A Great President and a Patriot!
#art, Bodo Vespaciano and Art Digital
CHEERS
#art, Do You Know Edmonia Lewis?
Well if you don’t know who she was or anything about her art, don’t feel bad as she is…among many others…one of the ignored and forgotten greats. And in any event, I am here to tell you about her so that you do not think that the only…or best…American (born in the US) Black artist was Basquiat or that the only…or best…female artist was Frida Kahlo. Granted, both Basquiat and Kahlo made a name for themselves. Basquiat as the enfant terrible of the 1980’s and Kahlo as the «queen of merchandising!» but as artists they were mediocre, at best.
Ms. Lewis was the real thing. She was born in New York in 1844. She was a sculptor and lived and worked most of her life in Rome, Italy. And she was the first Native American/African artist to achieve international recognition in the sculptural arts. Quite an accomplishment I would say, no? And you did not even hear of her. Well, it is not your fault, it is the fault of educators of Art History that are biased and only talk about the «artists» they think are good and important. Well, most of the time they are neither.
Edmonia’s sculptural style was neo-classic. She started during the time of the US Civil War and became recognised, albeit slightly, in the art world of the times. In 2002 she was included in the list of the 100 most recognised African-Americans, (which only includes those of the US not black people of the entire American continent). Lewis’s father was Afro-Haitian and her mother was a weaver from the Mississauga Ojibwe tribe of North American Indians.
Her first exhibition was in 1864. It was successful and together with a few more successes she eventually found her way to Italy where she joined with other ex-patriot sculptors and settled in Rome where she opened her own studio. In Italy she found a refreshing freedom from racism and the liberty to create as she willed.
In 1876 she participated in the «Centennial Exposition of 1876» in Philadelphia. She exhibited a monumental sculpture that weighed approximately 1400 kg, titled «The Death of Cleopatra«, based on Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra Antonio and Cleopatra.
Ms. Edmonia Lewis died in London in 1907 at the age of 63 years. I truly encourage you to look further into the life and the work of this incredibly good artist, and that you spread the word about her and about all the others that are forgotten or ignored. It is time to re-arrange some of the museums of this world, take out some of the rubbish they are exhibiting and replace it with the quality work of valuable artists that are left out.
«There is nothing as beautiful as the freedom of the forest: catching a fish when you are hungry, cutting the branches of a tree to make a fire to roast it, and eating it outdoors, is the greatest of all luxuries. I wouldn’t stay a week locked up in the cities, if it weren’t for my passion for art.» (Edmonia Lewis/translated from the original Spanish which was published in the newspaper El País of Spain)
«No hay nada tan hermoso como el bosque libre: coger un pez cuando tienes hambre, cortar las ramas de un árbol, hacer un fuego para asarlo, y comerlo al aire libre, es el mayor de todos los lujos. No me quedaría una semana encerrada en las ciudades, si no fuera por mi pasión por el arte» (periódico El País/España)
CHEERS
#art, El atelier de los artistas – The Artist in His Studio
El atelier es el sanctum sanctorum de los artistas, o de muchos artistas, diría yo. Hay tantas variedades como artistas. Algunos mantienen sus estudios limpios y bien organizados. Otros son un chiquero, desordenados, sucios, totalmente una locura. Algunos artistas alquilan estudios lejos de sus hogares, algunos pintan en casa en un área o habitación separada utilizada como estudio. Pero ha habido otros que han pintado en el salón de su casa, sobre una alfombra cara y vestidos con chaqueta de esmoquin, diciéndole al mundo que la pintura pertenece al lienzo y no al suelo. ¿Puedes adivinar quién era ese artista*?
Bueno, hagamos un breve recorrido por los ateliers de algunos de los artistas más famosos en la Historia del Arte y veamos el entorno en el que se encontraban cuando creaban.
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The studio is the holy of holies for many artists. There are as many varieties as there are artists. Some studios are clean and well organised. Others are a pig-pen, messy, dirty, totally in disarray. Some artists rent studios away from their homes, some paint in the home in a separate area or room used as a studio. But there have been others who have painted in their home’s salon, on an expensive rug and dressed in smoking jacket and telling the world that he does not create stains, because paint belongs on the canvas and not on the floor. Can you guess who that artist* was?
Well, let’s take a short tour through the studios of some of the most famous artists in Art History and see the environment they were in when they created.
- Dalí; 2) Frida Kahlo; 3)Lucien Freud; 4)Monet; 5) Picasso
- Basquiat; Dorothea Tanning; Giacometti; Leonora Carrington; Louise Bourgeoise
+ Rene Magritte
GRACIAS – CHEERS
Buenos días
¿Verdad o mentira?
#art, How do You Define Art? (Translation of article published today in Masticadores)
Art is an international language, and that is something that no one doubts or disputes. Painters, sculptors, musicians, poets, and all those involved in the «fine arts» use what we call «art» to express the philosophy that motivates them, their creativity, and the talent they have developed through effort. I say effort…read as hard work…because that is the only way to develop talent.
The artist who seeks communion with the spiritual clings to his time, his place, and his moment in history. Not only to the history of art, but especially he has to cling to the history that is being made moment by moment. It is the only way to make the work vibrate with true energy and convey its message. The artist’s message to the observer, and here I speak specifically of the painter, sometimes comes through the colours or through the shapes and figures… if he is a figurative artist… that he has captured on the canvas.
I am not an artist attached to a particular style or school. In fact, although I live the spirituality of my contemporaneity, I do not create installations, video art, or performances, which seem to…unfortunately…define today’s art. I do not like them and I do not work any of those three «things!. I am a lone wolf that has separated from that pack and follows his own path in figurative and abstract art. But for me art will remain within the realms of painting and sculpting. The wider definition of «the arts» encompasses the rest of the fine arts..
My college training was, like that of almost everyone in the 1980s, classical. You have to know the basics, color theory, the rules of composition, in short, all the rules that…academically…define art. When I finished my bachelor’s degree in fine arts, I decided to forget everything I was taught and start creating. I did it my way, and still do, through my unique style, surreal-expressionism. I also work on abstraction since the idea of the abstract intrigues me and the style allows me to have a different dialogue with the public. Moreover, this way I stick it to those critics who seek to interpret my work and perhaps pigeonhole me into a style.
But even though my works are surreal-expressionist, many of them have an intrinsic and inexorable rhythm, difficult to define and even more to ignore. These are based on the principles that define Jazz music, in other words, classic North American music. I call these paintings «JaZzArT».
In conclusion, I would say that drawing is the most accurate and boldest way to express artistic creativity. Throughout art history, I have admired many artists who were also great draftsmen and who have left us phenomenal drawings. Artists like M. C. Escher, Egon Schiele, Picasso, Dürer, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and many more. Matisse said that a drawing was a painting with fewer elements, perhaps because they don’t have paint. But, forgive me Henri, you’re wrong, or your statement is incomplete, it’s because drawing doesn’t follow the same path as a painting. Drawing uses the magic of the black line, which although it also works in paintings, in drawing ot stands out as an overwhelming force that gives it spirit
GREETINGS.
#non-fiction, «The Blue Beetle» (Version #2)
THE BLUE BEETLE
There are things from one’s life that one never forgets although one might confuse them with things from one’s dreams. And there are dreams that will turn into indelible memories. That is how we are, magical. We are complex, subtle beings. Sometimes pure of heart, other times quite corrupt. And although we may think of ourselves as the most wondrous beings on Earth, we often are the most horrifying. However, in our defense I would say that we are indomitable searchers possessing an inquisitive soul that never tires of seeking the connection between the profane and the sacred.
What I’m going to tell you is a memory. However, it may be nothing more than a dream. But if it was it came true one day. I don’t know. What I do know is that it’s engraved in my mind. I’ve lived it. It is real and part of me. The events I will share with you belong to me. And if it is a memory, aren’t we a collection of memories?
This Is What Happened in Guatemala City.
I was snug in the arms of Morpheus in the pre-dawn darkness of a Wednesday, February 4, 1976, when precisely at 0301 hours, a violent tremor woke me up as I tumbled from my bed to the floor. Together with the violent shaking a noise, devoured the atmosphere of my room. It seemed like the city was being bombed. I ended up on the floor unable to get up although I tried several times but the shaking made it practically impossible. I looked towards the window and saw the street lamp moving like a reed, then suddenly it went out. Instant blackness, everywhere. But finally the earth stopped trembling. The tremor, which turned out to be a major earthquake, lasted but thirty-three seconds, yet it was an eternity.
My first thought was that the British had attacked Guatemala. You see, in those days Guatemalan President Kjell Eugenio Laugerud Garcia had proclaimed that Belize (previously British Honduras) belonged to Guatemala and had even included Belize in the official map of the Republic of Guatemala. I thought the bombing was payback, but it had been no bombing, it was a 7.5 magnitude (Richter Scale) earthquake that affected the entire country.
But well, let’s get back to what was happening in my room. I got dressed in a snap. Easy because I always leave my clothes ready next to my bed with money and passport in the pockets, just in case. Then I made a beeline towards the front door. I saw that the few neighbours I had were already outside and shivering in the garden. Fear? Cold? Probably both, but it was a cold February night. There were no lights in the entire national territory and for a moment I stopped to admire the millions of stars that in such an orderly fashion vibrated and shone in the sky way above us, while we down here were stumbling through chaos, disorder, and horror. Surreal I thought.
There, in the garden that served as our parking lot, we all gathered to give thanks to God for keeping us safe and sound. No one understood what had happened. I had never felt an earthquake in my life, not even a small tremor during the whole year I had been in Central America. I reckoned this was a new experience for us since we were all foreigners probably from parts where such telluric events do not occur.. But standing there, looking at each other, we knew that the terrifying effects of the earthquake had not yet fully sunk in yet. Now we were surprised and confused, with a lingering question in our minds, will it quake again? Later we would be traumatised and stressed, some of us forever.
Now That You Know What Happened, a Flashback…
I arrived in Guatemala City on Aviateca Airlines of Guatemala, flight number 2 from New Orleans, on the first of February, 1976. Greeting me at La Aurora airport was a co-worker who would take me to my assigned quarters in the neighbourhood of Vista Hermosa No. 2. This was a new development about four kilometres outside the capital city. (I don’t mention the work I went to do in Central America because it has nothing to do with this story).
As luck would have it, I arrived at rush hour and traffic in the capital was not moving. I suggested to my companion that we stop at one of the downtown restaurants, grab a bite to eat, to give the traffic jam a chance to clear up. Besides, Guatemala in those years was full of old cars that emitted so much black smoke that the pollution they caused was unbreathable. It burned your eyes and left a terrible smell on your clothes. So my companion agreed. We parked and then walked a few metres to a restaurant on Seventh Avenue, and if I remember correctly, it was called «Il Focolare.»
We went straight to the bar and ordered two Gallo beers, the most popular brew in Guatemala at the time, and perhaps still to this today. The only other customer in the bar was a well-dressed gentleman, also refreshing himself with a «gallito» (slang term for Gallo beer). The guy must have heard us speaking English, (my companion was Israeli and didn’t speak Spanish), and turned around and introduced himself.
«You have arrived in Guatemala at a bad, but a very bad time.»
I thought he was already a bit cocky, but I was intrigued by that comment he pulled out of thin air.
«How do you know we just arrived in Guatemala?»
“Because I see things and know things that others do not see or know.»
Well I wasn’t in the mood for a drunk so I told my friend that we’d better go sit at a table and have our beers in peace. But my companion, who had much more experience than me, signalled for me to sit and calm down. So I did, drinking my cold, delicious beer. And the guy started to talk…
«Listen to me! I am a medical doctor, an obstetrician, I deliver babies, do you understand? And this morning they brought a young Indian woman from Chichicastenango minutes before she gave birth. So I delivered the baby, and when I looked at the child I became horrified! It was not a baby, it was a monster! And the nurse, also disgusted and shocked, blurted out, ‘How ugly!‘ with a voice that sounded as if it had risen from the depths of her soul. It was then that the neonate opened its mouth, it was full of filthy sharp teeth, and answered her saying, «Uglier is what is going to happen here in Guatemala in three days». And it died.»
The doctor turned towards the bartender, finished his beer in one gulp, asked for one more, and got disappeared into his thoughts, leaving us in peace to drink ours and digest the absurdity he had just told us. After our beer we left. The streets by then were free of traffic and we brought me home in no time. But what the doctor said kept spinning in my head…
The next morning I set out to explore the surroundings of my new community. I hiked along the road that lead to the city but took the opposite direction. I walked higher up the mountain. After about two hundred meters, I saw a small detour in the form of a narrow trail that went uphill, good for hiking, and I climbed to the top of the first hill. To the left, there was a path that continued even higher, towards the mountain, and I headed in that direction. Suddenly, I heard a thunder and instantly, like if it had materialised out of thin air, there was a car, a blue Volkswagen Beetle, tumbling sideways downhill coming directly at me.
Quickly I jumped into some bushes on the side just as the car rolled past. Then, right there, right in front of me, it did one last somersault and came to a stop with all four wheels on the ground. I couldn’t see a scratch on it. No visible damage. I remained silent, observing. First, assess the situation, then take the necessary action. No situation yet, so I waited until I saw the driver’s door open. Out of the Beetle stepped a tall, gorgeous blonde. She looked directly at me, smiled and at the same time dropped an envelope on the ground. Then she got back in, started the car, and drove off like a bat out of hell, leaving behind a huge cloud of dust that by the time it was cleared, the bug had disappeared.
But where the hell did it go? The path was too narrow for a car, even for a VW Beetle. Well, there was nothing else I could there but pick up what she had left behind. It was an A4-sized manila envelope, unsealed. I open it up and inside there was a note: «Guatemala, your greatest enemy is the land you are on. Two days left.»
Conclusion
I’m a practical man. Yes, I believe in God, the Virgin, and the saints. But i do not believe in oracles or on fortune tellers. And at that time I didn’t believe in the supernatural or paranormal phenomena. But now I’m not so sure. After what I experienced that year in Guatemala, I think it’s possible that those things exist and that, like so many other mysteries that surround us, they are part of our reality. After all, we humans don’t know where we come from or where we’re going. Everything we’ve been taught can be thought of as nonsense. They are stories invented by either priests or scientists, two groups wherein charlatans abound. We don’t know the truth. But I believe that someday we will come to know it, not here in this plane of existence, but in the next. We will be able to see ourselves as God sees us. And this is not a religious faith-based conclusion, it is simply my opinion.
In any case, the prophecies of those days in Guatemala did come true. The monster baby said on day one what Guatemala would suffer in three days. The note from the woman in the blue beetle said that Guatemala had two days left, and that was on the second of February. In the early hours of the fourth, that is the third day from the monster baby’s prophesy, the earth shook in Guatemala. The strength of the earthquake was such that it changed the country’s topography. Tens of thousands of people died during those devastating 30-something seconds that the earthquake lasted. The ground rose up against Guatemala, and it was an ugly, sad, and very unfortunate event.
CHEERS
#art, Mi universo de arte – My Universe of Art (Esp/Eng)
El arte, o sea, un cuadro, es un tratado filosófico que se absorbe y se degluta con los ojos. Un buen cuadro no necesita ni explicación ni narrativa acompañante. Al mirarlo descubrirás la filosofía y la poesía que ofrece al mundo. El arte no necesita apoyarse en nada más que en sí mismo y es una representación de la vida. Como he dicho que un cuadro representa la vida, entonces muchos cuadros representan un universo, el universo de arte y aquí está una parte del mío.
Disfrútalo, ah, te dejo con una pregunta, ¿qué es un cuadro para ti?
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Art is a philosophical treatise that one absorbs and understands visually. A good painting requires no additional support, needs no explanations and definitely no narrative to help explain it. A painting stands on its own merits and is a visual representation of life. Since I have said a painting represents life, then many paintings represent a universe of art and here is a portion of mine own.
Enjoy, but I leave you with one question, what is a painting to you?
GRACIAS – CHEERS
Omnia Caelum Studios Miami (Beach) 2003…
The photo above is of the corner of 21st Street and Collins Avenue, in Miami Beach. Wolfie’s was a famous landmark restaurant/deli, and since it was open 24 hours, it was the place where you would find us all after a night of dancing and partying. Wolfie’s, as well as many other places that lined Collins Avenue, are now gone. They belong to the memories of us who lived in the rather artsy Miami Beach of those years.
Actually, since this post is about 2003, these places, which had been around since the 1950’s…I would imagine…were already very close to extinction. Progress…good grief…changed the look of the city and the spirit of the city, to the point that by 2018 I was counting the days to get out of Dodge.
In any event, in 2003 I was developing my artists studio/gallery, and about to name it Omnia Caelum Studios, I added the «Miami» a few years later. Omnia Caelum is a phrase from «Metamorphoses» by Ovid and it means «All is Heaven.» And to me Miami Beach (I moved there in 1985) was heaven. Until it became hell…
Here are some of the paintings from 2003 that I exhibited that same year in Istanbul, Turkey. It was there at the PG Gallery that I had my first professional exhibition and also my first gallery representation. I exhibited seven paintings and on opening night sold four of them. The other two, the ones you see here, were only at the show as exhibition pieces but not for sale. They belong to my personal collection.
CHEERS
#poem, #prose, «The Ego, The Superego and Selfishness»
(Original Spanish version commenced on 09 MAR 2024 while listening to the Barigozzi Group)
George Harrison (former member of The Beatles) wrote a song in 1970 called «I Me Mine«. The song clearly dealt with what was happening with the band, which at the time was falling apart. It was the worst of times for The Beatles. The lads, who had been close comrades for so many years now could not stand each other. They argued and fought over just about everything. And things became especially heated when it came to, as you can imagine, money.
«I Me Mine,» whose lyrics speak of selfishness and greed, turned out to be the last song recorded by the «Fab Four» (as they were once called). John Lennon did not play in the recording. And George Harrison concluded that what they were going through was a war of egos.
As they still did not consider Harrison to be on the same artistic level as they, Paul and John, they often left him out of the band’s affairs. So George, he dedicated himself to observing the clashes between the two presumed «leaders» and noticed that it all came down to «this is mine» or «I did it,» and back to mine again, and again ad nauseam. During those moments there was absolutely no concept of «us» anymore. After all, The Beatles, per se, no longer really existed. What the four lads from Liverpool had been, those phenomenal musicians and songwriters who made…and still make…history, was no longer. Of course at the time they were famous, superstars and they would continue to be so in perpetuum, but in 1970, they were fighting like cats and dogs.
I wonder, how many relationships, marriages, partnerships, etcetera have not been broken due to ego issues, specifically selfishness? There have to be thousands and thousands! The ego is a fragile thing. In narcissists it is aggressive and it knows well how to defend itself from whatever it perceives as harmful, real or imagined. And this could be the cause of a war. Values, education, decency, and humility can go to hell because the selfish person thinks that only fools give in. So they continue with their arrogance even if it ends up being their doom, What is that that the Beatles themselves said «pride comes before the fall?» (Actually from Proverbs 16:18)
The ego is also quite self-destructive. It tells you that you are a great guy, handsome, invincible, irresistible, and convinces you of how much you are worth. You, stupidly do not realise that the ego is having you on and guiding your small brain towards the brick wall where it will smash itself to bits. We see this unique set of behaviours in those who aspire to be leaders of the people, and in many that already are. But also in bankers, generals, etcetera, etcetera. Men and women overflowing with arrogance and completely sans humility.
The lunatics have broken free, take refuge…
George, you really did see it all quite clearly back in 1970 when you wrote «I Me Mine«. The story you narrated in the song is a human tragedy constantly repeated. Not only within members of musical super groups, but in almost all aspects of society. We all know it.
(C.2024 Francisco Bravo Cabrera 18 JUL 2024, Ilica, Turkey)
CHEERS
JaZzArt en València 