells us something inconvenient about history: that time changes the tools, not the feeling.
Because what this image really stages is a meeting. Not past and present, but repetition. The artist, knowingly or not, has stepped into a pose that already existed, a gesture already haunted. Art history likes to call this “quotation,” but that’s too polite. This feels more like possession.
And as a woman writing about art, you can’t ignore the gendered shift. The original painted figure is trapped in a moral drama: sin, revelation, divine reckoning. The contemporary figure is caught in something quieter but no less severe: self-surveillance, constant awareness, the pressure to be visible and interpretable at all times. One fears God. The other fears the mirror, the feed, the archive. Both figures hold their heads as if to keep them from splitting open.
So the image doesn’t ask which is real and which is imitation. It asks why the expression still fits. Why the face, centuries later, still knows exactly how to look when the mind stumbles onto an unbearable truth.
“The Desperate Man” 1843–45, Gustave Courbet
Today the clock’s been chewing on itself. Memory. Or maybe it’s fear. Those two ride the same bus, different stops. And standing there at the corner, tapping a long, patient leg, is the greatest Louise Bourgeois whom we celebrate today.
Louise Bourgeois came into the world in Paris with thread and needles in the air, tapestries being mended like old stories that refused to stay torn. You can feel that in her work everything stitched back together, but the seams left showing, proud of the damage.
Bourgeois didn’t carve statues to decorate the living room. She built rooms you had to walk into, places where the past sits down beside you and asks what took you so long. Her sculptures don’t pose; they remember. Steel bends like a thought you can’t straighten out, marble softens into something that looks like it’s breathing when you turn away. And then there’s the spider. Big as a day you never forget. Folks say spider and think of fear, but Bourgeois saw a mother; patient, watchful, weaving a world that holds. You don’t have to like it. You just have to stand under it and feel how small you are, how time drips from the legs and hits the ground one second at a time. She worked late into life, too proof that the past doesn’t retire and neither does the urge to make sense of it. Some artists chase beauty. Bourgeois chased the truth until it finally sat still long enough to cast a shadow.
Louise Bourgeois was very clear and very stubborn about not explaining art. She believed explanation weakens the work. The work was meant to be experienced physically, emotionally, even uncomfortably not translated
“A work of art doesn’t have to be explained. If you do not have any feeling about this, I cannot explain it to you. If this doesn’t touch you, I have failed.”
I hear you.
So if you’re driving today, or lying awake counting the cracks in the ceiling, remember Louise Bourgeois, turning memory into matter, fear into form and somewhere a spider keeps working, because that’s what time does. It spins.
watercolor, ink on paper
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A Glitch "Defixions Corporis ~ Ètude VI”
by ™℗®© Louis M o n t i e l
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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.
Well, folks, I’m looking up at this magnificent ceiling, and let me tell you, it ain't just a roof over your head, it’s a whole world up there. A world of light and color, of curves and lines, all the kind of things that make you wanna tilt your head back and take a deep breath.
The golden rings, they got that glow to them, like a fading sunset that don’t wanna leave the sky. And them lights, well, they ain't just bulbs, they’re stars in their own right, spread out, orbiting, sparkling like the first twinkle of the night.
You ever stop and think about a chandelier? It’s like a crystal ballroom where all the dancers are reflections of your thoughts, twisting and turning in the flicker of the light. You got the curves, the arches, each one softer than a lonesome wind blowing through a valley. It's almost as if the whole place is whispering stories, stories from another time, a time when people wore velvet suits, and the air smelled of perfume and cigar smoke. Up here, they’re still dancing, don’t you know? Still twirling and spinning through the ages.
I can feel the history, each brushstroke, each golden touch, they carry the weight of centuries of voices, echoing through the air like a forgotten melody. This ain’t just a ceiling, it’s a living piece of art, alive with every performance that’s been under its gaze. You can see the past in the lines, but you can also feel it in the air alive and well.
So next time you find yourself under a ceiling like this, take a moment. Don’t rush. Look up. Let the lights remind you that everything has its time, its beauty, and its story. And who knows, you might just catch a tune you hadn’t heard before.