martes, 16 de agosto de 2011

ART BASEL

In my visit to ART BASEL 2011 i found genius, charlatans and  established artists. Contemporary art is so complex I would recomend you to stick to the margin of "do I like it or not" that simple. Here is my selection of artwork from 3 artists of whose existence I had no idea of and I absolutely adored.



1. ZOFIA KULIK
Female sculpture, action artist, performance artist, photographer, author of collager, art-object and installations. Zofia, and her partner Przemyslaw Kwiek worked together from 1971 , through 1981 under the surname KwieKulik.







2. JANI LEINONEN. 
From Finland another bad boy of POP. Politically incorrect, he is very keen on vandalization of icons of capitalism; specially cereal boxes with racism, violence and sex.








3. PHILIPPE HALSMAN
His camera has been acquainted with characters such as Albert Einstein, Audrey Hepburn, Alfred Hitchcock, Frank Sinatra and his adored friend Salvador Dalí who he frequently worked with. He gave birth to the "jumping style" or "jumpology" technique.
In a jump, the mask falls. The real person becomes visible.
- Halsman






*EXTRA:
JOSEPINE GAVIDIA
I have just finished this drawing in my notebook. It might be a rough sketch for something bigger, I like this dichotomy of prey/predator facing each other through the hole in the page.


Text: Nature perfects predator
Text: Nature perfects prey

sábado, 30 de julio de 2011

Blogtherapy...

I'm depressed.  Ah no, I'm about to have my period. 
I'm depressed hormonal. No, I do feel sad. My tits hurt, either they are still growing (I wish) or I gained weight... am I aroused? I think it is the cold weather. They look good though! Is it because I'm about to have my period? No, no but besides the hormones I do feel depressed. Or not?

Thank you Malena, you make me feel it's not so bad to be a crazy bitch.


.
"The menstrual cycle determins, afirms and officializes us biologically as "Crazy Bitches", therefore it justifies us as well.  In this chapter, the meaning of the psycosis premenstrual phase signifies."

martes, 26 de julio de 2011

Sex toys for the relief of the hysteric woman.


Historically, the wit of human race (you wanted me to say “men” right?) has always provided with artefacts for the satisfaction of needs, including the sexual ones. These articles have been perfected up to out times; delivering humanity jewels such as the porn comic “el libro vaquero” , edible underwear and the sparkly “twilight” themed dildo for the pleasure and joy of its users. In particular circumstances people have served as objects of the same purpose. The use of these objects/people is important in particular for women, given that sexual abstinence (or more specifically orgasm insufficiency) derives in the condition of “hysteria”.
Since times as remote as Ancient Greece, the first “olisbos” or dildos are known, confectioned out of rustic material such as stone, wood and animal leather (mmm nothing like a beast’s hide inside). In Greece, there was no such distinction for a sexual preference (well, everyone did everybody) so the use of “olisbos” was pretty common for both men and women. By conquering Greece, the Romans adopted and perfected their version of greek culture deriving into the double-headed dildo, graphic pornography, early sado-masochism (sometimes involuntary) and the biggest orgies that no porn film has ever been able to replicate (CALIGULA of 1979, was a nice attempt, I recommend it to anyone interested on the subject). To contextualize, in roman culture:
· Adultery was permitted among men (“permitted” as an euphemism)
·  Virginity was a desired quality for a bride-to be.
· Among properties of men there were wife, concubines and slaves (with identical general purpose and different specific purpose)
· Women were not allowed to inherit their husband’s goods ( the redundancy of a possession with possessions)

Due to the extension and power of the Roman Empire, all of the cultures we now a days refer to as “occidental” inherited many of their practices. Unfortunatelly many traditions well worth keeping were lost. Like orgies, which would be re-discovered in the 60’s and labelled as a novelty. While others worth discarding were kept, such as the utopia of finding a woman with a virgin’s record but a whore’s experience. Ironically this lead women to develop amazing acting dexterity.
The female sexual dissatisfaction, as any neglect to a basic need would bring physiological ailment. In the Victorian era the suffering once identified would receive the name of “hysteria” from the Latin for “suffering uterus”. The symptoms include bad mood, headache, deliberate provocation of conflictive situations, an unbearable character and the constant passive-aggressive attitude (excepting the case of nuns, in which’s case refers to a frequent type of personality).
Soon enough the medical community found itself in the unfortunate situation of applying hand treatment to the female genital area or prescribing dildos to their “hysterical” female patients.
From the XX century to our times everything has changed considerably. Partly because the growing interest in sexual liberation and political ideals gave birth to the feminist movement. And partly because once men overcame the initial bewilderment this event provoked, they realized it resulted very convenient. Dildos are now of more hygienic materials, modernity welcomes the vibrator, youporn has made obsolete Marquis de Sade’s literature and rule 34 (don’t ask me what regulation it belongs to) states that if something exists there is porn of it. The right of both men and women to be treated as a sexual object is a satisfying resolution for both parties.
There are so many objects to make a woman reach an orgasm: household solutions (vegetables mainly), dildos, vibrators or any eager volunteer in a wide variety of textures, shapes, sizes and colours that overpowers the eternal irrationality and contradiction of female desire. Thus you could consider that “Hysteria” could be considered a disease of the past.

But I, I do not have Hysteria. I wish it were Hysteria! It’s a similar disease often misdiagnosed. It shares the fact of having an incredible arousal and a permanently wet vagina as a scream of attention. This damned fever has the peculiarities of:
· Inhibition of attention span
·  Inability to discern between reality &fiction
·  Unfitness to manual or device assisted self-satisfaction
· Constant search of male company
· Repulsion towards the said male company
All this results in relief never arriving. I consider prozac as an alternative. I am in love, like madly in love. There is ONLY ONE man I DESIRE to be touched by. Only he can cure me, and he ignores me…


Illustrations taken of Milo Manara's Kamasutra.

First post (yet again)



I’m wearing the same clothes I slept in, which are the same clothes I wore yesterday and it’s the same clothes I’ll wear today. Which is weird because the weekend attire usually involves the same circumstances but with a dress and a pair of high heels instead of an intermediate between pyjamas and sporty clothing.
My diet has the balance between healthy/trash. Today I sip my cup of tea as I eat instant soup in contrast with my glass of Amaretto and my fruit of yesterday. As the set of dishes and my chores accumulate in my room, I just type, type, type…
Ah I now feel like a proper writer, I just need a damn cigarette.
I need to exercise the ability of storytelling. I had thought my life was so interesting and some day I’d become the sort of character you read about and buy the autobiography or the publication of the personal diary. Except for one thing, I read my diary entries an they are the most boring thing in the world! Amazing stuff happens but what a fucked angle. Yes, that has got to be what amazes me from my diary, how can someone manage to take an interesting event and turn it into a tale that is written so wrong in all of the senses in which something can be written so wrong.
So due to certain recent influences in my life I have set myself to the task of writing a little less beastly. Spelling is obligatory, proper grammar is encouraged, English translation indispensable and black humour as a pinch of salt. To be precise I opened a blog. So now I can be part of the cool gang that has a blog. I have Tumblr, Twitter, Skype, Facebook and recently Google +. What is that crap about Google +? I had no inconvenient with Facebook. Now we all move like it happened with myspace?
So what, does virtual life think that I have the time and dedication to give maintenance to all this shit? I access my Tumblr account happy and naïve thinking that my entries so well thought and edited are still there, as a little jewel among these egomaniac’s blogs fooled by the thought of actually having something relevant to say and… where are my posts? Where are they? FUCK. They disappeared without trace! Was I censored? Was my account hacked? Did I delete them myself being drunk, stoned, asleep or all of them? This virtual life is a lie! Not because you may publish every single thought at the reach of all the world does it mean that all the world cares!
Let me brag in TWITTER how kissing hipster’s ass allowed me to be in the list of the hottest party and the importance of what I’m about to have for breakfast. Let me publish in FACEBOOK the pics of such party where anti-photogenic is self-explained, I comment on them while I breakfast leaving the device close to me near the cutlery so I can immediately respond to any novelty.
Quoting Bere
- No one is as handsome as his or her profile picture nor as ugly as his or her id picture.
I get it now… Second attempt of a blog. I love you Josephine, because everything I have to say I love and interests me. I give a friendly greeting to anyone who is interested and wants to love as well. I know you will. Nothing egotistical I promise (first broken promise, welcome).