View allAll Photos Tagged odalys garcia
En primer plano, a la izquierda, las dos torres que flanquean la Puerta Alta que da acceso a la población; a continuación, más elevada, casi en el centro de la imagen, la Torre de las cinco Esquinas y en la esquina superior derecha del encuadre, la Torre de la Espuela o del Caballero de la Espuela. Se ve también parte del muro que une las distintas torres.
Guns N' Roses – “White Christmas”
Una versión del célebre villancico a manos de Axl Rose, Slash y el resto de la banda nacida en Los Ángeles. La voz es inconfundible, así como el sonido de la Gibson Les Paul del guitarrista.
Pearl Jam - "Don't believe in Christmas"
En una lista de villancicos rockeros no podía faltar esta tremenda versión de Pearl Jam del antivillancico por antonomasia de The Sonics. Ideal para aquellos que ya están cansados de las navidades el 15 de diciembre.
The Ramones - "Merry Christmas (I Don't Want to Fight Tonight)"
La banda punk más gloriosas de todos los tiempo... o al menos la que más nos gusta por muchos años que pasen. En este tema cantan a la Navidad y nos dicen que no se quieren pelear con nadie en la noche más familiar del año. Como todo lo de ellos, imprescindible.
The Pogues feat. Kirsty MacColl – "Fairytale of New York"
Si te imaginas a una banda británica de punk celta sacando una canción navideña, probablemente sea "Fairytale of New York". Lo que empieza como una lenta balada se convierte en una vibración irlandesa maravillosa. "Fairytale of New York" es un hermoso canto alcohólico borracho en forma de oda a la Navidad.
Durante este fin de semana se ha celebrado la VI edición de la Recreación de Los Sitios. En la Ciudad se han reunido unos 350 recreadores, pertenecientes a una treintena de asociaciones, procedentes tanto de España como de otros paises europeos (Francia, Malta, Italia, Irlanda, Portugal). Los participantes visten réplicas exactas de los trajes tanto civiles, como eclesiásticos y militares, cuidados hasta el mínimo detalle. Se han escenificado campamentos, desfiles y las principales batallas: En el 1808, cuando al mando del General Palafox se consiguió vencer a los asediadores y en 1809 cuando los franceses consiguieron hacerse con la plaza tras sangrientas batallas.
(De la web del Ayto. de Zaragoza)
Podría haber incluido algunos versos de la oda de Bernardo López García, pero reconozco que me gusta más la fina ironía de esta versión:
“Oigo patria tu aflicción
y del pueblo el desconcierto
que forman la corrupción
y un futuro tan incierto”
Forges por boca de su personaje “Blasillo”
*
* (s3 P) (xy w Y) (Zo) (BNy7)
"...the sky has beaches where to avoid the dawn…"
"...il cielo ha spiagge dove evitare l´alba…"
"...le ciel a des plages où éviter l´aurore…"
"...el cielo tiene playas donde evitar la aurora..."
"... o céu tem praias para fugir da aurora..."
(FEDERICO GARCÍA LORCA. Oda a Walt Whitman.)
Probando mi objetivo de enfoque manual Carl Zeiss Jena Sonnar MC 135 f/3,5 en Doña Berenguela (mi veterana Canon EOS 50D) :-), con este sencillo y natural juego de bokeh, hojas y luz.
-English:
Testing my Carl Zeiss Jena Sonnar MC 135 f/3,5 manual focus lens on Doña Berenguela (this is the name I gave to my veteran Canon EOS 50D when I bought it) :-), with this simple and natural game of bokeh, leaves & light.
Imagen protegida por Plaghunter / Image protected by Plaghunter
© Francisco García Ríos 2018- All Rights Reserved / Reservados todos los derechos.
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Gracias.
The content of these images cannot be copied,distributed or published for any media, electronic or otherwise.
The utilization in other web pages without the express written consent of the author is PROHIBITED and punishable by law.
Anyone wanting to use my photographs should contact me first to discuss the terms; so to enquire about prints, licensing, blogging and so on, please send an e-mail or message (recesvintus(at)yahoo.es).
Thank you.
*
* EXPLORE abril 2025
*
* Después de una larga intervención quirúrgica, salir del hospital y volver a casa supone todo un placer de reencuentro y de felicidad. Y como un regalo de la naturaleza, el cielo me ofreció este espectáculo con sus nubes.
* Los ritmos de la vida personal son tan aleatorios que en cualquier momento se encuentra uno ante situaciones imprevistas en las que nunca hubieras pensado.
Y el motor corporal hay que repararlo y volver a comenzar de nuevo en otras condiciones distintas a las anteriores.
Pero al final, la fortaleza, el tesón, la constancia y la gente a la que quieres y que te quieren hacen de ti una nueva persona llena de esperanza.
A TODOS ELLOS LES DEDICO MI CARIÑO Y MI AFÁN DE VIDA PRESENTE.
* Traeré a colación en esta evocación los versos de Fray Luis de León…
(Fragmento)
VIDA RETIRADA
¡Qué descansada vida
la del que huye del mundanal ruido,
y sigue la escondida
senda, por donde han ido
los pocos sabios que en el mundo han sido;
…
¡Oh monte, oh fuente, oh río!
¡Oh secreto seguro, deleitoso!
Roto casi el navío,
a vuestro almo reposo
huyo de aqueste mar tempestuoso.
Un no rompido sueño,
un día puro, alegre, libre quiero;
no quiero ver el ceño
vanamente severo
de a quien la sangre ensalza o el dinero.
Despiértenme las aves
con su cantar sabroso no aprendido;
no los cuidados graves
de que es siempre seguido
el que al ajeno arbitrio está atenido.
Vivir quiero conmigo,
gozar quiero del bien que debo al cielo,
a solas, sin testigo,
libre de amor, de celo,
de odio, de esperanzas, de recelo.
Del monte en la ladera,
por mi mano plantado tengo un huerto,
que con la primavera
de bella flor cubierto
ya muestra en esperanza el fruto cierto.
(FRAY LUIS DE LEÓN. Oda I.)
Si pudiera llorar de miedo en una casa sola,
si pudiera sacarme los ojos y comérmelos,
lo haría por tu voz de naranjo enlutado
y por tu poesía que sale dando gritos.
Oda a Federico García Lorca (fragmento)
Pablo Neruda
*
ODA A WALT WHITMAN
Por el East River y el Bronx
los muchachos cantan enseñando sus cinturas,
con la rueda, el aceite, el cuero y el martillo.
Noventa mil mineros sacaban la plata de las rocas
y los niños dibujaban escaleras y perspectivas.
Pero ninguno se dormía,
ninguno quería ser el río,
ninguno amaba las hojas grandes,
ninguno la lengua azul de la playa.
Por el East River y el Queensborough
los muchachos luchaban con la industria,
y los judíos vendían al fauno del río
la rosa de la circuncisión
y el cielo desembocaba por los puentes y los tejados
manadas de bisontes empujadas por el viento.
Pero ninguno se detenía,
ninguno quería ser nube,
ninguno buscaba los helechos
ni la rueda amarilla del tamboril.
Cuando la luna salga
las poleas rodarán para turbar el cielo;
un límite de agujas cercará la memoria
y los ataúdes se llevarán a los que no trabajan.
Nueva York de cieno,
Nueva York de alambres y de muerte.
¿Qué ángel llevas oculto en la mejilla?
¿Qué voz perfecta dirá las verdades del trigo?
¿Quién el sueño terrible de sus anémonas manchadas?
Ni un solo momento, viejo hermoso Walt Whitman,
he dejado de ver tu barba llena de mariposas,
ni tus hombros de pana gastados por la luna,
ni tus muslos de Apolo virginal,
ni tu voz como una columna de ceniza;
anciano hermoso como la niebla
que gemías igual que un pájaro
con el sexo atravesado por una aguja,
enemigo del sátiro,
enemigo de la vid
y amante de los cuerpos bajo la burda tela.
Ni un solo momento, hermosura viril
que en montes de carbón, anuncios y ferrocarriles,
soñabas ser un río y dormir como un río
con aquel camarada que pondría en tu pecho
un pequeño dolor de ignorante leopardo.
Ni un sólo momento, Adán de sangre, macho,
hombre solo en el mar, viejo hermoso Walt Whitman,
porque por las azoteas,
agrupados en los bares,
saliendo en racimos de las alcantarillas,
temblando entre las piernas de los chauffeurs
o girando en las plataformas del ajenjo,
los maricas, Walt Whitman, te soñaban.
¡También ese! ¡También! Y se despeñan
sobre tu barba luminosa y casta,
rubios del norte, negros de la arena,
muchedumbres de gritos y ademanes,
como gatos y como las serpientes,
los maricas, Walt Whitman, los maricas
turbios de lágrimas, carne para fusta,
bota o mordisco de los domadores.
¡También ése! ¡También! Dedos teñidos
apuntan a la orilla de tu sueño
cuando el amigo come tu manzana
con un leve sabor de gasolina
y el sol canta por los ombligos
de los muchachos que juegan bajo los puentes.
Pero tú no buscabas los ojos arañados,
ni el pantano oscurísimo donde sumergen a los niños,
ni la saliva helada,
ni las curvas heridas como panza de sapo
que llevan los maricas en coches y terrazas
mientras la luna los azota por las esquinas del terror.
Tú buscabas un desnudo que fuera como un río,
toro y sueño que junte la rueda con el alga,
padre de tu agonía, camelia de tu muerte,
y gimiera en las llamas de tu ecuador oculto.
Porque es justo que el hombre no busque su deleite
en la selva de sangre de la mañana próxima.
El cielo tiene playas donde evitar la vida
y hay cuerpos que no deben repetirse en la aurora.
Agonía agonía, sueño, fermento y sueño.
Éste es el mundo, amigo, agonía, agonía.
Los muertos se descomponen bajo el reloj de las ciudades,
la guerra pasa llorando con un millón de ratas grises,
los ricos dan a sus queridas
pequeños moribundos iluminados,
y la vida no es noble, ni buena, ni sagrada.
Puede el hombre, si quiere, conducir su deseo
por vena de coral o celeste desnudo.
Mañana los amores serán rocas y el Tiempo
una brisa que viene dormida por las ramas.
Por eso no levanto mi voz, viejo Walt Whítman,
entra el niño que escribe
nombre de niña en su almohada,
ni contra el muchacho que se viste de novia
en la oscuridad del ropero,
ni contra los solitarios de los casinos
que beben con asco el agua de la prostitución,
ni contra los hombres de mirada verde
que aman al hombre y queman sus labios en silencio.
Pero sí contra vosotros, maricas de las ciudades,
de carne tumefacta y pensamiento inmundo,
madres de lodo, arpías, enemigos sin sueño
del Amor que reparte coronas de alegría.
Contra vosotros siempre, que dais a los muchachos
gotas de sucia muerte con amargo veneno.
Contra vosotros siempre,
Faeries de Norteamérica,
Pájaros de la Habana,
Jotos de Méjico,
Sarasas de Cádiz,
Apios de Sevilla,
Cancos de Madrid,
Floras de Alicante,
Adelaidas de Portugal.
¡Maricas de todo el mundo, asesinos de palomas!
Esclavos de la mujer, perras de sus tocadores,
abiertos en las plazas con fiebre de abanico
o emboscadas en yertos paisajes de cicuta.
¡No haya cuartel! La muerte
mana de vuestros ojos
y agrupa flores grises en la orilla del cieno.
¡No haya cuartel! ¡Alerta!
Que los confundidos, los puros,
los clásicos, los señalados, los suplicantes
os cierren las puertas de la bacanal.
Y tú, bello Walt Whitman, duerme a orillas del Hudson
con la barba hacia el polo y las manos abiertas.
Arcilla blanda o nieve, tu lengua está llamando
camaradas que velen tu gacela sin cuerpo.
Duerme, no queda nada.
Una danza de muros agita las praderas
y América se anega de máquinas y llanto.
Quiero que el aire fuerte de la noche más honda
quite flores y letras del arco donde duermes
y un niño negro anuncie a los blancos del oro
la llegada del reino de la espiga.
Federico García Lorca (1898-1936)
_______________________
Ode to Walt Whitman
By the East River and the Bronx
boys sang, stripped to the waist,
along with the wheels, oil, leather and hammers.
Ninety thousand miners working silver from rock
and the children drawing stairways and perspectives.
But none of them slumbered,
none of them wished to be river,
none loved the vast leaves,
none the blue tongue of the shore.
By East River and the Queensboro
boys battled with Industry,
and Jews sold the river faun
the rose of circumcision
and the sky poured, through bridges and rooftops,
herds of bison driven by the wind.
But none would stop,
none of them longed to be cloud,
none searched for ferns
or the tambourine’s yellow circuit.
When the moon sails out
pulleys will turn to trouble the sky;
a boundary of needles will fence in memory
and coffins will carry off those who don’t work.
New York of mud,
New York of wire and death.
What angel lies hidden in your cheek?
What perfect voice will speak the truth of wheat?
Who the terrible dream of your stained anemones?
Not for a single moment, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
have I ceased to see your beard filled with butterflies,
nor your corduroy shoulders frayed by the moon,
nor your thighs of virgin Apollo,
nor your voice like a column of ash;
ancient beautiful as the mist,
who moaned as a bird does
its sex pierced by a needle.
Enemy of the satyr,
enemy of the vine
and lover of the body under rough cloth.
Not for a single moment, virile beauty
who in mountains of coal, billboards, railroads,
dreamed of being a river and slumbering like a river
with that comrade who would set in your breast
the small grief of an ignorant leopard.
Not for a single moment, Adam of blood, Male,
man alone on the sea, Walt Whitman, lovely old man,
because on penthouse roofs,
and gathered together in bars,
emerging in squads from the sewers,
trembling between the legs of chauffeurs
or spinning on dance-floors of absinthe,
the maricas, Walt Whitman, point to you.
Him too! He’s one! And they hurl themselves
at your beard luminous and chaste,
blonds from the north, blacks from the sands,
multitudes with howls and gestures,
like cats and like snakes,
the maricas, Walt Whitman, maricas,
disordered with tears, flesh for the whip,
for the boot, or the tamer’s bite.
Him too! He’s one! Stained fingers
point to the shore of your dream,
when a friend eats your apple,
with its slight tang of petrol,
and the sun sings in the navels
of the boys at play beneath bridges.
But you never sought scratched eyes,
nor the darkest swamp where they drown the children,
nor the frozen saliva,
nor the curved wounds like a toad’s belly
that maricas bear, in cars and on terraces,
while the moon whips them on terror’s street-corners.
You sought a nakedness like a river.
Bull and dream that would join the wheel to the seaweed,
father of your agony, camellia of your death,
and moan in the flames of your hidden equator.
For it’s right that a man not seek his delight
in the bloody jungle of approaching morning.
The sky has shores where life is avoided
and bodies that should not be echoed by dawn.
Agony, agony, dream, ferment and dream.
This is the world, my friend, agony, agony.
Bodies dissolve beneath city clocks,
war passes weeping with a million grey rats,
the rich give their darlings
little bright dying things,
and life is not noble, or sacred, or good.
Man can, if he wishes, lead his desire
through a vein of coral or a heavenly nude.
Tomorrow loves will be stones and Time
a breeze that comes slumbering through the branches.
That’s why I don’t raise my voice, old Walt Whitman,
against the boy who inscribes
the name of a girl on his pillow,
nor the lad who dresses as a bride
in the shadow of the wardrobe,
nor the solitary men in clubs
who drink with disgust prostitution’s waters,
nor against the men with the green glance
who love men and burn their lips in silence.
But yes, against you, city maricas,
of tumescent flesh and unclean thought.
Mothers of mud. Harpies. Unsleeping enemies
of Love that bestows garlands of joy.
Against you forever, you who give boys
drops of foul death with bitter poison.
Against you forever,
Fairies of North America,
Pájaros of Havana,
Jotos of Mexico,
Sarasas of Cádiz,
Apios of Seville,
Cancos of Madrid,
Floras of Alicante,
Adelaidas of Portugal.
Maricas of all the world, murderers of doves!
Slaves to women. Their boudoir bitches.
Spread in public squares like fevered fans
or ambushed in stiff landscapes of hemlock.
No quarter! Death
flows from your eyes
and heaps grey flowers at the swamp’s edge.
No quarter! Look out!!
Let the perplexed, the pure,
the classical, noted, the supplicants
close the gates of the bacchanal to you.
And you, lovely Walt Whitman, sleep on the banks of the Hudson
with your beard towards the pole and your hands open.
Bland clay or snow, your tongue is calling
for comrades to guard your disembodied gazelle.
Sleep: nothing remains.
A dance of walls stirs the prairies
and America drown itself in machines and lament.
I long for a fierce wind that from deepest night
shall blow the flowers and letters from the vault where you sleep
and a negro boy to tell the whites and their gold
that the kingdom of wheat has arrived.
Federico García Lorca (1898-1936)
(Ver ampliada)
♫♪ HELL IS CHROME– WILCO♪♪♫♪♪♫
Recordando a todos los que amamos esa mirada artificial que compartimos: nuestra cámara...
A tientas.
En ocasiones desvistiendo el vacío de sonidos y buscando hallar, tras él, la imagen con la que, inconscientemente, hemos soñado cuando la vigília nos aclamaba el pensamiento.
Entre la bruma de la espera.
Más allá de los cruces figurados que dibujan las mañanas.
En el quicio de todas las ventanas.
Entre las letras que esconde una tormenta.
Por encima de paisajes naturales o de las esenciales metáforas que precisa la vida para ser una oda inédita.
Robamos la realidad a la realidad, la recreamos. Con sus ojos, la rosa sonríe al saberse abanico; el camino deja de ser exacta senda; un paso es la escritura del recuerdo; una estación es un misterio que horada las entrañas de la ciudad y un rostro desata las olas del lenguaje.
Robamos la realidad a la realidad, la recreamos, cuando son dobles las pupilas de nuestros ojos y acechamos la realidad con la mirada artificial a la que se rinde la realidad a la que miramos.
Pura María García.
The Sacred and Divine
By Edward Rubin
It’s easy to think of mankind and nature when coming face to face with the work of artist Jackie Sleper, who is based in Utrecht, the Netherlands. For in every work of art that she creates, be it a painting, a photograph, or one of her intricate jewel-like sculptures, no matter what the subject matter is, landscape or portrait, sectarian or religious, there is something sacred and divine emanating from her work that captures both the transitory nature of beauty and the fragility of life. No doubt this magic-like melding of the earthly and the spiritual, which forms the basis of the artist’s philosophy, as well as informs her artistic output, stems in large part from her earlier education in agriculture and horticulture, even before enrolling at the Utrecht Academy for Visual Arts, where she studied painting and photography. It was at the academy, as a young lady, living and working on a farm, while pursuing her agricultural degree, that the artist was exposed to the life and death cycles of plants, animals, and the earth that supports them, on a daily basis. What better way to prepare oneself to be an artist.
Though Sleper likes to say that she was “born an artist,” it wasn’t until she was seven or eight years old when her aunt gave her a book on Frida Kahlo that she was fully awakened to her life’s calling. “I knew right then and there, and I thank Frida for this, that making art, which I was already doing much to the disapproval of my parents, was how I was going to spend the rest my life.” For the past 25 years, first locally, then countrywide, and now internationally, Sleper, who has also studied her craft in Spain, Ireland, and Czechoslovakia, has been building a reputation of some import. She was invited to participate in the Biennale Austria in 2006, and OPEN10 International Sculptures and Installations Exhibition in 2007, which is held annually in Lido, Venice. In the same year she participated in the Florence Biennale, where an international jury awarded her first prize for her sculpture and painting installations, Modestia and Dulce Y Amargo.
Sleper has been gifted with boundless energy. Every minute of her waking life, both day and night, she can be found tending to the needs of her large family, creating her art, and planning her next ten moves, sometimes doing all three at once. Being interested in world cultures and how people live their daily lives, all of which she appears to digest effortlessly during her travels, lately she has been focusing her attention on exhibiting abroad. At the Florence Biennale in 2005, the Mexico-based curator Matty Roca, also a biennale juror, was so impressed with Sleper’s soul-catching Chinese paintings and sculptures, which developed out of the artist’s trips to China, that she invited Sleper to visit her in Mexico. The resultant affair—the artist’s love of Mexico and its people—sent Sleper back home, where she spent a year channeling the soul of the Mexican people into 25 paintings and sculptures. It also led to a Roca-curated eight-museum exhibition that is currently traveling in Mexico through May 2009.
Sleper has been fascinated by Mexico ever since her early bonding with Kahlo. “Till this day whenever I look into Kahlo’s face I get goose bumps,” she said. “Seeing her eyes is like looking into my own. As an art student I wrote many stories and made many sketches and drawings about Mexico in my journal. Having my work travel to Mexico now, something that I never even dreamed of is like a prophecy fulfilled, one that brings me full circle. Growing up, I read every book about Frida that I could get my hands on. I related to Kahlo’s loneliness. I felt that we both shared a great love of humanity. Sure her work is very personal…all those self-portraits. But she was able to turn the personal into the universal, so that we all could share the pain and joy of living. This is my goal as an artist. When people see my work, I want them to feel alive, to feel good, and to be wondrously happy in the knowing that despite how hard and painful life can be that there is great joy to be had. This is why I titled my exhibition Dulce Y Amargo, which means bittersweet in English.”
While Sleper’s traveling exhibition pays tribute to the Mexican people and their culture with her use of bright colors, dramatic symbolism, and mythological images taken from the history of Mexico, many of which used by Kahlo, it also can be looked at as an homage to Kahlo. In fact, Sleper, more so in her paintings than in her sculpture, actually appears to be conjuring up the bittersweet Kahlo. In Oda A Frida Kahlo, a beautifully rendered painted photograph which the artist specifically created as a tribute to the great artist, we see two soulfully wide-eyed girls, representing happy and sad, the two parts of Kahlo’s soul, wearing colorfully embroidered dresses similar to the type that that Kahlo liked to wear. Adding more Kahlo to the picture, Sleper has placed painted flowers on top of the girls’ heads, and a monkey and a parrot, images that Kahlo liked to use in her own work. In El Corazón, another painted photograph, a young woman is seen standing beside her skeletonized dead mother. She is holding a bouquet of silver roses, which for the artist indicates the young woman’s receptivity to the wisdom that her mother has passed down to her.
Unlike Kahlo, whose most famous works, roughly one third of her life’s output, were self-portraits, Sleper, rarely, if ever, uses her own self-portrait as a platform. Instead, she focuses on painting and sculpting the human figure, sometimes using friends and family to pose. At the same time, the subject matter that the artist chooses to both visit, re-present, and thus pass on to future generations tells us a lot about the inner workings of her own soul—the customs and history, both ancient and contemporary, as well as the underlying beliefs that both inform and drive the daily passions of the Mexican people. If you ask her how a particular work was born, she will say in her charming Dutch English accent, “It’s a strange thing and it’s hard to explain, but ideas just come to me. I am always busy working with the connections between the earth and universe. Basically I communicate with everything, the earth, nature, people, animals, cars…everything, even the ‘higher being.’ I see myself as an intermediary, a middle woman. It is as if there is some sort of channel that is opened, and it goes on and on and on. I feel more what I am going to do than I think it.”
While, outwardly Sleper’s paintings and her one-of-a-kind sculptures, which the artist likes to refer to as objects, are readily accessible on many levels, the simplest of levels being what you see is what you get. Every art work that she produces, being a naturally ebullient storyteller herself, comes with its own history. The majority of her work subjectwise, whether contemporary or historical, appears to be based, is it is in this exhibition, on the artist’s love of mankind, her respect for life, the environment, and mankind’s need for freedom. Love and the respect for a life fully lived is the subject of her portraits of Arturo García Bustos and his wife Rina Lazo, two of Kahlo’s and Diego Rivera’s artist friends, that she met in Mexico. Here both sitters, with a friendly smile playing across their face, are looking at the artist and by extension us. It is obvious that they are posing for history. In the background of Bustos’s portrait are fish, in Lazo’s are cornfields, both symbolizing life. Further fleshing out the story, to the right of Bustos, who was also the Kahlo’s pupil, Sleper added the great artist’s face to indicate their relationship.
In Danza Y Música Sleper’s four-canvas paean to Mexican music and dance we see two performers, a singer and a dancer, dressed in traditional garb. Here the artist brilliantly catches the fiery passions of each artist, seemingly in mid-performance, as they sing and dance the soul of the Mexican people. In Religión, a particularly stunning work, impressed by the variety tombstones in the local cemetery, many of which combined the religious images of Catholicism and the old Mexican culture, the artist gives us, in truly moving shades of pink with flowers that decorate the sky, a very much alive city of the dead. In Modestia, an elegantly painted light blue horse is seen standing in an Arcadian field of clover. With its head and tail held high, the horse is celebrating its freedom and independence. Across the right side of the canvas, written in her own hand, not unlike the Mexican retablos that thank God, the Virgin Mary and the Saints for a miracle bestowed upon them during life’s trials are the artist’s poetic reflections on the fragility of life.
While Sleper’s paintings are not without a sublime beauty of their own, it is her intricately crafted, world-filled magical-like porcelain and fired clay creations that have been attracting the attention of critics, collectors and audiences alike. It is here that her imagination, from Byzantine to Rococo to the Surreal, runs wild. It is also here that Sleper spends countless hours searching for the necessary materials both manufactured and hand crafted by artisans that she seamlessly incorporates into her final vision. “A lot of materials that I use, for example the roses, lemons, scorpions, are produced to my specifications in Italy by a good friend of mine. He is a ‘professore’ in ceramics and his students, using molds and templates that I create, execute my designs. I also find many wonderful things in flea markets and jewelry stores. The good thing about this way of working is that each piece is different and therefore unique, and that to me is very important as I do not like mass production. That is why I never produce a work twice. Only once I made a ‘mass product’ 25 lamps for the Kruisheren Hotel in Maastricht in Holland, but I am not a supporter of this. I am an artist not a designer”.
As every artist knows, crating and shipping costs are astronomical and they seem to rising with the price of oil. Add the logistics of shipping an entire exhibition to another country and once it gets there transporting the work to different museums around the country, can be a nightmare. The possibility of breakage, theft, and the dealing with customs, city and museums officials along the way, has produced many a sleepless night for both Sleper and Roca. More so in Sleper’s case as her porcelain and clay objects are extremely fragile. “So far we have been blessed,” Sleper says, “Every museum that I have shown in so far, and there have been three, have gone out of their way to make sure that my work is not only handled with care, but beautifully displayed. I have to thank Matty for this as she has a very strong hand in making sure that all goes right for me.” It also helps that Sleper’s work is shipped in specially constructed “state of the art” crates. If not for these crates her work would arrive in pieces. To get the full jolt of what fragility means in Sleper’s case, think Faberge Egg. There is the solid shell of egg itself, the main body of Sleper’s constructed objects, and the intricately designed outside and inside of the egg, which is delicately decorated, as it is in many of the artist’s sculptures, with glass, porcelain, jewels and precious metals.
Fertilidad a traditional looking Mayan statue that the artist made out of clay, is a good example, not only of fragility but how the artist builds her work. At first glance Fertilidad appears to be the least fragile sculpture on view. But on further examination, which Sleper’s intricately constructed works demand, we see a man carrying a porcelain doll from the 1920s. Sprouting out of the top of his head are hundreds of tiny colorful animals that the artist bought from a ceramist during her first visit to Mexico. The doll that he is holding is standing on a spray of turquoise gems. On top of the doll’s head is an amethyst on which a little butterfly has alighted. Dulce Y Amargo, two pyramids of lemons, one crowned with a young man, the other a woman, is the artist’s ode to the Mexican people. One of the stars of the 2007 Florence Biennale, the installation speaks of the bitter and sweet duality of life. The lemons represent the oppression and poverty the Mexican people have long suffered, while the porcelain bird and flower covered man and woman rising from this temple of lemons symbolizes the eternal hope for a better future.
In Devoción the artist returns, in a somewhat humorous vein, to the Catholic religion. Here we see a near-kitsch, angel the type sold in curio and tourist shops, in the midst of prayer. Around his head, the artist at her doctoring best has placed a rosary of garnets. On the angel’s back instead of wings, some twenty pregnant flamingos are about to take flight. “The majority of Mexicans are Catholic,” Sleper says, “and being very devout they also have a large family, which is why I put a baby in the stomach of each Flamingo.” The simplest and most humorous piece in this exhibition, dedicated to Roca and the Mexican people is Rocatizada. Here the artist takes red, green and yellow hand painted ceramic peppers and attaches them to wheels which she bought from a furniture factory that was going out of business. The peppers represent fire and passion, while the wheels, which point in every which way, symbolize the ability to quickly move in every direction, a perfect description of the exhibition’s energetic curator.
While the last few years have been especially good to the Sleper with exhibition after exhibition after exhibition, as her future plans indicate, the extremely hard working artist, who says she never wanted to be anything but an artist ― though jokingly she says that being a movie star has crossed her mind ― is not about to slow down. With offers coming in to visit Australia and India, where she would study the culture as she did in China and Mexico, and possible museum exhibitions in Chile and Venezuela, success in her near future is all but assured. “I love working. It actually energizes me. It makes me a stronger person. I love. I learn. I grow. I share. This is what being a mother, a wife, and artist is all about.” Still, the very practical Sleper, always the optimist, does have her dreams. Topping her wish list is finding the perfect gallery to represent her worldwide. Topping the top of her wish list she would like to see her work exhibited at the Venice Biennale. “I’d love to represent my country at the Venice Biennale. And why not! Just look around you. Miracles are happening all over the place”.
*Photo credit: LTC Lance Wilson - Lone Surfer of the Apocalypse 2011
Commander 'Ace' Preston - SFG 13/ODA 911 - Clandestine Surgical Operations (Black Light) & Mao Zedong being airlifted back & forth to heliport base from Chun Buri via helicopter rescuing drowning civilians and stranded pets on 18 Oct 11, courtesy of S.P.E.C.T.E.R. (Special/Subversion Parasitism/Protocol Executives-Counter-Terrorism Espionage/Revolution)/G.H.O.S.T.S. (Global/Guerrilla Hagiarchy/Hallucinatory Operative-Special Tactics Surveillance/Sabotage) = "STS".
"Being heroes is what STS does best. They really don't know anything else, except, one can die anytime on a special ops team.. they just don't think about it cause they were drunk."
"OPERATION NOAH'S ARC" 2011 Thailand
Compelled by altruism to engage the flood since team leader happened to be living in exile in nearby Chengdu, China, after years of betrayal by the treasonous Obama Administration and treachery of the liberal State of New York, when it was alerted of the national crisis.
STS regrouped in Thailand after arriving on 28 Sep 11, STS to form a special unit of volunteers, codenamed 'Threat con Delta', made up of Viet Nam Vets, ExPats, surfers, and mercenaries.
In the race against time STS arrived at Ayutthaya, the ancient capital of Thailand which was partially submerged.
STS motivation factor recalled the past rescue efforts made by the People's Liberation Army during the Wenchuan Earthquake of 5/12/08.
Back in 2008 STS had traveled to China to prepare diplomatic security for the 2008 Olympics and became enthralled as part of the rescue efforts in the earthquake ridden areas outside of Chengdu China as part of the voluntary USA Rescue Team nicknamed the 'The High Mountain Rangers' in honor of Merrill's Marauders.
The National Disaster Relief Commission had initiated a "Level II emergency contingency plan". The plan rose to Level I at 22:15 CST, May 12, 2008, which covers the most serious class of natural disasters.
An earthquake emergency relief team of 184 people, 150 from the Beijing Military Area Command, and 22 from the Armed Police General Hospital left Beijing from Nanyuan Airport late May 12 in two military transport planes to travel to Wenchuan County.
Heavy rain and landslides in Wenchuan County badly affected rescue efforts. At the start of rescue operations on May 12, 2008 twenty helicopters were deployed for the delivery of food, water, and emergency aid, and the evacuation of the injured as well as a reconnaissance of the quake-stricken areas.
Many rescue teams, including that of the Taipei Fire Department from Taiwan, were reported ready to join the rescue effort in Sichuan as early as Wednesday, however, the Red Cross Society of China said that on May 13 it was inconvenient currently due to the traffic problem to the hardest hit areas closest to the epicenter.
Landslides continuously threatened the progress of a search and rescue group of 80 men from a motorized infantry brigade under commander, Yang Wenyao, tried to reach the ethnically Tibetan village of Sier.
The extreme terrain conditions prevented the use of helicopters.
Over 300 of the Tibetan villagers were stranded in their demolished village for 5 days without food or water before the rescue group finally arrived to help the injured stranded villagers down the mountain side.
On May 13, 2008 a total of over 15,600 troops and militia reservists from the Chengdu Military Region had joined the rescue force in the most heavily affected areas.
A commander reported from Yingxiu town that around 3,000 survivors were found, while the status of the other 9,000 inhabitants remained unclear.
The 1,300 rescuers reached the epicenter, and 300 pioneer troops reached the main town of Wenchuan.
On the afternoon of May 14, 2008 fifteen Special Operations Troops parachuted into inaccessible Maoxian County, northeast of Wenchuan. They did this so that others may live.
More than 3 years later on 19 Oct 11 Ace & Mao Evacuate Thailand in the final mission also known as the anal emission.
Commander Sub-Zero X (commando involved again - para-rescue mercenary special ops secret agent war hero) after being ordered to volunteer awaits to be air lifted back from Bangkok LZ heliport base after setting up for US Marines Recon Force Patrol Water Team.
Rangers bled all the way.. Pathfinders in the rear.. Special Forces takes a back seat.. Commander X of 'Threat con Delta' "First In/First Out".
I was in… Sang Bang… Dang Gong… I was all over the place, a lot of places. I was with the Green Berets, Special Unit Battalions…Commando Airborne Tactics…Specialist Tactics Unit Battalion. Yeah, it was real hush hush. I was Agent Orange, Special Agent Orange, that was me. Man, I was trained by “Wild Bill Donohue” and “the guys from OSS.” We infiltrated EVERYWHERE. No place was sacred to us.
I remember that like it was yesterday, man, we wuz knee dip in da shit when all hell broke loose and the VC chief, Ping Pong, wuz runnin his drug empire with the help of the CIA and Air America and we crashed the party.
There wuz drugs and body parts everywhere when we wuz inserted at high speed by specially modified F-105 Thunderchickens with our trusty K-Bars and 2 grenades.
When the smoke cleared, we sat down, got high on the leftover drugs and had a bbq with the pigs we slaughtered in the compound. The CIA left us alone, even though we messed up there drug operation, cuz we woulda taken them out, too.
Then we went after Chief Ping Pong’s right hand man, Col. Wat da Phuck, we didn’t have no more no grenades left, we just got CIA issued garote wire so we could be real stealthy like.
We didn’t get no fancy ride in a Thunderchicken this time. We had to walk in from Russia through China with the help of the Tibetan monk underground railroad. By the time we got there Col. Wat da Phuck was onto us and got rid of the CIA drugs so we just skinned him with out garote wire using the special NSASpecOpSec.7 training on that technique and dried the skin, grinding it into powder and shooting it up.
I woke up on a black helicopter heading for Cambodia 2 weeks later having made Lieutenant Colonel while in a coma.
Yeah, I woulda made full bird Colonel, but they framed me for some narco thing, cuz I was gettin too close to the Reagan White House connection back in the 80s with the Contras. They knew I could blow the top off their operation, so they set me up. I wuz too quick for them though and got out before they could get me.
The only thing keepin me alive is that I have all the documentation on their activities hidden in a vault at John’s house……Oops, I shouldn’t have said that. Oh well, they can torture John, but I know he won’t give up the Haliburton plan to them, he’s one tuff super secret nighthawk commando from shadow section, ghost platoon from Camp Mackall, the kind of training you do before you kill 10,000 NVA in ‘Nam with your P-38 c-rat can opener… If you don't have a P-38 you ate MREs in the ‘Nam, so Spec Ops – the CIA time-traveled to 1984 to get them for him.
Recruited for the coolest secret squirrel team in history right out of Basic Training whose exploits of this team of super, commie killers jumping out of OV-10 Broncos.
Never “stationed” in Vietnam. The “team” would hang out at their hometown until the Army came and got them for a mission – then they’d fly 'em to Vietnam from the States for operations, because, ya know, there were so few soldiers between Vietnam and the States that the Army could get to the theater faster.
Then they would do ops like deliver an envelope to a Cambodian general. There was no one closer to Vietnam that could do that complicated shit.
The Army convinced me to go to that SpecOps agent-producing Basic Airborne Course in super-secret Fort Benning. I remember the CIA tried recruiting me from Zero Week while I was guarding the Infantry Museum with a stick.
So I joined in May 1982 – 10 years after combat forces were withdrawn from Vietnam which is why they had to fly me back and forth from the States – even though putting me in Japan, the Philippines, Guam, Hawaii, Diego Garcia, or South Korea might have been easier and ETS’d in 1988.
By the time I had ETS’d I was a Staff Sergeant – submitting my promotion package to the E-5 and E-7 boards on the same day.
On one mission, flying in a C-119 from a secret air base in Vietnam, caught a Surface to Air Missile as I crossed the Thai border.
Luckily, the surface to air missile only hit the cargo I was carrying so I merely pushed the heavy pallets out so I could continue. Turns out that the missile also damaged the tail section so we had to crash land the aircraft – again, luckily, we crashed a few hundred meters from a secret airstrip in Thailand.
As I straggled up to the secret airbase which was so secret that they didn’t need perimeter guards or fences, all of the pilots were hanging around their aircraft drinking beer because that’s what pilots do – they hang around their aircraft and drink beer all hours of the days and nights. They said “We saw you crash. Here, have a beer.” Whew!
For my missions to South America, instead of using the traditional methods of reconnaissance, we would use “remote viewers”, like the psychics who travel around in their minds and see stuff in another part of the world, probably only used the remote viewing powers learned for watching porn.
I wondered why I’d bother using sophisticated electronic equipment to monitor drug routes when all I needed to do was to have these remote viewers watch the stuff for me but it turns out that the CIA decided that dealing drugs was a more lucrative way to fund the government than taxing the shit out of a few hundred million American people.
They started 'Operaton Just Cause' to firm up the drug trafficking routes. Iran-Contra was just a part of it all – damn that Ollie North!
I have documentation that would bring down the government if I ever released it and that’s why I'm still alive. Publish proof of the government’s treachery with a letter from the Department of Energy to the Environmental Protection Agency telling them to shut down.
The EPA’s dirty pot-smoking hippies were just a cover for elite special operations thugs in that panelled room far reading the minds of small hmong children and saigon whores after meeting another guy in a bar that can’t talk about what he did because it was so secret as part of a “black ops” team that parachuted into Angola during my secret proxy with the South Africans to stop them from using nukes to destroy apartheid opponents.
If I was hiding, I’d put my picture on the internet where no one can find it.
Abajo: Pablo Quiroz Jiménez, Gilo Luis García, Elena Córdova García, Lucía Tenorio Oda.
Arriba: Juan José Cárdeno Freyre, Miguel Rosas Vigil, Anabell García Casas, Gerardo Pérez Álvarez, Alma Verónica Méndez García, Jacqueline Kennedy Palacios y Verónica Hámilton Álvarez
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Photo: Eduardo Garcia Rangel
Fashion Stylist: Benjamin Barba @ aries Mx City
Fashion Assistants: Wendy Tapia and Fernanda Perezanta
Production Coordination: Luis M. Castro
Production Assistant: Ricardo Montoya
Make Up Artist: Jonathan Lule @ Velvet Group
Hair: Jose Labastida @ Velvet Group
Lucía Tenorio Oda, Elenita Martínez Aguilar, Elena Córdova García y Sabrina Spada Allibardi. Foto cortesía Curri de Esesarte.
Das spanische Originalzitat "[...] Ni un solo momento, viejo hermoso Walt Whitman, he dejado de ver tu barba llena de mariposas [...]" entstammt Federico García Lorcas 1930 niedergeschriebenem Vers "Oda a Walt Whitman".
Los Tigres del Norte
Juan Antonio Melendez
Conjunto Primavera
Jenny Rivera
Hector Acosta 'El Torito'
Pedro Luis Garcia 'El Bacan Bacan'
Odalys Molina
Julieta Venegas
Proyecto realizado para el trabajo de Marketing Político que se trataba de crear la Imagen publicitaria de un candidato ficticio, en este caso para el Distrito XIV de Aguascalientes
Sixtus és un grup musical català de rock, ska, reggae i punk. Originari d'Osona, està especialment centrat en versions de banda dels èxits de la música catalana de les dècades del 1990, 2000 i 2010, per bé que ha publicat cançons pròpies.
La banda està formada per Jordi Company (Torelló), Rai Pujol (Roda de Ter), Aleix Garcia (Vinyoles d'Orís), Jordi Llimós (Sant Hipòlit de Voltregà), Gil Grau i Nil Molas (Manlleu) i Marc Culebras (Navàs). L'any 2020, durant la pandèmia per la COVID-19, van rebre una cobertura mediàtica significativa en català per la seva oda musical a l'epidemiòleg català Oriol Mitjà i Villar.
Sixtus ha estat avaluat com un dels grups de versions amb més projecció dels Països Catalans atesa la seua interacció amb el públic juvenil i un repertori de tarannà innovador amb temes musicals consolidats. En aquest sentit, fou nominat en la categoria de millor grup de versions per a festes majors en els Premis ARC de 2019 —atorgats per l'Associació de Representants, Promotors i Mànagers de Catalunya.
Germán Rizo is a Mexican poet and narrator residing in the United States. He wrote his first poems at the age of ten, in which he described landscapes of his land and amatory stages, influenced by the poets of Romanticism. He went on to study Business Administration. Rizo has published Cantos del alma y la vida (2014), Bajo la sombra del corazón (2016) and contributed to the anthology Equilibrios contrarios, tributo a Federico García Lorca (2015); he has a third book in the process of editing: Atráeme contigo, a dos manos con la poeta Odalys Interián. Rizo lives in Portland, Oregon, where he actively participates in cultural events and poetry readings. Several of his texts have been read on the radio and television stations of his city of residence. He has also collaborated with some international literary magazines. He is currently a member of the Hispanic Poets and Writers Association AIPEH-Miami.
Viernes por la tarde, leyendo a Marta Osorio.
'(...) soledad silenciosa sin olor ni veleta (...)'.
(Apuntes para una oda. Federico García Lorca)
8mm
498 photos_1h30 min = 26 ' '
music_joe satriani.
software_Imovie.
Germán Rizo is a Mexican poet and narrator residing in the United States. He wrote his first poems at the age of ten, in which he described landscapes of his land and amatory stages, influenced by the poets of Romanticism. He went on to study Business Administration. Rizo has published Cantos del alma y la vida (2014), Bajo la sombra del corazón (2016) and contributed to the anthology Equilibrios contrarios, tributo a Federico García Lorca (2015); he has a third book in the process of editing: Atráeme contigo, a dos manos con la poeta Odalys Interián. Rizo lives in Portland, Oregon, where he actively participates in cultural events and poetry readings. Several of his texts have been read on the radio and television stations of his city of residence. He has also collaborated with some international literary magazines. He is currently a member of the Hispanic Poets and Writers Association AIPEH-Miami.
Germán Rizo is a Mexican poet and narrator residing in the United States. He wrote his first poems at the age of ten, in which he described landscapes of his land and amatory stages, influenced by the poets of Romanticism. He went on to study Business Administration. Rizo has published Cantos del alma y la vida (2014), Bajo la sombra del corazón (2016) and contributed to the anthology Equilibrios contrarios, tributo a Federico García Lorca (2015); he has a third book in the process of editing: Atráeme contigo, a dos manos con la poeta Odalys Interián. Rizo lives in Portland, Oregon, where he actively participates in cultural events and poetry readings. Several of his texts have been read on the radio and television stations of his city of residence. He has also collaborated with some international literary magazines. He is currently a member of the Hispanic Poets and Writers Association AIPEH-Miami.
Germán Rizo is a Mexican poet and narrator residing in the United States. He wrote his first poems at the age of ten, in which he described landscapes of his land and amatory stages, influenced by the poets of Romanticism. He went on to study Business Administration. Rizo has published Cantos del alma y la vida (2014), Bajo la sombra del corazón (2016) and contributed to the anthology Equilibrios contrarios, tributo a Federico García Lorca (2015); he has a third book in the process of editing: Atráeme contigo, a dos manos con la poeta Odalys Interián. Rizo lives in Portland, Oregon, where he actively participates in cultural events and poetry readings. Several of his texts have been read on the radio and television stations of his city of residence. He has also collaborated with some international literary magazines. He is currently a member of the Hispanic Poets and Writers Association AIPEH-Miami.
20150708-2358 FTR HAWAII FIVE-0
Hawaii Five-0 cast and crew gather for their tradition Hawaiian blessing for the upcoming sixth season at Koko Head Neighborhood Park. Cast members Alex O’Loughlin (Steve McGarrett), Daniel Dae Kim (Chin Ho Kelly), Grace Park (Kona “Kono” Kalakaua), Chi McBride (Lou Grover), Jorge Garcia (Conspiracy Theorist), Dennis Chun (Duke Lukela) and Ian Anthony Dale (Adam Noshimuri) were present. This is (l-r) Kahu Kordell Kekoa presiding over the blessing ceremony with Alex O’Loughlin, Jeff Downer (co-exec. producer), Bryan Spicer (co-exec. producer and director) and Peter M. Lenkov (Exec. Prod.) holding the mail lei as the sun peaks over the horizon in the east. PHOTO BY DENNIS ODA. JULY 8, 2015.
Buenos Aires, 18 de septiembre de2015.
En el marco del ciclo de Ópera Contemporánea que impulsa la Dirección Nacional de Artes, del Ministerio de Cultura de la Nación, se presentó el ensayo general con invitados de “La oda a Napoleón”, de A.Schoenberg y “L'officina della resurrezione” del compositor argentino Fabián Panisello, en la Cúpula del Centro Cultural Kirchner.
Ficha artística y técnica
Régie: Emilio García Wehbi
Dirección musical: Fabián Panisello
Piano: Jorge Pepi
Barítonos: Víctor Torres
Guillermo Anzorena
Cuarteto de cuerdas UNTREF:
David Núñez
Carlos Brítez
Mariano Malamud
Martín Devoto
Actrices: Maricel Álvarez, Lucrecia Sacchelli
Escenografía: Julieta Potenze
Iluminación: Agnese Lozupone
Vestuario: Belén Parra
Germán Rizo is a Mexican poet and narrator residing in the United States. He wrote his first poems at the age of ten, in which he described landscapes of his land and amatory stages, influenced by the poets of Romanticism. He went on to study Business Administration. Rizo has published Cantos del alma y la vida (2014), Bajo la sombra del corazón (2016) and contributed to the anthology Equilibrios contrarios, tributo a Federico García Lorca (2015); he has a third book in the process of editing: Atráeme contigo, a dos manos con la poeta Odalys Interián. Rizo lives in Portland, Oregon, where he actively participates in cultural events and poetry readings. Several of his texts have been read on the radio and television stations of his city of residence. He has also collaborated with some international literary magazines. He is currently a member of the Hispanic Poets and Writers Association AIPEH-Miami.
Zabriskie Point is a part of Amargosa Range east of Death Valley in Death Valley National Park in the United States noted for its erosional landscape. It is composed of sediments from Furnace Creek Lake, which dried up 5 million years ago—long before Death Valley came into existence. Weathering and alteration by thermal waters are also responsible for the variety of colors represented there. Zabriskie Point is also the name of a 1970 movie by Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni; its soundtrack features music by British band Pink Floyd and Jerry Garcia. We visited the place in June 2008.
A Zabriskie Point nevű erodált sziklákból álló táj a Death Valley Nemzeti Parkban, Kaliforniában. A névvel még a közgáz-filmklubban találkoztam 14 évvel korábban, a hasonló című film és a zenéjét adó Pink Floyd lemez kapcsán. A sziklák érdekes látványt nyújtottak, mikor kirándulásunk alkalmával - nem sokkal napnyugta előtt - oda érkeztünk, 2008. júniusában.
Germán Rizo is a Mexican poet and narrator residing in the United States. He wrote his first poems at the age of ten, in which he described landscapes of his land and amatory stages, influenced by the poets of Romanticism. He went on to study Business Administration. Rizo has published Cantos del alma y la vida (2014), Bajo la sombra del corazón (2016) and contributed to the anthology Equilibrios contrarios, tributo a Federico García Lorca (2015); he has a third book in the process of editing: Atráeme contigo, a dos manos con la poeta Odalys Interián. Rizo lives in Portland, Oregon, where he actively participates in cultural events and poetry readings. Several of his texts have been read on the radio and television stations of his city of residence. He has also collaborated with some international literary magazines. He is currently a member of the Hispanic Poets and Writers Association AIPEH-Miami.
Zabriskie Point is a part of Amargosa Range east of Death Valley in Death Valley National Park in the United States noted for its erosional landscape. It is composed of sediments from Furnace Creek Lake, which dried up 5 million years ago—long before Death Valley came into existence. Weathering and alteration by thermal waters are also responsible for the variety of colors represented there. Zabriskie Point is also the name of a 1970 movie by Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni; its soundtrack features music by British band Pink Floyd and Jerry Garcia. We visited the place in June 2008.
A Zabriskie Point nevű erodált sziklákból álló táj a Death Valley Nemzeti Parkban, Kaliforniában. A névvel még a közgáz-filmklubban találkoztam 14 évvel korábban, a hasonló című film és a zenéjét adó Pink Floyd lemez kapcsán. A sziklák érdekes látványt nyújtottak, mikor kirándulásunk alkalmával - nem sokkal napnyugta előtt - oda érkeztünk, 2008. júniusában.