Bon dia!

Esto constituye una regla que no se debe violar…

#art, Pintando mientras se seca la pintura…

(Obra original de Bodo Vespaciano/Derechos Reservados)

Pintar, dibujar, crear una obra sobre un papel, una tela, o un ordenador…

Siempre requiere lo mismo, la misma atención al detalle, el mismísimo detalle de atender a la voz que te va guiando y a la idea de que eres tú, el artista, el que, a través de la improvisación y la imaginación, el creador de algo que los demás jamás han visto…

Ahí está, ojalá os guste y me digáis que pensáis…

(solo os pido un «like», un comentario, que lo compartáis y que os suscribáis al canal que eso nos ayuda)

GRACIAS

#art, Painting As The Paint Dries…

(Image by and property of Francisco Bravo Cabrera/All Rights Reserved)

A painting can take so long…

Thoughts guide the process, they are the weight that holds the ideas down just long enough for the brain to capture them. Once an idea creates a spark, the spark travels down via sinapsis and before you know it you are standing in front of the canvas with a brush in hand ready to create.

The process is fluid…

Have to allow room for mistakes. Mistakes allows the brain to create different alternatives, and these alternatives are the genesis of improvisation. And my art, being «JaZzArT» must have improvisation. Improvisation creates energy and movement in the composition and soon a part of the composition begins to create all by himself. This is like a brilliant saxophone solo by Stanley Turrnetine…

And then you dance…

Got to get the rhythm of the work. Without swing there’s no jazz…

Here are some new works from the Summer of 2025 in the Aegean.

(We kindly ask you to please like, comment, share and subscribe as this helps our channel)

CHEERS

#poem, «In The Blackness of Silence»

(«SIlence»/Francisco Bravo Cabrera/All Rights Reserved)

Forests in the Blackness of Silence
Space unravels like salt spilling from a shaker
someone knocked off the kitchen counter,
and the salt that spilt is a reminder
of little stars of white
that shine in forests in the blackness of silence.

Reality floats like trees without roots,
tanning their leaves
in the bright midnight sun
made of honey and flour.

Discarded thoughts travel sideways along the Milky Way,
combining intention and starlight into tangled braids.
Wishes drift in flocks migrating through colourful streets
toward the forest in the blackness of silence.

Planets pretend to exist,
black holes hum lullabies
to lull in restless dreamers,
as meteors brush past
like moths too shy to burn.

Perhaps we are just players
in a matrix filled with light,
our earth, our bones, our daydreams,
created to arouse the sleeping prophet dreaming
that holds us in his arms.

In the end,
there is no end.
only more of the beginning,
multiplying silence to the nth degree,
turning infinity into
the salt shaker of absurdity.

A forest in the blackness of silence
is a song composed of smoke
that fills the empty hours…

C.2025 – Francisco Bravo Cabrera – 21 SEP 2025 – Chios, Greece