Telling a Story

Dishwasher: Slackers' Best Alternative.

Trust me, this usually isn't the way it looks.

TEQUENOS!!!!! (Venezuelan food tastes like glory after three months of having none).

Green but Clean.

I've been called a Fashionholic.

Books among other things.

Color, color and color.

The background is the least important.

A Colorful Unreal Perspective

One of my favorite artists, Gerhard Richter, over painted my dreamed location: San Francisco

My shades of black and gray can only bring a sense of the unreal to the acclaimed as one of the world’s most beautiful bridges, drifting upon the sensory beauty featuring orange vermillion, sweeping cold cables and the blinding rays of the sun. I can only mean illusion; a daydream in the fixed pathway between two stable ways of thinking and living… yet built high above a watery, changeable element.

…But I can also mean reality. The very real emotion of an artist, immersed in his perception of his dimensional world, caught up in a reflection of his sensitivity. A common photograph, a hand movement, a reawakened desire… A heart beating faster with each vision of what lay ahead… A feeling materialized.



My American Persona

Expressionist

Subjective, Aroused

Experiencing, Distorting, Feeling

Emotional experience rather than physical reality

Evoked ideas.

Untitled, Jackson Pollock (1948)
Hidden Intentions, Showed Innovation.

Piedmont

Wild, Pure

Realizing, Admiring, Breathing

Absence of restraint in choice

Released.

Paradise 13, Thomas Struth (1999)
Nature is the perfect Habitat.

As a Native

Robot Trainee

Mechanical, Irrational

Adapting, Automating, Resembling

Conveying a sense of having a mind of its own

Society’s artificial intelligence.

Even technology needs a break. Taken by Victor Ramos
Photogallery

Revolution

Rebellious, Conflictive

Rioting, Disagreeing, Defying

Recklessly acting in a dangerous system

Fear.

The Scream, Edvard Munch (1984)

 

Take a Picture of My Heart

You are the quintessence of all what’s beautiful and rare

The muting of sorrow and despair.

You are the unworldly rhythm of my thoughts

And the immortal fire of teenage love

You are the soft captivity of my soul’s desire

And the deadly browns and glittery yellows of the autumn.

Gerhard Richter, Overpainted Photographs.
There is more than one way of interpreting the season of transformation.

However, you are not a simple line representing the horizon,

The non-inspiring gray skies

Or the words in a lost dialect

And you are certainly not a deceiving vain smile

There is just no way you are a deceiving vain smile.

Vintage Weinernter, Gerhard Richter (1968)
Gray desplays nothing but sadness.



It is possible that you are the pearly treasures of the sea

May be even art’s never found hidden intentions

But you are not even close

To being the starvation for a shoulder when crying.

Ashville, Willem de Kooning (1947)
Can you see the message beyond?

And a quick look in the mirror will show,

That you are neither the fire congealed with senseless cold

Nor the taste of bitter strawberries to my full lips.

It might interest you to know,

Speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,

That I am the plain white canvas to your imagination.


I also happen to be the admiration of what we can’t understand,

The lights that spatter heaven above

And the mind’s departure when dreaming.

Drammen 1, Thomas Struth (2001)
Particularly exceptional were the lights beaming on the sky.

 

I am also the sweet masochistic distance

And the end to your means.

But don’t worry, I am not the quintessence of all what’s beautiful and rare

You are still the quintessence of all what’s beautiful and rare

You will always be the quintessence of all what’s beautiful and rare

Not to mention the muting of sorrow and –somehow- despair.

Poem

Wisdom resides within the mountains

Shaped in a clear, foamy river

Awakening a deep thirst of knowledge.

More Than Just a Sense of Belonging

Santa Lucía possesses a hidden charm that everyone is a slave of, including myself. Being the cradle of poets and artists, the inspirational and intangible characteristic of this piece of land is undeniable, evoking a sense of belonging that explodes within me when walking the irregular stone streets.

 I’ve caught myself drifting in Santa Lucía’s dimly enlighten striking narrow streets, bonding with the high and continuous facades, colored with vibrant and distinctive electric blues, shiny yellows and deep reds, using a visual language of color and line to create a conspicuous representation of what I believe it is architectural abstract expressionism. The everlasting ceilings and decorated walls reek of a rich blend of customs and traditions, proving to be the living testimony of Venezuela during the colonization. While walking in the striking narrow streets, I can only reproduce the stories those walls might hide, letting my thoughts merge with the revolutionary sound of the closely related residents… Letting my heart embrace the visual stimulation of the emotionally charged environment surrounding me… Transcending my logical construction of reality, bringing dimensions to my flat perception... Music, art, memories… No wonder why this is the spot chosen by the designers to exhibit their art. This place has seen it all, including my very own memoirs. What else will it be witness of?

Santa Lucía, Maracaibo.

Is Not Who You Are But What You Are.

Defining oneself in writing can be more complex than it seems. A million ideas flooded my mind, resulting in my brain working nonstop until confusion and frustration after hours of staring at the screen, it became clear to me there that was one word without which the world as I see it would change completely. Art.

                As an 18 year-old, I never expected to find comprehension of the world from an abstract painting. I caught myself staring at what I later learned was named "One: Number 31" by Jackson Pollock. The painting resonated within my mind as if the sound of the people’s chatter in the museum were nonexistent. An expanse of canvas bears the evidence of the artist’s energetic and dynamic movements to create these whirls of lines and colors, these skeins of enamel, some matte, some glossy, forming what I found was a vanishing sense of solidity. Contemplating it from a distance, the colors merged in my eyes, and its overall dimensions exhibited density and lushness. Pollock’s work, nevertheless, was conceived to be viewed from close proximity, revealing delicate details despite the industrial paints he used as materials. This sole painting was able to influence and affect all of my senses, my emotions and my intellect. My departure from reality was obvious, I couldn’t control such expression.

                I later realized I was staring at what I considered to be Life. It was complicated, passionate, vulnerable, deep and chaotic. I related more and more to the complex image, and time went by slowly as I flowed along the ropes of paint in Pollock’s creation. This feeling of communication between the painting and me seemed strange. This mysterious feeling awakened a curiosity within me, a thirst for the unknown – What else have I been taking for granted?

                As time passed by, I became addicted to the feeling art expressed, telling stories, feelings and frustrations through a mixture of textures and colors. Art had granted me a little world in which I could get lost in. Art provides a way to experience one self’s in relation to the universe. Art is an internal appreciation of balance and harmony, a basic human instinct that transcends the individual. This basic instinct can embody many forms: photography, dance, plastic arts and of course, writing. Being extremely logical, in each one of these forms I was capable of interpreting my feelings without over thinking. Some people choose to embrace this intangible sense, and some choose to never acknowledge its existence. I choose (and demand) the enjoyment of one of God’s greatest gifts: freedom of expression through every form.

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 Jackson Pollock