By @lilyluciole #lilyluciole

#streetart #streetartist #urbanart #graffiti #graff #wall #spray #bombing #collage

In abandonned place (Place)

Credit : STREET ART SHOOTERS : www.facebook.com/ZarOkko

Model : Megumi

Original Photography : Dekhana Photography

Artwork : Lilyluciole

Thanks again for this amazing collaboration

artists: In Love & Lily Luciole

via Instagram ift.tt/2IPbzsb

by Lily Luciole (Paris, 2014)

Lilyluciole, Montréal

Collabo Baubô+Lilyluciole : Part 1

Photography by Alex Tassot

www.alextassotphotography.com/#

Return to Innocence Lost by Ursula Rucker

www.youtube.com/watch?v=sazI4Fr_Aqw

Muffled sound of fist on flesh

Blows to chest

No breath

Air gasps

You ain't nothing but white trash, bitch!

With each hit, each kick, each...broken rib

Crack, Crack!

Bones are crying

Mommy's crying and bleeding

And pleading

And then...

Daddy wants to fuck

Dick hard, swelled with power rush

And as if all that wasn't enough

Mommy's seven months heavy with birth

As...Daddy grunts and cursed drunk nothings in her bloodied ear

First...lullaby

First...Son...will...ever...hear

And never forget

Mommy almost bled to death when she have him...finally

She'd already lost...three

Uterus-bruised, shredded, and weak

From being daily beat

And Friday nights were the worse and...

Daddy never came with flowers

Instead he spent hours at some corner spot

With some bar pop named Cookie

Putting his thing down

Soiling Mommy's sheets with...

Sweet...talk shit

Cookie's cheap lipstick

Hair grease, sperm, and jezebel juice

To hell with the good news that...

He was a father for the first time

His thirst for wine and women

Clouded his vision...

No warm welcome for mother and son

Just...

The rank smell of ass-crack, funk, and cum

But Mommy's prayerful strength-her best defense

She...burned the dirty linens

Made a fresh bed

Laid sleeping First Son down

And never made a sound

As she purged her scourge

With birth-blood and quiet tears

Watching as her fears and love and sacrifice

Lie there in his soft skin and new life

Breathing, dreaming, fresh from God's eye

Mommy's little survivor

Like...her

Mommy called crazy and scorned

'Cuz she two more born

One boy soon after

The girl much later and...

Although they were both sung the same lullabies of hate

Her...First Son, the first one

Whose...womb-world was profaned

Came of age playing street games

With Stewie, Rezzie, and Little Brother

'Till his heart start to wither

In pain and shame

Blamed Mom for the wrong she let Daddy do to her

And him...

Let...sins of the Father cause his Innocence to wander

Found out amongst thieves

Chose to squander his dreams

Stopped believing in himself

Become prodigal with his life

Make impossible shit right with...

Gang-ties, crime, lies

Erase wise, woeful words of Mother

Replaced them with absurdities of others

Who had also lost their way

Played a different kind of street game now

First Son plunged deep

Speak street-family vows

Espouse no causes but his own

See, he couldn't protect Mommy's neck from Daddy's grasp

Or...protect Mommy's ass from Daddy's wrath

Couldn't shield her ears from...

Daddy's foul-mouthed, liquor-breath jeers

His only defense-served be confidence

Brown bottles housed his swift descent

Phones called cops on block frequent for his shenanigans

Now...Daddy and him twins in addiction

Driven to false-hearted heavens and friends

By liquefied demons

Had become what he despised from Conception 'til End

Destined for a demise

Survived nine lives of staying high

Conning, jewelry-pawning, arrests, theft

Womanizing...only for money, never for sex

Bullet in chest, baseball bat to the head

Left for dead

So, eyes wide and glassy

Speech...slowed and slurred

Lips twitched with caked-up codeine candy

And mouth corners one December 24th

Mr. Hide and False Friend

Took final ride to suburban supplier

Shots were fired by the gray man

With shaky hand

But not shaky enough to miss...

Hit...Lost Boy in back

So-called Friend runs for door

Leaves First Son blood-born

Lying alone in blood on cold floor

Death was the cause of...

Returning to Innocence Lost...

Baby 'Sis awake for dawn on Christmas morn

To Mommy's sobs and shakes

Daddy's silhouettes of regret

All past, omitted, and absolved by lost

As they clung to each other

Knowing...

That is my mission : to illuminate the street thanks to my creations which are revealed thanks to the nature.

Dont forget where you come from. You are just Beautiful, perfect.

Thanks God.

Credit : Daniel Albanese, Dusty Rebel

Collab Inside/Out with The ArtFabric. Raising the visibility of the Haïtian immigrant community of Sao Paulo.

Have a look at this article www.fluorodigital.com/2014/07/artfabric-change-art/

February 2014

One of the biggest favela in Buenos Aires with Philippe Herard

Big privilege for me to be associated with the beautiful creation of Hérard

Peace.

Photography & Choice of Collaboration : Fabi & Eric

Original Photography : Dekhana

Montreal/NYC (collaboration)

Thanks to the generosity of NYC Street artist and people involved in this movement. PEACE

Lilyluciole for Offmurales

Collabo Baubô+Lilyluciole : Part 2

Return to Innocence Lost by Ursula Rucker

www.youtube.com/watch?v=sazI4Fr_Aqw

Muffled sound of fist on flesh

Blows to chest

No breath

Air gasps

You ain't nothing but white trash, bitch!

With each hit, each kick, each...broken rib

Crack, Crack!

Bones are crying

Mommy's crying and bleeding

And pleading

And then...

Daddy wants to fuck

Dick hard, swelled with power rush

And as if all that wasn't enough

Mommy's seven months heavy with birth

As...Daddy grunts and cursed drunk nothings in her bloodied ear

First...lullaby

First...Son...will...ever...hear

And never forget

Mommy almost bled to death when she have him...finally

She'd already lost...three

Uterus-bruised, shredded, and weak

From being daily beat

And Friday nights were the worse and...

Daddy never came with flowers

Instead he spent hours at some corner spot

With some bar pop named Cookie

Putting his thing down

Soiling Mommy's sheets with...

Sweet...talk shit

Cookie's cheap lipstick

Hair grease, sperm, and jezebel juice

To hell with the good news that...

He was a father for the first time

His thirst for wine and women

Clouded his vision...

No warm welcome for mother and son

Just...

The rank smell of ass-crack, funk, and cum

But Mommy's prayerful strength-her best defense

She...burned the dirty linens

Made a fresh bed

Laid sleeping First Son down

And never made a sound

As she purged her scourge

With birth-blood and quiet tears

Watching as her fears and love and sacrifice

Lie there in his soft skin and new life

Breathing, dreaming, fresh from God's eye

Mommy's little survivor

Like...her

Mommy called crazy and scorned

'Cuz she two more born

One boy soon after

The girl much later and...

Although they were both sung the same lullabies of hate

Her...First Son, the first one

Whose...womb-world was profaned

Came of age playing street games

With Stewie, Rezzie, and Little Brother

'Till his heart start to wither

In pain and shame

Blamed Mom for the wrong she let Daddy do to her

And him...

Let...sins of the Father cause his Innocence to wander

Found out amongst thieves

Chose to squander his dreams

Stopped believing in himself

Become prodigal with his life

Make impossible shit right with...

Gang-ties, crime, lies

Erase wise, woeful words of Mother

Replaced them with absurdities of others

Who had also lost their way

Played a different kind of street game now

First Son plunged deep

Speak street-family vows

Espouse no causes but his own

See, he couldn't protect Mommy's neck from Daddy's grasp

Or...protect Mommy's ass from Daddy's wrath

Couldn't shield her ears from...

Daddy's foul-mouthed, liquor-breath jeers

His only defense-served be confidence

Brown bottles housed his swift descent

Phones called cops on block frequent for his shenanigans

Now...Daddy and him twins in addiction

Driven to false-hearted heavens and friends

By liquefied demons

Had become what he despised from Conception 'til End

Destined for a demise

Survived nine lives of staying high

Conning, jewelry-pawning, arrests, theft

Womanizing...only for money, never for sex

Bullet in chest, baseball bat to the head

Left for dead

So, eyes wide and glassy

Speech...slowed and slurred

Lips twitched with caked-up codeine candy

And mouth corners one December 24th

Mr. Hide and False Friend

Took final ride to suburban supplier

Shots were fired by the gray man

With shaky hand

But not shaky enough to miss...

Hit...Lost Boy in back

So-called Friend runs for door

Leaves First Son blood-born

Lying alone in blood on cold floor

Death was the cause of...

Returning to Innocence Lost...

Baby 'Sis awake for dawn on Christmas morn

To Mommy's sobs and shakes

Daddy's silhouettes of regret

All past, omitted, and absolved by lost

As they clung to each other

Knowing...

Femme : Laisse parler tes émotions et tes intuitions.

Deuxième collaboration avec l'une des artistes de Paris les plus positives.

Paris (Montmartre), février 2014

crédit photograhique : Baubô

crédit : Adrien Fumex (Fresh Paint Galery)

aussi à lire :

www.street-art-shooteurs-zaromcha-paris.com/2014/09/lilyl...

.

Ego Trip by Nikki Giovanni

I was born in the Congo

I walked to the fertile crescent and built the sphinx

I designed a pyramid so tough that a star that only glows every one hundred years falls into the center giving divine perfect light

I am bad

I sat on the throne drinking nectar with allah

I got hot and sent an ice age to europe to cool my thirst

My oldest daughter is nefertiti

the tears from my birth pains created the nile

I am a beautiful woman

I gazed on the forest and burned out the sahara desert with a packet of goat's meat and a change of clothes

I crossed it in two hours

I am a gazelle so swift so swift you can't catch me

For a birthday present when he was three

I gave my son hannibal an elephant

He gave me rome for mother's day

My strength flows ever on

My son noah built new/ark and I stood proudly at the helm as we sailed on a soft summer day

I turned myself into myself and was jesus men intone my loving name

All praises All praises

I am the one who would save

I sowed diamonds in my back yard

My bowels deliver uranium

the filings from my fingernails are semi-precious jewels

On a trip north

I caught a cold and blew

My nose giving oil to the arab world

I am so hip even my errors are correct

I sailed west to reach east and had to round off

the earth as I went

The hair from my head thinned and gold was laid

across three continents

I am so perfect so divine so ethereal so surreal

I cannot be comprehended except by my permission

I mean...I...can fly

like a bird in the sky...

streetartnyc.org/blog/2014/04/23/speaking-with-montreal-b...

pasted in Favela Dona Marta, Rio de Janeiro as part of the ArtFabric project

Les rues étaient désertes.

Photographie par Alex Tassot : www.alextassotphotography.com/#

Collage par Lilyluciole

Paris, Montmartre.

Mars 2018.

Lilyluciole

Collab Inside/Out with The ArtFabric. Raising the visibility of the Haïtian immigrant community of Sao Paulo.

Abandonné, ce lieu a fait ressurgir des souvenirs intimes et personnels.

Je me souviens de ces nombreux morceaux de vies éparpillés à même le sol. Des milliers de photographies, des archives, des restes de vies fantomatiques

C'est là que j'ai décidé d' y faire une création faite d'improvisation et de fantaisie.

Alex était là pour en témoigner à travers ses fantastiques photographies.

+ d'info : www.alextassotphotography.com/#

Je remercie Alex pour m'avoir accompagné durant ce processus de création qui a donné lieu finalement

à une rencontre, une symbiose entre la danse, la photographie et le collage. Tu étais là.

Merci, merci Isma de nous avoir transporté par ton interprétation. Tu as su à mon sens mettre en lumière les émotions profondes de cet homme éperdument amoureux.

Je ne veux pas trop m'avancer mais j'ai l'impression que cela nous aura apporté à tous les trois de nouvelles perspectives de création.

Peace.

Photograhy: Alex Tassot

Dance : Ismaera

Collage : Lilyluciole

step 2 : AVOIR UN ENFANT

Quand j ai appris que Megumi était enceinte de Yahn, j'ai eu cette vision complètement organique et aquatique :

un univers dominé par des méduses, ces animaux qui m'ont toujours fascinés pour leur beautés et leur dangerosités. Du papier en dentelles. Un ballet sous marin.

Aussi, je me pose des questions en ce moment et je me dit OK le plan A

c'est d'avoir un bébé en étant un couple mais que se passe t'il si cela ne peut pas se faire.

Le plan B serait d'en avoir un toute seule mais.....

Est-ce que je vais être une bonne mère? Est-ce que je vais être capable de l'élever toute seule?

Tu te demandes vraiment ça sachant que tu veux en fait éviter la situation de la mère monoparentale.

Tu veux éviter de retomber sur ce shéma. Tu ne veux pas que cela se répète encore ayant déjà vu cette situation. Tu connais cette souffrance l'ayant eu sous tes yeux ( ta mère).

Est-ce que je vais donner ce qui est bon pour mon enfant

malgré le fait de ne pas eu de père? Sera t'il heureux avec moi seulement?

Cette situation est terrible car elle te met face à ces questions, elle te ramène à ta propre histoire personnelle.

Ca m'obsède, j'y pense souvent.

Loin d'être représentatif de l'art de rue de Montréal, le Festival d'Art Mural cherche au contraire à créer un écart entre les artistes reconnus par un petit groupe de personnes.

Au lieu de rassembler et de réunir, il crée de la rivalité.

Encore une fois loin de représenter la réalité sociale de Montréal, il le réduit

Nous voulons également affirmer et faire comprendre qu'un art authentique n'a pas peur de critiquer, de choquer, de réveiller les consciences, d'émouvoir.

il ne cherche pas avant tous à être approuvé.

je pense donc qu'il est nécessaire qe des artistes puisse créer un Off muralES.

//TO MAKE FINE ART ACCESSIBLE TO ANYONE//RENDRE L'ART ACCESSIBLE À TOUS//

seize : 110x110, technique : stencil, paper pasted,

photographer : Cavanus

Lilyluciole

On picture Martha Cooper, Stela, QBNYC and Lilyluciole.

Thank you Martha for your presence and attention concerning artists of Street art in Montreal.

Respect.

Montmartre, Paris.

Mars 2018

Black Woman by Lily Luciole (Paris, 2013)

JR/Inside Out and The ArtFabric project, Berlin october 2017 for the refugees.

Persian is from Romania. Lily Luciole's artwork pasted in Berlin as part of the ArtFabric project in Cuvry Strasse, a camp where Bulgarians, Romanians, Russians and Germans are residing in makeshift "houses".(www.theartfabric.com)

read more (german) : fr.scribd.com/doc/236467540/Die-Stadt-gehort-uns-Ausgabe-...

streetartnyc.org/blog/2019/10/02/speaking-with-paris-base...

"The Mermaid"

When I was a lad in a fishing town

Me old man said to me:

"You can spend your life, your jolly life

Just sailing on the sea.

You can search the world for pretty girls

Til your eyes are weak and dim,

But don't go searching for a mermaid, son

If you don't know how to swim"

'Cause her hair was green as seaweed

Her skin was blue and pale

Her face it was a work of art,

I loved that girl with all my heart

But I only liked the upper part

I did not like the tail

I signed onto a sailing ship

My very first day at sea

I seen the Mermaid in the waves,

Reaching out to me

"Come live with me in the sea said she,

Down on the ocean floor

And I'll show you a million wonderous things

You've never seen before

So over I jumped and she pulled me down,

Down to her seaweed bed

On a pillow made of a tortoise-shell

She placed beneath my head

She fed me shrimp and caviar

Upon a silver dish

From her head to her waist it was just my taste

But the rest of her was a fish

'Cause ...

But then one day, she swam away

So I sang to the clams and the whales

"Oh, how I miss her seaweed hair

And the silver shine of her scales

But then her sister, she swam by

And set my heart awhirl

Cause her upper part was an ugly fish

But her bottom part was a girl

Yes her hair was green as seaweed

Her skin was blue and pale

Her legs they are a work of art,

I loved that girl with all my heart

And I don't give a damn about the upper part

Cause that's how I get my tail

I discoverd this abandonned area in Berlin (the crazy Kreuzberg area) and I deceided immediately to settle my stuff. Here the result.

Photographie : Isabelle Munoz

step 1 : AVOIR UN ENFANT

Quand j ai appris que Megumi était enceinte de Yahn, j'ai eu cette vision complètement organique et aquatique :

un univers dominé par des méduses, ces animaux qui m'ont toujours fascinés pour leur beautés et leur dangerosités. Du papier en dentelles. Un ballet sous marin.

Aussi, je me pose des questions en ce moment et je me dit OK le plan A

c'est d'avoir un bébé en étant un couple mais que se passe t'il si cela ne peut pas se faire.

Le plan B serait d'en avoir un toute seule mais.....

Est-ce que je vais être une bonne mère? Est-ce que je vais être capable de l'élever toute seule?

Tu te demandes vraiment ça sachant que tu veux en fait éviter la situation de la mère monoparentale.

Tu veux éviter de retomber sur ce shéma. Tu ne veux pas que cela se répète encore ayant déjà vu cette situation. Tu connais cette souffrance l'ayant eu sous tes yeux ( ta mère).

Est-ce que je vais donner ce qui est bon pour mon enfant

malgré le fait de ne pas eu de père? Sera t'il heureux avec moi seulement?

Cette situation est terrible car elle te met face à ces questions, elle te ramène à ta propre histoire personnelle.

Ca m'obsède, j'y pense souvent.

February 2014-Argentina

One of the biggest favela in Buenos Aires with Philippe Herard

Big privilege for me to be associated with the beautiful creation of Hérard

Peace.

Photography & Choice of Collaboration : Fabi & Eric Marechal

Original Photography : Dekhana

before the final destruction