Losing control excites her. It’s “messy,” this sensual interplay of organic materials, glass, and earthy custom clays. She’s excited by these interactions, waiting to see if shards and rocks can give her fantasies complex textures–how they will react in the kiln’s…
It’s easy to be stunned, rendered speechless. The flash of light is that intense, ablaze with an endless constellation of sexual nuances. Just ask Stevie Wonder. Sensing the power of his Goddess of Love, he was transfixed…”what I see don’t…
A knife is drawn. Emboldened, voluptuous women lie near their conquered oppressor, and man’s “possessive gaze on the female forms” brings bloody retribution. So begins Wynnie Mynerva’s still unfolding story in New York City, leaving Peru, and picturing sexual liberation,…
More than a fabled book title, these words powerfully resonate, transport us to a new realm, to freedom. They are a blueprint. An architectural drawing of sorts. A Room of One’s Own, Virginia Woolf’s plea for liberation, takes us into interiors…
The “piano music” begins every morning at sunrise. Upholding the precepts of his father– a legacy that binds him to the land–this skilled musician leaves the modest stone house with his daughter Enrica. Followed by “Pippo,” one of five rescue…
Except for the camels sipping water, and the lizards scurrying in the sand, there was absolute silence. Night had fallen, and there was a silence I had never felt before, one that brings a life-changing reckoning. Now Time and Space…
Despite a lack of decorative objects, as well as three focal points : a large window on the right side, an opening giving onto a boudoir on the right background and a fireplace surmounted by a work of art, in…
They are huddled together, their slumped bodies and extended hands passionately dramatizing desperation, their collective nightmare. These immigrants are the forgotten, souls lost in a tense, highly-pitched political battle. Some have wandered through the Sahara carrying their infants. Others have…
Looking into her ruby-studded jewelry box, The Princess of Esmerlada gasped, and cried, “Where are my soutache earrings? My God! Where are my precious soutaches?” The royal attendants were equally shocked. Sewn with dreams, along with black strings, flower tassels,…
Art stopped. Too afraid to question the party line, to risk imprisonment, many artists fled. They simply feared the soul-piercing pounding on the door, the shudder-inducing knock of the Securitate. Fear flourished under the brutal dictatorship of Nicolae Ceaușescu in…
Begin typing your search term above and press enter to search. Press ESC to cancel.
