Recipes for Horizons by Enrique De Santiago
Each step collects behind you, the daffodils, that inevitably lose your mark, the one that wanders in the deep sands, that in the empire of shadows shelters you.
Chilean artist
Secret of the Air, Enrique De Santiago
you seek to break beyond the fundamental shell, the one that you came to know in a primitive way in the sweet stays of belief.
Victoria Morrison, Seed Wisdom
Am I really here, watching the miracle of my fertile land or is it my mind that imitates to the dying man who escapes from the barren land
and look for the seed to save the world?
There is Never a Plan Jorge J. Herrera Fuentealba
The movement in my work is a consequence of a sincere trace of the unconscious. Movement represents life. In moments without inspiration, I try to maintain the discipline of continuing to paint, draw, because thanks to experimentation, inspiration returns. There is never a plan, everything is part of the unknown (spots, lines, frottage etc.). Taking …
There is Never a Plan Jorge J. Herrera Fuentealba Read More »
Angel of the Paths Claudia Vila Molina
I will open my eyes once more, When the stars dwell in our bodies, And a drop slipped through the skin, Suspend all reefs high.
René Ortega Space Map
Inner space, mathematical entities, organic architecture and time doors from the liminal mind of artist René Ortega
Be a Poem by Lorena Rioseco-Palacios
I will lose myself as those sleepless, nights are lost. As the swallows fly uncertainly in their freedom. Thus, like the breath drowned in a puddle of muddy tears between slopes whipped by a harsh winter. I’ll get lost on those dead end streets in the midst of a time without stay. Suffering soul
Poetics of Erotica, Loves and Heartbreaks by Claudia Vila Molina
Your body dissolves things
to announce a moan or remote end of the night, that no longer hides anything, not even a new way
of shivering
Inheritance of the Sleepless Rodrigo Verdugo
Under the jasmine, there are beautiful sentences.
I search with hands of mist, something in my bones.
And to my aid comes, the young woman who knows
read backwards.
I Drink from the Paleozoic Salts Enrique de Santiago
Well, that’s where I shelter, and where I rescue the omens, there I drink from the Paleozoic salts, which today move the migratory herds,
those who come to the eyes without ears, of those attending Sunday services. By nature, I approve!!