Jose Lerma

Jose Lerma
Jose Lerma
Jose Lerma
I just found this artist while cruising around on Flickr. His website is over here. He is Spanish, living in Brooklyn, and Chicago. Somewhere I read he was also a professor, but I can't find out where. He has a show coming up at Andrea Rosen Gallery, here. I like his work where he combines painting and drawing. He seems to explore many forms and to have a varied vocabulary. Maybe I'm the last person on the planet to discover his work!


Homage to Cy Twombly

Cy Twombly via Time Magazine
Cy Twombly via Time Magazine
Cy Twombly via Time Magazine
One of my touchstones died the day before yesterday at the age of 83. I first saw Cy Twombley's painted wood sculptures at the National Gallery in Washington DC, and was knocked into a whole new understanding of what sculpture, and art, could be. That is the power of art isn't it....creating a paradigm shift. The way he made his scribbly paintings and drawings gave me permission to scribble too. I heard on the radio that he went to Italy to live nearly 50 years ago to get away from the hype of the American art scene. He just wanted the freedom to create what he was led to making by some deep devotion to his own voice. Time Magazine online did this nice photo essay, where these photos came from.


More on Elvira Mateu

Elvira Mateu
Elvira Mateu via Pinterest
Elvira Mateu
Elvira Mateu
Here is the stunning work of Elvira Mateu. I did a post on her awhile back; she certainly deserves another look. She is from Valencia, Spain, and this is her blog. You can see much more of her work on her Flickr stream, here. She seems very adventurous and playful in her approach to making art. I'm tuned into that lately because I have been not at all playful in the past few weeks.....something about too much work to do and not enough time to relax. I should take to heart this poem called "Play" by Justin Good on my studio wall:

Even on a Monday morning,
when eternity is buried
beneath a week's worth of duties,
children and dogs can be there
in a moment,
at the toss of a ball
or a curious shadow
that looks like a man.
This is not their innocence,
but their ageless wisdom,
the evolving joy of organic choice,
the opening of possibilities,
when time is measured
by the rhythm of the cards,
or the blocks or the notes.
This isn't the opposite of work,
but the unfolding of the world,
through the funniest joke
or the spontaneous game of catch.

Being on the clock,
we seem to accept
that alienation
is the price of maturity,
and we march off to the future,
where we speculate
the Present will be secured.
As if some value deeper
than Reality,
was worth our sentimental sacrifice,
of ordinary everydayness
to the religion of Progress.
What kind of a culture would forget
that creating an opening in Time
should be the goal of all economics?

When you find yourself in Play,
an improbable balance is attained
between freedom and definition,
and between challenge and control,
the self can breathe.
Suddenly you are Here,
grasping the purest wealth,
your unalloyed attention sparkling.
Everything makes sense
and is also up in the air where,
as you can now so clearly see,
it really belongs.

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