South American artist – Page 3

Poetics of Erotica, Loves and Heartbreaks by Claudia Vila Molina

Crossing

be you
the stray who returns
into the mist
of our bodies.

Ignition

I wonder if you’re touching the sky now
as I extend my sight to these mountains
what part of space
will be created with your presence?
What ocean will I cross
to incinerate you slowly?

Prophecy

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

Estrangement

You look at me as if I were your fetish
you touch me when we’re alone
I am nothing of that
nor the shadow of our own steps.

Secrets

The mirror projects two lovers at the edge of the night
the itinerary of its own history is broken
They don’t sleep because they know how to distinguish whispers
that fly by and saturate the air
of people looking through the keyhole
and are suddenly reflected in a pool
It is not true to say that these bodies look at each other
it would be better to sketch the moment
when they intersect with the dark
but aligned as they were they knew how to possess themselves
and stood out against the background of shadows
of a white that was dreamed at night
and he did not even stop to contemplate the stars
but if he looked at himself naked
except when she unbuttoned her dress.

_{written by ©Claudia Vila Molina}

Writer born in Viña del Mar, Chile. Professor of language and communication at PUCV, poet and literary critic. In 2012, she published her first book, The Invisible Eyes of the Wind. She has published in renowned Chilean and foreign digital media: Babelia (Spain), Letras de Chile (Chile), Triplov and Athena de Portugal, among others. During the year 2017 she participates in the Xaleshem group with poetic texts for the surrealist anthologies: “Composing the illusion” in honor of Ludwig Zeller and “Full Moon”, in honor of Susana Wald. In 2018, she integrates the feminist anthology IXQUIC released both in Europe and in Latin America. In 2020 she participates reviewing the conversation book “Shuffle poetry, Surrealism in Latin America” by Alfonso Peña (Costa Rica), also writes a poetic prose text for the book “Arcano 16, La torre“, by the same author. Likewise, she participates in the book “120 notes of Eros. Written portraits of surrealist women” by Floriano Martins (Brazilian surrealist poet, writer, visual artist and cultural manager). In this year (2021) she publishes her second poetry book Poética de la erotica, amores y desamores by Marciano editores, Santiago.

Feature art photo Sun Set Women Oil, collage by Mitchell Pluto 2022

Inheritance of the Sleepless Rodrigo Verdugo

INHERITANCE OF THE SLEEPLESS 61

under the jasmine,
there are beautiful sentences.

I search with hands of fog,
something in my bones.

And to my aid comes,
the girl who knows
read backwards.

TENIA

She had the profile of a raven
and she covered her navel
with a lotus

she in dreams
she drank beer
with Alejandra Pizarnik.

She wanted to rent a small apartment
in Latin American Union neighborhood
only to have parties or orgies.

An apartment where beer
will fly like a raven
and the girls in full frenzy
they will remove the lotus from the navel
and the men will arrive like castaways
and burst in at sunset.

then someone comes back
to rent that apartment
and before putting the furniture and inhabiting it
read aloud to Alejandra Pizarnik
and a lotus enters through the window
pushed by the evening air.

INHERITANCE OF THE SLEEPLESS 82

I
lightning strikes
the blood bans
the eyelids of a son confuse the stone,
he has spilled on his knees
that burning milk,
which they throw in the face of the lamb.

II
I was spawned
in full abyssal torture.
and I have shields
about all my children.

III
You have petrified aspirations
and you say that you will become
in wolf at noon,
and you will bite a blue breast.

IV
You moan from the preacher’s throat
and thorns appear,
you want to be and not be at the same time
under any sky
pleasure shatters the night
and your bones watch over you in the hunter’s house,
and he ash in orgy with lightning
it’s just the picture
of that mother that she said
please open the door for me
welcome me, my house is burning down
she will burn me
and all my children.

V
I forgive him, but he repeats
I forgive him and he tells me
I want all my children together
forming a tragic link.

VI
I’m the father,
I drag bags with abundant fruits,
vegetables and goat cheese
I visit all the markets
all vegas and slaughterhouses
at five in the morning,
he wore a marbled coat,
a split in the middle of the forehead,
the sea spends angels and demons
and I spend the gold
with what should I cover
the mouth of all the unearthed.

VII
And who wants to sit at my table
he can talk to me at sunset
about my old gold digger aspirations
while we bite fruits,
and goat cheeses.

VIII
my children say
I have minotaur feet
and that I’m crazy.

IX
They were distributed.
The first met lightning envelope
and he finished as server in fifths of recreation.
The second was tempted by alabaster prostitutes
and he ended up ripping the bones out of all the fish with his mouth.
The third was suckled by a mule
and he ended up inspecting faucets.
The fourth was confined in a monastery
and ended up transcribing dictations from a blind nun.
Suddenly I wanted to have them all with me
forming a tragic link
on the precipices of the species.

X
And the mother in the hunter’s house
hid in the meantime
she said: “for now I am safe here,
although everyone outside
see the ash in orgy with lightning
and that is the image that remains of me in them”.
I will put my children to shelter
I’ll get them up at dawn
they will have the plague of a wolf that bit a blue breast
and they will fall one after another
and I will put compresses on the body
and I will invade my mother’s house
and the living room will be enabled as a sanatorium
and I will wake up at dawn to serve them
like a blind nun
and I will fear that a few steps of minotaur
are getting closer.

XI
those were my kids
and they were my gold digger pride
Of that gold that I will ever find
to cover once and for all
the mouths of all the unearthed.

XII
Come and let’s continue biting fruits
and goat meats and cheeses
That’s why I’m at five in the morning
with a marbled jacket,
and a split in the middle of the forehead,
in all vega, slaughterhouse and market.
That’s what lightning goes for
against all the prohibitions of the blood,
That’s why I choose alabaster prostitutes for my children
and with ashes I increase the abyssal torture of generation,
and with shepherd’s throats, I increase the desire
of those who want to be wolves at noon,
and bite a blue breast,
and have petrified aspirations,
or pluck fish bones with their mouths
and from the confused stone I make a shield
under which the wolf will drink burning milk
in the snout of the lamb.

_{written by © Rodrigo Verdugo}

Rodrigo Verdugo Pizarro: Santiago, Chile, 1977. Poet and collagist. He was secretary of the Pen Chile and formed part of the Surrealist Derrame Group. His work has been published in national and foreign journals and anthologies being partially translated into: English, French, Italian, Portuguese, Polish, Arabic, Uzbek, Romanian, Bulgarian, Catalan, Dutch Albanian and Greek. He has participated in collective exhibitions in: Spain, Portugal, Czech Republic, Costa Rica and Egypt. He is author of: “Veiled Knots”, Ed Derrame, 2002, “Broken Windows”, Olga Cartonera, 2014, “Advertisement”, Rumbos Editors, 2017 and “3 Anuncios, 3 Annonces”, Plaquette, Coedition Mago Publishers, Home Notebooks Bermeja, and Hesperides Publishing House (Argentina), Hispanic Academy of Fine Letters (Spain),2019

Feature art photo Mercenaries at the neural pipelines Oil, collage 9inx12in Mitchell Pluto 2022

Five Poem Wounds Emilio Barraza Durán

RESURRECTION

They all ran away from him
and it was not strange
never in Jerusalem
they saw a dead man walking
even his friends
they reacted with fear
when he showed up
by the door frame
everyone looked at him suspiciously
people walked away
swiftly on your side
it was
a condemned ghost
for transgressing
the immutable laws of the grave.
the last time they saw him
I drank a glass of wine
to the health of his friend Lázaro
the only one who understood
the terrible loneliness of the resurrected…

BAR PEOPLE

a distilled wine
with gender grapes
baste slowly
the broken pieces
of my heart without a country.
Time
take a nap
at the exact point
where Christ
lost the nails of it.
Between the glass and the bottle
a forgotten cigarette
it makes me cry
tears of smoke
at the bar
alcoholic corpses
remember times gone by
they cry for their lost tombstones
They cry for their rusty dead.
outside it rains
Suspensive points
that fall from the sky
They are knives that stick
in exact and precise geometry
from the heart…

CHRIST THE ELECTOR

they will lower you
a few moments from the cross
and they will give you
a Pandora’s box
the Pharisees will say
that you are a good person
the sadducees will express
your good intentions
mark a + on the paper
they will say
and you can go back to your work
having said that
they will put you on the cross again
and they will keep hitting you
For ever and ever, amen…

PLASTER LOVES

Now
that I am a harlequin
wire and plaster
lying on a bed
now
that I am a sparrow
with concrete wings
I can still tell
I want to love
despite the irons
that cross my hips
despite
of streptomycin
that makes me vomit
I am the only statue
who looks with love
to the wax masks
that cross the corridors
in this hospital…

FABLE OF ASSES

The donkeys
they were losing power
they were not elected
for no public office
all
their political strategies
They inevitably failed.
Then
at an important party meeting
decided to paint stripes and make
a strong communication campaign.
Since then
the whole country votes for a zebra
that from time to time brays
the same broken promises
of their asshole co-religionists…

_{written by ©Emilio Barraza Durán}

Emilio Barraza Durán, Viña del Mar, Chile, February 28, 1955. He completed his secondary studies at the Industrial School of Ciudad Jardín, and his university studies at the Catholic University of Valparaíso, graduating as a Professor of Spanish in 1983.
In 1998 he obtained the first prize for his play “Las tristes primaveras del humo” and the publication of his poems in the Anthology “Versos de viento y desamor” published by the Department of Culture of Secreduc Valparaíso.
In 2000 he completed his internship “A creative approach to the Chilean Educational Reform” at the University of Alcalá de Henares, Spain.
In 2013 he published “El Callejón de los Corderos” (Editorial Magoeditores), a critical and anti-systemic book.
In 2014 he obtained the following distinctions:
Publication of his poems in two editions of the literary magazine The Word of the Arizona State University, USA.
-Publication of his work “The transgressed flag: a vision of the patriotic symbols in dictatorship” in the book “Memory and perspective: 40 years after the military coup” edited by the Editorial University of Playa Ancha de Valparaíso.
-Publication of her finalist work “Good night, Rossana” in the “Anthology L.AI.A V Ensueños” edited in New York by the Latin American Intercultural Alliance and Editorial Muse & Pen.
Anthology Verses from the Heart, Editorial Diversidad Literaria Madrid, Spain.
-Winner of the first national poetry prize in a contest organized by the Chilean publisher Verbo(des)nudo with the book “Sueño ecuacional” in January 2015.
2015, appears in the Latin American Poets Anthology of Editorial Imaginante, Argentina 2016
Anthology Do not invite me to heaven if there is no wine, Editorial La Gorra de Valparaíso.
September 2016, selected in Anthology Peace as Care of Creation with El Sueño de Nezahualcoyolt, Editorial United Peace Federation, Buenos Aires, Argentina.
October 2016, winner of the Life Lines contest of Editorial San Pablo. His work Only You appears in Anthology Los Tesoros del Alma 2016.
January 2017, selected and edited by Furman Magazine 217, Vanderbilt University, Nashville, USA.
2017: Anthology “Poetics of the Underworld” anthologized by Eduardo Embry Castro and Teresa Calderón in Editorial de La Gorra Valparaíso
2017: Anthology “Convergences” edited by the poet and editor Gino Ginoris, Editorial Verbo(des)nudo.
2018: Anthology “Without Borders” Editorial of the Valparaíso Cap.
2018: poet selected for Solideo Gloria act of adoration organized by the Pastoral Catholic University of Santiago de Chile.
2019: “Writing and Scarring: the poetry of Marcela Cortés Moyano”, prologue to the book Sangra Etérea Piel, presented at the Viña del Mar Book Fair.
2019: Anthology After Poetry The Barbones, Valparaíso, Juan Antonio Huesbe, editor and compiler.
2019: Review of the book Totemica Insular by the Cuban-Canadian poet Lídice Megla published by Amazon, Canada.
2020: Review of the book Dialogue with the Mirror by Julianita Cisne, Editorial Letras al Viento, Miami USA.
2020: Anthology of Light, Nedazka Pika and Entre Paréntesis editors, Santiago.
2020: Fragua de Preces, Ibero-American Poets Anthology, Alisios Cultural and Grupo Abra, Canary Islands, Spain.
2021: After Poetry II, Anthology, Juan Antonio Huesbe editor and compiler, Valparaíso.
2021: Necessary Words, Poetic Humanity International Anthology, Viajero Ediciones, Ramón Lizana editor
Valparaiso.
2021: Flight of Dreams Anthology, Dora Miranda and Regional Literary Association Editors.
2022: Reading of Poems at the Viña del Mar Book Fair.
2022: Reading of poems Tribute to Gabriela Mistral, Gam Museum, Vicuña.
2022: Newenke Kura, Anthology of Living Stones, Nedazka Pika and Entreparentesis Editores, Santiago, Chile.

Feature photo art Banner of power and hierarchy 9inx12in oil, collage Mitchell Pluto 2022

Poems by Claudia Vila Molina We Return to the Earth

(Unpublished texts from the Poemas de sur)

Oath

The flowers will throb in my silence
The eyes will hear the flames of the river
We’ll whisper at night
And nothing will be necessary
This accumulation of absences today fills our chest
And there are no more traces on the dry Sunday afternoon
Although the smoke witnesses some ordeals
The eyes release their huge blocks
But none of this will be necessary
Nothing will be noticed at the bottom of the lakes
Not even in the thickening of the clouds.

We Return to Earth

The sound of the night falls towards the earth
The pastures surround us with their white moans
Again we walk the bare earth
And we keep the secret
A word wrapped in unreality
My lost sunflowers are from autumn
When they wither in the shadow of the cliffs.

(Unpublished poems taken from the book Escritos para Beatriz)

Strange Certainty

The water rises to the hives
The brightness of the air stops my desertion
And the precipice of the birds is deep
But the route digs a new image
Where did we forget the road?
What drill did you lose my name in?

The moon is your own emaciated conscience
Climb towards the light the wormy face
They fill it with sounds in the jungle of the world
An image is that you in pain
That serpent coiled in the maelstrom of the waves

Who can love you from silence?

The flora of time cradles sad animals
And disintegrates in the ropes of the river
That temple opens their bodies towards the solitudes
And send us four different kingdoms

Your flight is a mirror in the mask of the world
Eyes conceive other authentic materials
We like to dye ourselves from nothing
Succumb to the harassment of existence

After the light has departed we only have
distance
And the objects thrown on the floor
But your being unexpectedly illuminates this corner
and flee to cold countries
where the last sailors go

That silence is part of our ancient voice
And bring down the places
Draw an island in the middle of everything
The moon rests in my female arms
And unwind four seasons

A sign disconnects my primitive bursts
And he starts to sing
The wave once again throws its homicides
The certainty of that shadow strangles us
That figure stopped at dawn.

(Poems taken from the unpublished book Ciénaga)

9
Unexpectedly I open my eyes towards you
I like to hear whispers from the outside line
Your eyes open other doors
And they stay sheltered from the shade.

10
Since that time I remember you
You slowly invade my landscapes
Cold voices bring the threads of that web closer
They surround the absent body.

11
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.

12
Violet petals fall successively on us
The wind is gone, but the shadow remains
Water slides streams into the night
And the last fire extinguishes my stars.

_{written by © Claudia Vila Molina}

09-22-1969

Feature photo art by Enrique De Santiago

Daniela Sol Five Poems

OPEN SPACES

At 43 from Ayotzinapa

Those voices, those shadows
they are not dead
they declaim in every vital particle.

I’m tired of screaming thinking about them
to spit barks
to those sulfur parasites.
But I know that in every place, in
each breath in
infinite corners look for them
no horizontal lines.

The cornea of memory
it is not an embodied metaphor.
Hungry Sorrows Banners
of Justice.

Birds of uncertainties to
the vein, lip birds
like eyes.
Bodies that do not cease or
they quench by claiming their inherent freedom.
Since then there is no rest
nor borders that limit the
atoms.

The trampled dust is not in vain.
The stupor of conscience
nor the d(odor) of agony
and of silence.

There is a kiss on the forehead
and millions of intertwined hands
waiting for our own
skin down to the bone tray
to rescue them from oblivion.

LEGITIMACY OF BEING

To Stella Diaz Varin

death could not with me
nor with the erroneous tissues of my silence.
The attempts to turn off my singing were absurd
maneuvers of negligent glances
scandalized by the decline of my fingertips.

I have tattooed loneliness as a constant verse
a mantra that repeats, anarchic, the marginal hours
of my laughter, of my sex, of the pending hidden word
in bunches

Fifty stars receive my cry
that chapter that I moaned when I saw my children die
or when the senseless torture was drawn on my body.

death could not with me
nor with the deafening smoke that it gave
color to this voice of steel.
Time, on the other hand, comes slowly
to settle in my name
and wipe away the tarnished indecency in the mirror
that little by little vindicates my sorrows.

MAZURKA

I like that you remind others
I like to play to be the others of your memory
and I like to be someone in the memory of my others.

I like to heal you being the other,
the one from before,
that is claimed
that chews the past with erroneous flowers
that are reborn

I like to be nostalgic in my others,
body remembered,
because I got tired of opening
my legs to the swings of oblivion.

If you require it, masturbate your senses
remembering those others
like when I allow others
temporarily invade my dreams
to be the most whore and unfaithful,
unknown
alien
uprooted

If the past comes back
with the stench of laughter
Let’s face it, let’s show the colors
and we remain silent.

Sometimes it is necessary to take steps to the abject
silence the noise of the fruits
turn octagonal.

Let’s lull the past tense
vomiting it out of the body
and swallowing the tenderness that
yesterday he brought us together.

INSOMNIA

My feet went so far
in the whole core of
the foreign whispers
that the torrent dried up
of cough with which he fed
the desire, the endurance,
the certainty.

((Sometimes I lose the horizon
and I only wish a magnetic gift))

summon the silence
to silence the ego
the ataraxias of the ego
the chairs of the ego
attempts to give birth to a symmetric writing.

design a wish,
use the language
for something other than
put limits on principles
crimson deductive.

And breathe the constant ether
of the sun when it dawns.

NIGHT

Do you sleep
and in the fiery subtlety of your hair
the beats of your laugh are drawn
the silent breath
the arpeggios you sang before the sunset.
Your hand looks for me, I contain you
You ask me for a hug, I whisper the river
that feeds the herons.
Because you know that my shadow does not give up
before the burden.
my hand on your back
let you cross the threshold
of lavenders
about which you talk to me so much at dawn.

^{written by © Daniela Sol}

Daniela Sol (Talca, 1983) is a poet, mother and academic. Professor of Philosophy and Bachelor of Education, she completed her Master’s in Latin American Studies at the National Autonomous University of Mexico. She has a PhD in Hispano-American Literature from the University of Alicante, Spain.
She is the author of the collections of poems Wandering Sounds (Xaleshem, 2014), Postcards and Mirages (Helena, 2016), Fracture (Alauda, 2015) and Sabina (Marciano, 2021), and has participated in various poetic activities and meetings in Chile, Mexico, Argentina, Canada and Spain. Her work has been included in national and international anthologies in Latin America, Europe and the Middle East.
She is the compiler of the most recent anthology of Social Poetry in Chile: Verbo Latente (Helena, 2017), and of IXQUIC: International Anthology of Feminist Poetry, published in Madrid under the Verbum publishing label.
Her work has been translated into English, French, Portuguese and Arabic.
As a professor and researcher, she has carried out pedagogical and academic tasks in different institutions in Chile, Mexico and Spain, both at secondary, undergraduate and postgraduate levels. From this sphere she is co-author of at least five books. Since 2017, she is a member of the Chilean Society for Literary Studies.
As of 2019, she is part of the academic group Literature and School.

Other data:
Daniela lived eight years in Mexico, so a large part of her career was carried out there by the hand of poets connected to the Mexican academy and women’s groups. In that country she held extensive poetry sessions with the Chilean surrealist poet Ludwig Zeller (+), to whom she dedicates her doctoral thesis.

Featured picture Astral Island 9inx12in oil, collage 2022 Mitchell Pluto

I Drink from the Paleozoic Salts Enrique de Santiago

It is then when the tree that tomorrow will summon the thorns loses its leaves,
and the bumblebee falls, prey to the polar trails,
to reinvent the powerful patient engineering of lytic promises,
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!!

They speak of love, and my bet is more on compassion, which is a kind of continuum in a collective warp, of an ineffable equation that they will never understand.
Because perhaps love (like that image shown to us) does not exist and if it does exist it is a sum of chemical reactions where a set of hormones stimulates our syntax, and which may also be subject to the need for genes to be perpetuated. Maybe?. But there is also one who breaks this previous theory; crazy love, passionate love, eternal love, etc. that love that becomes unclassifiable. I only know that I know nothing.
After all, I believe in love.
Does the egg use the chicken to make more eggs?
It is possible, but in a global and precisely circular analysis, the plot of existence is supported in a shed crossed by the polyform reality of infinite logics and illogics, where each of its corresponding paradoxes and balances avoids its critical tension.
But, we can order them in the not well understood compassion, which could be a feeling deeper than that of the corruptible flesh (physical theory and cognitively plausible), which leads to understandable and celestial simplicity. But what if an infinitesimal were more than an integer, or if that time circulated in all directions? or love will not mean more than a necessary impulse to take risks in order to live the contradictions, so that the soul, when dying, will return with the pertinent knowledge to correct, deconstruct or ratify the whole of the so-called divinity .
For this reason, the next step opens the temporality to dedicate more time to essential reflection, and to put aside an imposed competitiveness for the accumulation of objects that lead to the void that means pursuing a way of life that is subordinated to the symbolic relationship. of the object or objects, which is useless and inconducive (a simulacrum of the society of the spectacle) for our true purpose in this brief transit called life.
Ars longa vita brevis. Or your existence is just an accident to offer a limited amount of data to accompany the equation that gives additional information to find the way out of the answer.
By the way; nobody takes me into account, since my infallibility is very poor since periodically and statistically, my failures are more abundant than my certainties.
And therein lies my wisdom; in realizing that my hypotheses are only attempts to find the truth within infinity. To think otherwise would be to err drastically and in the process lie to them. It would be, subjecting myself from the ego to an option to dress elegantly, but in the end, it would strip my limits. It is better to be honest in clumsiness than false in an inane and temporary charade.
But:
What if love were one of that unknown design in my intrinsic astral writing, waiting for you?

*Primordial circulation approaching from a past spring,* acrylic on Fabriano paper 250 gm. 35x45cm

So the wide dividing width
will unload its useful molecules
in this useless impertinent distance
there where the lightning reigns
without asking for their
blind blows.
Is when my pale measures
they embrace their designs devoid of elytra
to save the waters
possessed of salt and fire
that bathe the limits of my suffering body
without entering the first cause
that brings me down from within
the muscle periphery.

*Eros Phasianidae*, acrylic and ink on Canson 300 gms paper. 11″ x 8.3

EROS PHASIANIDAE
Yo
And she saw the chicken rise from the ground
a brilliant and ectoplasmic epiphany
and she remembered the words of the feathered prophets:
“before the primordial egg was the verb”
and the pyrrhic evolutionary expedition embraced me
so necessary and indeterminate
where we are more but under sheds
and I saw the grayish uncertainty that shakes my being
h = 6.626 0693 (11) x 10 – (34) J. s = 4,135 667 43 (35)
x10–(15)eV. s
and the beast arose from the miasma
without the feminine warmth
it was in the offensive of the arches thousands of years ago
on the Cartesian line of Har Meggido
under the law of y = m x + b
and those tears originated at 32°34’59″N 35°10’56″E.
II
huge old stars
leaning out on the horizontal cobblestone sheets
were dictated by an ancient manual of glorious epic forms
where I did not read the cunning locks
and from there lights fall like eagles
that are suspended in front of your pale fortifications
and despite the fact that I descend without air
I cling to the desiccated edges of this abyss
turning away from the waves of floral promises
with summer mentions that anoint you.
Thus the amaranth silence returns to rock the star
and like the silent lymph
you seek to break beyond the fundamental shell
the one that you got to know in a primitive way
in the sweet rooms of belief.

*Interruption*, acrylic on cut Fabriano paper, on black cardboard. 18x24cm.
The inclination of one of the elements is voluntary.

GOLDEN VISION

The nothing, the void
hold my duplicate fragments
(Φ2 = 2.61803398874988…)
It is the hollowness of the past and the future
what you don’t have and don’t want
the illusion of time and line
Infinity
so love surrounds swelling wisdom
while on the musty boards of a camp
absent light filters
to tilt reciprocal reality
that drives your transformation
(1/Φ = 0.61803398874988).

Maybe this reality is true
on this twilight island
where the already worn bones falter
by the persistent violet stings,
and there is no choice but to live among the cyclones that guard the whimsical and invisible knots
with its container meshes
that hide half-open portals,
those that I will leave like this for a while,
since everything circulates in the promised packaging.

**Paintings and Poems by**
**Enrique de Santiago**

Formulas in Liminal Space by René Fernando Ortega Villarroel

The self is the unconscious and conscious that allows you to enter these imaginary worlds of creation, that is why it is important

Bueno el yo es el inconsciente y consiente que te permite entrar a estos mundos imaginarios de creación por eso es importante

I knew when I entered the experimental artist school and I liked all the artistic disciplines such as sculpture, engraving, drawing, forge, in short, I wanted to learn all the arts and be good at it with a lot of discipline and read the theoretical and aesthetic knowledge, and I realized that I could do it.

Bueno supe cuando entre a la escuela experimental artista y me gustaron todas las disciplinas artísticas como escultura grabado dibujo forja en fin todas las artes quería aprender y ser bueno en ello con mucha disciplina y leer el conocimiento estético lo teórico y me di cuenta que podía hacerlo

The environment has a strong influence on my paintings sketches sculptures from the observation and reflection of nature as something as small as a seed or as big as a tree and as infinite as a hill and from an insect to a bird in flight

El entorno tiene una fuerte influencia sobre mis pinturas bocetos esculturas desde la observación y la reflexión de la naturaleza como algo tan pequeño como una semilla o tan grande como árbol y tan infinito como un cerro y de un insecto a un pájaro en vuelo

It inspires me when I get up every morning and breathe the pure air of my mountains and feel that I am alive again to create with my hands and my eyes and feel the smells of my trees

Me inspira cuando me levanto todas las mañanas y respirar aire puro de mis montañas y sentirme que estoy viví otra ves para crear con mis manos y mis ojos y sentir los olores de mis árboles

Looking at nature influences my work and the action of carefully observing the plants and everything that surrounds me is part of my daily work.

En mi trabajo influye el mirar la naturaleza y tener la acción de observar detenidamente las plantas y todo lo que me rodea es parte de mi trabajo diario

I read many authors and artists bibliographies, as many as ancient and contemporary books on aesthetics, books on theorists and mathematicians, I like it a lot, and I am investigating fractal logarithms, why life was created that way, matter multiplies thousands of times and infinitely. that what I want in my work

Bueno leo muchos autores y bibliografías de artista tantos como antiguos y contemporánea libros de estéticas libros de los teóricos y matemáticos me gusta mucho y estoy investigando los logaritmos fractales por qué la vida se creo de esa manera se multiplica Miles de veces y infinitamente la materia y eso lo que quiero en mi obra

Rene has exhibited work in Chile and Argentina. He is involved in many cultural art programs that have related to hospitals, children and teaching art professionally.

René ha expuesto obra en Chile y Argentina. Está involucrado en muchos programas de arte cultural relacionados con hospitales, niños y la enseñanza del arte profesionalmente.

“My concern is the human figure as a feeling of primitive and irrational states, whose main point is the heads, universal thought of the creation of man and center of the universe. All this led to a mutation of the plastic and pictorial language”.

“Mi preocupación es la figura humana como sentimiento de estados primitivos e irracionales, cuyo punto principal son las cabezas, pensamiento universal de la creación del hombre y centro del universo. Todo esto llevado a un mutamiento del lenguaje plástico y pictórico”.

Rene Ortega Villarroel

Formulas in Liminal Space/Fórmulas en el Espacio Liminal, Art by René Fernando Ortega Villarroel

The self is the unconscious and conscious that allows you to enter these imaginary worlds of creation, that is why it is important

Bueno el yo es el inconsciente y consiente que te permite entrar a estos mundos imaginarios de creación por eso es importante

It inspires me when I get up every morning and breathe the pure air of my mountains and feel that I am alive again to create with my hands and my eyes and feel the smells of my trees

Me inspira cuando me levanto todas las mañanas y respirar aire puro de mis montañas y sentirme que estoy viví otra ves para crear con mis manos y mis ojos y sentir los olores de mis árboles

Looking at nature influences my work and the action of carefully observing the plants and everything that surrounds me is part of my daily work.

En mi trabajo influye el mirar la naturaleza y tener la acción de observar detenidamente las plantas y todo lo que me rodea es parte de mi trabajo diario

Rene has exhibited work in Chile and Argentina. He is involved in many cultural art programs that have related to hospitals, children and teaching art professionally.

René ha expuesto obra en Chile y Argentina. Está involucrado en muchos programas de arte cultural relacionados con hospitales, niños y la enseñanza del arte profesionalmente.

Rene Ortega Villarroel

The Gnosis of the Mirage and other Poems Enrique de Santiago

THE GNOSIS OF THE MIRAGE

“Relativity makes distance meaningless, but the situation is even worse when quantum mechanics intervenes, since it questions the idea of place.”
Paul Davis.

Of the clouds contained for centuries
of the air that winds the violet knot of meaning
And of every dark shape that embraces the sound of the world
the lit line of the labyrinth emerges
contemplating ourselves immersed in this myriad of fluids
that embrace us from the beginning
and from before in its reverse reality
to end up drowned in the crack of fate
and never know what the essential source of the moon holds
nor the celestial song of the plumage found in the boreal bosom
this is how the air is thrown into being
Without measure
no understanding
while diligently it oxidizes and hastens its decline.

WINGED PHOTOTROPISM

nothing ends,
just a keep going around in a spiral,
at the command of vector dreams,
that rest on the moon that raises the stamens,
Like the names I’ve forgotten
my own,
and the name of my destiny,
while I move hugging the clouds
with my numbers on the side of my brain
and my breath laughing again.

*The astral root*, acrylic on canvas 118 x 85cm

MANDRAGORA, ASTRAL ROOT

telluric resonance
with its harsh echo that stuns reason
magmatic word that arises from the refusal of the verb
black poetry on its sharp path
the one that hurts the one who goes into its mystery
with the blessed dagger of the fallen angels
that are arranged on the sidewalk of dawn
illuminated by the forgotten star
between rivers of multitude of bones
council opening submerging volcanic fire
where the salamander dances
at the right time and hour
when the word that unleashes the lightning is released
with its fractal memory
that renews the solanaceous plant
what is the mandrake of the damned
and of the saved.

*Under the Luciferian influence*, acrylic and ink on Conqueror 300 gm paper

PERPETUAL FLORA

From foliage ancient and forgotten,
when time was captive in the womb of time
even before the language of birds appeared,
that lost and extinct star arose,
loved from her nebula
and awaited by the early cicadas,
it was so that she sang her scrolls
and she danced the mystery of the nymphs,
hidden in the mystery of her and in the first number of her name
because this is found in the sum of the rings of a forest,
and her dress is the transmutation of the nymph
something like that, like a thousand and eighty times the face of the moon.

*Winged Past*, acrylic on 300 gm Canson paper, 30 x 39 cm

THE PAST OF THE FOREST

I love your origin from the unknown
with that particular elliptical aroma
like an elk that descended from a learned galaxy
there between the sources of light and condensed matter
close sister of the unchanging logos
the one you robbed by surprise
On the oblique ship that was hidden
with their inverted masts on the sleepwalking skins
begin to awaken from amazement
of so many days of your destiny
without knowing why ??
away from the inanimate pavement
that carries with your long steps
in the certain uncertainty
in the sacred place
that goes off
and it bares to oblivion.

*Astral Watcher*, acrylic on Canson 300 gm paper. 40x30cm

THE RELENTLESS OUROBOROS

beyond the wind
in a northern region of the universe
an uncertain number of names
dissolved by the golden flame of oblivion
They descend from the crevice of a nebula
while the bird as watchman of the secret
sing their celestial nomenclatures
to revive them in their new sap.

DISTANCE

The lightness of your poetry taught me to look beyond
in that place where we don’t understand each other
a room of emptiness and fullness
where there is enough space to brush your hair.

*The implacable oracle*, acrylic on canvas, 70 x 70 cm

NGC 6753

When a star collapses, does part of your destiny end?
Do you know the emptiness that will come in the litany of the dream of the demiurge?
Each sphere engraves its own ellipse so as not to perpetuate it
because the grass kisses the constellations
until it loses sight of its splendor
and the turn announces its sunset
like love dissolved in nothing
where the word is not perpetuated
And these verses will disappear when the screens turn off
so too the leaves yellow following the dust
Of expired stars in forgotten hells
parked in some empty universe
waiting to speak from the past
and the future.

*Prehistory of the present*. acrylic on canvas, 70 x 70 cm

CYCLES IN COSMIC WETLANDS

rising winds
without becoming storms
They spring from the soul until they inhabit the shadow
that takes the lonely measure
of the one who forgets the kiss
when long ago life rocked its cocoon
unaware of his hypocrisy
looking for the fierce copper mascada
while we smell that inexorable time
that snatches the lights rapidly in the twilight
where every month is the same for everyone
and between the mist and the pit
the same efforts start
the same young people with their ideals
who see their elders leave
clinging to clothes like the smell of tobacco
and the humidity of the asphalt
every year is the same for those who do not see the clouds
but in the long run it’s the same music
fashions are fashions and your makeup is the same
and when you cry a black line tears your face
similar to the one that tears your soul
love that sucks life and releases it
leaving us exhausted for months
Until I return for another rest of life
like a pleasant and hostile embrace
and there is no way to draw life
to know how to color it
it only comes around every corner
sneaky and silent
distinguishing itself in a fissure of time
when it’s too late to decide or repent
Well, it installs, without further ado…
with his elastic suit that loses his memory
in that last station
when everyone wants to change their habit
nothing more like life
that first puff of cigarette
strange, pleasant and bitter
slight time that will end in ashes
hopelessly.

The bodies remained weightless
next to each other
faced with the cosmic dilemma
and to the protocol of the farewell,
he perceived the aroma of the bones
while she expired her step at night
with a certain harshness
the one that evaporates with the days
slow and silent
like that subordinate hatefulness of truncated desire

*The music of the spheres,* acrylic on Canson paper, 250 gms. 25 x 32.5 cm

GRAVITATIONAL CONDITION

On the edge of my lithic archetypes
sweet new grass grows
that with its solemn verticality
wants to hug the moon
in serene times
like your memories
before forging the tides
and unleash the liquid of his beloved
burning oblivion
and shadow
permian knots
skeletons
going down the river of oblivion
everlastingly
in its exact ritual.

*Early Invisible*, acrylic on canvas, 65 x 81 cms

ANIMA WORLD

Mother Earth exhaled the perfume of redemption
while the useless man and dismembered course
listened to the night without name or shadow,
in order to gain oxidizable objects,
at the midpoint of his fecal abyss,
with the emptiness left by fear
and so he names himself among the speechless faces
that day when chemical weddings were prepared
without finding for your optic cells
when the leaves of the forest fall slowly
and to my ears comes the roar of the terrestrial kiss
which is a sound to be ocher dust in solar memory
in the end of time
With its circular principle in the appointed mystery,
while third world children are murdered
to make toys that were not for them.
Before knowing the sky and the gods
she appears from the beginning taming the chords of silence
she, well, she knows the key to love in a sleeping place
and she licks the perpendicular voices of the waters
like rivers that arise from the carboniferous
she well she knows how to offer the womb
to spawn the world.

*Astral fissure*, oil on prepared cardboard, 60 x 45 cm

blank slate

“My soul is from another place, I am sure of it, and I intend to end up there.”
Rumi

Reset the inconsequential
To restart with the fruitful

A call in the language of stars by Felipe López Osses

Two distant skies cover hopes united by noble commitment. The attractive conviction settles in the memory and encourages the shared future. To be one in this chaotic transit and capture the inevitable reunion, there is the powerful meaning

*the gift of time*
oil on canvas
70x50cm
2022

In the unknown, we met
In hope, we agree
In conviction, we unite and dream
In determination, we project
We have been laughing and crying,
breath and fatigue,
shared flavors
and we share sounds.
I saw you dance and I met
my longest smile.
I heard you sing and I knew
I already have a new motto.
And now I’m going up
to new heights,
where the brushstrokes stand out,
and claim their chimera.
The time will be long
enough to plant
that immersed ideal
what we have to go through

*Kaslarin Karasina*: **For the Darkness of your Eyelashes**
oil on canvas
60 x 50 cm.
2021

This work is inspired by the song of the same name by the Turkish musician Beynelmilân. In this painting I wanted to reflect the energy of the person portrayed, her gaze reflects a mystery that allows various interpretations

*REsIgnifiKance* (detail)
oil on canvas
140 x 125 cm.
2022

A call in the language of stars
a blind search paid off.
reviving convictions
reincarnated in songs.
Five phases of illusions
and another five of dilemmas.
fears are not noticed
when promises bloom…

*Chena trails*
Pens on canvas
60x100cm.
2016

This drawing is the first one I made with the “Chromatic Story” technique. It is inspired by the experiences and omens that I experienced during the almost 8 years that I lived near Chena Hill, a place full of inspiration and history.

Felipe López Osses is a self-taught cartoonist and painter born in Linares, Chile. His foray into art began in his childhood, when he began to develop his creativity and work with many details. In his works he mainly uses ballpoint pens and oils. His inspiration comes from nature and music. In 2015 he began to work with his own technique: pens on canvas, a technique to which he gave the name “Chromatic Story”, since it is “an invitation to the viewer to take a detailed tour of the details and symbolism, encouraging their own interpretation of the work