Sunday, April 26, 2009
Art and design
by Claudia Rivas
Born in Lima-Perú, Claudia has been working in several advertising agencies, art galleries and independent projects in her country, trying to bring together art and design. She also likes to experiment in new fields making led shoes, boots, videos, accessories and clothes through her brand Poks (www.poksperu.com)
“Walking by this new way I came from Lima to NY. In both places the colors are symbols of the immediate feeling. I try to play with each one; to mix it with movement lines, volumes and virtual spaces; to achieve compositions and try to transmit a little about myself, express myself and motivate my recipients through this language.”
The life of mammals
By Juan Betancurth
JUAN BETANCURTH is a Colombian born artist. He has exhibited his work throughout North and South America, most recently The Queens Museum of Art, Local Project and various public spaces in Lower Manhattan. His work revolves around the exploration of his own life and personal mythology. His mixed media works are created at home, where the space in which his pieces are created takes on as much meaning as the work itself. For more information visit www.juanbetancurth.com
eL Paper is
Editor: Elisa Clark
Copy editors: Aída R. Gil, Franklin Fisher
Art and design: Claudia Rivas
Art staff: María Tapia
Writers: JuanMapu, Elisa Clark, Natalia Gianella, Aída R. Gil, Gabi Pawelec, Nicole Delgado and Eladio Frío Yungay
Contributors: Juan Betancurth, Carlos Martínez, Carla Trinidad, Carolina Peñafiel, Sol Aramendi and María Tapia
eL Paper is published by Local Project, a 501 (c)(3) nonprofit organization committed to building a forum for artists; creating synergy between their artwork and the public. LP supports all forms of self-expression by providing an open space for artists without concern to their genre, medium, or provenance.
Local Project is located at:
45-10 Davis St
7 Train to Court House Square.
E,V,G Train to Ely Station.
Strange Postcards
Trafixxx
by Elisa Clark, from Chile
Santiago Centro-Downtown: San Isidro Street. You have to walk by big old houses, old neighbors and the new ones, local and immigrants from nearby countries, sitting on the thresholds in the sun. Like them, you watch how some of the old houses are being torn down, before getting to a corner full of graffiti, far away from commercial galleries. Young people go back and forth across the street carrying bottles of beer. There are art installations, paintings and more graffiti inside. The lady in pajamas lives next door. Djs’ music, street actions, more and more local people coming into the space to share a glass of wine while looking at artwork, maybe for the first time. Some strangers arrive incognito: like Rodney Palmer, an English art historian who bought some graffiti paintings and later wrote about the gallery, and like myself; arriving one evening to have a beer. The flow was so natural (the neighbors watching us at the window, the old lady walking to the deli in her pajamas), that I forgot a little about myself, about rules and maybe about courtesy, and I lay against a volcano that had feet; it was beautiful I must say. Someone touched my shoulder and told me not to lie there. Then I moved to the wall but it also had shoes and legs. I was attracted to the idea of sitting on the grass around a tree…in the middle of the room; but two men were watering it and I understood. At the end I understood: a collective of people tries to sprout their points of view, using any wall, any corner, and the whole city if necessary, just to say” Here we are. This is what we have to tell”
Trafix is a platform for a gallery on movement representing 20 artists and supported by a team of six people. The space is self-financed through the personal work of the board members, fellowships and the sale of art pieces. The exhibition on course during my visit was I am naturaleza (I am nature), by Javier González and Jaime Nun. At this moment they are moving to another house.
ELISA CLARK is a nomadic inhabitant of nowhere and everywhere at the same time. She is always planning a trip and hopes to one day publish her first book: a travel novel. She has been dreaming about this magazine as an imaginary space, wherein we would be able to share and undergo the experience of being someone other than our ordinary selves.
Just things
by Carolina Peñafiel
CAROLA is about making things happen. Frequently, she’s been taking her camera to capture the communities she passes through each day. Most of the time she’s bumping into thrifty vintage vendors, like her number one store in Long Island City "Just things". If you just have arrived in NYC and meet Carola, you'll be hooked after a deep underground tour around town.
Las fotos de Carola/ Carola´pictures
Saturday, April 25, 2009
DYLAN Y ALEX (NYC)
Poem and Painting by María Tapia
I PLAYED SOCCER WITH DYLAN,
IT WAS A LOT OF WORK
HE MADE LOTS OF TRASH BEHIND HIM
WASTING PAPER, TRYING TO TELL HIS DREAMS;
DREAMS THAT DON’T COME EASILY BECAUSE HE’S ONLY 5.
IT WAS LIKE HE HAD 10 COFFEES ON THURSDAY; GUITAR CLASS,
ADAM AND ALEX WERE DANCING
WE ATE FIG BISCUITS. DYLAN SHOWED ME HOW HE PLAYS THE PIANO
HE WAS A KIND OF LAME
BUT THAT SMILE ON HIS FACE
WAS WORTH 1O MILLION DOLARS.
DYLAN HAD A CRISIS,
WE TOOK THE BUS
WE WALKED HOME
WITHOUT A SHOE
WE ATE,
WE SLEPT
MARIA TAPIA was born in Lima-Peru in 1977. She is an emerging artist with a Bachelor´s of Fine Arts in drawing and painting. María is also an illustrator and make-up artist. Living in Brooklyn’s Sunset Park since July 2007, she defines herself as an Inmigrante Peruana.
meri_musik@hotmail.com
Carne de barrio (1)
Por Eladio Frío Yungay
Personajes de carne:
El afilador de cuchillos-El tortillero- La feria- Los cabros del colectivo “del mono”- la boticaria-Pedrojuanydiego-El kiltro callejuelas-El cadáver y la iglesia.
Personajes de aire:
Eladio Frío Yungay.
PRIMER ACTO SIMULTANEO AL SEGUNDO Y CORRELATIVO E INVOLUNTARIO AL TERCERO
(amanece al mediodía)
Los cabros del colectivo del mono (entre ellos)
…falta gamba pa la báltica, tengo la terrible sed (replica).
Pedrojuanydiego (transitando inexacto)
…ahí esta la gamboa y póngale dos más a la cuneta.
Los cabros del colectivo del mono (raudos ya a la botillería)
… gran actuación la de anoche. Casi la compramos crudita. La sangre…
Pedrojuanydiego
…años de circo pues…
Los cabros del colectivo del mono (intriga sustancial)
…suponemos que era real? El afilador nos enseñó el truco. Tentador…
Pedrojuanydiego (hacia la boticaria)
…tía, tres cristales luminosos. Las más frías de la comarca por fa. Ah!!!! Y tres belmont y dos papelillos (donde deje el paraguah?- pensó)
La boticaria (en tono grave descendente)
…no se les vaya a hinchar el hocico a estos panes de dios. Sáquelas ud. mismo mijito…
Pedrojuanydiego
…no me hable de saques tía por favor. Me duele la guata al toque…
Los cabros del colectivo del mono (retorciéndose )
…somos de una sola línea. Una línea cada cinco minutos…(réplica)
La boticaria (al pedrojuanydiego)
…Increíble lo suyo. Pareció tan real que hasta me asusté. La sangre…
SEGUNDO ACTO CONTRA EL TERCERO, PANTOMIMA DEL PRIMERO
(atardecer del mediodía)
El afilador de cuchillos (Mientras pisa el pedal remitiendo la chispa)
…he gastado tantas calles como cuchillos y en la vida no creo haber tenido tanto miedo. Miedo a la crueldad. A la crueldad de la ficción escapada desde mi propio arte…
El kiltro callejuelas (En silencio perruno)
… y yo!!! Te he seguido a través de innumerables desiertos, extinciones de romances prematuros, solamente tus pasos circulares, desvaneciéndose al tacto. ¿Y cómo quedo? como perro muerto ante el desazón…
El afilador de cuchillos (Ceño fruncido)
…no te creas que no te oigo, maldito ser en cuatro patas, mi mejor amigo…
La feria (sin ella)
…en todos los pasillos se habla de los dos ensayos, de la sangre, del miedo. Las verduras inquietas se sobresaltan sin más ni más a las bolsas. Y qué decir de las frutas. Prostitutas al mejor postor. Lárguense ya…
El afilador de cuchillos (en consulta extrema)
…ya se sabe en todo el barrio. La noche lo espera. De dónde salió?...
El kiltro callejuelas
…y la sangre?…
LA TERCERA ES LA VENCIDA SOBRE NO HAY PRIMERA SIN SEGUNDA (TERCER ACTO)
( anochece al mediodía)
El cadáver y la iglesia
…al parecer ya estamos listos. Las vigas, los clavos, sólo falta que el afilador nos traiga sus dagas chilotas, filosas como el agua infectada de machas…
La feria (escondida ya del grito casero)
…lleve de lo bueno (2)…
Pedrojuanydiego
... no puedes llegar y sacarlas. Pasearte sin pasaporte por la vida, sin vida, como si nada pasara. La costilla es dura, pero no dudes que será enterrada…
El cadáver y la iglesia ( como quien no quiere la cosa)
…te he visto hacer por más de chorrocientos años este antropófago acto sin misericordia por el espectador. Por fin se acaba esta locura…
El tortillero (garganta carraspeada al son de la tortilla)
… traje las tortillas multiplicadas para evitar la fatiga. El pez vivo, el vino agrio…
La feria
…entremos a apurarnos, desaten los nudos de las hieles, hacer tripas corazón de aserrín y azotemos los caracoles sobre el moho. La parentela ya se presenta impaciente…
El cadáver y la iglesia (vislumbrando el quiebre de las esquinas hacia el tumulto)
…abro las piernas de par en par. Podéis ingresar por la vulva caliente sin miedo ni más oposición que el designio de este triste espectáculo inválido desde el origen, poesía rancia contra los dioses muertos…
Pedrojuanydiego
...gran prefacio facial, inorgánico sátiro de barrio (bajando de las vigas dispuestas en manera de cruz invertida, mientras toma, al compás del silencio de la calle inmunda, las dagas, rasgando sus intestinos verdes a la luz del vitral vomitado por algún salmo diabólico).
Esta es la muerte del sujeto insomne. Tomad y bebed que esta es mi sangre y pasad el bajón con mi cuerpo de harina…(reclama ya en posición de tables; raudales de sangre tapizan los rostros incautos, los cuerpos fantasmales de tan iluso público, y su cuerpo ardiendo, trozado en llamas, es servido en platos de cartón a la multitud como en la feria de coleros )
…los mil versos al olvido en conjunto con este líquido salpicando de las heridas que nunca han cerrado, sin final, sobre sus rostros ahuecados por la impertinente ceguedad de la belleza que nos torna hacia dentro de cada rincón en nuestra tierra sigilosa. Los dejo junto a la sangre que ya disfrutan sin asco para inmolar el maltratado envase que ha cobijado su propio camino al fracaso todo este tiempo sin tiempo…
Los cabros del colectivo el mono (Tambaleando las palabras turbulentas)
…se va en la volá este loquito…era la ropa nueva, costó caleta sacarla del hoyo y me la mancha sin salida…
Pedrojuanydiego
(Doce un minuto… por quién doblan las campanas?)
(Disperso al humo de la parafina de perfume, desintegrado en canciones añejas sobre la solapa casposa del último asiento del cine oculto)
…comienzo mi viaje de regreso…(Muerto cruza la calle Herrera hacia Catedral) (3).
______________________________________________________________________
(1). Advertencia al lector. Carne de barrio corresponde a la nueva corriente del teatro mental en experimentación poética. Por ende la puesta en escena apunta a las tablas extraídas de la corteza del árbol de la sabiduría, o sea a “una poción mágica que los hace invencibles, el cerebro” (Asterix y Obelix). Cualquier otro tipo de manifestación está condenada al fracaso.
(2). De esta manera cumplía su sueño feriano. Gritarle a la noche una canción de cumbia y rock and roll.
(3). Todos saben en el barrio que el olor a quemado duró por meses, pero también saben que el sonido de las campanas descifradas por las antenas del jardín que a diario trinan por ellas mismas, es el sonido de su cuerpo hecho humo hacia ella.
ABOUT ELADIO FRIO: Has been told he sprouted from a blue branch of the higher trees set in the depths of Quinta Normal park, a couple of centuries or minutes ago. Author of a well-nourished poetic record, he disappeared by his own decision. Only a few projects remain as proof of his existence; touring from hand to hand, through intimate circles of friends and unknown family. Desvaríos Paraguayos (1999) and Fragmentos inconclusos de la poesía sin vida (2008) rest, get dusty and disintegrate in any infamous publishing house, any lame night table, any broken pocket…
Best view of Planet Earth
By JuanMapu
This one here is from the time in space when I was part of a patrol that used to guard strategic small planets, during a short vacation that we took along with civilians who were traveling between planets for leisure. The scene here is of a house that's situated in Mangifera, a planet with perhaps the best view of planet Earth when winter is ending in the southern hemisphere.
The guy behind the diva standing there owned the house; you can only see his legs -Tom Kurtes is his name. He protects and keeps a whole civilization –books and live beings– in that house. It wasn't a culture in jeopardy, so to speak, but Tom got into that task because he can feel like they do and play their music. We stopped there for this diva who travels space giving lectures about her daughter, history and common places. She was a novelty at that time. We spent three days with her. Look at the way I'm looking at her. I was very focused.
Next to me is one of those around the way girls you love forever. We were together during the stay at Mangifera and she was all about change. On a daily basis she modified everything, except the view of planet Earth. She was frustrated about something, but on sunny days she felt better because it was like going back to her childhood. She took some of our uniform jackets with her. They were fresh and insulated for the winter, bullet and laser proof, but she just liked them because of the shoulder pads.
The guy in the corner, next to the host, was an actor. I don't remember his name, but you can catch him if you channel surf.
That little boy…I'm not sure…oh…he was kind of a nomad. I remember he said something about having a bad time at home and how he just loved Mangifera because it was dysfunctional and full of sweets. He also liked to gather around with unknown people and had a fixation with the view of planet Earth. He spoken often about having a bad time at home.
And the lady here was the governor of Mangifera. She lived with her husband and had a daughter. That guy used to be a ball player and the girl is now a dancer in Venus.
I haven't seen the photographer again. He just sent me an email with the word PICT in the subject and the photo attached. I am going to place it here, next to the photo of the party at Danny's house, the best party ever on planet Earth.
America: Think Global, Act Local!
By Carlos Martínez
About the Photograph:
I came across the homeless person in the photograph in the East Village after visiting Out Now!, an art project related to the occupation of Iraq. The only thing I could offer when he asked me for “spare change” was a giveaway from the exhibition: a “NO NO AMERICA” t-shirt. Although the U.S. shares responsibility in many international issues, it should prioritize the pressing domestic problems facing local communities, such as homelessness, job readiness and educational opportunities.
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