Art as representation

Equinoxio’s Virtual Museum

Equinoxio

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Monet’s workshop at Giverny. 2016.

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Bué the warrior. Polanco, Mexico city, 2020. Bué, aka Dave de Rop, is a Belgian artist living in Mexico.

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The lady with the coat, 1927. Ernesto ” the monkey” Cabral (1890-1968) was a Mexican artist and illustrator in the major Mexican media of that time. 1927? Almost a century ago.

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Willy Ronis (1910-2009) was a French photographer. Those legs go back to the 1950’s.

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“La peau douce” (Sweet skin). Montmartre, 2019.

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The rider, 1999, by Fernando Botero (b. 1932 in Medellín, Colombia). The Botero museum in Bogotá is a must.

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Group in a field by Léger, c.1950. Léger (1881-1955) was a major French 20th century artist. Botero Museum, Bogotá, Colombia, 2018.

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The Divine face, 1937. Georges Rouault (1871-1958). Botero Museum. Botero apparently gave a great part of his personal collection to the Museum. That particular painting was…

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God Spun

I am a constellation
pasted to a smear of deep sky or
some god spun leaf drifting
a wintry blue pond.
My tongue turns silvery around
my words, do not take them
for sorrow I have named them
peace.
Do not forget me.
I still need you to carry me
over the pierce of thorns
My hands are good for nothing but
a plea do not forget me
I am still here my hair a tangle
of stars.

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awakened

birds shelter  in my throat settle softly into a warm berth inert until they are shaken.
Awakened  they beat their wings against fiery walls, tumbling from  a Kafkaesque mind biting ears with teeth  like blades piercing the heart with unsheathed talons.
What is sacred they swallow.

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art by Karol Bak

Resa and the Rock Star – night music

House of Heart

 

 

 

Remember back when you were a rock star

and I was a hippie angel?

How enchanted  we were with  our

heart  and souls bared.

Do you remember now that you are so far

away that night  you came to me

and I came to you and the rest of the world

slipped away?

We held one another,  made love and cried

and vowed to never to speak of how every time

the lights went out you hurried to my side

so tender, coming and then  going.

Young and in love, we named that month Eden.

Do you remember our anguished goodbye

Neither do I.

 

Resa and the Rock Star

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Dedicated to Resa @ https://artgowns.com

 

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nothing has changed

When dreams pull me under
I call out across the ocean.
You meet me at  the shore
and there is nothing to  hold to
but silvery shadows that cross
and uncross in our slumbering sea.
I bend to you as fragile as  sea foam
tossed in wind rifts  you release
from unfastened hands. 
This is how I love you, a prisoner of repetition,
like endless waves you come and go.

 

 

 

art by Victor Bauer

Boogapony Holly – Magic Carpet Tour

Be there or be square!

Graffiti Lux Art & More

SHE’S BACK IN THE GROOVE!

With all new costumes,

and a brand new playlist.

Pony on down with Boogapony Holly and her all new back-up dancers, the Boogapony Poniettes!

Let them thrill you in front of some of the best street art in the city’s alleys!

And don’t miss out on the special midnight rooftop performances at Resa’s Mural!

Featuring retro fashion shows.

and live music.

Be there or be 🔲

Boogapony Hollycharacter © Resa McConaghy & Holly Rene Hunter

Since January, 2018

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Cave People

In my nest of stones I have not slept. Upstairs the neighbors fight over how best to spend their time as it silently slips through the space between fingers.   As the last grains fall it seems reasonable to be present for those hours remaining.  The windows are dark in the townhouse across the way   but for a lamp shrouded in a rose colored scarf.  Stirred by the sound of an ocean breeze I imagine I am a pale warrior charged with the safety of sleeping birds as a cat passes by  casually eyeing them from a wire fence.  At last when  dawn  climbs above the ocean I can see deep amber on the shore,  the color of my lover’s eyes when aroused.  Those subtle  hues of gold  that glint and sparkle in my half empty glass.  I spend my  night rearranging decaying books,  drifting down smoke filled halls,  pillaging my mind.

 

 

a longing

I steer my boat
beneath the lacy moss of
cedar trees where a  lark  drapes
her song,  a spray of flowers, along
the whispering stream.
Beyond the shallows a wooden bridge
where we cast our secrets to the water,
goldenrod along the bank witness the
 breathless embrace of  lovers.
So blue were your eyes those summer days,
 how endlessly deep the longing.

art by Steve Hanks