Each painting is a window into the worlds that inhabit my inner self; they represent the way I have found to share and communicate with the world, the way I can transform the visions of my dreams and materialize them into art.
In a way, Surrealism has not only been an expression but has also become a free way of life through the multiple and unlimited acts of creation that the world of dreams reveals. It has been an open door that has revealed other possibilities of creation to me, an extension of my inner world.
Brianda Zareth Huitrón has exhibited individually and collectively in Mexico and abroad.
Solo Exhibitions Leonora Carrington Museum of Xilitla, DREAM ENCOUNTERS in 2025. Women’s Museum, DREAM REVELATIONS, in 2022.
DREAM LANDSCAPES for the Temascalcingo Festival Honoring Velasco, in 2021. WINDOW TO DREAM WORLDS, at the Futurama Cultural Center, Mexico City, in 2020.
Group Exhibitions Col-art at the Oscar Román Gallery in 2025. The painting exhibition THE PAINTER’S TRADE, at the San Carlos Academy, in 2019. DIMENSIONS, Wave Gotik Treffen Festival, held in Leipzig, Germany, in 2018.
She has participated in the Chair for 100 Years of Surrealism, at the Faculty of Philosophy and Letters of the UNAM, giving a lecture on female surrealism.
Her work has recently been published in the book Mexican Women in Art, published by Agueda, and in THE ROOM SURREALIST MAGAZINE, an international surrealism magazine.
Sanite Belair, Haitian Héroïne of the Revolution of 1803 by François Cauvin 2021.
François Cauvin is an acclaimed Haitian artist based in Montreal. His iconic portrait of Toussaint Louverture with a guinea fowl forming his hat is the cover image of Sudhir Hazareesingh’s Black Spartacus: The Epic Life of Toussaint Louverture. The famous portrait has now travelled far and wide as this book won the Wolfson Prize, the UK’s most prestigious history prize. Recently he has completed portraits of Haiti’s revolutionary women, including Sanite Belair and Marie-Jeanne Lamartinière. With funding from the Glasgow Knowledge Exchange Fund, Cauvin will speak with Rachel Douglas at UK museums and the Houses of Parliament on the topic “Visual Aftershocks of the Haitian Revolution.”
Nouvelle toile par François Cauvin ” Marie Jeanne Lamartinière “ Acrylique sur canevas. 2023. Contrairement a ce que le noirisme duvalieriste nous a fait croire , Marie Jeanne Lamartiniere etait metisse ,d’un pere francais et d’une mere africaine. Demolition des mythes pour une nouvelle Haiti sans prejuges.
”Black Spartacus” by Sudhir Hazareesingh. Painting François Cauvin
Delphine Cadoré French Outsider Artist born in Paris 1972
Immerse yourself in a universe where, under the gaze of the painter, the shapes come undone, round off and blend together. Guessing a fish that reminds us of the softness, the slowness, the fluidity of water.
The one where we all bathed, in the hollow of our mothers’ bellies. Meet the wolf, in all its guises: nurturer, progenitor, and also the least tender who ate the grandmother. A wolf, disturbing and comforting, like the passage of time; it swallows, digests and ends up carrying within itself lives and entire cities.
Discover, here and there, the bird, bearer of poetry. Light and soft, it soothes and lifts your head into the clouds. Then meet a woman who bathes in these waters, in this atmosphere of dream and creation. In this atmosphere where life explodes, the children clinging to the breast, and the vaginas still open from childbirth.
Delphine Cadoré offers us to discover her universe where metaphors rub shoulders with life, the real, the most visceral.
She paints in a powerful energy in which she embeds supports and techniques. She draws, inks, paints, coats, scratches, cuts… for the magic to work. And the magic works: we are caught up in the movement, and each canvas lifts us a little more into this universe of raw poetry.
I don’t consider myself an artist, I think that each of us is, but some have forgotten that, children are artists in their own right because they have retained this spontaneity that we later lack.
I have no real artistic influence, I like Francis Bacon as well as Paul Gauguin and many others, it’s quite heterogeneous in fact and I discover great artists every day via social networks. As a child, I had the chance to rub shoulders with many artists, illustrators, photographers, musicians, we lived in a community, so I think I always drew.
I am the mother of 4 children, two of whom are already adults and on their own, but I still have two little ones! it’s not always easy to reconcile my work and everyday life! I would say that what I miss the most is the time and above all a studio, a real studio!
Life Death The sense What are they worth? Ties to Life the illusion of being special unique That everything hidden will be revealed and bring peace The fall God Crying The vacuum the tear The torture of ignorance. The worst of wheat the howling of the cattle The bark of the stubborn The silence of the wise (To whom God gave a name and assigned a Path) Fall and worry our fate Our truth the poppy has bloomed The morphine has deadened the pain But the power of God gives us the strength to continue… to continue WHERE?
TWO NOISES
There are only two noises left In the relaxed silences after the bloodless waters of the cold There are only two noises left Between the waking dream Field where all the faded desires lie While in his fury the candid blood born in his look at the dawn In your breathing relief After the suns of August and the snows of July
There are only two noises left My body knows its moment in the soul Half bite and half die
There are only two noises left
Kisses and debauchery
What will become of so much love? What will become of so much thirst?
I WILL GET LOST
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 Deep sorrow of the soul. I will write her name in crystals in the catacombs where lost loves lie in each fragment deposited on a paper evicted from oblivion between puddles of muddy tears on slopes whipped by a harsh winter.
SEPIA
As I watched the roll roll of your wheels I rolled off the ledges of cement buildings There is no time… Just muzzled birds who observe my mourning of fluorescent colors I’m looking for a bloody drink Lower the face to the bottom Bottomless background. soul of lockdowns absence of soul there are no greens SEPIA only…
LONELY
Lonely my autumn sighs pass by Lonely the night of stars without wicks
Of loves in transit to the corridor of oblivion Presence of leaves dancing as our love faded In the middle of our world always unfinished Present as the cold through my careless open windows
I live and die I smile and agonize I dance and fall on cement floors in dark spaces in adornment people
I wonder-
In what unknown wind do I find you? In what shade of September? In what square of yesteryear do you walk your nostalgia your unlived times your life in my absence my presence not available or our words always so petty?
Alone Alone in the midst of eclipsing clouds And suns that don’t kill
Alone in the siesta of the day While the good runs adrift In that ocean that I never get to cross
What’s up?-that nothing in me is enough that my passing is the passing of a deaf bird in a night cloak of mirrors?
devoid of me devoid of all abandoned by my lyrics Unable to happen in life All that I no longer say
FOR A SHIRAZ
ruby meteorites Imitate God’s Sediment
meaning to the air that the air I lack
That I need one last sip of a great Syrah To say, what my lyrics hide
The costume without forgetting Your body smells like grapes and my body smells like you…
Poet, narrator and reciter of the soul. Social Communicator, law graduate. At the end of 2015 she published her first book of poetry, stories and haiku “Ecos errantes” In 2016 together with 18 Chilean women poets she published her poetic work in the anthology “Mujeres al fin del mundo” (poetic voice of Chilean women), awarded by the Chilean Society of Writers with the “National Reading Fund”, with presence in all National Libraries. In 2017, together with outstanding national poets, he presents his work in the Anthology “Underworld¨ “Blood brother”, “Without borders” (Society of Writers “Without borders”. 2018), “ After poetry, in 2019 and “After Poetry: the festival of poetry”, in 2020 he publishes his work in the International Poetic Anthologies “Palabras Necessarios”, 2021, among others . The artist vigorously participates in literary, poetic, cultural and environmental dissemination activities. She also participates in different poetry forums, where she maintains a constant literary and poetic activism in social networks and groups of poets in America and Europe. In 2021, she publishes her second bilingual poetry book “Sé un poeta (be a poem)”. Since 2017 she is a member of the cultural corporation of writers and artists “Les enfants terribles” and of the Society of Chilean Writers (SECH). Poet invited to the II National Poetry Meeting, 2021.
Featured art photo Scyphomancy Oil on 9inx12in coldpress Mitchell Pluto 2022
The He is more poet than me He provokes in me the excitement of lucifer I wish to flee from the three nails of the crucifixion My wrists don’t hurt so much anymore. like sore ankles I don’t limp anymore The sky turns to water in your presence I know how to float in flooded graves mercury nights Enigma of the writer with hair on his face Under the moon Howl with foreign voices
OBEY ME
From afar he looked like a man It was a shadow in the form of a man From afar he looked like a poet It was a form of man with the voice of a poet In the light he looked like an angel In the dark Repugnant smelly I liked Come! Come my love! You will see that the reflection of my water is salty Obey me
MARRIAGE OF THE DEAD
To not blame the men We got married in the presence of a dead man reflection echo We got married in the presence of a dead man With my heart in my hand fevers cramps Friend of my heart drowned in poetry We got married in the presence of a dead man They dug a grave We were put Next to each other in the wet mud The crying comes from the empty graves We got married in the presence of a dead man The earth has forgiven us
INSOMNIA
We look more beautiful in black More beautiful than the widows of our enemies I reversed your death with a love spell I pierced your flesh blood stakes I descended into madness to rescue you Men In angel I returned you You festered like a poem under insomnia nobody’s Geometry geometry of gods We look more beautiful in black More beautiful than the widows of our enemies. crazy pupils Kiss Me! as if you don’t know me impregnate me again and again Throw the stone and hide I will murder our children in the name of love bite me howls
SPECTRAL SILHOUETTE
spectral silhouette I got tangled up in your hair It rains in a city full of leaves yellow autumn I visit you in the asylum where reason is lost I see you insanely talking with the virgin she doesn’t listen to you My joints creak like an old door I dry myself I am your light you tell me Cocoon light when I take you in hugs Under the cold light of fluorescent tubes We are the closest thing to Michelangelo’s Pietá I cleanse your drugged body They have cooked your mouth I give you to drink the rain You have aged more than me One by one I have seen your teeth fall Even so I still consider you handsome my sick poet Smoker Created in the image and likeness of your mother We make a blood pact Crying Of the wall The shadow The smoke from your big hands Touching me You hypnotize the voices The time stops naked I walk in the rain I collect flowers.
The poet Leopoldo María Panero, died last night at 65 years old at the Juan Carlos I Psychiatric Hospital in Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, where he lived as a boarder in open regime. Panero will be cremated tomorrow at the San Miguel Funeral Home of Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, where his body will be veiled starting at 2:00 p.m. today. The Corpse of the Poet he will remain in the funeral home for a little over 24 hours, until proceed to incinerate him, something that is scheduled for 4:30 p.m. tomorrow. Source: ABC.es Culture, July 7, 2014
CRAZY PUPILS
The most ruthless of all souls She is moved by the song of night crickets The most brutal of all souls Talk to the stars on a waning moon the most despised Sing with the voice of a nightingale stays there hours and hours and hours hearing the wind the most ungrateful soul wash the feet of tramps Heals hand wounds Feed the pigeons in the squares Smile at the children on the street tour the cemetery Read verses about the graves Searching abandoned tombstones Rest in sealed sepulchers. Accompanies the silence that passes forgetting and she gets tired falls off she turns off sleep Until the dandelions touch her fingers She can’t open her tired eyelids crazy’s pupils get bigger hands are filled with oblivion.
LOST LANGUAGE
Speak Write poetry miss the word Language that bewitches the impure in spirit Verses saved from the waters Illegitimate child Where does my tongue come from? stumbles on the palate I inject sounds speeches rumors Where do my eyes come from? Observe the bubbles of the fish mating Fertilize under the water of the river.
MOON WOMAN
Moonlit woman windy sunrise Fall from the placenta to the volcano burn the soul Germinate in root mutate into bird poet’s whisper I belong to the wind to the reflection of the sea
Controversial, transgressive, provocative, direct, loving, desolate This is the poetry of Victoria Morrison in this new book: “Crazy Pupils”. the forty four poems that the collection of poems brings together come from the limits most extreme humans; tenderness and cruelty in hands of the disturbed beauty of some verses that bother and move, as the voice should be, when you are in the center of the tragedy. Love, madness, death, oblivion, govern the order of this collection of poems. In this scheme, the poetry of Victoria Morrison is a way of exhibiting the torture to which existence subjects us just by breathing.
Dante Cajales Meneses Cau Cau, Puchuncavi, Chile, February 2020
Feature art photo Eyes series. Óscar César Mata, Latex and watercolor pencil. Buenos Aires, Argentina.
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.
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.
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.
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
Mitchell Pluto 